The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(22)

He was my friend.

The betrayal hurt Tom like nothing he’d ever felt in his life. He had always had a knack for reading people, and, other than Rick Drake, he had never gotten it wrong. Tom had thought Jameson was from the old school. A tireless worker. Loyal to his friends. A winner through and through. Tom beat his fists softly against the concrete.

He’s nothing but an opportunist, Tom thought. He used his friendship with me for his own gain to climb the ladder at Jones & Butler, and, when I couldn’t help him any more, he threw me out with the garbage.

Tom heard the door swing open to the bathroom, and he straightened up. Whoever was out there was using the urinal and whistling happily to himself. A faculty member oblivious to Tom’s forced departure.

Tom unzipped his pants. He started to piss and gazed at the wall in front of him. It’s over, he thought, still not believing it.

Forty years spanning five decades. Three national championships. Four editions of McMurtrie’s Evidence. Three Deans. Hundreds of faculty members. And thousands upon thousands of students.

Over.

Tom leaned his forearm against the wall. He was so damn tired. As he bent down to flush the toilet, he glanced into the bowl.

What the...

Tom’s whole body tensed, and he blinked. Then he looked again, and he felt goosebumps break out on his arm.

Instead of the familiar whitish-yellow residue of urine, all Tom could see was red. He took a step back and wiped his eyes, trying to refocus them. Then he looked into the bowl again.

Red. Everywhere. Blood, Tom thought, his heartbeat quickening, remembering the trip to the restroom before the Board meeting. He again looked away, this time for several seconds. He tried to think of something else. Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him. He hadn’t slept well all week, and he knew that tired eyes could fool you.

When he was satisfied he’d waited long enough, Tom took a deep breath and turned his head for a final look at the bowl.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. He left the toilet stall, went out into the bathroom and teetered towards the sink.

“Everything all right, Professor?”

Tom looked at the man, a young faculty member named Will Burbaker, and nodded, forcing a smile.

“Just a little under the weather,” Tom managed, running his hands, which were shaking, under the sink and then drying them with a paper towel.

“Sure?” Burbaker asked, looking at Tom’s hands.

“I’m fine, Will,” Tom said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Tom walked to the door, his thoughts a jumbled mess. As he exited the restroom, he just wanted to go to his office and collect himself, but that wasn’t going to happen.

A female reporter stuck a microphone in his face and grabbed his arm, looking back towards a cameraman. Several flashbulbs went off, and Tom was momentarily blinded. The fatigue from lack of sleep, the dehydration from vomiting and the shock from pissing a bowl of blood, combined with the sharp light, made him dizzy. He started walking towards the stairs with the reporter right on his heels.

“Professor... Professor, can you comment on the press release from the University announcing your retirement? You got a lot of scrutiny after the incident with former student Rick Drake last year in Washington and we want to know whether that had anything to do with your departure. There’s also rumors of an inappropriate relationship with a female student. Can you comment?”

Tom stopped at the head of the stairs, leaning against the wall and wanting to puke again. He had been retired all of fifteen minutes, and the press already knew. Jameson must have alerted them before the meeting. The bastard thought of everything.

“I don’t have any comment,” Tom said, glaring at the reporter.

Then, calmly and with as much dignity as he could muster, Thomas Jackson McMurtrie descended the stairs and left the building.





17


At 10pm, Tom sat on the couch in the den, clutching his cordless phone in a death grip. Musso had placed his head in Tom’s lap and was snoring loudly, but Tom paid him no mind. Tom wasn’t even paying attention to the television screen, where the nightly news was dominated with the story of his forced retirement.

He had bigger things to worry about.

Tom had gone to see Dr Bill Davis after leaving the law school. Bill had been Tom’s urologist for the past ten years. Bill had taken blood and urine samples, and he’d also done a bladder X-ray. Though he hadn’t elaborated on the possibilities, Bill had sounded worried.

Now, Tom was worried. Bill had said he’d call tonight, but it was getting late. Tom knew he needed to think about what to do next. He had tenure with the law school, and the Board’s reasons for their punishment were horseshit. But did he even want to work for a Board and a Dean that would throw him out with the trash after forty years? And what about Ruth Ann’s case?

The phone exploded to life in Tom’s hand, and he cringed. He glared at the receiver, and the caller ID showed the name he’d been waiting for – and dreading – for the past five hours.

“Hello.”

“Tom, Bill Davis.”

“Hey, Bill.” Tom closed his eyes and tried to steel himself. “So what’s the verdict?”

Tom heard Bill take a deep breath on the other end of the line. “Tom, the X-ray showed a mass in your bladder. I think it’s superficial. Probably only stage one or two, but we’ll have to get it out to confirm.”