The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(57)

As the sound of a bobcat’s squeal cut through the air, Tom recast his line, smiling at the memory of the fear in Bocephus Haynes’ eyes when Bo had heard that same sound several months before. The squeal also stirred Musso, who was lying at Tom’s side, from his sleep, and the bulldog cocked his head from side to side and cleared his throat.

“Easy, boy,” Tom said.

“Easy, my ass,” came a voice from behind Tom, which he recognized right off. Tom laughed. “Bocephus, I was just thinking about you.”

“You sure those things are harmless?” Bo asked.

“As a mouse,” Tom said, shaking his head and inspecting his line. “Bobcats are only dangerous if they’re rabid, and besides, he’s not as close as you think.” Tom recast his line, and this time the hook landed a good thirty feet away.

“Nice form. Caught anything?” Bo asked.

“Nope. May try to catch a buzz here in a few minutes. There’s beer in the cooler in the back of the truck.” The creek was at the edge of the farm, a good two miles from the house. Though Tom had walked this trek many times, he had decided to drive today, because of the soreness from that morning’s “torture”. Bo must have followed the wheel tracks to find him.

“So what gives me the honor?” Tom asked, as Bo handed him a beer and they both popped the tops. “Can’t you get enough of me?” Bo had taken Tom to his treatment earlier that morning and, as always, had stayed until Tom had rid the poison from his bladder.

“Thought you might like to see this,” Bo said, reaching into his pants pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. “I printed it off the Tuscaloosa News’ website. I get on there from time to time to read about the football team, and this article jumped out at me. It ran in today’s paper.” Bo paused. “Front page.”

Tom set the fishing rod on the ground and unfolded the piece of paper. His fingers tensed when he saw the headline. “Still No Word.” Underneath was a photograph of himself.

“Jesus, when will they let it go?” Tom said, sighing and taking a sip of beer.

“Just read it,” Bo said.

Tom lowered his eyes and read as fast as he could. He stopped when he got to the part about Dawn. “Finally, the Professor has not responded to the allegations that he was forced into retirement due to the Board’s belief that he was having an inappropriate relationship with a student, which the News reported in April was allegedly with his student assistant, Dawn Murphy.” Tom looked up from the article, and Bo was squinting at him.

“I don’t remember you mentioning anything about a girl, Professor.”

“Do you have the article from April?”

Bo nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out another piece of paper. Tom snatched it from his hand and cringed when he saw the photograph. It was the same picture of Dawn that was in the law-school face book. He had looked at this same photograph when he called on Dawn for the first time.

She did nothing wrong, Tom thought as he read. Tyler said the Board would take no action against her. So why release her name? Why now?

Tom folded both articles and looked up at Bo, who continued to gaze at Tom with his piercing black eyes. “Well?” Bo pressed.

“Dawn was my student assistant. I had just hired her. When I gave her the job, she got emotional and the Dean saw me holding her hand. Then, a couple days later, I helped her to her car in the rain. She hugged me, and somebody was watching. They took photographs and showed them at the Board meeting.”

“That’s it?” Bo asked.

Tom nodded, feeling anger pulse through him.

“That’s bullshit, dog.”

“When I told them I was leaving, they said they weren’t going to take any action against Dawn.”

“‘They’ being Jameson Tyler.”

Tom nodded.

Bo snorted, beginning to pace beside the creek bed. “I told you, Professor. Tyler’s a motherf*cker, and there’s only one way to deal with a motherf*cker. And you know that way. You know it.”

As Bo paced, Tom glanced up at the pine trees that surrounded the creek on both sides. When his daddy had needed time to think, he’d always come here. Tom would be sent out by his momma “to find Sut”, and Tom would invariably find him here, fishing by the creek bed, the only sounds the chirp of the crickets and the occasional song of a bluebird. Now, as the sun began to set and light shone through the pines, Tom recast his line and searched for his own answers. He had not heard from Dawn yet, and she was the only person who knew the number at the farm. He had given it to her when he hired her to work for Rick.

Why hasn’t she called? Tom unfolded the article again, and looked at the date. The article had run on April 10, 2010. That was almost two months ago. Tom had sent her checks for April and May, but he hadn’t been checking his mail. Did she send them back?

Tom slowly reeled his line back in to shore, as Bo finally stopped pacing. “Thanks for letting me know about this,” Tom said.

“So what are you gonna do?” Bo asked, the challenge evident in his voice.

Tom sighed, not looking at Bo. Instead, he gazed at the dying sunlight as it flickered across the creek. It would be dark in less than an hour.

“What can I do, Bo?” Tom asked, hating himself as he heard the words come out of his mouth.