Free So Like Sleep by Jeremiah Healy Page B

version, and politely suggested that I telephone after 3:00 P.M. to speak with the board’s general counsel.
    I had a better idea. I thanked them and went back downstairs to the lobby and a pay phone.
    I reached Murphy at his office. He said he would see what he could do about getting me a copy of Marek’s file. Murphy’s voice didn’t telegraph any hard feelings from our talk the night before.
    I tried McCatty’s number at Goreham again. His roommate said McCatty was at an exam and would be back about two. Without identifying myself, I said I’d call back then.
    It was only ten-fifteen. Plenty of time to catch Dr. Lopez, then drive to Goreham.
    I went back to the car, circled downtown Boston, and picked up Morrissey Boulevard. I passed the sprawling, red-brick Boston Globe building on the right and the equally red-bricked but more academic B.C. (for Boston College) High School on the left. Shortly thereafter, the U Mass access road squiggled off toward the water.
    The University of Massachusetts is spread over a number of sites. Its main Boston campus is at Columbia Point, a peninsula jutting out into the harbor. The school shares grounds with the John F. Kennedy Library and a huge but abandoned sewage pumping station. From a distance, the U Mass buildings are a monolithic brown, rather foreboding and depressing. Up close, you see that the walls are made of an impossible number of individual, chocolaty bricks, with dark-green windows like polarized sun lenses peeking out well above rock-throwing height.
    I parked my car in the indoor garage and climbed to the second floor of the harborside wing. Following my directions further, I found Mariah Lopez’s office and knocked. A woman opened the door and smiled at me.
    “Dr. Lopez?”
    “Yes?”
    “I’m John Cuddy. I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice.”
    “Please come in.”
    We sat down. Dr. Lopez was fiftyish and slim, with gray, curly hair and gold-framed glasses. “I’m told that you’re here about William Daniels?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Could I see your identification, please?”
    I showed her.
    “And you’re working for William?”
    “Working for his mother to help William.”
    “Last week, I spoke with a Mr. Rothenberg on the telephone,” Lopez said.
    “That’s William’s attorney.”
    “Yes. He didn’t mention you.”
    “I started only two days ago.”
    “I see.”
    When she didn’t continue, I said, “May I ask you some questions about William?”
    Lopez fussed with the collar of her blouse. “We’re under a great deal of scrutiny here. At the university, I mean. Are you familiar with us?”
    “I know that you try to provide higher education to people of lower means.”
    Her expression remained neutral. “Nicely put. Our mission is to advance students who wouldn’t otherwise have the opportunity to obtain college degrees. Many of them take more than the classic four years. Many eventually finish, most do not.”
    I said, “And therefore?”
    “And therefore our ability, our financial ability to pursue this mission is terribly threatened by … by …”
    “By the legislature seeing one of your best and brightest up on a murder charge?”
    Lopez flinched. “Yes.”
    “That’s already happened.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “William’s already been charged. That damage has been done. Getting him off may not reverse the damage, but his being convicted can only make matters worse.”
    She paused. “I was under the impression, from the news and Mr. Rothenberg, that there isn’t much doubt—any doubt, really—that William shot the girl.”
    “If that’s the case, then your indulging me in a few questions probably can’t hurt either the university or William.”
    The hint of a smile. “I have the feeling, Mr. Cuddy, that you are a very good investigator.”
    “Not measured by what I know so far. When did you first meet William?”
    “When he enrolled here, something over two years ago. Do you need specific