Chapter 3 – Beware Voicemails Bearing Cases (Part II)

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“Those students all have fit our guidelines for graduate prog—”

“I’m not finished.” Chairwoman Naughton raised a knifelike finger and stabbed the air with it. “I expect every department to bring airs and distinctions to our institution. This one included.” Stab. “Behind the last quarter the admirable increase in scores across the board have brought that distinction and secured you extra funding.” Stab. “And now, with the eve of our departmental evaluation swift approaching I find that we have taken on a stable of mediocre minds.” The finger hung still in the air, its pregnant stab pointed directly at him.

Mr. Richard Harwood, Dean of Engineering, swallowed and set his jaw. The nerve of this woman, walking in here like she owned the place… She upset the delicate balance of power between the deans and the regency. The board had their power, the decisions that penned the stream of finances and budgets, and she could have him fired if she chose, but she’d have to convey that to the Arizona State University Office of the President. The regents rarely found themselves the political superiority necessary to abrogate or undermine executive decisions made from that office.

“I will look into the problem,” he said.

“You will see that you do,” the Chairwoman said. “Otherwise soon you will be facing a very public censure for the decisions your department has made over the past two semesters and I intend to lay all the blame at your doorstep.”

“You can’t blame me for this,” he said. “I’ve followed policy to the letter! I have always followed policy to the letter, every year of my career in this office. I will not have you—nor anyone else—come in here and tell me how to do my job when I am doing it according to the rules upon which I am expected to follow. I will file a formal complaint with the president and the board. And if I must, I will resign. I’ll see you try to replace me in the middle of the semester.”

She let him stand quietly for a moment, then let her finger fall.

“Then find me someone else to blame, Richard.”

“If you’re done here,” he said finally. “You may take leave of my office. I have work to do.”

“You’re dismissed,” Chairwoman Naughton said.

As if, Harwood reflected, she could dismiss him from his own office.

He glared at her back, and those of her flunkies, while they trickled through the door and out into waiting area beyond. Twice in one day he had been accosted in his own office. First by two Neanderthals in well-tailored suits and then by the political assassin squad of his very own bureaucratic nightmare. The dean knew he wasn’t without favors from some of the higher ups, none of whom alone could go up against the Chairwoman and her coterie of politicos, but he could make it very hard for her to push him aside. Of course, he could also resign, like he’d threatened. He knew she would laugh at that. He looked around the room again: everything in its place and a place for everything.

Frowning, the dean slumped back into his chair. Even deflated and beaten, he still managed to keep his shoulders square and his chin up. A chin that he rested on his knuckles as he furrowed his brow and thought the matter over. He couldn’t pull those strings among the president’s office quite yet, it would be too soon to move against the chairwoman on this matter—and he had absolutely nothing to go on.

However, if he had someone to do a little investigating—someone who could claim immunity or could he disavow their involvement. His eyes slid across his cultivated and carefully set desk to his phone.

He pressed the intercom button.

“Ms. Blake, do you have that contact information I requested? That student: Elaine Mercer. I need all of her contact information, attached notes, and if you can also her CV. Also, could you get me the information on that security guard who brought her in last time?”

“I have most of that compiled for you already, sir,” his secretary replied. “I am e-mailing it to you right now.”

“Thank you,” he said. “When you leave, please have all calls forwarded to my office, I’ll be staying late.”

“Of course, sir.”

 * * *

The voicemail indicator on Elaine’s cell had lit up sometime during the meeting, so she checked the inbox.

“I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into this time,” Zach’s gruff baritone barked at her through the speaker, “but the dean wants to see you. Today. I don’t know how he got it into his head, but since I brought you in last time, he thinks I’m your keeper. I thought you cleared all that up. I suggest that you don’t keep him waiting yet again.”

She snapped the phone closed. Zach, her older brother’s friend from high school and her monthly tormentor, he’d joined the ASU security force only a year before she started at ASU. Sometimes it felt as if he made it his life’s mission to hector her every step in the name of the faculty.

Then the voicemail chime rang again—she had received another call while she was listening to the mail from Zach.

“Ms. Mercer this is Dean Harwood,” said the Dean of Engineering. “Would you be so kind as to grace me with your presence at my office today, after business hours? It is five o’clock in the evening now and I will be here until seven o’clock. I would appreciate your prompt arrival. Your continued participation in your program of study may depend on your punctuality.”

Elaine snapped the phone closed, again. The threat rang loud, and, considering her last encounter with the man, she pondered for a moment simply ignoring the request. However, something seemed odd about the cadence of his voice—desperation held barely in check. She could hear a slight clip in his words that didn’t match with her previous encounter with him. She flipped her phone open and played his message again, this time through a spectrographic analyzer.

She’d written the program not just to analyze stress patterns in voices, but would also run the process through a set of algorithms that took advantage of the natural resonance of calm speech. The result came back: “Human speech—50% concern, 30% deceptive, 20% genuine.”

She looked up from her phone just as Frog entered the room and narrowed her eyes at her friend.

“What’s up?” asked Frog.

“You and I have to go see the Dean of Engineering,” she said. “He and Zach just left me messages, but… If I didn’t know better, I think the dean is in trouble. I think that we may have a case.”

“I see,” Frog said. “I’ll go say my goodbyes to Zane for you and we can get going. You know, he just told me that you should consider that maybe the guy who is stalking you is part of the government. You know, Tango? We don’t think the other teams have the technical expertise to do what your guy is doing.”

“The only agency that would care about me is the FBI,” Elaine said matter-of-factly. She’d had an almost run-in with them years before, but erased her tracks by leaving a Trojan in their systems that erased all data that even mentioned her. “I don’t think that any of them would be stalking me. They’ve failed to recruit me, twice. I might as well have a giant ‘I’m not interested’ sign above my head.”

Frog shrugged. “It was just a thought. We’ll talk more about this later, let me get my stuff and we can get going. I don’t want you to miss out on a case.”

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