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“Maybe he simply chose to go to a smaller college,” said Kate.
“Or maybe there was something in his past that precluded him from being called up to the academic big leagues,” remarked King.
“I don’t think so,” said Kate. “Otherwise, everybody would know.”
“Not necessarily. Not if it had been expunged from his official record, but certain people in the very cliquish world of academics were aware. And they might have held it against him. So he ended up at Atticus, which probably felt lucky to have him, warts and all.”
“Any thoughts on what those warts might be?” asked Michelle.
Kate said nothing.
King said, “Look, the last thing we’re aiming to do is drag up any more dirt on your father. I say, let him rest in peace. But if the man who talked to your father was responsible for his shooting Ritter, I don’t see any reason why the man shouldn’t suffer for it. And understanding your dad’s past may help us find him. Because if I’m reading this right, this guy knew your father from the old days, and if he did, then he’d probably know what incident had tainted him enough to cut your dad off from the Harvards of the world, if indeed that was the case.”
Michelle said, “Kate, you’re the only hope we have with this. Unless you tell us what you know, it’s going to be very tough for us to learn the truth. And I think you want to know the truth; otherwise, you wouldn’t have called us.”
Kate finally sighed and said, “Okay, okay, there were some things my mother said not too long before she killed herself.”
“What were they, Kate?” Michelle prompted gently.
“She said my father was arrested during a demonstration. I think it was against the Vietnam War.”
“What, for disorderly conduct or something?” asked King.
“No, for killing someone.”
King leaned in close. “Who and how, Kate?” he said. “Everything you can remember.”
“This is only from what my mother said, and she wasn’t really all that clear about it. She was drinking heavily near the end of her life.” Kate took out a tissue and dabbed at her eyes.
“I know this is hard, Kate, but it might help to get it out in the open,” said King.
“From what I could gather it was a police officer or someone official like that. He was killed during this war protest that got way out of hand. In L.A., I think she said. My father was arrested for it. It actually looked really bad for him, and then something happened. My mother said some lawyers got involved on my dad’s behalf, and the charges were dropped. And my mom said the police had trumped up the charges anyway. That they were just looking for a scapegoat, and my father was it. She was sure Dad hadn’t done anything.”
“But there must have been stories in the paper, or some scuttlebutt,” commented Michelle.
“I don’t know if it made the papers, but I guess there was a record of it somewhere because it obviously did hurt my dad’s career. I checked into my mom’s story. I confirmed that Berkeley let my dad graduate with his Ph.D. but did so very reluctantly. I guess they didn’t have much choice; he’d already completed all the course work and his dissertation. The incident happened shortly before he graduated. But from what I could gather word spread in academic circles, and the places he applied to teach at after he graduated shut their doors on him. My mom said Dad bumped around here and there, scraping by before he got the job at Atticus. Of course, during those years he’d written all those books that were very well received in the academic community. Looking back, I think my dad was so bitter about being kept out of the top schools that even if any of them had come calling, he would have stayed at Atticus. He was a very loyal person, and Atticus had given him a shot.”
King asked, “Any idea how your parents survived during the lean years? Did your mom work?”
“Here and there some, but nothing permanent. She helped my dad write his books, with research and such. I’m not really sure how they got by.” She rubbed her eyes. “Why, what are you getting at?”
“I was just wondering,” he said, “who these lawyers were who came in to represent your dad. Did your father come from money?”
Kate looked bewildered. “No, my father grew up on a dairy farm in Wisconsin. My mother was from Florida originally. They were both pretty poor.”
“So it becomes even more puzzling. Why the lawyers coming to the rescue? And I wonder if your parents were getting by on money from an unknown source during the tough times.”
“I guess it’s possible,” said Kate, “but I don’t know where from.”
Michelle looked at King. “Are you thinking the person who talked to Ramsey in his study that night might be connected to the L.A. incident?”
“Look at it this way. This thing happens in L.A. and Arnold Ramsey gets nailed. But what if he wasn’t alone in it? What if some person who was well connected was also at fault? That would explain some fancy lawyers swooping in. I know lawyers—they don’t usually work for free.”
Michelle was nodding. “That might explain why the man mentioned Regina Ramsey. Maybe he was recalling the past fights against authority in getting Ramsey to pick up a gun and rejoin the struggle.”
“God, this is all too much,” said Kate. She looked like she might start crying. “My father was brilliant. He should have been teaching at Harvard or Yale or Berkeley. And then the police lie and his life is over. It’s no wonder he rebelled against authority. Where’s the justice in that?”
“There isn’t any,” answered King.
