The Prof Croft Series: Books 0-4 (Prof Croft Box Sets Book 1) Brad Magnarella (ink book reader txt) 📖

“You were right,” I said.

She looked up, eyes bright with surprise. “About what?”

“The evidence leading you to Father Vick. I don’t blame you for that. Two very different approaches led us to the same person, though for different reasons. When you write up your report, I hope you’ll consider that.”

The last thing I wanted was for Father Vick to be vilified, especially after having made the ultimate sacrifice. I doubted Vega would be given a choice, though. But as she pocketed the cuffs in her jacket, she looked as if she was debating whether or not to tell me something. She stepped back, establishing a professional distance.

“I’ve put in a request,” she said at last, “to get first crack at these kinds of cases in the future. Crimes that don’t fit the typical pattern, that sort of thing.” She hesitated. “I could use a … specialist.”

“Well, that all depends on what you’re offering, Detective,” I said with a smirk.

She folded her arms. “How about not citing you for trashing my vehicle?”

Heh. I’d forgotten about that.

“No, look, I’d be honored,” I said, as her face relaxed into an almost-smile. “I’m just not sure what kind of a future I have in the city.” Or whether I have a future, period. I glanced down at my left wrist, finding a hospital band instead of a watch. “What time is it?”

Vega consulted her own wrist. “Quarter till eleven.”

“Monday morning?”

“Yeah, why?”

I drew the IV tubes from my arm, lowered the right bedrail, swung my legs over the bedside, and stood.

“Croft,” Vega whispered. “What in the hell are you doing?”

I steadied myself, not nearly as weak or sore as I had expected, then realized with a flush my gown was wide open in back. No wonder Vega had thrown a forearm to her wincing face. “I’m, ah…” I said, holding the flaps closed behind me with one hand and batting past the curtain with the other in search of my clothes and personals. “I’m late for something.”

50

The hearing was already underway when I arrived at the conference room at Midtown College. The distinguished faces of the board members turned at my entrance. And then there was Professor Snodgrass, who I had apparently caught in the middle of his presentation.

He cleared his throat and peered over his little oval glasses. “How nice of you to join us, Mr. Croft. Wardrobe problems?” He gave a self-satisfied sniff. “Well, go on, have a seat.”

I looked down at my bandaged shins poking beneath the hem of my coat. With my clothes blood-stained and filthy, I’d donned a second gown on my back instead, then buttoned my punctured coat to the throat. At least it wasn’t inside out.

Grunting, I took the empty seat at the end of the table, hanging my cane over the armrest. In my peripheral vision, I noticed several faculty members seated around the edge of the room. I felt like I’d walked into a trial.

“As I was saying,” Snodgrass continued, with a final glance of reproach my way, “Mr. Croft’s criminal status, coupled with his failure to disclose said status to you, the esteemed board, is more than sufficient, I should think, to have him terminated from the college and forbidden from teaching or conducting research here ever again. I urge you to also consider that since the college renewed his contract under the false impression Mr. Croft had a clean record, he be fined the equivalent of his salary going back to his arrest date.”

Ouch. That would definitely land me in a cardboard box beneath the underpass. I watched the board members flip through the stapled packets in front of them—copies of my arrest record and court papers—and tried to read their expressions. That all eight were frowning wasn’t encouraging.

“May I say something?” I asked, raising a hand half way.

I wasn’t going to try to convince the board of anything. My plan was to give a brief account of the events that had led to my arrest, leaving out the magical parts, of course, admit fault for not informing the board, and then ask that they consider probation instead of termination. I would even accept a pay cut. If they terminated me anyway, I had tried. I think Caroline would look on that at least somewhat kindly.

When my gaze returned to Snodgrass, I remembered my other reason for racing over here in a pair of hospital gowns. I had forgiven him last night, sure, but it didn’t mean I was going to allow the twerp the last word.

Snodgrass met my gaze with a haughty this should be good look.

“If I can say something first,” a voice intervened. I turned to Chairman Cowper, a bald man with large, sagging lips that smacked every few words. The chairman of the board directed his smacking lips to Snodgrass. “For all of our sakes, I wish you would have been a little more thorough.”

Snodgrass blinked rapidly. “More thorough, sir?” he asked. “I’m not sure I understand. It’s all in the—”

“A follow-up phone call at the least,” Chairman Cowper continued. “When I spoke to the detective of record this morning, she said that Professor Croft here…” He smacked again as he opened a hand toward me. “…has no criminal history. His arrest was in error, and it is all being taken care of, per the detective’s own words. She admitted that it should have been expunged a long time ago, but the court system being in its present state…”

I suppressed a smile. Detective Vega, you little lynx.

Professor Snodgrass’s lips began to twitch between his reddening cheeks, but the chairman showed his palm. “Your motion that he be terminated, Professor, is based on the assertion that he is on probation. Well, that is hardly the case, now is it? Some due diligence would have established this. And spared us all the toil of yet another pointless meeting,” he added in a mutter.

“I spoke with the detective just the other week!” Snodgrass exclaimed.

But Cowper had