Eagle Squad. James C. Glass
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way. Where is he?”
“Len Dieter,” said Harris, looking at a small notebook he had scribbled in. “The guard remembers Bauer saying the student had called him from the lab, asking him to come in, but the guard hadn’t seen him all night. We’ll check this all out with the student later. It seems he wasn’t here when Bauer arrived, and the guard didn’t see anyone leave.”
“This Len Dieter still hasn’t arrived, even though he called Bauer to come in. I find that strange,” said Lundeman.
“Perhaps,” said Harris, “but we’ll check it out. Central office is sending someone, and he’ll be here by this evening. Maybe the student will turn up by that time. My people will look for him right away. In the meantime I’m ordering an autopsy, and the official cause of death will be heart failure. There’s no need to complicate things any further right now.”
“Certainly,” said Lundeman, “and I don’t want any stories about nerve gas accidents here, either.”
“Publicity will be kept to a minimum,” Harris assured him. “I’ll control that locally. We’ll need to talk with you again later. We have to move fast, particularly if there’s a security problem involved. For now, let’s get his body out of here. Sanderson, get the stretcher and bring a body bag.”
“Right,” said the big man, and he quickly left the room, elbowing his way past the guard who stood at the doorway, gazing at the body of Jacob Bauer. Harris seemed startled.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Just for a minute. Can I go now? It’s two hours past the end of my shift, and my replacement is here.”
“Go ahead, but be quiet about all of this,” snapped Harris.
“Yes, sir,” said the man. He turned and shuffled out of the room. Harris looked at Lundeman, a question in his eyes.
“He’ll be okay,” said Lundeman. “He’s been with us a long time.”
The guard left the building and went home for breakfast, where he told his excited wife everything he had seen and heard that morning.
* * * * *
Irene Lundeman relaxed the morning away under the gentle, capable hands of Allen, her hairdresser. The salon was empty except for Allen, herself, and Allen’s partner Eric, who struck a bored, effeminate pose in a barber chair near the window. Allen played the affected hairdresser well, clucking over her like a mother hen, but as he washed her hair his hands strayed to her neck, shoulders and back, rubbing with just the right pressure and rhythm to give her a minute tingling and throbbing sensation between her legs.
“Something swept up, I think: symmetric and softly curling at the top to accentuate your height, and those gorgeous cheekbones. Curtis will not leave you alone today,” he promised.
“Curtis won’t even notice, Allen. He never does. You know I come here for myself.”
“I am your devoted servant, madam.”
“You’re so sweet to me, such a blessing in this dismal little town.”
Allen leaned her back in the chair, folded a towel around her head and kneaded softly. She tilted her chin up as his fingers worked, occasionally caressing her throat, and he felt rather than heard her breath quicken.
“Oh, you have such marvelous hands,” she moaned.
“Pooh,” he said teasing, then smiled as she whispered to him and reached up to touch his face.
“Don’t play the gay with me, Allen. We both know better.” She leaned back against him.
“Do you want us to be alone, dear?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Tell Eric to take a walk.”
Allen chuckled. “Eric, my lad,” he said brightly, “it’s a lovely morning, and business is slow. Why don’t you take a stroll in the park?”
Eric looked at them angrily, rolling his eyes. “Again? Why don’t we just buy a cot for the storage room, or put up a curtain so you can consult in private? Really, Allen, this is disgusting. I will be back in exactly twenty minutes, so make it quick.”
Eric stormed furiously out of the shop and walked to the park, where he found a friend and spent some lovely, intimate moments of his own that eased his jealousy of Irene Lundeman.
* * * * *
At seven o’clock the blue Lincoln Town Car pulled majestically into the circular drive before the president’s residence and stopped by the front door. Curtis Lundeman got out of the driver’s side and walked slowly around to where his wife waited for him to open her door. She swung her long legs out of the car and used his extended hand for support in making a graceful exit.
Inside the house they pulled off the full-length leather coats they had worn to dinner. Irene sat down on a white sofa to take off her boots, and sighed contentedly.
“I had a lovely time tonight,” she said happily.
“I’m glad,” said her husband. “I was afraid you’d be bored at the game, and business prevented us from going anyway.”
“Oh no,” she said. “It was so nice with just the two of us for a change. I do enjoy entertaining your important guests, of course. Do you think I make them feel comfortable?”
“Of course, dear. I’ve never doubted your abilities to charm people.” Lundeman smiled when she looked at him sharply, but then her expression softened again. “You are always the perfect hostess,” he said seriously, “very relaxed, and obviously satisfied with yourself.”
“I do want to help you, Curtis, if you’ll let me. You were so quiet today, I wondered if you were still angry about last night.”
“Not at all; it’s forgotten.”
“You have a right to be angry. I really was a brat. It’s just that most of the time I feel so useless around here, and this town drives me crazy with boredom.”
“We must find you some sort of hobby to pursue, something creative,” he suggested.
“I don’t want you to worry about this, darling. I’ll find something to do while you build your little university and then we can move east to one of the real centers of learning and culture.”
“That’s the plan,” he said, smiling, “and I’m not angry with you. There are other things on my mind. Do you want a drink?”
“Yes, if you’re having one, a little scotch over ice.”
He went to the kitchen and returned with the drinks a moment later. Irene patted the sofa, motioning him to sit beside her. He sat down and they touched glasses. “To next summer, and sailing off Nantucket, and a salty breeze in your hair,” he said, then drained his glass in a single gulp.
Irene took a tiny sip of whisky, looking concerned. “You’re worried about something, aren’t you?”
Curtis looked at his empty glass. “It’s probably nothing special, but a faculty member was found dead in his lab this morning.”
“Dear God, how?”
“Likely a heart attack, but it happened in a secure area so there’ll be an investigation. I’m being interviewed again tonight.”
“You have to leave?”
“No, someone is coming over here at eight o’clock. Do you mind?”
“Of course not. Here, I’ll get you another drink and fix us a little desert before your visitor arrives.” She took his glass, planting a warm moist kiss on his forehead before disappearing into the kitchen, leaving him on the sofa marveling at his good judgment in choosing such a woman to be his wife.
At exactly eight o’clock, a county sheriff’s car pulled into their driveway as Curtis