"Some other time, doc," Mike said as he prodded me toward the door, away from her.

"It has to do with King's College, Detective. You both might want to hear it."

11.

Hoppins followed us into the hallway to an alcove near the elevator bank.

"You handled a case several years back, Ms. Cooper. David Fillian, do you remember him?"

"Of course." Fillian was a street kid from Manhattan with a serious cocaine habit who supported himself by selling drugs to the rich prep school students of Carnegie Hill and upscale collegians. One night, after delivering a load of blow to a senior in one of the Columbia College dorms, he partied with his customer, who let him sleep over. When everyone had fallen asleep, Fillian prowled the dormitory halls, looking for things to steal. In one suite, he accidentally awakened a girl during the theft, who resisted and struggled when he tried to assault her. Fillian stabbed her in the chest, leaving her for dead. A roommate's quick response and the surgical team at St. Luke's saved her life.

"I've been doing some of the offender counseling in state prison. Fillian's in my program. You probably know that he wants to become a CI for the department."

Confidential informants-CIs-were a staple of narcotics investigations. Fillian had been hammered by the judge at his sentence, as we requested, and had been trying everything possible to reduce the time he spent in jail. I hoped no power on earth could

speed his release.

"Hard to be useful to cops with current street news when you're as far north as Dannemora." He was incarcerated just miles away from the Canadian border.

"Some of the kids he ran with still keep in touch with him. He thinks he's in the know. Anyway, he's been telling me that one of the King's College professors has been selling drugs to the students-a regular candy shop. You ask for it, the prof's got it." "Who is it? What's the guy's name?" Chapman asked. "I don't have a name for you. There was no point in my asking him for the information, since I couldn't do anything with it professionally, and it has nothing to do with the treatment program. David was just complaining to me that nobody in the correction department seemed to be interested in the fact. I see from the papers that you've got this murder case, and also that one of the students with-shall we say, an alternative lifestyle?-disappeared last spring."

"How often do you see Fillian?"

"I'm not due to see him again until the end of January. I spend one week a month traveling around to the maximum-security jails, supervising the sex offender groups. I thought that if, perhaps, David had some valuable information to help you on the King's College cases, you could support his request for an early release to parole."

It was my devout wish that Fillian's parole officer had not yet been born. And I doubted that an occasional session, up close and personal, exchanging techniques with other convicted rapists had "cured" him of his habits. I was anxious to dismiss Hoppins and get on to our more immediate work. "We'll see if we can get him produced at a prison downstate to interview him. If he doesn't have any more details than this, he won't be much use to us."

We thanked her and walked away. I'm sure she detected the chill in my voice, as I questioned the sincerity of her patient's bona fides.

Joe Roman was waiting for us when we reached my office. "You still have that photo of the Denzig girl?" he asked.

"Sure. It's attached to her folder, on my desk."

"Talk about archaeological digs," Mike said, shaking Joe's hand. "That's what the pile on your desk looks like."

I flipped through the manila case jackets till I found Shirley Denzig's file. "What did you learn from the Baltimore cops?"

"That her papa has a licensed handgun. Kept it in a locked storage box in his garage. Sometime during the week he noticed it had been taken, so he reported it to the local detectives. I'm going to have copies of this photo made to give to Security downstairs here and to keep with the doormen at your building. Bad news is, she finally was evicted from her apartment. Captain's going to let Frankie and me work on it. See if we can find her and tell her what a lovely person you really are."

"Remember that Shirley's not wrong about herself. She doesn't look that good anymore. Tell them to add seventy or eighty pounds to that image, okay?"

"You're doing something wrong, Alex. It's supposed to be the bad guys who are after us, not the victims," Joe said, shaking his finger at me as he walked out of the room.

"Wanna fill me in?" Mike asked.

"I'll tell you later. Just an old complainant resurfacing when I need her least."

I dialed Ryan Blackmer's number. I needed more information about the assault near Washington Square Park. "Hey, I wanted to catch you before I go up to the college. Did your NYU graduate student show up for her interview?"

"Not only did she come in, but she recanted the entire story. Hope it's okay with you, but I locked her up. Filing a false report." "What's the deal?"

"The girl was frantic when she got here. She had made the whole thing up. Her last exam was supposed to be this morning, and she had two major papers due before the winter recess. She just couldn't cope, so she figured if she told the dean she'd been accosted on the street and was too traumatized to finish the semester, she wouldn't flunk the courses. They'd let her make up the work in January."

"And for that she identified somebody out of the blue and actually had him locked in jail overnight?" The fabricated reports of assault were the most pernicious actions I could imagine women taking.

"Yeah. Claims she never expected the police to take her seriously, and by the time they had driven around for almost an hour, she felt like she owed it to them to pick out somebody." "How's the poor guy doing?"

"I released him without bail the other night. The cops thought she was flaky from the get-go, and they called his employer, who backed him one hundred percent. Did I do the right thing by having her arrested?"

"You always do the right thing. See you later." Laura buzzed me on the intercom. "There's someone named Gloria Reitman on the phone. Says to tell you she knew Professor Dakota, and she's supposed to meet with you at school." "This is Alexandra Cooper. Ms. Reitman?" "Thanks for taking my call. Ms. Foote asked me to talk to you. I was just wondering if you'd mind meeting with me at the law school building, over at Columbia? I'm a first-year there. But I knew Professor Dakota. I'd just be more comfortable alone, not being asked questions in front of all the administrative types at King's. Can you do that?"

"No problem. We were supposed to be in Ms. Foote's office at two."

"If you come a little earlier, I can meet you at one-thirty. I'll be in the Drapkin Lounge. We can talk privately there."

The scene on College Walk was a lot calmer now than it had been last week. The campus seemed almost deserted, emptied of the students who had moved so briskly down the library steps and between buildings the last time we were here. Mike and I entered the law school and asked the guard for the meeting room that had been named, undoubtedly, in honor of some fat-cat generous alumnus.

Gloria walked toward us and introduced herself. "We've actually met before. Not that I expect you to remember, but I heard you speak at the public service lecture you did here last year." She smiled at Mike as she shook his hand, then looked back at me, blushing slightly with embarrassment. Brunette ringlets framed her narrow face. "The reason I came to law school is because I've always wanted to be a prosecutor. In your office."

She had arranged some chairs in a corner of the room, and we sat together to talk. "The dean went through the lists of Professor Dakota's classes from the last two years and picked a few of us to talk to you. Of course, lots of the students have already gone home. I don't know how many are still here."

Gloria took a deep breath, apparently having difficulty saying what came next.

"The easiest way for me to start off is to tell you straight out that I hated Professor Dakota. Despised her. Shall I go on, or are there specific questions you want to ask me?"

I tried not to show my surprise. I didn't want to stifle what might be a candid portrait from an intelligent source. "Why don't you just tell us everything you think we should know, and we'll take it from there."

"Professor Dakota joined the faculty at King's during my junior year, from Columbia. All my friends who'd studied with her there thought the world of her. Brilliant scholar, great instructor. Told me not to miss the chance to get to know her. I even sat in the back of her classroom once or twice the first semester 'cause everyone raved about how she brought the past to life. I had a double major at King's-history and poli sci-so it was a natural for me to sign up for her courses. It almost cost me admission to law school."

That was about the same time that I, too, had first met Lola Dakota. Maybe her domestic problems had created a change in her nature. I knew that kind of stress could alter a victim's entire personality.

"Second semester, junior year. 'Gotham Government-New York City, 1850 to 1950.' Sounded good to me, and I needed it for my major credits. I worked like a dog on my research paper. It may seem immodest, Miss Cooper, but I hadn't had a grade below A-minus since I started college. I was terrified about getting into a good law school, coming from King's, since it's so experimental, without any record of achievement by its students. All I could do was try to get as close to a four-point-oh grade average as possible, and study hard for my law boards.

"Dakota gave me a D. Only one I'd ever had in my life."

"Shit. I used to go home with one of those every semester. Stood for Damn Good, I told my old man." Chapman was giving her the full press now, putting her at ease, so he could ferret out whatever she had to tell us.

How could I measure her complaint? Every disgruntled student who'd ever fallen short wanted to blame the teacher for the grade. "Did you appeal it?"

"The dean of students almost drowned in appeals from Dakota's classes. She'd pick one or two pets for the semester- usually guys-and the rest of us would struggle to stay on board. We used to joke that she had a twenty-four-character alphabet, which began with the letter C."

Mike leaned forward, one elbow on his knee, supporting his chin in his hand. "Did you know she was in the middle of a pretty ugly marital situation at the time? That her husband had-"

"I didn't know she was still married till I read the story in the obituary. We thought she was having an affair with another faculty member."

Mike stayed focused on Gloria's face. "Who was that?" "Oh, no one in particular. You know how college students are. Anytime we saw two of them together in the faculty lounge, or she showed up five minutes late for class, rumors would spread. Goofy stuff, and we knew it."