Duncomb thought the walk between the athletic center and the library was a good location. It was nearly a quarter of a mile long, with a wooded area along one side and, for about half the stretch, a road on the other. Even better, it was not as well lit as it could be, which made it a prime spot if you were a would-be rapist. One of the three women who’d reported being grabbed said she’d been attacked along here.
Duncomb wanted Michael and Phil to walk back and forth between the two buildings, one going one way, one the other. He ordered Allan to wander the wooded area. And Duncomb would be in a car parked alongside the path, where he had a reasonably good view of everything. Plus, he’d be on the phone at all times with Joyce.
Once everyone was in position, Joyce entered the athletic center. The plan was that she would stay there about five minutes, then come out and start walking in the direction of the library.
“Okay,” she said, standing in the center’s foyer. “I’m coming out.” She had a long-strapped purse slung over her shoulder, one hand planted inside it, resting on the gun.
“Got it,” Duncomb said. From his car he saw Joyce come out the front doors and head west, or left, toward the library a quarter of a mile away. “I see ya. You’re looking good. You know, you could easily pass for nineteen or twenty. You know that?”
“So you’ve said,” Joyce whispered, her head down, not wanting it to be obvious that she was talking to anyone. An attacker might be deterred if he thought Joyce was already on the phone with a person who could send help.
“I’m just saying, you keep in shape. I bet your husband appreciates it.”
She’d thought about going to the college’s human relations department and filing a complaint about Duncomb. Thackeray had a sexual harassment policy, which was brought in years ago to keep professors from jumping on their students, but it applied across the board. Even though the policy, which was there for everyone to read on the college’s Web site, stressed that no individual’s employment would be placed in jeopardy by lodging a complaint, she knew the real world was very different. Sure, she might be able to keep her job, but would she want it? It was a small department, and everyone in it was male except for her. Whenever Joyce thought of Michael, Allan, and Phil, what came to mind was Larry, Darryl, and Darryl, the backwoods clowns from that old TV show. She’d have a hard time building a case without their support. She’d broached the subject once with Allan, after Duncomb had asked her what she thought about something he called “the lifestyle,” which evidently was a fancy name for swapping spouses. Joyce had said, “Not much.” She decided to talk to Allan about it, given that he was the only one on the team who seemed to have an IQ higher than a pomegranate’s. He’d said Duncomb was just goofing around, that she shouldn’t take him so seriously.
“You there?” Duncomb said. “You’re not saying anything.”
“I heard you, Clive,” she said.
There was a male student coming from the direction of the library. Black, six-foot-six, thin. Wearing jeans and a gray school hoodie that zipped up the front. The hood was down and his head was held high.
“Got someone coming my way,” she whispered.
Their paths crossed. He kept on walking toward the athletic center; she continued on to the library. There was another young man headed her way, but it was Phil.
“Rrruffff,” he whispered as he passed.
She didn’t want to make a show of turning around, checking behind her, but she couldn’t resist. She wanted to make sure Michael was back there somewhere. Joyce did not see him.
“Where’s Michael?” she said.
“He’s around,” Duncomb said.
“Yeah, well, is he around somewhere near me?”
“Where are you, anyway? I lost you where the lights are spaced too far apart.”
God, Joyce thought.
“I’m almost to the library.”
“Oh, yeah, I see you.”
“I’m going in for five minutes, then coming back out.”
“Got it. Remember, if you have to tinkle, I can hear everything.” Duncomb chortled.
She entered the library, and there was Michael, talking to two girls by the counter.
“I found Michael. He’s hitting on a couple of students. You want to give him a call and tell him to do his fucking job?”
“I’ve got him on walkie-talkie. Who are the girls?”
“How would I know?”
As she passed Michael, she heard the small radio clipped to his jacket squawk. “Gotta go, ladies,” he said. “Gonna catch me a rapist.”
Joyce took the elevator to the second floor, wandered through the stacks for a few minutes, then took the stairs back down. “Coming out,” she said quietly.
“Gotcha,” Duncomb said.
Strolling back to the athletic building, she crossed paths with Michael and Phil. Saw three girls walking together, briskly, to the library. A boy and girl leaning up against a lamppost, making out. She encountered half a dozen male students coming her way, but none tried anything.
Five minutes at the athletic building, then back to the library. Approaching, together, were Michael and Phil. Chatting, glancing back and forth at each other.
“Jesus, Clive, Darryl and Darryl are walking together, not split up!”