Professor Gene Banks appeared five minutes later. In his early fifties, he had a closely cropped gray mustache and beard, but still a full head of hair, which he kept on the long and wild side. His rimless glasses were a nice touch. He looked like a man who lived with books during the week, but who knew how to party on the weekends. Although he was just of medium height and build, he nevertheless filled the room. He had a bounce to his step, an energy in his voice. As he escorted his male student to the front door, he was upbeat about how the guy would finish his paper before the coming Monday. The young man seemed to appreciate his confidence. Finally, with the guy gone, he turned to Kelly and offered his hand.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “If I can have just two minutes with my family, I’ll make you wait no more.”

“No problem,” Kelly said.

He ushered his son and wife into the hallway but left the door open. Kelly could not hear what was being said but they laughed easily together. It made her long for the idyllic days she used to have with Tony. Banks knelt and hugged his son, and the boy brightened. Naturally, it caused her think of her own daughter. She made a mental note to call Anna when she left the building. Tony and she could not divorce; they still had too much good left between them. Maybe they could get counseling. She could work fewer hours. Banks and his wife enjoyed a long lingering kiss.

Two minutes later Kelly sat in his office, which overlooked the center of campus. A herd of students dashed from one class to the next, but she found the view serene. His office had charm: a wall of books, a Matisse print on the door, a plant climbing a wooden statue of a Greek god, just one computer, plenty of pictures of his wife and son. She used to have such an office.

Banks quizzed her briefly about her literature and FBI background before they moved on to the matter at hand. Professor Shelly must have called him again after she had left the department head’s office. Banks knew more than he should have. He chewed on a point Professor Shelly had let pass.

“Why would the FBI send an agent all the way from L.A. to investigate someone in Ohio?” he asked. “Why not use a local agent?”

“The case that brought me here concerns a very delicate matter.”

He considered for a moment and then smiled. He did not believe her but was too polite to say so. She did not blame him; after all, she was lying. He spread his hands.

“Tell me what I can do for you,” he said.

“Professor Banks,” she began.

“Gene, please. We have a common background.”