Mutation

“Darryl thought you should know,” Colleen added.

“Did he find bogus orders?”

“No,” Colleen said. “That’s what makes it so weird.

Receiving got the equipment. It just never went to the department that was supposed to have ordered it. And the department in question never said anything because they hadn’t placed the order.”

“So Gephardt fenced it,” Victor said, amazed. “No wonder his attorney was so hot to cut a deal. He knew what we would find.”

Angrily, Victor remembered that the note around the brick referred to a deal. In all likelihood, Gephardt had been behind the harassment.

“I assume we have the bastard’s telephone number,” Victor said with venom.

“I guess,” Colleen said. “Should be in his employee record.”

“I want to give Gephardt a call. I’m tired of talking through that lawyer of his.”

On the way back to the administration building, Colleen had to run to keep up with Victor. She’d never seen him so angry.

He was still fuming as he dialed Gephardt’s number, motioning for Colleen to stay in the room so she could be a witness to what was said. But the phone rang interminably.

“Damn it!” Victor cursed. “The bastard either is out or he’s not answering. What’s his address?”

Colleen looked it up and found a street number in Lawrence, not far from Chimera.

“I think I’ll stop and pay the man a visit on the way home,” Victor said. “I have a feeling he’s been to my house.

It’s time I return the call.”

When one of her patients called in sick, Marsha decided to use the hour to visit Pendleton Academy, the private school that VJ had been attending since kindergarten.

The campus was beautiful even though the trees were still bare and the grass a wintry brown. The stone buildings were covered with ivy, giving the appearance of an old college or university.

Marsha pulled up to the administration building and got out. She wasn’t as familiar with the school as she might have been. Although she and Victor had made regular Parents’ Day visits, she’d met the headmaster, Perry Remington, on only two occasions. She hoped he would see her.

When she entered the building she was pleased to find a number of secretaries busy at their desks. At least it wasn’t a vacation week for the staff. Mr. Remington was in his office and was kind enough to see Marsha within a few minutes.

He was a big man with a full, well-trimmed beard. His bushy brows poked over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses.

“We are always delighted to see parents,” Mr. Remington said, offering her a chair. He sat down, crossed his legs, and balanced a manila folder on his knee. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m curious about my son, VJ,” Marsha said. “I’m a psychiatrist and to be honest with you, I’m a bit worried about him. I know his grades are good, but I wondered how he was doing generally.” Marsha paused. She didn’t want to put words into Mr. Remington’s mouth.

The headmaster cleared his throat. “When they told me you were outside, I quickly reviewed VJ’s record,” he said. He tapped the folder, then he shifted his position, crossing the other leg. “Actually, if you hadn’t stopped by I’d have probably given you a ring when school reopened. VJ’s teachers are also concerned about him. Despite his excellent grades, your son seems to have an attention problem. His teachers say that he often appears to be daydreaming or off in his own world, though they admit if they call on him he always has the right answer.”

“Then why are the teachers concerned?” asked Marsha.

“I guess it’s because of the fights.”

“Fights!” exclaimed Marsha. “I’ve never heard a word about fights.”

“There have been four or five episodes this year alone.”

“Why hasn’t this been brought to my attention?” Marsha asked with some indignation.

“We didn’t contact you because VJ specifically asked us not to do so.”

“That’s absurd!” Marsha said, raising her voice. “Why would you take orders from VJ?”

“Just a moment, Dr. Frank,” Mr. Remington said. “In each incident it was apparent to the staff member present that your son was severely provoked and that he only used his fists as a last resort. Each incident involved a known bully apparently responding childishly to your son’s . . . er, uniqueness. There was nothing equivocal about any of these incidents. VJ was never at fault and never the instigator.

Consequently, we respected his wishes not to bother you.”

“But he could have been hurt,” Marsha said, settling back in her chair.

“That’s the other surprising thing,” Mr. Remington said.

“For a boy who doesn’t go out for athletics, VJ handled himself admirably. One of the other boys came away with a broken nose.”

“I seem to be learning a lot about my son these days,”

Marsha said. “What about friends?”

“He’s pretty much of a loner,” Mr. Remington said. “In fact, he doesn’t interact well with the other students.

Generally, there is no hostility involved. He just does ‘his own thing.’ ”

That was not what Marsha wanted to hear. She’d hoped her son was more social in school than at home. “Would you describe VJ as a happy child?” she asked.