Document of Expectations

Monday, 10:15 a.m.

39 prescription but not the latter. as long as she could watch squirrels and birds at their feeder while she typed and could spot elk and deer on her hikes, she could handle her department. or so she told herself. “You do too much,” renell told her. “You should lay off writing for a while and rent dirty movies. enjoy life.” “can’t,” roxanne replied. “i don’t know how to sit around and do nothing . i need to work hard. tony and i are alike. We have to work.” “and notice that your department hates you both,” renell told her. monDaY, 10:15 a.m. “chair fhardt,” said monique as the two detectives entered mark fhardt’s office. they got comfortable in the soft leather chairs reserved for guests. “i’m wondering,” monique began as she took out her pen and the sponge Bob pad. “How long have you been chair?” “about six years.” fhardt considered leaning back in his lounge chair and propping up his feet like he did when students and faculty came to talk to him, but thought that the detectives would view him as arrogant. so he sat straight and leaned forward. “Do all faculty members have leather furniture in their offices?” monique asked. “no. Just me. i’m the chair, you know.” “Did you pay for it?” asked clarke. “for what?” since fhardt offered the possibility of answers to two questions monique said, “Both.” perspiration erupted from fhardt’s forehead. “the chair has a yearly stipend to buy research materials.” He looked from one detective to the other. “You know, photographic reproduction, books, uh . . . travel to collections.” “and how much do chairs get?” “Well, it varies from department to department, but here the administrative stipend over my regular professor’s salary is $75,000.” monique almost choked on her spit, but continued. “and what would you get if you weren’t chair?” 40 “With the merit increase this next year, i think around $194,000.” the two detectives sat still. they didn’t clear fhardt’s salary between the two of them. mark fhardt smiled nervously. “it’s a big job, being chair. i have to oversee a lot of business and a lot of people. plus there’s my research.” He twiddled his thumbs while trying to justify his annual take. “there’s lots of research expenses. uh, like publishers require that authors send two copies of a submitted manuscript. You know, to send out for review. and there’s postage.” “and that costs a lot?” she asked calmly. “Well, no. not really.” He realized the idiocy of what he’d said: copies were about five cents per page and the department paid for postage. “uh, but i can purchase extra bookcases or a new computer. and i have travel funds to go to libraries.” “and to the Bahamas?” “no, that’s my money.” monique continued to stare at him. When she questioned a person she listened with full attention even while jotting notes. she heard everything. then she gestured around at his vast personal library. “so what books up there are yours?” she asked. “chairs are chosen because of their expertise in the field, right? How many have you written?” mark had only written one slim monograph; actually he had co-authored it and on the shelf it looked like a child’s Little Golden Book. “uh, i wrote a book called Pot Shards in Ruin #24 at Hawikah.” she didn’t change expression. “sounds enlightening.” fhardt’s cheeks flushed. He knew he was basically a non-scholar and groped around for something easy to write about, but he managed to keep that from students. fhardt’s brown-nosing and political connections, including agreements with the most powerful members of the faculty had gotten him to where he currently sat. in just two words the detective had sarcastically summed his career. “You know about archaeology?” he hoped she did not. “some. How did you get your job?” monique asked again. “You can’t buy jobs here.” fhardt laughed nervously. “i was appointed.” “a political appointment.” “no, it’s uh, it’s uh . . .” often, interrogations take place in a stark room 41 at the police station that is designed to make the person being questioned feel vulnerable and more likely to talk. Bare walls, nothing on the table, and doors that lock from the outside are supposed to give control to...