Campus!
“Classy place,” Bernice murmured as they parked their car. “How did Oswald afford this on a government salary?”
“Fair question.” Inquisitors didn’t starve, to put it mildly, but something like Mantuxet College was a bit beyond a government employee’s wallet. The campus had an antique, but well-scrubbed look: weathered stone buildings and plenty of greenery everywhere. Most of all, it felt pristine. The FI’s records hadn’t shown an outbreak at Mantuxet in over sixty years; it had even managed to get through the bad old days without being burned down once.
“This looks like just the sort of place you’d want to stash your kid, isn’t it?” Greg went on, as the two walked down a sidewalk that had never even seen concrete. “Supposedly our Charlie is a scholarship boy, though. Got a full ride, and all the trimmings.”
“Nice for him.”
“Yes and no,” Greg said, knocking on the door of the dormitory. “That kind of ride comes with some obligations.
“Hi, ma’am!” he said to the old woman opening the door. “I’m Inquisitor Gimbal with the FI, and this is my partner, Inquisitor Jones. We need to speak to Charles Feeney. It’s rather urgent, I’m afraid.” That got him — a generic scowl, he decided. FI men (and women) were rarely warmly welcomed on college campuses. It wasn’t a ‘I’m going to enjoy ritually backstabbing you’ scowl, though, and that was the important thing.