Hangman's Root by Susan Wittig Albert Page A

as faiUng to pay your last sixteen parking tickets. If you are, they hold you for ransom until you fork over what you owe.
    I have no sticker, but today it didn t matter. The kiosk was closed in recognition of the fact that all the paying customers had gone to the beach. I breezed through, made my usual right at the top of the hill and then down and across Pecan River, which flows, cool and green and lovely, through the middle of the campus. I found a spot in the almost-empty parking lot behind the pink-brick behavioral sciences building where McQuaid has his office. McQuaid's blue Ford pickup was parked in the lot. I made a mental note to drop in and see him when Dottie and I were finished, and headed for the Noah Science Building, which is located between the Behavioral Sciences Center and the river.
    Noah's Ark is the building that's slated to come down so that Castle's Castle can go up. It's one of the original campus buildings, named for Mildred Noah, a popular science teacher of the 1920s. Although the Ark is unquestionably inadequate, a lot of people feel nostalgic about it. Its high-ceilinged, wooden-floored classrooms remind them of a time (long ago and far away, like a fairy tale) when teachers thought it was important to talk to students and students thought teachers had something to say. Others are worried that the sprawling, modernistic complex that's proposed for the site will have a negative effect on the river's fragile ecosystem. Backed into a corner by the preservationists, the environmentalists, and the Humane Society, the CTSU regents had put the Castle on indefinite hold. There was no telling when, or even if, they'd approve the new complex.
    Following Dottie's instructions to come in through the quad entrance, I walked around the building. The long, narrow quad was not nearly as deserted as the parking lot. A sizeable crowd

    "fS Sudan Wittig Albert
    was gathered in front of Noah's Ark under a large banner proclaiming "People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals." Most of the demonstrators carried signs, and several wore animal costumes. I saw an orange Garfield, a couple of gray Snoopys, and one unfortunate white rodent, hung up by the hindquarters in a wooden A-frame. On the frame was a sign that read "Hang Harwick Instead" and another that said "Don't Cast Me in Your Experiment!"
    Amy Roth, holding a megaphone and wearing her PETA button, stood on the steps of Noah's Ark. She was not the diffident, hesitating young woman who had come into Ruby's shop on Tuesday morning in search of her mother. She looked sure of herself, authoritative, in command, like an antiwar activist from the sixties. I realized that she must be the PETA organizer.
    I came up the steps. "Hi, Amy," I said.
    She handed me a clipboard with a petition on it. At the top of the petition was handwritten, in large red letters, STOP SENSELESS MURDERS! "Your signature on this petition can help us keep Dr. Harwick from killing helpless—" She recognized me and broke off. "Oh, hi," she said, in a smaller voice.
    I was relieved when she didn't apologize for thinking I was her mother. I glanced at the demonstrators, who were starting to chant on a cue from a kid wearing a "Save the Whales" T-shirt. "Isn't it kind of a waste to hold a rally during spring break? You don't have an audience."
    "Are you kidding?" Amy pointed at a TV cameraman I hadn't seen. "The local ABC affiliate is here to cover the regents' meeting. We figured it'd be the best day to demonstrate, so we got a permit."
    I had to grin. "Sounds like you play all the angles."
    "Animals can't talk," she said fiercely. "Somebody's got to tell their side of the story. Somebody's got to say that animals aren't simply 'resources' to be used up and disposed of. They're living individuals. They deserve respect."

    I looked at the rodent hanging helplessly in the A-frame. "You're protesting Harwick's experiment?"
    She nodded shortly. "That, and the science complex." She waved at a "Preserve