by S. B. Cody
“Yeah. It’s a little high up, but I climbed up on the urinals and was able to squeeze out.”
“What did you do once you got out there?”
“I ran back to the rally point and joined the other classes there.”
“So there would be others that could verify that you were there.”
Dennis’s eyes popped open and he began to bite his lips at the realization that they may suspect him. Even just a bit. “I… I don’t know. I didn’t really talk to anyone. I just sorta joined the crowd.”
“Okay. Well we have some security footage. Would you mind looking at it and pointing yourself out?” Kara asked.
Dennis nodded and then watched as the clips ran. Once he saw himself going into the bathroom, he told them so. From there, Kara and Brody wished him a good day and gave their cards in case he had anything else to share. He took it, jammed it into his pocket, and rushed from the room. Kara and Brody both laid their heads down on the table, grateful that their day of interviews had finally come to an end.
“I swear to God that I am never stepping foot in this room again,” Brody groaned.
“So are you just never going to interrogate anyone again?” Kara said with a laugh.
“I’ll do them in the damn shitter if I have to, but this room is evil.”
“Well, let’s not get too comfortable. We need to convene now,” Kara said as she stood and gathered her materials.
“Please. Just five more minutes,” he whined.
“Now,” Kara said, kicking one of the legs of his chair. Brody stood, gathered his own things, and then stumbled out of the room. They headed to the conference room where a host of other officers waited, having conducted some of the interviews themselves.
“So,” Kara said as she walked in. “Anything worthwhile?” One by one the officers went around and recounted the highlights of their interviews. By and large everyone told the same thing. Some kids gave some basic descriptions of the shooters. Most of it boiled down to average height and weight. In other words, nothing to go on. Some students did offer their own theories on who was responsible.
“Any names that popped up more than once?” Kara said, realizing that she was grasping at straws.
“One name that came up a few times was Dennis Clements,” one of the officers called out. “Several kids described him as being quote, ‘creepy as fuck,’ ‘a fucking weirdo,’ and ‘a total whack job.’”
“Well that just about cracks the case,” Brody said. Still, the name stood out.
“Anything else?” Kara asked. Some mumbles and shaking of heads indicated that there wasn’t. “Okay then. Leave the tapes here. Good work everyone.” All the officers deposited their recordings on the table and then filed out. Kara and Brody began organizing and packing it all up when Charles, the officer who had been manning the front desk walked in.
“Detectives, we have someone here to see you,” he told them.
“We don’t have any more scheduled for today,” Brody told him.
“It’s not one of your witnesses. She says her name is Sharon Handel. Says she’s with the Black Lives Matter Chapter. She was wondering if she could just have a few minutes of your time.”
“Send her back,” Kara said in exhaustion. Charles left to go get her.
“But we were done!” Brody said while pretending to cry.
“It shouldn’t take long. We at least need to hear what she has to say.” Sharon Handel walked in, dressed in a finely pressed suit. Her jet black hair hung down straight from her head. She stood in the doorway and smiled.
“Thank you for seeing me, detectives,” Handel said.
“Please have a seat, ma’am,” Kara said. All three of them took a seat around the table. “So what can we help you with?”
“It’s our understanding that you met with Denise Liman the other day,” she said.
“We can’t really discuss an ongoing investigation,” Brody told her.
“Well, she informed us that you did. And I just wanted to make something clear. Despite her appearance at our rally the other day, we do not condone the comments that she made. We did not know that she was going to say such things, and if we had, we never would have allowed her to speak. Those views are not shared by our movement or our organization.”
“We understand that,” Brody said.
“Good. We don’t want anyone to think that we had anything to do with that senseless tragedy. The very thought that our rally may have delayed a police response makes us sick. And if there is anything we can do to assist in this investigation, we are happy to help.”
“We appreciate that,” Kara said. “Is there anything else you may need?”
“No, ma’am. That’s all I needed. Thank you.” Sharon Handel got up and walked out of the station. As they are wont to do, several reporters hung around the front hoping that they would catch any updates as soon as they were made available. Sharon Handel thought nothing of this at the time, but she would soon wish she had. The reporters out there noticed her exit the station and couldn’t help but begin to speculate about her possible reason for being there. Could she be a suspect? Was there a connection between the rally and the shooting? Of course, they didn’t have any answers to these questions, but in the age of a twenty-four-hour news cycle, only the question was needed. By the morning, all outlets had reported Sharon Handel’s presence at the police station. The talking heads on Fox, CNN, and MSNBC examined this small bit of news from every possible angle. Could the shooting have been revenge for the death of Noah Spaulding? Could the rally have been scheduled for the purpose of delaying the police? And from here the social media activists jumped on the story and began inserting their views. Whether any of it was true mattered very little. It had become what everyone believed.
16
“You go in and take a seat. We are going to have a talk,” Julie told her son as she ushered him into the house. Right away, Brian could see outrage painted on her face.
“What’s going on?” Brian asked, walking into the living room.
“Why don’t you ask your son how the interview went,” Julie said, her gaze directed entirely at Terry.
“Jesus, Mom. It’s not a big deal!” Terry yelled.
“Hey! Watch your tone,” Brian told him.
“It is a big deal. You lied to the police! And you lied to me!” Julie yelled back.
“What is she talking about? Someone please tell me what’s happening,” Brian insisted.
“Terry told us that he left class to go to the bathroom and headed outside as soon as the lockdown was called. But that’s not what really happened.”
Brian, typically very stoic, morphed his face into one of restrained rage. “What did happen then?” he asked, trying to keep his tone in check.
Terry hesitated but finally said, “Johnny and I were skipping class to go smoke. I had left the building before the lockdown was ever called.”
“Why would you lie?”
“I knew I’d get in trouble for skipping class.”
“And for smoking.”
“Yeah and now you are in trouble,” Julie said, her voice getting louder with every syllable.
“Really, what are you going to do? Arrest me? Shoot me?!” Terry yelled back at her.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“That’s what the police do, right? Shoot kids that look like us?”
“Terrance! Watch how you speak to your mother!” Brian yelled.
“That isn’t fair, and you know it,” Julie said to her son. “And that has nothing to do with it.”
“Sure. Brush it under the rug,” Terry snapped.
“Do you think for one second that I’m okay with what happened to Noah Spaulding? It makes me sick to my stomach. I would have no problem with that idiot being locked up for shooting him. But that’s not my call! I work every day to make sure those kind of things don’t happen. So don’t lump me in with those trigger-happy assholes!” Julie typically made it a point not to curse or
yell in front of her son, but she had lost control now. It broke her heart that her son would say these things, much less think them.
“Whatever. I’m getting the hell out of here,” Terry said, heading for the door.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
“Over to Johnny’s.”
“Oh I don’t think so! Come back here right now!” But by the time Julie had finished her sentence, the door slammed shut. She headed towards it, wanting to get her son back.
Brian’s hand descended on her shoulder. “Let him go. We all need time to cool off,” he told her.
“Brian, he lied to us. He lied to the police. You can’t tell me for one second that you’re okay with that.”
“Of course I’m not. But yelling at him isn’t going to change anything.”
“For God’s sakes. Thanks for the support.” Julie turned her back and headed upstairs. She went right into Terry’s room. She knew now that he was smoking. God knew what else. She began to rummage around his room, kicking aside dirty clothes that were strewn all over the floor. Looking under the bed that had been littered with trash. She went over to his dresser and opened up the top drawer. It had been filled with a random assortment of pens and various knick-knacks Terry had collected over the years. Along with a pill bottle filled with marijuana. That only captured her attention for a moment because underneath it was a familiar red pamphlet. She picked it up to see “Stanford Society of Police Accountability” plastered on the front. She’d seen them around town while on patrol. Julie picked it up and went through it, reading their mission statement. The line that most caught her eyes read, “We will meet violence on our people with violence. We will make them feel our pain.” Julie’s stomach dropped at that. Does Terry actually believe this? she thought. She never had any delusions that she was a perfect parent, but until this moment, she’d never felt like she had failed him. She’d always taught him that violence solved nothing, but apparently she hadn’t taught it well enough.
As Julie reeled from what she’d just found, a small thought passed through her mind. It sat there for only the briefest of moments, but thoughts, especially the dark ones, often act like a virus. It latches on and refuses to let go. It may lie dormant for weeks, days, and years, but it is always there. And it begins to multiply and infect us and all that we do. For the briefest of moments, Julie wondered if Terry may have had something to do with the shooting.
17
While Stanford may not have been a small town such as Mayberry, in the age of social media it may as well have been because stories from the shooting had spread like wildfire in only a couple days. One of the most popular stories was that of the young teacher, Kristin Benson, who had led her students into the line of fire, getting two of them killed. Some lamented how she must feel. Some damned her, blaming her for those deaths. All were fascinated by it. For that reason, the first interview would be a huge story, and every reporter in town wanted it.
Some well-placed sources revealed that Kristin was completing her stay in the hospital. Kyle Brennan, the same reporter who had called Connor, stalked the halls, looking out for Kristin’s room. On the second floor he came across it.
Inside, Kristin threw on her jacket, getting ready to leave. Beside her, Diane stood, with the look of concern that hadn’t left her face since she first learned of the shooting.
“Do you want to grab something to eat on our way home?” Diane asked. She had insisted that Kristin stay with her for a few days. She felt pleased when Kristin agreed without argument.
“No. I just want to go home,” Kristin whispered. She hadn’t said anything above a whisper the last couple days. She appeared as though she had aged twenty years in that time. Her brown hair was now streaked with bits of gray. Crow’s feet formed around her eyes. Kristin headed towards the door, her shoulders hunched. Her eyes and cheeks were a dark red from the tears she had cried during her police interview this morning.
Kristin hadn’t been happy to hear that her mother had scheduled it but understood that it needed to happen. When the two detectives had entered, she refused to even look them in the eyes. Brody and Kara took a seat next to Kristin’s bed and spoke in hushed tones, not wanting to upset what was clearly a troubled young lady.
“We’re detectives Morgan and Smalls,” Brody told her. “We just want to get some information from you. It shouldn’t take long.” Brody looked at Kristin with a kind face that had a small but unmistakable bit of love in it. Kristin looked to him what he imagined Mandy would look like had she been given the chance to grow up. He needed to hold back tears as he spoke to her. “Does that sound okay?” he continued.
Kristin merely nodded.
“Okay. Please tell us what happened.”
Kristin looked away, staring at nothing for a couple minutes before she began speaking. “My second period had just started. The call for lockdown came on. My room was only a little ways down from the exit, so I decided we’d leave the building. I started pointing the kids out of the room and towards the door. They were going. They were almost all out when something happened.” At this point, Kristin broke down and began to sob into her hands. No one said a word. They let her cry, which she did for two straight minutes before she started trying to speak again. From there her words came in hard gasps.
“Is there any way we can do this later?” Diane asked.
Brody opened his mouth to respond when Kristin finally regained control long enough to say, “No. I want to get this over with.” Everyone in the room nodded and then looked down at the ground until she spoke again. “I wasn’t even sure what happened,” she continued. “Suddenly there was a loud bang inside my ears and two of the students dropped to the ground. And then I had red all over me, and then… and then… I’ll be behind you. I’ll be behind you,” she began to repeat again. Those words then gave way to deep heaves.
Brody and Kara looked at each other and nodded. They both stood and Brody offered a polite, “Thank you for your time.” The two left the room as Diane stood and wrapped her daughter in a deep hug.
An hour passed before Kristin felt ready to leave. Diane opened the door for her and Kristin headed into the hall, head sunk down. Right outside the door, Kyle Brennan waited for them.
“Kristin Benson?” he said, leaping out in front of her. She jumped, almost falling back into the room. “Name is Kyle Brennan. I’m with the Stanford Tribune. I was wondering if I might have a few words with you.” Kristin stared at him in shock as though he had just threatened her.
“Leave my daughter alone!” Diane yelled as she edged her way out and pushed Brennan back. “Who the hell do you think you are?! Leave my daughter the fuck alone!” Diane screamed.
“Please, I don’t mean any harm. I just want a couple minutes of your time,” Brennan pleaded.
“Mom. What’s going on?” Kristin asked, not able to make any sense of the situation.
“Hey!” a voice called from down the hall. “What’s going on?” Everyone turned to see a security guard hustling down towards them. Diane took advantage of the distraction, grabbed her daughter by the arm, and escorted her away. On their way through the halls and the parking lot to the car, people stole glances at Kristin followed by whispers. Her image had been circulated enough by now that there were few places she would be able to go in town without being recognized. She did nothing but look at her feet the entire way. She continued to during the car ride.
Diane let her be and didn’t attempt to say anything until they got home. Once they walked in the door, she said with some hesitation, “Honey, why don’t I make us something to eat and we can sit down and watch a movie?”
“No. I want to lie down,” Kristin said. Diane started to protest, wondering how Kristin could possibly still want to rest after all that time in the hospital but then thought better of it. Kristin headed back towards her childhood bedroom. She pushed open the door and looked at what lay before her. Multiple shelves lined end to end with books. Photos of her with her
friends taped to the walls. Right now it all meant nothing to her. The only thing that interested her was the bed which she headed towards. She wrapped herself in her blanket and promptly cried herself to sleep.
Later that day, Kara and Brody took up residence in the interrogation room once again. This time, Johnny Lemming sat across from them. They both felt glad that they got turned onto Johnny in the first place. With him not showing up on attendance, they would have missed him on the security footage altogether. He leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling as though two cops weren’t trying to ask him questions.
“Johnny, would you mind, son?” Brody said.
“Uh-huh,” Johnny replied, coming back to the ground.
“So we understand that you chose to skip second hour yesterday. Terry Lipton told us that the two of you planned on leaving school to go smoke?”
“Gonna arrest me for that?” Johnny said as he drummed his knuckles on the table.
“Why didn’t you get counted as absent?”
“How the hell should I know? Attendance probably hadn’t been entered.”
“Terry also said that he never saw you out there,” Kara said.
Johnny just shrugged.
“So where were you?” she asked.
“How long is this going to take?” Johnny responded, ignoring the question.
“Until you answer all our questions. So where were you?”
“I ducked into a classroom during passing time so no one would see me ditch. Heard the alarm, so I hid out in there.”
“You were on the ground floor. Why not slip out the window?” Brody asked.
“For all I know, someone was waiting out there to pop me.”
“Let’s see,” Brody said as he brought up the security footage. “When you see yourself, let us know.”
Johnny stared on at the images with a glaze over his eyes. After a few moments, he elicited a sound to indicate that he’d seen himself on screen. Kara and Brody looked on, seeing that Johnny really did hide away in a classroom as he’d told them. Fast-forwarding to the end of the shooting, Johnny was seen escorted out of the same room by a policeman.