by Grant Pies
The woman held up a finger and took her hand off the phone’s mouthpiece. “No, sir,” she said. “Yes … okay. Thank you.” She hung up. “Vice Principal Hatley is going to come out to see you. You can have a seat over there.” She pointed to a row of chairs against one wall.
A short time later the door to the back offices swung open and a man in a fitted navy suit emerged. A smile stretched over his face. The type of smile reserved for lawyers or politicians. His tan leather shoes were polished to a bright shine, and his necktie was a stylish skinny tie made from a thick woven wool.
“Mr. GQ,” Sam whispered under his breath. Carter nudged him.
“Gentlemen.” The man stuck his hand out. “I’m Vice Principal Brian Hatley.” Carter shook his hand. “I understand you have some questions regarding a student’s schedule?” Hatley asked, like he hadn’t just been told it was specifically for Rose.
“Yeah, Rose Bishop. We’ve been hired by her parents to look into her disappearance.”
Vice Principal Hatley clenched his teeth and breathed in quickly. “So, you aren’t here in an official capacity?”
“Well, we are officially here on behalf of Rose’s parents,” Carter said. “But, no, we aren’t police officers if that’s what you mean.”
“It is what I mean. We can’t give out a student’s information to strangers. It’s a security issue, you understand?”
“No, I don’t understand. Security? The student whose security you’re worried about already went missing. Last seen at your school I might add.”
“Yes, but it’s protocol. My hands are tied. I’m sorry.”
“Protocol? We were hoping to find out more about Rose. Friends she had, study groups, that sort of thing. Speaking to her teachers would really help us. But to do that, we need her schedule.”
“I understand Mr. Carter. But, like I said, we can’t give out information about a student’s schedule. Surely, the police report mentions what they found?”
“The police report is pretty … bare,” Carter said.
“Really? Well they questioned quite a few staff members here. I’d think all of that would be in there.”
“Who was it they questioned?” Carter asked, but immediately knew he wouldn’t get an answer.
“You’d really need to ask the Chicago Police Department for that info.”
Sam paced near the front desk, hovering near the secretary, his hands clasped behind his back. He stopped when he reached a bookcase in the corner and ran his finger along the spines. He pulled one of the books off the shelf. It was the most recent yearbook.
“You mind if we borrow this?”
“No – no.” Brian stumbled just the slightest bit over his words. “I-I wouldn’t mind, but what for?”
“Just for investigative purposes. You never know what might jump out at us,” Sam said. He reached in his pocket, and Carter knew he was about to pull out a cigarette, but then he seemed to remember where he was and pulled his hand out again.
“Here’s our card,” Carter said. “Can you call us with any information you may have? Well, information you feel you could share.”
“Sure.” Vice Principal Hatley flashed a nervous smile and stuffed the business card his pocket. Hatley ushered Carter and Sam towards the exit.
“Oh, one other question.” Carter turned back to Hatley. “I was talking to Rose’s mother about the charity that paid Rose’s tuition here … the uh…” He feigned a memory lapse.
“Wave Education,” Hatley said.
“Yes! Wave Education.” Carter snapped his fingers and looked at Sam. “Like the ocean. Do you know how many other students have a scholarship from them? We were just wondering because Sam here has a daughter, and they’ve been looking into scholarships and that sort of thing.”
“I really don’t know. You’d have to take that up with them, I suppose.”
“Right, right, I should have guessed you’d say that. Thanks for seeing us.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Sam was less capable of hiding his sarcasm. “I’ll make sure to bring the book back real soon.”
Sam slammed the yearbook on the hood of the car and opened it to the back. Running his finger down an index of all the students’ names, he said, “Bishop … Adam. Hope. Rose. Here, Rose Bishop. Page twenty-four and sixty-eight.”
Carter stood behind him and hovered over his shoulder as he flipped through the book. The heavy winds pushed his coat against his body and tossed his hair in his face. “I didn’t much like that guy,” Carter said. “Just another person who would rather this thing go away.”
“I didn’t much like him either, but I never much liked anyone that worked school administration. Here she is.” Rose’s picture was a small square on a page with forty other freshmen.
“What about the other page?” Carter asked.
Flipping, Sam said, “Someone’s lying. We have the police report, and it doesn’t have notes from any teacher interviews.”
“We have the police report that Claire gave us,” Carter said.
“What’s the motive there, though?” Sam looked up from the yearbook. “Hire us, pay us, but don’t give us the full report? Makes no sense.”
“She hid the pregnancy from us. I wouldn’t put much past her at this point.”
“But Robert saw what report she gave us. They’d both have to be in on taking stuff out. It doesn’t seem like they are in the business of keeping secrets together, mainly from each other.”
Nodding and rubbing the back of his neck, Carter said, “Yeah … you’re right.” He paused and looked blankly at the empty parking lot of St. Mary. “Then it’s Hatley or the police that are lying.”
“Something sure stinks, that’s for sure,” Sam said. “Here, page sixty-eight. Photography club.” Rose posed with eight other students in a classroom.
“There’s Mike.” Second from the left, just behind Rose, smiling awkwardly. “Who’s this guy?” Carter pointed at a teacher who posed with the students.
Sam ran his finger to the small print at the bottom of the page. “Mr. Orcheck.”
“Lemme see.” Carter grabbed the book and pulled it close to his face. Squinting at the classroom door in the background of the photo, he said, “What’s that look like to you? Room seven two zero?”
“Shit, don’t make me get my glasses out and look like my old man.”
“Room seven twenty. Let’s give it a shot.”
Their feet thudded on the scuffed tile floor of St. Mary. As they walked, Carter used his phone to search “Wave Education.” The first result was for West African Vocational Education. After that another charity in Vietnam. Surfing schools and a gardening class offered in upstate New York in a place called Wave Hill. Nothing that seemed like the charity Claire talked about.
“Here.” They’d reached room seven twenty. Peeking through the narrow window on the door, he saw a man grading a stack of papers. He knocked and opened the door at the same time. The man looked over. Round glasses framed his face, his salt and pepper hair parted cleanly to one side.
“Can I help you?”
“Mr. Orcheck?” Carter took one step into the classroom.
“Yes?”
“My name is Will Carter and this is my partner Sam Murphy. We’re investigators looking into the disappearance of Rose Bishop.” Carter watched Mr. Orcheck’s face, looking for that masked reaction, the twitch that showed he knew something about Rose.
Nothing.
“Come in,” Mr. Orcheck said. He stood from his desk and reached out to shake their hands. “It’s such a sad thing, isn’t it?”
“Yes, yes,” Carter said. “Very sad, Mr. Orcheck.”
“Oh, call me Dennis. It’s been a while since she went missing.” He walked around and leaned on the edge of his desk. “Two months isn’t it?”
Holding up the yearbook, Sam said, “We saw she was in the photography club.”
Dennis nodded. “Yes.”
“You were in charge of that club?” Carter slowly c
ircled the room, taking in anything of interest. He walked up and down the rows of desks, running his fingers across each one.
“Yes. I teach English, but photography is my true passion. It’s always been a hobby of mine, and I like to see the students discover their talent.
“What can you tell us about Rose?” Sam asked. He opened the yearbook to the page with the photography club photo.
“Well.” Dennis looked down. “She was … quiet. Not really the most popular kid. She seemed to only hang out with one other student.”
“Who would that be?” Sam asked.
“Mike Mason.”
“This him?” Sam handed Dennis the yearbook and pointed at Mike in the group photo. Carter walked up the last row of desks. Running his hands across a desk in the back of the classroom, he felt words carved into the wood. VP Hatley Sux Dick. A swastika carved next to it.
“Yeah, him.”
“No one else?” Carter asked. He glanced around the room. A camera on a tripod sat in the corner. “No boyfriend or anything?”
Dennis looked at Sam and then Carter. “No. No boyfriend.”
“You sound sure about that,” Sam said.
“Well, no, um, you know, I’m not sure, but I guess I just assume.” Dennis stood, walked back behind his desk, and sat down. Carter had read about interrogations, things people did when they were hiding something, like placing an object between themselves and the interrogator.
“Why would you assume she didn’t have a boyfriend?” Carter asked.
“Oh – uh – I don’t know. Just didn’t seem the type.”
“You mean the dating type?” Sam asked.
“No, I don’t know about the dating type, but I meant she wasn’t the social type. That’s all I mean. I saw her with Mike, that’s it. Not even other female friends.”
“What about enemies?” Carter asked. “Anyone who picked on Rose, or that Rose may have had a fight with?”
“Like I said, she kept to herself. She liked chess. I know that. But she was so introverted she’d only play solo.”
“Solo chess?” Sam asked.
“Yeah,” Orcheck said. “You play against yourself. It’s a way to build up your skill. She was a pretty good opponent.”
“Good opponent? So you played her in chess?” Carter asked.
Dennis swallowed. “Well yes, but only a couple times. I won once and she won once. That’s about all the interaction I had with her.
“Where’d you play?”
“Oh, just outside in the courtyard.” Mr. Orcheck nodded out the window of the classroom.
“Just two games of chess? That’s all the interaction you had with her?” Carter asked.
“Mm-hmm.”
“What about the photography club?” Carter said, nodding his head at the yearbook, leaning against one of the desks in the front row of the classroom.
“Oh – well – yes. I meant aside from photography club. Just the two games of chess. I’d talk to Mike Mason. He probably knows more about her personal life.”
“We did speak to Mike,” Carter said.
“Oh! What did he say?”
“Do you know of any other teachers who may have interacted with Rose outside of normal class hours?” Carter asked, ignoring Dennis’ question. “Other clubs? Maybe a teacher that helped her with her class work after school? That sort of thing.”
“No” Dennis shook his head.
“That your camera?” Carter asked.
“Yes.”
“Mind if I see some of your work?” Carter asked.
“Um, well, you can’t see my work. It’s film.” Dennis walked over and picked up the camera. “Not digital. See?” He handed Carter the camera. “I prefer film. I like to develop my own photos. It’s the purest form of photography. No photoshop or anything.” He smiled and took the camera back.
“Old fashioned.” Sam smiled. It didn’t look natural on him. Maybe his mouth was so used to always holding a cigarette that smiling had been phased out of his expression repertoire.
“Yeah, old school,” Dennis chuckled and set the camera back on the tripod. “I wouldn’t be caught dead shooting on digital.”
“Well maybe another time,” Carter said.
“Sure. Once a semester we have a little art show with the students’ photographs, and I bring some of my own. You should come by.”
Carter nodded. “Well thank you for your time, Mr. Orcheck,” he said, reaching out to shake the man’s hand.
“Dennis, please.” He shook Carter’s hand. “It’s no trouble. I wish I could have been more help.”
Carter handed Dennis his card. “If you think of anything, please give us a call.”
“Oh, PI’s. You’re not cops?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, no. I just thought you were cops.” Dennis smiled and shoved the card in his pocket. “I’ll make sure to call if anything comes up.”
“Oh,” Carter said, turning around just outside the classroom door. “Did the police speak to you? You know, back when Rose first went missing.”
“Sure. They talked to all of her teachers.”
“You remember who it was that talked to you?”
“Hmmm. Let’s see…” Dennis looked down and rubbed his chin. “It was a detective … big, you know.” Dennis held his hands out, mimicking a fat man. “Detective Sharp, maybe. Not sure.”
“Okay, thanks for your time.”
They left and retraced their steps out to the parking lot.
“Is it just me or does everyone at this school give you the creeps?” Sam said.
“Did you see how relieved he was when he saw we weren’t cops?” Carter asked. “Like his face lit up.”
“Yep.” He pulled out a cigarette, cupped his hand around it and lit the tip. “And he was prying when you mentioned Mike.” In a high-pitched mocking tone, he said, “What’d Mike say?” Then in his normal voice said, “Like we’re gonna tell you anything.”
The two men got into the car. Carter sat still and sighed deep.
“What’s that for? We’re getting somewhere.”
“Are we?” Carter said, pressing his elbow on the car door and resting his head in his hand.
“We’re circling something. I feel it,” Sam said, blowing smoke until it filled the car.
“You’ve gotta smoke those things non-stop? Christ!” Carter waved his hand in front of his face. “Start the fucking car so I can roll the window down!”
Sam turned the key in the ignition and sat the yearbook in his lap. Carter rolled his window down, breathing in the clean air from outside.
In the distance, dark clouds gathered. Sam let the car idle as he flipped to the back index of the yearbook, ran his finger down the list of names until he landed on Dennis Orcheck.
“Let’s see what else this guy does around this school.” He flipped through the book, stopping at a page with Orcheck’s posed picture, likely the same picture used for any professional matters. ID card. School website.
He flipped more pages.
“Holy fuck! What the—?”
“What?”
“This.” Sam pointed at the book. A black and white photo of Dennis Orcheck standing in front of a strip center, several students on each side of him. All smiling and wearing the same t-shirt. St. Mary of the Lake Chess Club.
“I don’t get it,” Carter said.
“Fucking chess club! The payphone!” Sam tapped the picture with his finger. “The building in the background. It’s the building by the payphone I went to check out.”
“The one that called Rose’s cell phone?” Carter asked, a smile stretching across his face.
“That payphone!” Sam said, smiling too. He put the car into gear and took off.
Lessons on the Joy of Solitude
Carter leapt from the car before Sam could put it in park and jogged across the parking lot of the small strip center on South Cicero Avenue. The payphone stood at the edge of the parking lot. All color had faded from
the box surrounding the phone, and the metal was rusted.
“It’s locked!” Carter rattled the doors of the Chicago Chess Club. He cupped his hands around his face and tried to peer through the glass. There were only a handful of card tables scattered around and chairs stacked in a corner.
“Carter, look! This is definitely it!” Sam shouted. Carter walked over to Sam, who held the yearbook in front of his face. The book was lined up to the exact angle of the photograph. “See? You can see the coin laundry sign poking into the picture right there.” He pointed to the right edge of the photo.
“Yeah, yeah,” Carter said, looking at the photo in the book, and then the building, then back to the book. “Hey! Excuse me!” Carter shouted over the sound of traffic rushing by the strip center. He waved at a teenage boy sitting on the sidewalk outside of El Groucho’s Tacos. The young man was looking down at his phone, scrolling with one hand and pinching a hand-rolled cigarette in the other. “Excuse me?” Carter said again and walked towards the young man.
“Yeah?” He looked up and squinted, holding his hand over his eyes to block the sun peeking through the gray clouds.
“You work here most days?”
The boy looked Carter up and down. “I guess so.” It was a vagueness Carter was used to. A non-answer that only said ‘I don’t trust you. I don’t trust anyone.’ A mindset too familiar in the city, but one Carter couldn’t hold against anyone.
“You know how often they meet here?” Carter pointed at the empty chess club.
The boy turned to look over his shoulder. “Eh, I see ‘em here maybe once a week.”
“You know what days? Is it regular?”
“Dunno.” The boy tapped his cigarette, dropping ash onto the black asphalt. Sam stepped up behind Carter. “Maybe Thursdays … I think.” He wrinkled his forehead and thought for a moment. “Yeah, Thursdays. Trash days. My boss asked them to park somewhere else, cuz they kept blocking the dumpster.”
Carter turned from the boy and flipped through his notes, stopping at the page with the information from Rose’s secret cell phone. The call that came in one week before she went missing was made on the 15th. He scrolled through his phone’s calendar, going back a few months.