Golden in Death

by Robb, J. D.

  “Grange, former headmaster, either decided to take another job in the middle of the school year or was nudged out. Rufty, spouse of the first vic, came on and clamped down. Some weren’t happy about it. Second vic’s the spouse of a teacher who complained about Grange, and who transferred to Columbia. But he and Rufty got along fine during the term they worked together. Rufty states there were rumors that Grange had an affair—either with staff or daddies. Her husband filed for a divorce about the same time. We’ll be jawing with him, too.”

  McNab gulped down his own fizzy. “Are you looking at her—Grange?”

  “She’s in East Washington. We’ll check her travel, though it’s a doable drive. But nothing in her background shows an affinity for chemistry. Her ex—that would be second ex—is the CEO of All Fresh, and that’s a lot of chemistry.”

  The Theresa A. Gold Academy rose five weathered brick stories. Security cams winked over its double entrance doors.

  Eve pulled into a loading zone, flipped on her On Duty light.

  “School’ll be out for the day.” McNab stood on the sidewalk, studied the building. “That’ll make it easier.”

  “Have you ever been in a school after hours?” Callendar asked.

  “I guess, yeah.”

  “Creepy.” And she grinned. “I can dig on creepy.”

  “They board,” Eve added. “Top floors are dormitories. They have some administrative staff round the clock.”

  She approached the door, tried it, found it locked. She considered mastering in just for the hell of it, but hit the buzzer instead.

  Welcome to the Theresa A. Gold Academy. Regular school hours are eight A.M. to three P.M., Monday through Friday, with specialty classes from nine A.M. to two P.M. on Saturday. Lectures and performances are listed on the website. If you are here for an after-hours appointment or visit, please state your name and the party with whom you wish to meet.

  Eve thought: Blah, blah, blah. “Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. We’re here on police business. You can inform whoever’s currently in charge.” She glanced at her PPC as the warrant came through. “We have a duly executed warrant to enter and search.”

  Please wait one moment while Assistant Headmaster Myata is informed.

  It didn’t take much longer for the doors to release and open. A small, trim Asian woman with a wedge of raven-black hair held out a hand as delicate as a bird’s wing.

  “Lieutenant Dallas. I’m Kim Myata, assistant headmaster. Headmaster Rufty contacted me to let me know to expect you. Please come in.”

  The impressive entrance bore a large gold seal centered in the white marble floor. Two security stations flanked it. The ceiling soared up five floors with a stained-glass dome.

  One wall held an enormous glass case displaying a multitude of awards. On another a life-size portrait of the benefactor and founder loomed.

  To Eve’s eye Theresa A. Gold, dead for a half century, looked pretty damn formidable.

  Despite the grandeur, white marble, gilt frames, glittery gold behind glass, it still smelled like school.

  Sweat, fear, hormones, secreted candy.

  Eve had never been fond.

  “We’re all grieving with the headmaster,” Myata continued. “We are ready to help and cooperate with your investigation into this tragedy. I hope I haven’t overstepped by accessing the records Headmaster Rufty informed me you needed.”

  “We can take it from there. Are they in his office?”

  “Yes. I’ve kept his office locked until he contacted me regarding this. I have his passcodes, as he has mine. Dr. Rufty also informs me his daughter found a tablet you wish to have. She is bringing it here for you.”

  “We can have it picked up.”

  “I believe she’s already on her way.”

  “Fine. EDD can take it when she gets here.”

  “I’ll see to it. Is it possible to have a copy of the warrant, in case there are legal issues?”

  “Peabody.”

  “I’ll print it out for you.”

  “Thank you. Please come this way. Most of the day students are gone for the day,” she continued as she led them to the left and the glass-walled administration department. “We do have a few students doing projects, with supervision. The boarding students are restricted to the fourth and fifth floors unless they have permission to leave the premises or work on a project.”

  She swiped a card.

  There was a long counter, currently unmanned, several seats in a waiting area, and a pair of workstations. “The headmaster’s office is this way.”

  Eve imagined students called it the Walk of Shame, the Gauntlet, or some other colorful term, that trudge down a hallway, past doors, into the depths and the quiet.

  Again, Myata used a swipe on the door with the plaque that read: HEADMASTER MARTIN B. RUFTY.

  He had a generous space, a window with the privacy shields engaged, a desk facing the door holding a multiline data and communication center, a couple of framed photos—family—interesting glass paperweights anchoring actual paper. Shelves of books, a huge corkboard holding announcements and playbills—theater, concerts, lectures, science fairs, career day, and so on.

  He had live plants that appeared to be thriving, a small refreshment center, and a tiny sitting area that looked cozy rather than intimidating.

  “If there is anything more I can do…” Myata broke off, and her eyes filled. “Pardon me. I was very fond of Dr. Abner.”

  “Were you here when Dr. Rufty came on as headmaster?”

  “No. I was honored to join this administration two years ago. Dr. Rufty is an excellent headmaster, an excellent educator. We have suspended classes tomorrow in honor of Dr. Abner, and will take the students who wish to attend to his memorial.”

  “I’m sure Dr. Rufty will find that very comforting,” Peabody told her.

  “I hope he will. I have left the records you need on his unit. I understand you may look for others. Or need to take the unit. He has given his permission for this. Is there more I can do, Lieutenant?”

  “Actually, yeah. I’m going to let EDD take this. Why don’t you give me a tour?”

  “Of course. I would be happy to show you our school. We’re very proud of it.”

  “Great.” Eve sent a silent signal to Peabody. “My partner could take a look at some of the classroom areas. I’d like to see the labs.”

  “Of course. Which labs would you like to see?”

  “Chemistry. Let’s start there.”

  “These would be on the third floor. There are elevators—”

  “We’ll take the stairs,” Eve interrupted. “Get a better sense of the place.”

  “In addition to our administration offices,” Myata began as she led the way, “we have our physical education center and an auditorium on the main level. We also have classrooms for grades kindergarten through six and a cafeteria.”

  They started up steps worn by decades of feet. “On this level, classrooms for grades seven through twelve, our computer labs, a second cafeteria, a teachers’ lounge, study hall, our library—both digital and traditional—and our music room.”

  And all with the big, echoing feel of a building after business hours. Student artwork adorned the walls as well as school announcements, posters for the spring musical, the spring dance, the spring concert. Slender lockers painted alternately in what she deduced were the school colors—navy and gold—had swipe locks.

  “I’ve heard of the school you and your husband will open—soon, I think.”

  “Looks like next month. It’s really his deal.”

  Myata smiled. “It’s a good and generous thing, to provide a safe place to learn, to socialize, to become. I teach math skills on the main level, to second and third graders. It’s very rewarding.”

  “I thought you were administration.”

  “Yes.” They started up to three. “It’s our policy, one the headmaster implemented, that those in administration also teach at least one class every term. Dr. Ruf
ty himself teaches U.S. history and cochairs our debate team. How can we administrate if we don’t also educate?”

  Righting the ship, Eve thought. Hands on the wheel.

  “You admire him.”

  “Very much. Here on this floor we have more classrooms, science labs, computer science labs, our visual arts area, a small library-slash-reading room reserved for upperclassmen.”

  She paused. “We even introduce the lower grades to chemistry, in the classroom. Very basic introductions to experimentation and reactions. Like … baking soda and lemon juice. Such things that are very safe, very simple, and can be done with little hands.”

  “I’m more interested in the labs, the advanced programs.”

  “Because of how Dr. Abner was killed.” Obviously struggling with distress, Myata nodded. “You have to look for answers. I can only say no one in this school would wish Dr. Rufty harm, and by harming his husband, they would harm him.”

  “No issues, no problems, no disagreements?”

  She smiled again, just a little. “It’s academia, Lieutenant. There will be drama and spats. We deal with children, more drama, more spats. But the tone comes from the head, doesn’t it? In here, the headmaster. We’re encouraged to listen to each other, to resolve our disagreements, and to always put the students first. It’s a good place.

  “But you wish to see the chemistry labs, and I see Mr. Rosalind’s doors are open.”

  They moved down the hallway, paused outside the open doors. Eve saw a tall black man in shirt and tie, wearing gloves and an eye shield, standing at the work counter next to a kid of about sixteen with a lot of tangled red hair and freckles.

  Like Myata, Rosalind wore a black armband.

  “Next step, Mac.”

  “Um.”

  “Follow the protocol.” He nodded when the kid picked up a bottle. “And what is that?”

  “It’s, um, hydrogen peroxide. Um. Thirty percent hydrogen peroxide?”

  “That’s right, and what’re you doing with it?”

  “I’m, um, you know, gonna pour it into the other bottle.”

  “How much of it?”

  The kid bit his lip, looked over at the screen. “Fifty milliliters.” With the care of a boy making a boomer, Mac poured the solution into an opaque bottle, breathed out.

  “Now?”

  “It says to cap it—with this?”

  “That’s right.”

  “He’s so patient,” Myata murmured as Rosalind nudged the boy to what looked to Eve like a tea bag.

  “Talk us through it, Mac.”

  “Okay, um, I’m opening the tea bag, and taking the stuff—”

  “What stuff?”

  “The, you know, tea stuff.”

  “Leaves.”

  “Tea leaves out of it. Then I need to put the, um, the po—po—”

  “Read it on screen.”

  “Yeah, um, the potassium iodide into the empty bag.”

  “How much?”

  “Um, a quarter tablespoon.”

  “Measure it out.”

  Eve figured she’d have wanted to stun herself by this time, but Rosalind stood, at his ease, as the boy painstakingly measured, added.

  “Now I gotta, um, tie it closed, but there has to be enough of the string thing to hang over the lip of the bottle. Right?”

  “Exactly right. Do that.”

  He might have been tying a couple of poisonous snakes together, but Mac finally managed it.

  “Do I go ahead and open the bottle now?”

  “That’s right. Make sure you point the bottle away—safety first, right, Mac?”

  With his teeth digging into his bottom lip, the kid angled the bottle away, uncapped it. Spotting the women at the door, Rosalind winked.

  “Final step, Mac.”

  “I gotta put the tea bag with the potassium iodide in the bottle with the peroxide.”

  “Slowly.”

  Glaciers moved faster, Eve figured.

  When the bag finally hit the peroxide, a big cloud puffed out of the bottle. The kid grinned as if he’d just split an atom or something, and his teacher grinned with him.

  “That’s so mega, Mr. Rosalind.”

  “Yeah, it’s frosty all right. Now, I want you to write out the experiment, what you used, what steps you took. Then explain what reaction took place. Go ahead and take your tablet into the lounge and get started. Mac, gloves and goggles,” he added as the boy grabbed his tablet.

  “Oh yeah.” He stripped them off, put them in labeled bins. “Thanks, Mr. Rosalind. Hey, Ms. Myata.”

  Myata stepped in as Mac rushed out. “Is Mac still having trouble with his labs?”

  “He gets flustered, and does better one-on-one. I don’t see a budding scientist in him, but he’ll do all right with the course. Hello.” He walked over, offered Eve his hand. “Ty Rosalind.”

  “Lieutenant Dallas.”

  “Ah.” His smiling greeting faded. “Kent. We’re all still reeling.”

  “You were friendly with Dr. Abner?”

  “I was, yes. I talked him into speaking with some of my advanced students who planned to go into medicine. He always made the time.”

  “How long have you taught here, Mr. Rosalind?”

  “Thirty-seven years. And one more if we count my year as a teaching assistant.”

  “So you were on staff when Lotte Grange was headmaster.”

  “Yes. Martin is the fourth headmaster I’ve worked with.”

  Martin, she noted, not the formal Headmaster Rufty.

  “Dr. Rufty implemented a lot of changes when he took over.”

  “Yes, he did. I’m sorry, would you like to sit down? Kim, I’ve got some tea bags with leaves still in them.”

  “Oh, thank you, but perhaps I should leave you to talk. I can wait in the teachers’ lounge until you’re ready to go back down, Lieutenant.”

  “I can find my way back, thanks. You’ve been very helpful.”

  “If you need me for anything else, I’m available. I’ll see you in the morning,” she said to Rosalind.

  “Interested in one of those tea bags?” he said to Eve.

  “Not even a little.”

  But she walked in and took a good look around.

  12

  A good, organized space with a desk in the far front of the room, an old-fashioned blackboard behind it. Numerous counters and workstations, screens, comps, stools instead of chairs.

  Beakers, vials, bottles, portable heaters for experiments.

  “You’re well equipped in here, Mr. Rosalind.”

  “We are. This is one of three chem labs. We have a smaller one on this level for advanced chemistry. Students need to qualify to take that course.”

  “Do you teach that, too?”

  “I do.”

  “Who orders the chemicals, the equipment?”

  “As senior in the department, I requisition administration. You think someone from the school did this to Kent? The reports weren’t specific, but made it clear a chemical agent was used. I’m going to sit if you don’t mind. I’ve been on my feet most of the day.”

  He lowered to a stool, sighed. “Without knowing what was used, I couldn’t tell you if such a thing could have been created here.”

  “You stock toxic chemicals?”

  “We would certainly have the ability to create them. Even with something as entertaining as the cloud effect—the oxygen release—I had Mac do, you see we take precautions. And all the chemicals, even something as basic as this hydrogen peroxide, would be locked up before I leave. The lab is also locked when not in use.”

  “Why don’t you tell me where you were the night before Dr. Abner was killed. Just to tie that off.”

  “The night before. That’s easy. My wife and I were at my son’s for dinner, and to celebrate our oldest grandchild’s birthday. She’s fifteen. Actually, Meris is a student here.” He smiled. “And barely got through Introduction to Chemistry. She’s more interested in theater—and is starrin
g in the spring musical. She had rehearsal after classes, just as she does today, so I actually waited, took her home, met my wife there. I don’t think we left until about ten-thirty.”

  “And then?”

  “Well, we walked home, Lilliana and I. It was a nice night, and it’s only a handful of blocks. Plus.” He patted his stomach. “Birthday cake. I graded some papers in bed while Lilliana read. It was probably lights-out by eleven-thirty.”

  “Okay.”

  “I consider Kent and Martin friends. Considered Kent a friend.” He looked toward the windows, toward the sky of tender spring blue. “Kent and I often ran together on weekends if we could mesh our schedules.”

  Now Eve sat. “Tell me about Lotte Grange.”

  He sighed again. “Thirty-seven years, four headmasters, so many students I’ve watched come in as hardly more than babies and leave as young men and women. It’s still satisfying to me to help someone like Mac, who’s so easily distracted, so unsure of himself, find some moment of triumph and fascination with science.”

  “I could see that for myself. But that’s not about Grange.”

  “In a way it is. Every headmaster sets a tone, leaves a mark, has a vision. She was ambitious, and why shouldn’t she be, and initially I thought her ability to court deep pockets could only benefit the school. She wasn’t an educator, or was no longer interested in being one, and that sets a tone, doesn’t it?”

  “You tell me,” Eve countered.

  “Yes. She was solid as assistant headmaster—not like our Kim, who’s a treasure, but solid. And initially, when she took over, she seemed steady enough. But it didn’t take long before that changed, in my opinion.”

  “In what way?”

  “The focus on those deep pockets took over. If a student had those pockets behind him or her, it became clear there would be little to no consequences for poor behavior, for missed work, poor grades. Factions often form under such a tone. Action—or inaction—and reaction. Some students—often ones like Mac—were cornered, humiliated, ganged up on with impunity. Or a pretense of disciplinary action.”

  He angled his head. “You don’t seem surprised by this. You know all this already.”

  “Did you know Jay Duran when he taught here?”