by David Gane
“Enough,” I say.
He glares at me, then changes tack. “Do you think Harriet hurt Mike?”
She considers. “I suppose it’s possible.”
“Then why haven’t you said anything?”
“After the last break-in, I moved. Nice place. Anonymous. Underground parking. Security guard at the door. Ridiculously unaffordable on a teacher’s salary.”
“But it’s safe,” I put in.
She forces a smile. “I still don’t sleep much without a sedative.” She pulls out her keys and unlocks the car door, only to turn back. “If you do find out it’s him, be careful. Call the cops. Don’t try anything on your own.” She gets into the driver’s seat. “But if it is him, stop that son of a bitch.”
chapter 107
Statten drives away, and we go back into the school.
I look at my phone. “Dad’ll be here in ten minutes.”
“Perfect.”
The school is almost empty. There are a few stragglers standing in the hallway talking or searching through their lockers for missing homework. We can hear the girls’ volleyball team running laps in the gym, and the band warming up for musical theatre rehearsal in the concert room.
“Where are we going?”
“One last stop.”
I follow Charlie to the far back corner of the school, past the library and the home economics labs. Charlie takes a left and arrives at Mr. Cerva’s art room.
“What are we doing here?”
Charlie pulls out a ring of keys.
I can’t believe it. “You’ve already lifted these off a teacher?”
“Actually, I only need one, and I borrowed it from the maintenance office.”
“Doesn’t matter—!” I’m about to lose it, but he shushes me and opens the door.
We step inside.
“And we’re here because …?” I ask again.
The whole place smells of turpentine and clay. Paintings dry on desks. Most of them are ugly blobs of colour, but there’s the occasional promise of a budding artist.
“First, Cerva’s never around after school. He’s usually one of the first teachers out of here.”
Charlie leads me to a separate office tucked in at the back of the art room. It too is locked, but it seems Charlie’s stolen a master key.
“Second, Cerva’s office provides perfect cover from prying eyes.” He takes a seat at the desk. “Not that it matters, because the maintenance guy in charge of this area is lazy and often skips this room.” He smiles. “Dude’s totally going to get fired.”
Charlie opens up the computer on the desk and starts typing away. “And third, I figured out five of the teachers’ logins by the second day I was here.” The screen bleeps and shows a window of admin folders. “Including the principal’s, Mrs. Johnson.”
I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Every record and interaction between Mrs. Johnson and the school’s teachers, including salaries, performance reviews, and private correspondence.
“Uh? What happened to you behaving yourself?”
“What can I say? You can’t teach an old dog new tricks?”
The mouse hovers over a file marked “Grades.”
“You want a better mark in any of your classes?” he jokes.
At least, I hope he’s joking; I don’t doubt he could do it. “What are you looking for?”
Charlie scrolls through the files until he finds Harriet’s name. He clicks and the screen fills with Harriet’s image, most likely taken for his identification card.
“Always good to have a face to the name,” Charlie says.
I forgot that he had no clue what Harriet looked like.
“Born in ’83. Huh, he’s an Aries. And look at that, he lives only a few blocks from us.” He moves to a tab marked “Confidential.” A long list of communication fills the screen. “Yikes,” he says. “I figured it would be bad, but man, oh, man.”
Every meeting, inquiry, and email is listed, and the subject lines alone are pretty damning. Words like intimidation, harassment, bullying, and cease and desist appear repeatedly.
Charlie scrolls down to the bottom of a page of reports. The first entries seem normal, but then we get to two years ago, and the first mention of Autumn shows up. It’s innocuous to begin with, a request for a meeting, then it slowly escalates and the first mention of a hearing appears.
Something catches my eye. “Can you scroll back?”
Charlie moves down the page, and on the first entry is a familiar name: Rudy Hopper.
“Aha!” he exclaims.
“Our second victim,” I say. “That’s why I recognized his name. He went to our school!”
Charlie opens the file. “He and Harriet got into a fight over extracurricular activities. He wanted out of class early, but Harriet wanted him to stay to do overdue homework. He also said Rudy didn’t have a signed permission slip to leave early. It was eventually resolved when Mrs. Birch gave permission.”
“Birch teaches band.”
Charlie nods and reads on. “Seems like things came to a head when Rudy, who clearly didn’t like being told what to do, called Harriet a ‘three-inch man’ and said he was ‘ugly and venomous like a toad.’ ”
“Wow, Rudy certainly had a way with the insults.”
“Sounds like someone who read a little too much,” Charlie says.
I laugh out loud that he, of all people, would accuse someone of that.
“Harriet freaked, threw a three-hole punch at him, and Rudy reported him.”
“Harriet seems to have some anger management issues,” I say.
“And Rudy’s only the start. There’s a couple more incidents in here.” Charlie goes back to the top of the page and types in “Tyson Martz,” the name of the other victim.
Nothing.
“Damn,” Charlie says. “I was hoping we’d find some commonality.”
“Like that they’re all former students of Harriet’s?” I ask.
He nods, then adds, “But it feels like there’s more to it than just that.”
“I can’t believe I’m about to suggest this—”
“Are you thinking we should take a walk in his neighbourhood?” Charlie asks, scrolling back to Harriet’s home address.
“Yes, I guess I am.”
chapter 108
Charlie and I stay close to home for the rest of the week. There’s no way we’ll get out of the house and not get caught by Mom’s, Dad’s, or Gekas’s watchful eyes, so we decide to not even try.
This does, however, give us time to strategize and consider the challenges. Harriet’s a potential killer, and we don’t know what to expect going into his place. We also don’t know if he’ll be around. From our conversations with Statten and Haley, neither of them has seen him for quite some time, but that doesn’t mean he’s not at home. We spend a few hours on Wednesday looking at a map app and studying the street view, but what we really need is to get on the ground and scout the place out.
I take a strategy out of Charlie’s playbook to get out of the house: we spend all day, every day around my parents, driving them batshit crazy. From Monday until late Friday night, we stick to them like glue. We hang out with them every second we can. Every meal and every homework session is spent hovering in their vicinity. We talk incessantly, telling them every mundane detail of our days. Charlie even has the brilliant idea to have us argue at least once a day. We disagree over who’s supposed to do chores or which movie to watch. Eventually, we get so tired of each other that some of the fights start getting a little too personal, but we don’t care because it’s all for the greater good.
By the time Saturday morning arrives, all of us are ready for a change.
“Tony? Can I trust the two of you on your own for the morning?” Mom asks me at the breakfast table.
“Where are you going? Can’t we come?” I ask.
Might as well take it to the bitter end.
“No,” she says, almost too quickly. “Your dad and I need some alone time. And we’re just going to the farmer’s market.”
“What about Gekas? Won’t she have something to say about that?”
“I left her a message. Unless she calls me back, we’re going.”
Wow, we broke Mom!
“Did I hear ‘farmer’s market’?” Charlie says, appearing at the bottom of the stairs.
“Not for you.”
He looks disappointed, and if I didn’t know better, I’d believe it.
“Fine, but do you mind picking me up some maple mustard? It’ll be amazing for Mr. S.’s pork roast next week.”
They seem convinced that we’re not up to anything, but we continue badgering them for the next half hour. Charlie asks them to buy three more things, and I try to get their opinion on two pairs of shoes I’m genuinely interested in purchasing online. By the time they leave, I wonder if they’ll come back for supper.
As soon as the door closes and we’ve watched them drive away, we head to our rooms. We skip showers today, and dress in jeans and T-shirts, tossing on a couple of ball caps for good measure. We head to the back door, only to find Ollie waiting patiently beside it, red leash in his mouth.
“Sorry, buddy. We can’t walk you yet,” I say.
He doesn’t move.
In the end, I have to tell him “kennel,” and he sulks away, careful to toss a dejected look my way before he lies down in his bed.
We step out the back door and go straight to the back alley.
No one’s on lookout.
“I actually feel sorry for the poor cops who’re now sitting outside an empty house,” Charlie says.
I have to agree. They’re there to keep us safe and we’re ignoring their efforts.
Harriet’s house is two blocks west and three blocks south. We take the back alley as far from my house as we can before cutting back across the empty street.
I’m hoping we don’t accidentally run into anyone we know.
Harriet’s house is on a quiet, tree-lined street. It’s a two-and-a-half storey character home, grey with red trim, and there’s a tall fence skirting the perimeter all the way around.
“Let’s try the alley,” Charlie says.
We move down the block to the end of the street and trek back down the narrow gravel lane.
“Really private people always seem to build tight, high fences, or slap a garage across their entire lot to feel super secure,” Charlie observes.
“I’m guessing you’ll say none of it keeps criminals out?”
“Actually, no, it does a pretty good job. Most petty thieves are looking for a quick in-and-out. The more effort required, the less interested they are. Of course, if they really want in—”
I realize what he’s about to say. “They have perfect cover.”
“Exactly. Any place can be broken into, and turning your yard into a fortress with high walls that block your neighbours’ sitelines only helps hide anyone who really wants in.”
We come to a grey garage with red trim matching Harriet’s house. “And as luck would have it, we really want to get in.”
He steps up to the garage door, pushing it on the top and bottom, and jamming his fingers beneath to give it a tug. “Pretty solid. Must have a garage door opener. That’d deter maybe half the riff-raff.”
He moves to the small fence gate on the side. It’s about seven feet tall and built solid. “Man, Harriet put some effort into this place.” He peeks through the cracks between the wood, whistling. “Thick wood panels, double-locked gate, welded metal frame.” He steps back, studying the construction. “Damn, he even put those pigeon spikes at the top to keep people from climbing.”
I look up to see long sharp rods pointing from the top of the fence. “It’s like he built it just to stop you,” I kid.
“There’s no way we’re going over,” Charlie says, ignoring me. “Tight-knit community. Big windows on everyone’s houses. I have no clue how we’re getting in.”
Suddenly, I’ve got the solution. “Leave this one to me.”
chapter 109
I convince Charlie to follow my lead, and we go back around the front and stroll up the walkway.
“Ah, the frontal assault,” Charlie mumbles under his breath. “You better know what you’re doing.”
“Trust me. Just be ready to pop some locks.”
I knock on the front door, taking the opportunity to spy through the window and study what I can of the layout. The front porch is open, clear glass windows letting the light spill inside. There’s a second door into the house, but its window is frosted, and thick white curtains cover the front windows of what I’m guessing is the living room. I search for a hint of movement, waiting a few seconds before knocking again.
Nothing.
If anyone’s here, there’s a reason they’re not answering.
Charlie and I go down the steps and follow a path around to the side, where we find another gate. And, just as I hoped, the security is more lax. It’s not as tall as the alley gate, though its latch is padlocked.
Charlie already has his kit out of his backpack and nonchalantly works away at the lock while I keep watch. It takes him only seconds to get it open and we slip into the backyard, closing the gate behind us.
There are no easy access points along the side of the house. The basement windows are barred and the ones on the first floor are too high.
We go into the backyard.
“Those are some nice-looking crabs,” Charlie says, nodding at the row of trees along the left side of the property. “They’re called Spring Snows. They produce some really pretty white blossoms mid-season.”
I glance at the trees he’s pointing to, then swing my head back to look at him, raising an eyebrow. He’s picking locks and talking blooms. Will I ever get used to this?
“Shut up,” he retorts, though I haven’t said anything.
Along the right side of the house is a low flowerbed filled with wild ferns and perennials that are starting to pop up in the fresh spring dirt, not to mention assorted weeds, some brown and dry from the fall.
“Harriet hasn’t been looking after his backyard,” I note.
The rest of the yard is paved in patio stones, except for a nicely built wooden deck off the back doors. A brick firepit stands in the centre, and there’s a wood stump pulled up beside it.
Someone calls out, “Excuse me. Can I help you fellas?”
We turn to see an older man hovering over the fence above the flower bed. Either he’s a giant or he’s standing on his deck or a stepladder. However he’s doing it, he’s got a clear view of everything going on in his neighbour’s backyard.
“Go work on the door,” I whisper, and Charlie gives me a look like Are you crazy?
“I got this,” I whisper.
“Hey there,” I say, turning to the man, trying to sound as ordinary as I can. I walk over and reach up to offer my hand. “My name’s Anthony Shepherd.”
Charlie might be critical of the use of my real name, but it’s got to be better than flubbing my way through some made-up one.
I dig into my wallet and pull out one of the business cards that Irene’s given me to sell their services. “I work for Two Ladies and Your Lawn. We do house-watching and maintenance for homes. Just checking in on one of our clients.”
The old guy takes the card and scrutinizes it.
I force myself to stop talking—as Charlie says, less is more.
The guy looks at me, then Charlie, then the card, then back to me. He’s already made up his mind about us, and now we just have to wait and find out what he’s going to do.
“And you say you work for the fella that lives here?”
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“Well, I work for the house maintenance company, but, yes, he hired their service,” I lie.
He flips the card over, like he expects it to tell him whether or not to believe me, before studying the phone number again. “And what’d you say your name was?”
“Anthony Shepherd.”
The neighbour seems satisfied, and I think we’re all good, but he pauses. “I suppose you won’t mind if I give this number a call and ask about you?”
Shit.
“Sure, no problem. Better safe rather than sorry, right?” I say, forcing a smile that I think will tear my cheek muscles, I’m straining so hard. “Be sure to ask for Barb or Irene.”
The old guy nods, and I think he’s going inside to call when he looks at me. “You mind if I ask you another question?”
“Sure!” I say as cheerfully as I can, feeling the sweat roll down my back despite the spring breeze.
He pauses for a moment and I expect the worst. “Do you know if the fella here is okay?”
Not what I expected. “What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well, the way he’s been— Well, he’s been acting a tad worrisome.”
I really wish I didn’t have to dig so hard to get answers.
“Oh?”
“Putting the house on the market, then off the market, then sitting back here and burning stuff—”
“Burning stuff?” I look over my shoulder at the firepit and that lone stump of a seat.
“Hell, he gets the fire right hot. Flames shooting high as a man.”
What are you burning, Harriet?
The neighbour is staring at me, wanting some sort of reassurance about me and my so-called client.
“Well, you know, what with the divorce …,” I say, hoping that’s enough, but by the look on this guy’s face, it isn’t.
I continue, “He’s been taking things pretty rough.”
That’s one way to describe it.
The old guy’s nodding like he’s starting to believe what this teenager is telling him.
“Well, yup, I s’pose so, poor fella. Hope he sorts things out.”
He gives a wave and disappears into his house.