I spent a while reading through the Anti- Bullying Policy, which was created by Governor Chris Christie in 2011. Known better as the Anti- Bullying Bill of Rights, it was created as the toughest in the nation to protect students from all forms of harassment, intimidation, and bullying. Its intention was to strengthen procedures for preventing, reporting, investigating, and responding to incidents of HIB: harassment, intimidation, and bullying. Based on the amount of bullying Esteban had done alone, I thought, I can’t imagine what Klein had to deal with on a daily basis. Frankly, I was seriously beginning to ask myself how much Klein actually cared.
THIRTY ONE
Knowing Lindsey was on her way home I gave her a call. She had gone out to a late lunch after school with a couple of co- workers.
“Hey,” she said as a greeting. “How’s it going?”
“It’s going. Just at a dead end. I went over to School 5 and spoke to their principal. I talked to Fitzy and gave him a few things to look into after paying Esteban’s house a visit.” She was surprised at all I had done in one day.
“What was Esteban’s house like? That must’ve been interesting,” she said.
I filled her in on my interesting experience at the Machado/Cruz household. “Did you know how many kids she has?” I asked.
“I can only imagine. I know of Esteban, his older brother in jail, and the younger twins. Don’t tell me there’s more,” she said.
“She rambled off the names and I couldn’t even keep up. Let’s just say she’s got enough to play a two- hand touch game against the Jets.”
I had asked her if she knew anything about Barry Klein but she had never met him before. I asked her what else she could tell me about Garvey. Lindsey didn’t tell me anything that I already didn’t know. I ended the call, figuring she’d be home soon.
Over the years she filled me in on Garvey’s background. How he’d taught middle school social studies in Cherry Hill, New Jersey and had two adolescent boys. Garvey’s wife divorced him three years ago after she found intimate texts and saved voicemails from another woman on his cell phone. He now lived in a two- bedroom apartment in Montclair with a golden retriever named Biscuit. Lindsey was convinced Garvey had more photos of the dog in his office than of his kids. People have strange priorities. Lindsey told me a laundry list of stories about Garvey as a principal. Like most bosses in any profession, Lindsey agreed with just as many decisions he made as she disagreed with but thought highly of the man. He was well- respected by the rest of the staff, mostly made up of women. Despite his personal marital choices.
I heard Lindsey open and shut the front door above me. The thumps of her feet led me to believe that she was heading to the basement stairs to join me. She gave me a kiss and leaned a hand on my shoulder as soon as she entered the room. We chatted about her outing with her co-workers but I had a different question for her. “How is Garvey with the kids?”
She didn’t respond right away. She sat on the futon behind me and kicked off her shoes. “Well, he preaches consistency with the teachers and enforces the rules as much as the next principal but he’s not very consistent at all. He seems to favor the boys in the school more than the girls, which annoys the hell out of all the female staff. I’ve noticed lately that he makes a lot of false promises. Says he’ll do something with the kids or buy something for the school or say he’s going to punish a kid for breaking a rule but never does it. That’s what really gets me about him. And despite his personal appearance, Garvey runs a pretty tight ship. Surprisingly organized.”
“That’s surprising because he reminds me of a bag of wet lasagna noodles.”
Lindsey laughed.
“What do you mean when you say he ‘favors the boys?’ In what way?” I asked.
I could hear her giggle again. “Not in the way you’re probably thinking. He just doesn’t seem to punish them as often or as severe. He seems to pay them a lot more attention. It’s just weird, now that I think about it,” she said.
That got me thinking. Garvey’s relationship to the boys? Was it sexual or strictly plutonic? “How was he with Esteban?” I asked.
“He took a liking to Esteban, you know, but, again, not in the way you might think. He always asks me if Esteban can help him set up chairs and tables for assemblies, run special errands for him. That sort of stuff. I could tell it bothers the other kids in class because they would always say it’s not fair, which I would agree with. And most of the other kids would behave so much better. They would see helping Garvey as a special reward and that in itself would be motivation enough for them to behave in class and get their work done. Esteban would fight or not do his class work and still get to help. We always treated being a helper as an earned privilege or reward.” I could sense the strain in her voice.
“Does he do that with any of the other kids?” I asked. I was beginning to think that Garvey was just as strange and shady as Klein appeared to be. Was one more so than the other? While Lindsey told me that Garvey selected a few other kids but he seemed to go to Esteban more often than anyone else, I Googled ‘Glen Garvey- Bergen County Special Services.’ The link to his homepage popped up and I clicked on it. It wasn’t too much different from Klein’s homepage. The same cliché- riddled mumbo jumbo about caring for the success of the kids. However, Garvey’s picture didn’t grace the homepage. Probably better off. Probably figured no picture would be a bigger selling point to districts looking to send their kids to the school than having those potential sending districts see his chubby mug plastered all over the webpage.
“A few. He negatively rewards some of the more poorly behaved kids in the school. Kind of goes against what he preaches to us and is the first to reprimand any staff that attempts to do the same thing.”
“Was Garvey still there when you left?” I asked.
“Yeah, he usually stays ‘til about four. Sometimes five.”
“Good. I’m gonna pay him another visit.”
I minimized my Google search to come back to later on. We went upstairs and into the kitchen, giving Esteban’s records another once over. For what reason, I don’t know. The layout of paperwork was reminding me of the thousand- piece puzzles I used to do as a kid. Can’t help trying to find another piece every time I walked by the table. And I was determined to find the missing piece.
THIRTY TWO
Garvey was gone by the time I arrived back at Right Step. The janitor that buzzed me in said I had missed him only by a few minutes. I had no idea what kind of car he drove so I couldn’t cruise the streets in hopes of stumbling upon him and follow him home. I’m an investigator not a stalker.
I returned home to find Lindsey curled up on the couch reading a book on her Kindle. She had the television on in the background, set at a low volume, just as white noise to keep her company. We sat together on the couch for a while. She let me turn the volume up on the television and put on sports news to keep me in the loop with the important stuff. Before we realized, it was pushing six thirty and we still hadn’t had dinner yet.
Lindsey went into the kitchen to start boiling water for the pasta while I went out on the deck to fire up the grill for the chicken breasts. I returned to the kitchen to season and wrap three ears of fresh corn in tinfoil to cook on the grill. Lindsey had soaked the chicken breasts in a garlic and herb marinade before she went to work this morning so they’d be primed and ready for the grill. My iPod was connected to the portable docking station on the counter. We ate in moderate silence, letting Jack Johnson mellow us out with his melodic and tranquil rhythms. He always made us both wish we were on a tropical island with not a care in the world to weigh us down.
We went to bed not too much past ten, after watching a few of our favorite television shows. Lindsey was able to fall asleep almost instantly while I needed the background noise of the ten o’ clock news to help me drift off.
This time it is me.
I am wearing the New York Mets sweatshirt. I am wearing the rainbow- colored sneakers. And I am attempting
to rob the 7-11. Whatever drug I was given at the party is totally freaking me out. I don’t know how I got here but I do remember seeing a pirate ship filled with orange elephants on some street nearby. The elephants were singing “Jingle Bells” and one was reciting “Twas the Night Before Christmas.” I can hear the clerk behind the counter pleading for his life. I think I am aiming the gun- my gun- at him but it’s actually aimed at the Slurpee machine. In my head, I am demanding money but my mouth is spitting gibberish.
Suddenly, the red and blue lights of the police car out front is blinding me and coating my body like a fire blanket. I can’t see but I can hear lots of voices. I don’t realize that I’ve fired a shot. I start running. I crash into the back door and it’s black. Or is it blue? I hear more voices. Are they in my head or are they on television? Out of nowhere I see Jake. He’s wearing my Paterson police uniform. It’s him yelling at me to ‘Freeze!’ and I panic. My hands are shaking. I cannot speak. I’m so scared. My left arm raises, the one holding the gun, to hand Jake the gun and just as I fully extend my arm, I hear the ‘blam!’ of the gun. I don’t hear the second ‘blam!’ because I am already dead.
Even with the Ambien I still woke up from the dream. I hadn’t had this one before. I must’ve been tossing and turning in my sleep because when I shot up I was entangled in the blanket and Lindsey was already sitting up with her night- stand lamp already on. No matter how many consecutive nights I had a dream she still looked at me like it was the first, and worst, of them all. She slid to my side and attempted to caress me but her touch frightened me.
“What happened this time, hon?” she carefully said. I knew she was asking about my dream. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. For the last seven months it had been the same dream as the night before but now it was something different. A role reversal, if you will. I knew Lindsey would follow me and we’d talk about it at the table so I left the bedroom and headed for the kitchen for a glass of juice. She’d have a glass of water.
She sat across from me and listened to my attempt at explaining my dream.
“The reversed roles concept was so bizarre. Seeing Jake shoot me. Not Jake being shot by the cops,” I said. “And it was me tripping on acid. Seeing pirate ships and odd- colored elephants singing Christmas songs.”
“Maybe you should make an appointment to see Dr. Sharper tomorrow. Maybe this case you’re working on is causing some feelings to erupt again,” Lindsey said. As amazing as she had been throughout this whole ordeal, I hated it when she became my homemade shrink. I looked at her as she cautiously thought about the words of her next statement. She finally said, “Maybe you’re not as ready to go back to work as you thought you were.”
“I don’t know,” I said like a second grader going to the dentist.
“She’ll be able to help you,” Lindsey firmly stated. Every time I had a dream or an ‘episode,’ as Dr. Sharper like to call them, Lindsey always started off by being comforting and supportive. Once Dr. Sharper was mentioned she tried to put her foot down and we ended up fighting. I’ve learned that I don’t have any patience for fighting with her, or anyone else for that matter, that I simply give in and let her think she’s won. Especially in the middle of the night.
Throughout our fifteen years together, since we were seniors in high school, Lindsey and I have been through quite a bit. Her father unexpectedly dying of a heart attack the summer after we graduated high school. My mother’s battle with cancer, which she has since beaten. Lindsey’s brief battle with cocaine, which she has since beaten. My cousin’s motorcycle accident. All of these things altering our lives in some way, shape, or form but we were always able to recover from them. Some took more from us- emotions, energy, and self- worth- while others gave us so much more- an overall appreciation for life, for who we were as people. But since the incident, nothing seems to matter the same way anymore. Everything seems to be breaking me down, which trickles down like an IV drip and effects Lindsey. I knew there was a way to fix all of that but I didn’t know just how to do it.
I knew, as always, that Lindsey was right and this time was no different, but I tried as much as I could to avoid feeding her ego. So I kept my mouth shut, looked her in the face, and nodded my agreement.
Third Journal Entry:
Here I am again!
I don’t know why I’m even still here.
Drew and I took the call and sped to the scene.
Chamberlain and Ryerson.
Ryerson and Chamberlain.
I can’t get myself to step foot in a 7-11 ever again! Nope. No way in hell! Do they have 7-11’s in hell? Guess I’ll get to find out when I die.
The blur of Jake inside that 7-11 through the large store- front windows. My eyes were hazy through the glare of the blue and red police sirens flashing.
The Mets sweatshirt. My Mets sweatshirt.
The gun. My gun.
THIRTY THREE
Garvey was in his office when I got there bright and early the next morning.. He was on a call but waived me in when I knocked on the door. I was gestured to the same chair I had taken on my last visit. The stench of moldy pepperoni and stale beer filled the office.
“Welcome back, Mr. Barnes. What can I do for you?” Garvey asked while he hung up the phone. “Any news on Esteban?” he added. I didn’t want to tell him what I had up to this point, which wasn’t much anyway. Five days and I was still pissing in the wind. Some investigator I’m turning out to be. Maybe I should go back to the insurance company and rot to hell behind a desk.
“Why’d you become a principal?” I asked him and got the exact reaction I was hoping for. Garvey was puzzled and twisted his chubby nose to ponder the question. His nose was the color of a raw ham. Then he giggled like a second grader who just heard the teacher fart.
“That’s an easy one, Mr. Barnes,” he said. “I really enjoy kids. I love being the one the kids rely on to help shape their futures. It was one thing being a teacher but it’s a horse of a different color being a principal. A different perspective. An opportunity to lead our kids into the future.” If I let him he would have talked until Christmas.
“I get that,” I said just to say something to cut him off. “What can you tell me about Esteban?” I watched him think and it actually made my brain hurt. And made me a little nauseous. I was waiting for him to use the end of his tie to sop up the loose puddles of sweat on his deeply crevassed forehead.
“I’m not sure what else you’re looking for. As I told you yesterday. Everything you would have to know about Esteban is in his file. Would you like to see them again?” Little did Garvey know that I already had a copy of everything at home.
“But I’d like to hear it from you,” I said. He held my firm stare into his eyes for a few seconds then looked to something on his desk.
Garvey uncomfortably adjusted himself in his chair. The pained expression returned as he began to think again. “Esteban has a difficult home life. Mom works one shift while Dad works the other. But Esteban should be lucky that he still has both his mom and dad in the picture at home because most kids here just have one, if that. We have a lot of kids here from group homes and various types of shelters around the county.” He branched off into a rant about how tough it must be to one of his students, living in the environment they do and who knows what else. I reeled him back in.
“Esteban,” was all I said.
“Right, right. Sorry. Anyway, Esteban has a lot of siblings he has to compete with for attention at home, which is why I think he acts out so much. We always tend to think that being the one of the oldest has its advantages, which it can, but in Esteban’s case, he’s got to compete with so many younger siblings. From what I understand, Esteban is sometimes the primary caretaker during the day for his younger siblings. I think his dad works odd jobs just to make ends meet. To give a twelve, thirteen year old boy that much responsibility is way too much to ask.” I was listening to what Garvey was saying because it actually made sense. At the same time I was studying his
facial expressions, trying to get any sort of read on him. I’m good at multi- tasking. From what I gathered, Garvey was being genuine and sincere. He seemed like a good- hearted man, despite being a little flaky.
He had lightly touched on my next anticipated question but I asked it anyway. “Do you know for sure what Esteban’s father does for a living?”
“We’re not really sure. We’ve attempted to contact him several times since Esteban arrived here but there’s never any answer and the mother doesn’t give us a clear indication whenever asked,” Garvey said.
I instantly made a mental note- burner phones?
I wanted to keep him talking. “What is your relationship like with Esteban?”
“My relationship? I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” he said.
“I mean how did you and Esteban get along?”
“I try to get along with all of my students just the same. I like to think of myself as the consummate professional. I don’t tend to favor one over the other, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“I’m not getting at anything. Just asking a simple question,” I said. “And I’m not asking about your relationship with your other students. I’m asking about Esteban,”
Garvey seemed to have disregarded my straightforwardness. “We are big on incentives here as a way to motivate the most reluctant and oppositional students, such as Esteban. The kids have plenty of opportunities on a daily basis to earn various things, such as extra independent computer time, being a helper, or an activity with a friend from another class.” A bing- bong noise came from Garvey’s computer and he gave it a casual glance.
“Did Esteban like to earn these incentives?” I was trying to hook Garvey on my line but he just wasn’t biting. I wanted him to tell me what Lindsey told me earlier about Esteban being his ‘special helper.’
The Incident (Chase Barnes Series Book 1) Page 9