by Jim Klise
So that’s three people to subtract from the suspect pool. It’s a start!
And if we look at who had PE that day, it makes the suspect pool smaller. I’d guess about one hundred fifty kids were in the gym that day. Coach P can probably give you her rosters.
Two minutes, tops. That’d be enough time to slip into the gym office, grab the artwork, and stuff it in a gym bag.
Isn’t it true that most crimes occur because of random opportunity? Criminals spot an opportunity—an open window, a car unlocked, a fat wallet poking out of a purse—and they just take it.
The difference between criminals and people like us is that we may see these opportunities, but we don’t act on them. People like us know right from wrong.
The way I see it, our badass, Student X, stood at the back of the gym, fielding balls for forty-five minutes. Kids are always slipping out of class to take a leak or text a friend, and Coach P is too busy blowing her whistle and running in circles to even notice. Who is Student X? That’s the biggest problem to solve. In my family, we think of it as “the Davinski Code.”
I can tell you one student who definitely had PE on Friday. Javier Conejera, my “brother” from sunny Spain. This guy has been living with my family since August. Between you and me, he fits into our house like the flu.
First of all, he’s essentially mute. A conversation with Javier is painful. He has zero interest in American sports—of course! He smokes cigarettes, and yeah, we’re all thrilled to have six more months of that. The kid irons his blue jeans. At school, he spends more time socializing with the kitchen crew than with actual students. You gotta wonder what inspired him to come to this country if it wasn’t to make friends with some American kids. What’s he after? Our world-famous, secret recipe for tater tots?
When my family and me discuss what happened at school, Javier just stares at his dinner plate like he’s gonna find the answers in the mac ’n’ cheese. But I can tell you this: The dude became crazy interested in the Darger art when we all realized it was valuable. He even borrowed books about Darger from the library, using my card. The weird part is, ever since Friday, he hasn’t said a word about it. Red flag, for sure.
Sir, I’m not saying I have the evidence to prove Javier jacked the art. I’m only stating the facts I know. It’s all valuable to you, right?
As the police detective strides toward the cafeteria exit,
Kendra Spoon, sophomore,
steps boldly into his path and blocks him at the door.
Excuse me, sir. We spoke a few days ago? Yeah, hi. . . .
Okay, so I was sitting over at the table behind you guys, and I heard a little bit of what Steve said to you. The thing is, and I’m truly sorry for eavesdropping, but that guy is monumentally full of it, and you should know. He seriously needs to shut up. He’s been talking to my friend Saba and also to my brother at basketball practice. I’ve heard these “updates” from both of them.
So this boy Javier borrowed a few books about Henry Darger from the library. This is breaking news?
Also relevant, in Steve’s opinion: The Internet history on the family computer is suddenly filled with Darger searches, thanks to Javier’s “crazy obsession” with the artist.
And oh, let’s not forget, Javier is not truly part of the “Highsmith community.” No long-standing, emotional ties to anyone here.
Therefore, the only logical conclusion is that standoffish, “sneaky” Javier must have taken those paintings. Because . . . why? He’s greedy? He hates Americans or something? Don’t you think that’s a stretch? Thanks to his host brother, this pitiful foreign kid is the subject of a rumor that is moving around school just as fast as the craziness with Mr. Delacroix and his “criminal quilts.”
I don’t expect an overly confident, self-centered jock like Steve to understand a socially awkward person like Javier, a shy guy who may have a genuine curiosity about Henry Darger. But there’s nothing criminal about taking an interest in other people, right? After all, Javier’s the kind of guy who’s given up a whole year of his life to come to another part of the world just to . . . you know, see what it’s like! That tells you all you need to know about Javier’s character. Meanwhile, I bet the only traveling Steve ever does is to basketball tournaments, where he can show a big room full of strangers—over and over again—just how good he is at his own stupid game.
Oh and by the way, Steve bragged to my brother that he already went through Javier’s backpack. And searched his duffel bags, drawers, and closet. He came up with nothing. No stolen artwork, no smoking gun of any kind. But I guess Steve didn’t think that was worth mentioning to you.
Javier told me he’s gonna buy a plane ticket that will take him far away from that household at spring break. Apparently he’s got one friend in this country, in Utah or Oklahoma or somewhere. That trip cannot be coming fast enough for poor Javier.
That’s all I wanted to say, sir.
Also, I apologize for the cafeteria food. You may want to call dibs on the bathroom when you get back to the precinct.
Very well, then. Thank you, sir.
On TUESDAY, DECEMBER 11, after his host family has retired to bed,
Javier Conejera, sophomore,
uses the family-room computer to write to his friend Jennifer.
Mi amiga, I am fortunate to have you in my life. I describe none of these events to my mother, because they will put too much worry in her head. For my mother, I write only what she wants to know. For you, I give the complete story.
The truth is, for me now the time is very difficult. How can they believe I stole these paintings? Well, of course because of my supposedly “brother” Steve! Not in front of his parents, he tells the people at school that my behavior warrants suspicion and that my possessions should be examined. However, what place do I have for concealing this work? The talk is absurd. They have no proof, no motive, no reasoning. And yet I pay for the duck!
As a detective, Steve is not in equal company as Jules Maigret or Sherlock Holmes. This morning at breakfast Steve smelled his Cheerios and said, “Son of a bee, what is up with this milk?” This slug is not capable of solving the Mystery of the Sour Milk. On Saturday, Steve returned from the basketball practice after the rest of us had eaten the meal. He exclaimed, “Why is the pizza cold already?” The Case of the Cold Pizza—this is another challenge for Inspector Steve.
For this reason, Steve’s theories do not molest me. However, the students pass this idea from mouth to mouth, like a virus. The students spoke very little to me from my arrival. But now it is worse.
For example, in the hallway next to my locker, there is a large H on the floor, the color of blood. It is rude to step on this H and the students give the effort to avoid it when they walk. In the past, sometimes I get a little bump from the rushing student who sees only the sacred H and not the sacred me standing at my locker. Possibly this is normal. However, now every day the students are giving me the bumps, with full intention, as they step to avoid the H. This is also rude, no? They will make me crazy.
Well, there remains in my locker the white aerosol paint for the auction. Maybe tomorrow I will spray the faces of all students who give me the bump. This will teach the lesson, jaja!
Also very strange, my boss in the cafeteria gives me no smiles now. She tells me she does not need my work after we return from winter break. So now I need to find another job. Perhaps away from the school is better for me.
Only my friend Kendra remains sympathetic. Today when she sat with me in the library, she offered to review my essay on THE GREAT GATSBY. My face must have revealed the surprise that she was willing to give help, because she whispered, “Steve Davinski is an imbecile. I know you did not steal the art.”
I gave thanks for the trust, but she waved my words away with a hand. She tells me, “I do not know you, so I cannot trust you. No offense, but what will you do with it? It would be difficult for a Chicago citizen to know how to sell it. Who would you call?”
Exac
tly! Who would I call? I have no one here! She said, “This crime going on. It makes the behavior of the people very strange. I want to tell you that Americans are not bad. Americans are helpful and friendly.”
The truth is, Jen, the people here are friendly to me like they were the day I arrived, nothing more. The friendship with the Davinskis has passed by its date, like the milk in the chicken. “You must visit my country,” I say to Kendra, “to meet the people you describe.”
She reviewed my essay and she tells me it is very good. Then I give her a confession: I wrote this essay last year, when I was a freshman. I needed only to translate the words for this class now.
Kendra expressed surprise that we read THE GREAT GATSBY in España, and I said, “Of course, for school. EL GRAN GATSBY. We read many important American novels. My favorite is REBELDES.”
She stared, and so I attempted to translate the title: “Rebels?” This is the very famous American book, no? About the group of friends who find so much trouble always. However, Kendra does not know it.
I asked her if American students read DON QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA, and she made a frown. She said, “Not at any school I ever attended.” I could not believe it. This is one of the most important novels in history! Not only for España. Kendra said she knows Don Quixote, but not the book. She hid the face with the hands, but peeked through the fingers. “I apologize. We suck.”
“Only some of you,” I said. And then I tell her all about my host family. How they call me “Savior.” And they use no spices. I am starving for an onion!
Kendra said there is an excellent tapas place near her apartment and gave the promise we will go together. For the first occasion in many days, my heart felt light.
Of course, this happiness did not last. Soon after I saw Kendra, there was more bad news, this time concerning the two books I borrowed about Henry Darger from the library.
First I discovered them missing from my backpack. I thought, well, maybe it is possible I left them at the house. I did not worry. However, soon after, I found these books outside the doors of the school, soaking in the snow! At the same time, I saw some boys from the basketball team. They were staring, as if they had waited for me to come outside and discover this damage.
I told them to go fry asparagus, but Jen, I felt more despair than anger. Why am I the outcast for no reason? The cold silence is one thing, I can ignore that. But I cannot ignore the damage to these books. These are expensive art books! I will be required to pay the library an eye from the face. This takes from the money I save to visit you.
The spring break needs to come as rapidly as possible.
Tomorrow I will go to the school library and ask for the famous novel REBELDES. The author is a teenager named S. E. Hinton. I want to spend time with these friends again.
On THURSDAY, DECEMBER 13, at 1:21 pm,
The City of Chicago Fire Department
closes its official investigation and files this report.
Summary of Incident: On October 1 of this year, Investigators Chau and Winter responded to 6313 N. Artesian, Chicago, at the request of Chief Holper. The dispatch time was approximately 1600 hours, arrival at the scene was fewer than ten minutes later. Investigators observed a brick construction, three-story, multi-family residential building, with smoke and fire visible in two windows on the first floor.
No death or injury reported.
The investigation revealed that fire originated near the rear of the residential unit, between the kitchen and the living room. The indicators observed and the evidence taken and analyzed revealed the fire was started by the distribution of a flammable accelerant and ignited by an open flame. A tire iron was found on the kitchen floor. Damage to the rear/kitchen door and lock indicates unlawful entry through the back door of the residence, accessed by the open utility stairs.
Taken into evidence were an aluminum can, a tire iron, a plastic lighter, and cloth “rag” remains that indicate criminal intent.
No criminal suspects have been identified.
Laboratory Analysis: Attempts were made to take fingerprints from evidence collected, but these attempts were unsuccessful. Laboratory analysis revealed that the flammable liquid was turpentine.
Witnesses: Residents of the unit arrived at approximately 1730 hours, as workers were still extinguishing the fire and securing the property. Statements made by these individuals testify that all members of the residence were together and away from the property at the time of the incident. (Numerous witnesses subsequently provided corroborating reports.)
During the days following the incident, neighbors were interviewed. No person or persons were observed entering or leaving the property. Nothing “unusual” was reported. The property residents are not considered suspects, nor have suspects been identified.
Property Control and Release: Department officers controlled access to the scene for a period of one week, after which the building was determined safe for repair/re-oc, and was released to the building owner, who is not a building resident.
Statutes Violated:
IL Criminal Code
720 ILCS 5 Sec 20—1.2 Residential Arson
720 ILCS Sec 21—1 Criminal Damage to Property
720 ILCS Sec 21—3 Criminal Trespass to Real Property
Before school on FRIDAY, DECEMBER 14,
Steve Davinski, senior & Saba Khan, sophomore,
eat breakfast together, in separate kitchens, via text.
Steve:
Big day tmw. How r u feeling?
Steve:
PS. I went to bed thinking about u & woke up thinking about u.
Saba:
As usual, I went to bed thinking abt the fire & woke up thinking abt the auction.
Steve:
But in between, u dreamed abt me.
Saba:
LOL, you love to think so. True fact: I never remember dreams. Sad.
Steve:
Tragic! Esp b/c I am hilarious & handsome in dreams.
Saba:
In your own dreams maybe. PS. I love that you are always like this. Always like . . . you.
Steve:
I guess, hmm . . . well, I am NEVER like . . . Javier.
Saba:
Idea to consider: Try being nice to Javier. Unlike you, most people do not walk into a room assuming everybody will adore them.
Steve:
More people should try it, IMHO. Drink your juice. See u soon.
That evening, after staying at school for an unusual number of hours,
Kevin Spoon, senior,
calls the Tribune reporter for a last-minute interview.
Just checking in to say . . . well, thanks. We really appreciate all the coverage you’ve given to the event. My mom wanted to know if you’re putting something in the morning paper, too? Every little bit helps.
Yeah, everything’s ready to go. Today after basketball practice, my sister and I set up the gym. Saba Khan helped. Saba and my sister know each other pretty well, but I had met her only once before. It’s got to be a weird thing for her to be going through. Not the kind of attention anybody asks for, right?
Steve Davinski stayed, too, to lend a hand. You’ve talked to him? I bet every school has a kid like Steve, the guy who drops into a project at the last minute and then takes as much credit as possible. I don’t mean Steve’s a bad guy, not at all. It’s good to have someone tall like Steve for hanging signs.
We rolled out the heavy gray tarp over the gym floor, and then set up about fifty rows of folding chairs. And sure, we were talking about what happened to the artwork. We’re no different from anybody else. Saba repeated the rumor that a foreign exchange student might have taken it. That could be true. Put it this way: A person would have to be detached to do something like this, I guess. Saba was looking at Steve, as if wanting him to chime in, but he was like, “Don’t get me started, I gotta live with him.”
I haven’t met Javier. Then again, I haven’t met most people at Highsmith. But I know about the esca
lating cold war between him and Steve.
I could tell the finger pointing was starting to annoy my sister, so I said maybe we should leave the rounding-up-the-suspects to the police.
We set up tables at the front, then spread red and green plastic tablecloths across them. My mom gave us some fake mini Christmas trees—seven or eight of them, different sizes—that she got from a crafts supply store. We put them on the tables and plugged them in with extension cords. We had a couple fake poinsettias, too, that we put on the auctioneer’s table. Mom’s thinking is, if the event looks like a Christmas pageant, people will be generous and buy more things. I’m telling you, she has the whole thing mapped out in her head. She gave us notes and everything.
On the main tables, we arranged the best donations: vacation rentals, a night cruise on Lake Michigan, wine baskets, spa certificates, and lots of expensive tickets to sports games and theater. That’s the stuff to mention, okay, if you put something in the paper? And off to the sides, we made room for the sadder-looking junk Kendra and I collected: used furniture, dishes, even those random paintings that may be too worthless for anyone to buy, much less steal.
Saba was looking over the items, sort of shaking her head in disbelief, like the idea was finally becoming real to her. She turned to Kendra and me with this apologetic expression and said, “It’s amazing that you guys are helping my family like this. If I ever stop saying thank you, you have my permission to pinch my arms and remind me.”
I didn’t want Saba to feel bad or anything, and it seemed like the right time to tell her my own good news: By helping to organize this fundraiser, I found the perfect material for my college application essays. Planning this auction got me into Harvard—Early Action!
Yeah, thanks. Obviously I’m stoked about it. Dream come true, right?
So, like I explained to Saba, this project has been a win for both of us.
But then Steve Davinski muttered something sour like, “Gee, Kevin, it’s completely awesome this situation is working out so well for you.”