White Knights

by Julie Moffett

  I cared even less about the chemistry quiz and went into full autopilot mode while taking it. My mind was on a million other things. When the quiz was done, I couldn’t remember a single question or tell Colt in any coherent way how I thought I did on it. I’m sure he noticed I was preoccupied, but he was nice enough not to ask why. I envied him the ignorance of knowing that Mr. Matthews was about to be charged with assault. I just hoped it wasn’t too late to change the police’s mind. I wanted the day to be over as quickly as possible, so Wally, Frankie, and I could go to the station and bring them up-to-date on what we knew.

  When the final bell rang, Frankie and I headed out to the parking lot together. Wally was already waiting by his car. I climbed in the front passenger seat without even arguing with Frankie about it.

  Wally held up his phone. “I’ve got the station address programmed into my phone. Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Unless you’ve got another plan, I’m sure.” I adjusted my backpack between my legs and fastened my seat belt. “They’re going to bring charges against Mr. Matthews. As he doesn’t appear to have any family to stand for him, it’s up to us.”

  “That is so sweet, Angel,” Frankie sighed. “You have such a soft heart.”

  “I do not.” I turned around in my seat and glared at her. “This is about justice and what’s fair. There is nothing soft about it.”

  “So she says.” Frankie waved a hand dismissively.

  I was about to argue when I saw her hairstyle. I’m not sure how I hadn’t noticed it all day. I guess I had been preoccupied. “Frankie, what’s up…with your hair?”

  She beamed. “I thought you’d never notice. It’s my wavy asymmetric look with streaks of red highlights. I got a lot comments on it today.”

  “I bet.” I didn’t even know what that meant. I wasn’t sure how she got away with it given the school’s strict dress code, but I hadn’t read the section on hair or accessories because, frankly, I didn’t care about that stuff. I guess so long as it didn’t contain a political or offensive statement, the school was okay with it.

  We made a quick stop for gas, during which Wally and I endured a lecture from Frankie on how the gas company violated several international environmental standards. A few minutes after we left the gas station, we pulled into the police station. Wally circled the parking lot twice before someone pulled out and we took the vacated space. We walked to the entrance and tried to go in, but the door was locked.

  “State the nature of your business,” a gruff voice said.

  I looked up at the security camera and voice box. “I’m Angel Sinclair and these are my friends Wally Harris and Frances Chang. We’d like to talk to Detective Martin Barnett about the accident investigation involving Excalibur Academy’s vice principal, Ryan Matthews.”

  There was silence, and then a loud buzzer sounded. Wally yanked the door open and we walked inside, straight ahead to a circular desk where a burly, uniformed man with large biceps and a bald head sat.

  “What do you kids want?” he asked. “Spell it out for me again.” He didn’t seem the chatty type.

  “We need to talk to Detective Barnett about an accident he is investigating.” I cleared my throat. “We have some information for him.”

  He stared at me for a long moment. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No. You have to make an appointment with the police?”

  He didn’t answer. Keeping an eye on us, he picked up the phone, punching in a number. After a moment, he spoke. “Yeah, this is Miller at the front desk. I got three kids out here who want to see you about an accident involving their vice principal.”

  He listened for a moment and then said, “Understood.” He hung up and narrowed his eyes at us. “See that waiting area? Go sit there. Do not move, do not go to the bathroom, do not talk to anyone. The detective will be right out.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  We all followed Wally to the blue plastic chairs and sat down. They were beyond uncomfortable, but easy to clean, which I deduced was the idea. The room smelled like sweat, stale coffee, and disinfectant. There was no one else waiting but us. A large-screen television hanging from one corner of the room was on the weather channel with the volume turned off. A documentary about tornadoes was playing. I watched as a barn was lifted into the air, spun around, and tossed as if it were a toy.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” Frankie whispered to me.

  “He just said we can’t go to the bathroom.” I glanced over my shoulder. Sure enough, Miller was watching. He looked at me and pointed his fingers from his eyes to all of us. I got the message loud and clear.

  “I didn’t have to go until he said that.” Frankie wiggled on the chair. “Power of suggestion. Plus, I’m nervous. I’ve never been in a police station before.”

  “You’re not in trouble. We are helping the police. We are the good guys.”

  “I still have to pee.”

  “Cross your legs and hold it.”

  Before she could argue further, a thin man in a white shirt, black slacks, and a red tie walked over to us. His shirt was rolled to the forearms and his tie askew, as if he’d fussed with it, trying to loosen it. His blond hair was thinning on the top, but he had sideburns that looked like swatches cut from a shag rug. He stood with his hands on his hips and regarded us for a moment. “I’m Detective Barnett. I understand you’re here to see me.”

  I jumped to my feet. “I’m Angel Sinclair, a senior at the Excalibur Academy for the Technologically Gifted. We’re here on behalf of our vice principal, Mr. Matthews. We have information that is pertinent to your investigation of him.”

  The detective considered for a moment, then sat down next to Wally, leaning forward with his hands between his legs. He laced his fingers together as he studied us. “Is that so?”

  When he sat, I returned to my seat. I thought maybe we’d go back to his office, but since no one else was around, this was going to be as far as we got. It was kind of awkward, because now we were all sitting in the same row next to each other on those hard, plastic seats. I shifted in mine so I partially faced him.

  “We heard that criminal charges are going to be brought against Mr. Matthews. That’s not right. He wouldn’t hurt anyone on purpose.”

  The detective leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms against his chest. “How do you know about the charges?”

  Crap. For a girl with a high IQ, that had been a dumb mistake. I shrugged. “I have excellent sources.”

  The detective stared at me for a long moment. “Why do you think Mr. Matthews wouldn’t hurt anyone?”

  “He’s not that kind of man. You don’t know him like we do. He’s helped us a lot. He even saved Frankie and me on the day of the accident.”

  Detective Barnett’s eyebrow raised. “Saved you?”

  I gave him a brief accounting of the bleacher malfunction, how we didn’t know at that point about Mr. Matthews’s prostheses, and the dark figure leaving the gym after it happened. Frankie nodded and corroborated parts of the story as I told it.

  “You don’t know who the figure was?” the detective asked me.

  “No, I was too far away and focused on the giant bleacher about to squash me.”

  “It could have been a kid passing through the gym.”

  “Possibly, but why wouldn’t they have tried to help us or at least gone for help?”

  He turned to Frankie. “And you are?”

  “Frances Chang. I just moved to Washington. My dad is in the military. By the way, this happened on my very first day at Excalibur.”

  “Interesting. Did you see the dark figure, too?”

  “No. I was too busy screaming my head off. But I believe Angel.”

  “Did she tell you about this figure after Mr. Matthews saved you?”

  Frankie considered for a moment. “Not right away, but we had PE right afterward—we were playing softball—and that’s when she knocked herself out with a bat, so we didn’t discuss
it until later.”

  Thank God he didn’t ask for further details about the bat incident. Instead, he leaned back at his seat and looked between Frankie and me. “Angel didn’t tell you until after Mr. Matthews’s accident?”

  I held up a hand. “Wait a minute. Why does it matter when I told her?”

  “It might not matter at all. I’m trying to make sure I have a clear timeline of events.” He paused for a moment before asking me the next question. “Did Mr. Matthews see the figure?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask him. We were pretty shaken up. I guess at that moment, we thought it was an accident. I was upset from the near-death experience and the fact that he hadn’t screamed in agony when the bleacher rolled on his foot. It seemed kind of surreal.”

  “Do you know why Mr. Matthews was in the gym at that moment?”

  I thought about it. “No. But why shouldn’t he be? He’s in charge of the school. He’s allowed to be everywhere.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Hey, aren’t you going to take notes?” Wally interrupted. “All the detectives on television always take extensive notes when taking witness reports.”

  “Are you a witness?”

  “Well, not exactly. But I’m an excellent character reference for Mr. Matthews.”

  Detective Barnett smiled and tapped his temple. “I don’t need notes. I have a mind like a steel trap. And your name is?”

  “Wally Harris. Senior. I wasn’t in the gym at the time of the bleacher accident, but I do know Mr. Matthews. Cool dude. American hero. Not someone who hurts unarmed pedestrians.”

  “Thank you for that succinct analysis, Mr. Harris.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Detective Barnett turned his cool blue eyes on me. “Any reason why someone would want to hurt you?”

  “Me?”

  “There’s this girl Mary who has it in for Angel,” Frankie interjected. “There was a bit of a, um, disagreement in the locker room right before we headed into the gym.”

  “Is that so? Why?”

  “Because she’s a first-class bully, that’s why.” Frankie launched into a breathless account of the altercation, exaggerating my role a little but essentially covering the basics.

  “So you think Mary did it?” He asked me the question.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “It’s possible, but unlikely. She was already warming up as a pitcher by the time we got out to the baseball field. She would have had to move fast. But she could have done it, I guess. She’s is a capable athlete—captain of the swim team. But trying to kill us is extreme, even for a bully.”

  “Does this Mary have a last name?”

  “Herman.”

  “Okay. Anything else I should know?”

  “Yes.” I lowered my voice. “Mr. Matthews had a visitor at school on the day of the accident.”

  Detective Barnett frowned. “Really? And you know that how?”

  “I saw him. I was tardy for my first class, so I went to the office to get my slip signed. Ms. Eder wasn’t at her desk, so I went to see if Mr. Matthews would sign off on it. He was in his office talking to someone—a man. His office door was ajar and Mr. Matthews’s voice was raised, which was unusual because I’d never heard him raise his voice before.”

  “Did you hear what they were saying?”

  “Only that Mr. Matthews was concerned about something. He said it was a serious issue, but the other guy said he was overreacting and he’d take care of it.”

  “Did you get a decent look at the guy?”

  “Yes. Mr. Matthews called him Vincent. They both caught me listening at the door. This Vincent guy was tall with dark hair. He wore a leather jacket and he had a ring on the third finger of his right hand. The ring was silver with a black stone.”

  Detective Barnett was silent for a moment. “You’re quite observant, Miss Sinclair. Did anyone else, other than Mr. Matthews, see Vincent?”

  “I don’t know. Mrs. Eder wasn’t in the office and Headmistress Swanson wasn’t around.”

  “Okay. What happened next?”

  “Nothing. Vincent left and Mr. Matthews signed off on my tardy slip and told me to go back to class.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Isn’t that enough? Are you going to try to find him?”

  “I will definitely follow up on your information.”

  The way he said that had me wondering if he would. “There’s also this matter of a website that is attacking Mr. Matthews’s character,” I said. “It’s full of lies and disinformation.”

  “Would you be referring to nothingbutthetruth.com?”

  “You’ve heard of it?” I said in surprise.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “I am a detective, after all.”

  “Well, don’t believe anything on that site. I don’t know who is running it, but it’s lies and disinformation.”

  “Is that your personal assessment?”

  “It is. What do you think about it?”

  “I think freedom of the press is a protected right in our country. Mr. Matthews is, of course, free to press defamation charges, if he so chooses, once he recovers. At this point, however, all it means is that someone has a view opposite yours. Just so you know, you aren’t the only students who have been here.”

  “What? We’re not?” I said. “Who else came?”

  “Someone who doesn’t have as high an opinion of Mr. Matthews as you do.” He stood up. “Thank you for stopping by. I appreciate the information.”

  Panic rose in my throat. “You’re not going to charge him, right?”

  “It’s not up to me, but if it were, I’d charge him. The accident investigation showed that Mr. Matthews intentionally accelerated into the woman. There was no evidence of tampering or malfunction with the car. Regardless, even if the evidence pointed elsewhere, it wouldn’t matter at this point. We’d still charge him.”

  I gazed at him flabbergasted. “Why?”

  “Because he woke up a couple hours ago. He remembers everything and has admitted to pressing on the gas moments before he hit the woman.”

  Chapter Twenty

  ANGEL SINCLAIR

  We must have looked stunned, because the detective put a hand on my shoulder, his voice softening. “I know you’re disappointed, kids. But leave this in the hands of the authorities, okay? We’ll get to the truth. I promise.”

  He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He withdrew a business card and handed it to me. “If you think of anything else, here’s my number. You don’t have to make a trip next time. Just call, okay?”

  Without another word, he strode away, leaving us all standing there with open mouths.

  “Well, that didn’t go as well as expected,” Frankie finally said. “Maybe we should have brought him cookies.”

  “Who would come down to the station to talk trash about Mr. Matthews?” Wally said angrily. “Everyone likes him.”

  Dejected, we left the station and piled into the car. “Now what?” Wally asked as he backed out of the parking spot.

  “If we aren’t going to get help from the police, we take matters into our own hands,” I said firmly. “Starting with finding the mysterious Vincent.”

  The mood in the car was decidedly somber, so none of us spoke, not even Frankie. Wally dropped me off, then drove Frankie home. I had a lot to do. Despite my earlier comments to Nic, I desperately needed to study and catch up on homework. But now that I was home alone and highly motivated, I wanted to do some hacking first.

  I started with the prostheses. There had to be a finite list of companies that made prostheses like Mr. Matthews’s pair. Once I narrowed down the companies, I could cross-reference them for a client named Ryan Matthews. It seemed logical to me if someone had visited Mr. Matthews at his office, they would likely be in the Washington metropolitan area, or at least have a branch office.

  Unfortunately, unlike the police department, tech companies usually had decent IT staffs. That meant my hacks woul
d take longer and be harder. I would need both Wally and me working on it. But it was another thread to pull, at least.

  For now, no hacking. I started with public sources. What companies in the area with offices—or branch offices—made prostheses with IMES software and hardware?

  It was a quick search. Only four companies popped, most of them, not surprisingly, located near the Walter Reed medical center in Bethesda, Maryland, where many injured servicemen and -women were treated. DuoMed, Flex Force Ltd., BioLimbs, and Kinetic Bio.

  I did an online search of the company websites to see if any employees were named Vincent. Unfortunately, all four websites listed the CEOs only, and none were named Vincent. I hadn’t thought it likely that a CEO would travel to a high school to assure a patient things would be okay, but I thought it was worth a shot.

  Next I got online to LinkedIn to see what happened when I cross-referenced the four companies with employees named Vincent. Bingo. Thirty-six hits. I was going through them one by one when my mom got home. I logged off and went out to meet her.

  She kissed me on the top of the head. “How was your day?” She shrugged out of her pharmacist’s coat, placing it over the back of the couch. “Everything okay?”

  I hadn’t planned on telling her, but it came rushing out before I could stop it. “Mr. Matthews is going to be charged with assault with a deadly weapon for hitting the pedestrian.”

  “What?” A shocked expression crossed her face. “How do you know this?”

  I told her everything, including going to the police station, but minus any hacking information.

  Mom listened intently. “I’m going to find out what’s going on,” she said firmly. “Charges or not, I’m going to see Ryan. If it’s true—that he’s going to be charged—he’s going to need to see all the friendly faces he can.”

  “How will you do that?”

  “I’ll start by talking to him. That should help me figure out what he needs and what we can do to help.”

  “You’re going to go see him at the hospital?”

  “I’m going to try. Are you kids going forward with the fund-raiser?”