by Trish Reeb
Rushing to the corridor juncture, she sidestepped a class of autistic students on their way to lunch. Charley, a tall gangly boy, approached holding out a notebook and pencil. A ritual whenever their paths crossed, he expected Alex to sign her name. His way of reaching out.
She scoured the halls for Mercedes.
He tapped his pencil on the notebook.
Alex gave him half her attention, accepting the pencil while her gaze roamed up and down the corridors. Jerking her head down, she signed her name and handed Charley’s things back to him, barely noticing his smile.
No sign of Mercedes.
The bell rang, sending tardy students scurrying to class and hall walkers to their favorite hang outs.
Alex turned to go back to her office.
She stepped forward and stopped, her knees almost buckling.
CHAPTER 21
Earlier, Cole spent fifteen minutes arranging a makeshift interview station. He'd cleared the table of books, hunted for five useable chairs, three for the table and two for the hall. Now, a knock on the open door announced another arrival, a boy sporting bright copper cornrows.
Cole checked his list. "McGerald River? I’m Detective Grant."
McGerald smiled a mouthful of perfect white teeth. "Yo."
Vaguely familiar, Cole mentally scrolled through the faces of the kids he’d seen at the youth center. McGerald’s mug was not among them.
Mary Winter followed the boy into the room.
"Thanks for your help," Cole said.
"Sorry for the mess." She closed the door and moved to the student's side.
"No problem."
"Listen, McGerald’s uncle called and asked if I’d sit in for him," Mary Winter said. "He thought he’d be able to get away from work, but they're short staffed today,"
By law, students under eighteen must be accompanied by a parent when questioned by police. Having never encountered this situation before, Cole said, "It’s highly irregular, but as long as everyone’s in agreement." He glanced at McGerald. "You okay with it?"
"Yeah. Ms. Richards, she cool. I wanna help if I can." He tugged at the designer jeans dipping low on medium-size hips.
The trio claimed their seats at the table, Cole on one side, McGerald River and Mary Winter on the other. The teen sprawled. The assistant principal sat primly, hands on the table, fingers laced.
Cole glanced at the paper in front of him. "I see you don’t attend class much."
McGerald offered a sheepish grin. "Always fit 'n to."
"Detective, we’re working on the truancy," Mary Winter said. "McGerald and I meet a couple times a week. He’s making progress."
Cole leaned forward, directing his attention to the boy. "Know of anyone had it in for Ms. Richards?"
The boy smiled slyly. "Don’t know about in for her. In to her be more like it. She looked good."
Cole tapped his pen on the notepad. "Anyone ever try to take it too far?"
McGerald lowered his eyes, shifting in his chair. "S’pose there ain’t no reason to keep it down low now. ‘Cept I ain’t no snitch."
"Look, I understand the reluctance, but you said yourself Ms. Richards was cool."
McGerald nodded.
"I need you to tell me anything you can think of that will help track down her killer."
He sighed. "You right." Pausing briefly, he said, "Guess he thought they alone."
"They?"
"Mr. Martindale and Ms. Richards." He flashed a troubled look at Cole. "You think . . . ?"
"Think what?"
His gaze dropped to the table. "Nothin’." Eyes back on Cole, his expression intense, he said, "He all over Ms. Richards, runnin’ his game. Had her backed to the wall. When she seen me, she freaked, grabbed her stuff, and rolled."
Hm-m, maybe there had been more to their relationship than Jordan thought. "What’d Martindale do?" Cole asked.
He shrugged. "Dunno. I dipped out, too."
"Did she seem afraid of him?"
McGerald nodded. "Dang right." He shivered. "Dude creeps me out," he mumbled. "Didn’t look like he goin’ give Ms. Richards a choice. Know-what-I-mean?"
Good at reading people, Cole didn’t think McGerald had lied. Besides, at first, he'd been reluctant to implicate Martindale. Could Martindale be one of those guys who believed ‘no’ really meant ‘yes’? He did strike him as one cocky son-of-a-gun. "Is that the last time you saw Ms. Richards?"
The features on his freckled face fell. "Yeah."
"When did it happen?"
McGerald cracked his neck, turned his head from one side to the other. "Week before last. Don’t ‘member exact day."
Enough time for Taryn Richards’s rejection to fester. "Where were you the night of the murder?"
McGerald blinked. "Dawg, you trippin’."
"It’s a routine question."
He visibly relaxed. "With my peeps at the crib. Want they names?"
Cole slid a sheet of paper and pencil across the table. The boy scribbled out the information and pushed it back.
"Your uncle home that night to verify your whereabouts?"
"Sure. Want him to call you?" McGerald leaned into the table.
"Thanks, I’ll contact him." Cole slid the pad over to McGerald again. "Write down his number for me."
McGerald tossed him a crooked grin. "Can’t do that." He tapped his temple. "Ain’t here. It’s in my phone."
Cole mentally shook his head. People didn’t memorize phone numbers any more. No need to. "Can you bring it up on your cell?"
McGerald shrugged. "It's at home. We ain’t allowed to carry ‘em in school."
Cole raised a questioning brow at Mary Winter.
She smiled. "That’s true, Detective."
Yeah, and how many students actually abided by the rule? Not many, he guessed. Even if McGerald had his cell phone, he wouldn’t admit it for fear Ms. Winter would confiscate it. "I'll be by to get the number," he said, his eyes on the assistant principal.
She nodded.
Cole handed the boy his card. "Thanks for the information. You think of anything else, give me a call." He escorted the pair to the door. "On Mondays, I’m at the Northwest Youth Center from five to seven. Come by if you get a chance," Cole said, glad he'd made the decision to return to the rec center.
The student and parent occupying the chairs in the hall had been waiting several minutes. Meaning, processing the stink bomb McGerald River threw into the case would have to wait until later.
CHAPTER 22
The hair on the back of Alex’s neck shot up, her shoulders went hard.
He’s here.
She rewound the last seconds in her head. The laugh reverberating down the hall, above the chatter of truant students, had been unmistakable. A hyena, maniacal laugh.
The ghost’s laugh.
Her wrist itching fiercely, Alex turned in the direction from which it had come. She blundered forward, her skin crawling.
"Ms. T," a voice said, coming from the periphery of her awareness. Her eyes searched the throng of kids. The middle teen in a trio of boys flashed a hand.
"Go to class," Name? Name? Name? "uh, Terrance." Without waiting to see if he complied, Alex continued on, rubbing her wrist against her hip.
She made a beeline for a group of teens standing by an open stairwell. The kids scattered. Peering up the stairs, she heard the sound of running feet fade. Alex placed a hand on the railing, parked her foot on the bottom step, and listened for the distinctive laugh.
The staircase shifted, swimming out of focus. Her body swayed, her legs wobbled. Clutching the railing, she leaned into it for support. Without warning, the screws snapped and the handrail clattered to the stairs. Toppling with it, Alex reached out for the steps. One of her hands slid across a slimy glob. Her stomach lurched. Ugh! Please don't let me get sick. She couldn't move, not with her head spinning. Forced to withstand the humiliation of her predicament, she began humming Camelot in her head.
Sensing someone beh
ind her, she stopped mid-refrain. The tendons in the back of her neck tensed, biting the wound. Adrenaline poured through her as she prepared to attack with the only weapons at her disposal, her feet.
Hands clasped her waist.
She jumped.
"I’ve got you," a male voice said gently.
Her eyes still closed, Alex swiveled her head.
"It’s Vince."
Martindale. The image of him on the basketball court flashed in her head—well-built and good-looking, dreadlocks hinting bad boy. The heat from his hands burned her waist. She grew warm from the flush rushing to her face. Though his body didn’t touch hers, she realized her backside could be no more than a few inches from his front.
Martindale slowly pulled her to a stand and held her steady until the vertigo passed.
Alex opened her eyes and waited for her bearings to return. "I’m okay now," she said, conscious once again that someone else's DNA covered her palm.
He dropped his hands and backed away.
Facing him, she slipped the gross hand behind her back.
"You sure?" Martindale asked.
Alex nodded.
CHAPTER 23
Martindale offered an arm.
Alex slid her clean hand, well, clean compared to the other, into the crook. They slow gaited back to the counseling suite where Bobbi waited at the door. "Alex, what happened?"
"Vince came to my rescue."
Bobbi threw Martindale a distasteful look. "Hey, Romeo, I’ll take it from here."
Alex turned to him, but he already headed down the hall. "Thanks," she called.
He raised his hand without turning and kept going.
Bobbi navigated Alex through the waiting room and into her office. Closing the door, she led her to one of the chairs and pointed.
Alex sat.
"Okay, what happened?"
"Vertigo." She offered Bobbi a lame smile.
Bobbi laid a hand on her shoulder. "Are you sure you’re okay?"
Alex reached for the box of tissues and displayed her contaminated hand.
Eyeing it, Bobbi screwed up her face. "Yuck. They need to dunk this whole place in Lysol," she said. "Where’s your sanitizer?"
"In the bottom drawer."
Alex scrubbed her hand using the last of the tissues. "This still isn’t cutting it." She cringed, dropping the wad into the waste can.
Taking Alex's hands, Bobbi drew her to a stand. "You need old fashioned soap and water."
In the teacher’s restroom, Bobbi sat on the porcelain throne while Alex scrubbed her hands. She rinsed and soaped again. "Romeo? What’s that about?"
Bobbi frowned. "My advice? Stay clear of Martindale." She crossed her legs in the tiny space, accidently kicking her friend. "Sorry."
Alex glanced at the dust mark on her pants. "What'd he do to you?"
Bobbi tried to brush off the dirt. "Just stay away from him."
"He’s not my type anyway," Alex said.
"How do you know what your type is after all these years?"
"Don’t start."
"Listen, when you’ve had enough, go home," Bobbi said.
"Who appointed you my nanny?"
Bobbi blinked her eyes at her. "Somebody’s got to do it."
"I love you, too."
They smiled.
After Bobbi left, Alex washed her hands over and over, gagging off and on during the cleansing. Still the sensation stayed, attached to her like a leech.
*
Cole netted a break when his next appointment cancelled. He sat in the chair, his feet propped on the table, cogitating McGerald River’s interview, the only person so far to provide any useful information. He’d been impressed. The youth hadn’t acted tough and had gone so far as to even break a street code to tell the truth. Others in his shoes would've been too rebellious, scared, stubborn, or loyal, even if they liked Ms. Richards as much as McGerald purported to.
Like so many young people, he lacked direction drifting through life waiting for his future to happen instead of planning one. The boy had potential whether he recognized it or not. If McGerald came to the youth center, his chances might improve. About twenty percent of the kids Cole mentored stayed in school and graduated. A third of those went to college. He liked to think he helped redirect their lives.
Maybe he needed to reach out to his nephew. DeAngelo Sherman lived in Washington D.C. with his parents, Cole’s sister and her husband. In his first year of high school, DeAngelo rarely attended classes, choosing his friends’ company over an education. Drove his parents nuts.
Mom and dad maintained good civil service jobs and worked long hours, giving the boy far too much freedom. To get DeAngelo back on track would require one of them to sacrifice the job and begin full-time parenting. If not, their son could be lost to the streets. Cole couldn’t let that happen. His mother had hinted that he take his nephew in for a spell. He and Desi had been talking about it. Then she’d, he gulped back the rest of the thought. Maybe if he took a leave of absence, joined the private sector of—
A soft rap on the door. It slowly opened. A blond head poked through the gap. "Excuse me, may I have a minute?" the woman asked, slipping inside.
Cole swung his feet to the floor and stood. Though they didn't stand eye to eye, his visitor came closer than either Desi or Alex. Unwilling to contemplate why Alex ended up in that thought, he glanced at the wall clock, the hands frozen at six forty-two. Same as when he entered the room a couple hours before. He consulted his watch. "A few. What can I do for you?"
"My name is Bobbi Townsend. I teach math." She put out a hand.
He clasped it briefly. "Would you like to sit?"
"This won’t take long." She bent her head and stared at the floor. A long moment passed. "I don’t usually hedge, but I’ve never done this sort of thing before," she said, lifting her head.
"I’m listening." Cole stared at the tiny heart-shaped mole next to her left eye.
She shifted from one foot to the other, her gaze circling the room. "This is harder than I expected." She bit her lip.
"Why don’t you just say it?"
She nodded, compressing her lips and said, "Okay, here goes. Vince Martindale’s a pervert."
The guy's name surfaced again, this time from a colleague. "Go on."
"I’ve caught him leering at girls several times."
"Can you give me an example?" Cole asked, hands shoved into his pants pockets.
Ms. Townsend’s brow wrinkled. "The other day, I caught him leaning against the wall, staring at a handful of girls talking to a security guard. When he noticed me, he pushed off the wall and sauntered away. Too nonchalantly, I thought."
That’s it? "Which security guard?"
"Does it matter? The point is why would he be ogling teenagers unless he’s a pedophile?"
"Maybe he wanted to keep an eye on the security guard."
"What for? Yolanda Morgan’s great with the kids. She's the only one who seems to care if they go to class."
"Ever see Martindale act improperly toward a student?"
Ms. Townsend cocked her head and said, "‘Appearances are not held to be a clue to truth. But we seem to have no other.’"
"And my job is to untangle the threads of truth and speculation." He guided her to the door. "Interesting quote. Who wrote it?"
"I don’t know. My brain collects them. Keeps the cobwebs out."
Cole handed her his card and opened the door. "Thanks for the information."
He went to the men’s room two doors away. After washing, he started to pull the door open. Low angry voices came from a short distance away. Cole stared through the inch gap at Mary Winter and Yolanda Morgan passing by.
Facing each other and immersed in their conversation, neither one noticed the door ajar.
"You didn't answer the phone all weekend," Morgan hissed.
"Busy," Winter said tersely.
"I needed to talk." Morgan grabbed her arm.
Mary Winter flu
ng off the hand. "Look, it’s over. Let it go."
They disappeared around the corner.
CHAPTER 24
What the heck was that? Preoccupied, Alex almost slammed into Detective Grant coming out of the men’s room.
"You scared me," she said, a hand to her chest.
He raised an eyebrow. "I didn’t expect to see you here today."
His voice, warm as the cocoa she and Mercedes shared and smooth as melted marshmallow, heated her insides. She gulped. "Duty called."
"How’s the head?" He gently pivoted her around by the shoulders to take a look.
Feet tangled, Alex caught her balance in time to avoid stumbling. Why did she act like such a klutz around him? "Better, thanks."
"I’ve got a few minutes, mind taking a walk?"
Mind? What an understatement.
He put a hand on her lower back and guided her through the empty hall.
Smooth. Everything about him smooth—from his face to his voice to the way he moved. There it went again, her libido, bucking like a bronco.
Detective Grant chuckled. "I take it you heard the same conversation I did." His gaze dropped to hers and their eyes found each other’s.
Alex laughed. "What do you make of it?"
"A relationship gone bad?" Detective Grant opened the door at the end of the corridor and they stepped into the main hall.
"What if Morgan meant she needed moral support after discovering . . . ." Alex couldn't go on, the image still too vivid.
"That makes sense. But why would that make Winter mad?"
The bell rang. Classroom doors flew open. Students and noise rushed into the hall. Alex and the detective suspended their conversation. Wading through the sea of kids, they continued on. Just as the tardy bell sounded, they arrived at the English wing.
Alex stared at the double doors.
His hand on the door, Detective Grant asked softly, "Ms. Taryn?"
She turned her head to look at him.
Prepared to push the door open, he asked with his eyes what she wanted him to do.
Pausing, seconds later she gave a nod. In the same way she ended up at Taryn’s on Friday, an invisible force seemed to pull her down the hall. Rounding the corner, she braced her shoulders, her eyes going for Taryn’s door.