by Cynthia Raye
“Bad news? What do you mean?”
“I came in a little early to organize things for my first class. Just as I entered the building, I heard someone scream.”
“Is someone hurt?”
“Dalton, it’s Sylvia.”
“What about her? Is she okay?”
“She’s not okay. I hate to have to tell you this. But Sylvia is lying on the floor. There’s no pulse.”
“Oh, my God, are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Ronni answered.
“I’ll be right there.”
In the meantime Ronni thought she’d better call the police. She thought Sylvia had probably just tripped and fallen…but—
“Police department,” someone answered. “How may I help you?”
“My name is Ronni Adams. I’m a teacher at Watson-Collins. I came to school a little early this morning to check on a few things before class.” She knew her voice was trembling but couldn’t stop it. “Just as I came inside, I heard someone screaming. I hurried toward the sound. It was one of my students screaming. Her friend lay on the floor. I don’t know what happened, whether she tripped or passed out… Anyhow, I felt for a pulse. I couldn’t find any.”
“I’ll send someone there right away. You say your name is…”
“Ronni Adams. I’m the acting and directing teacher here at Watson-Collins.”
“And you say you can’t find a pulse?”
“That’s right.” Ronni swallowed hard. There had been problems with Sylvia, but, my God, Ronni thought, she’d never want this sort of thing to happen to anyone. Still feeling faint, she let herself sink down on the steps.
“Don’t leave. Someone will be there.”
By the time Ronni had put her cell phone away, Hostetler had rushed into the main hallway from his office. He glanced at Ronni and then at Sylvia. His face was completely white. Ronni’s first thought was he looked like a very old man.
“Are you sure she’s… that there’s no pulse?”
“There isn’t.”
“I’ll have to call her parents. That’s the first thing I have to do.” Hands shaking, he reached for his cell phone. “They’re donors. I have their number on my phone.” He punched a button. “Laura Hawkins,” a voice answered.
“Mrs. Hawkins. Laura. This is Dalton Hostetler.”
“At the school?” Her voice sounded tense, strained. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s Sylvia.”
“What about her?” Mrs. Hawkins said.
“I have some very bad news.”
“Bad news?” She sounded like a little girl, afraid of something. “Did something happen? Is she hurt?”
“I don’t know how to tell you this.”
Now the voice became impatient. “Tell me what?”
“Sylvia… had an accident. Mrs. Hawkins, I am so, so sorry. Sylvia is dead.”
Ronni’s heart sunk to a new low, as she heard another piercing scream coming from the phone.
She turned to see two men coming toward her.
“Are you Ronni Adams?” one of them asked. He looked to be in his thirties, slender and over six feet tall with dark brown hair and a neat mustache..
“Yes,” Ronni answered. “I am.”
“I’m Detective Solomon.” He turned to the other man, half a foot shorter with light brown hair and clean shaven. They both looked to be about the same age. “And this is my partner, Detective Kolonich.” The other man nodded.
Solomon bent down and picked up Sylvia’s wrist. He shook his head. “You have no idea what happened?” he asked as he straightened back up.
“I don’t. I’m sorry.”
Solomon turned to Emma. “And who are you?”
Emma was trembling. “My name is Emma Miller. Sylvia and I were going to meet today before school to study.”
“And this is how you found your friend?”
Again, Emma sobbed uncontrollably. “We were going to go into a conference room where it was quiet. Oh, God…”
“It’s all right,” Solomon said. “Take your time.” He gave her a quick smile. “You two were friends.”
“Almost all our lives. Since we were little girls.”
“I’m sorry,” Solomon said.
Emma tried to control her sobs. “I can’t believe she’s… she’s dead. I can’t believe it. Yesterday, she was fine. Just like usual. And now…”
The other policeman turned to Hostetler. “And you, sir?”
“My name is Dalton Hostetler. I’m head of the school.”
“What can you tell me?”
“Ms. Adams called me to tell me she’d found Sylvia Hawkins lying on the floor. That’s all.”
“So the girl’s name is Sylvia Hawkins. What can you tell me about her?”
“Super intelligent. Personable, courteous. Everything a good student should be.”
“That’s it?” the other detective asked.
Hostetler frowned and turned abruptly toward Ronni. “As a matter of fact, yesterday morning Miss Adam came to talk with me about what she thought might be a problem.”
Kolonich squatted down to look at the body more carefully. “Look at this!” he said.
“What is it?” Solomon asked.
“I think you’d better take a look.”
Solomon squatted down beside his partner. “This certainly didn’t come from a fall, did it?”
“What? What is it?” Hostetler asked.
“A wound. Something… Someone must have hit her hard on the head. See the depression. With a wound like that, it certainly looks like her skull is fractured. And notice where the wound is. At the back and near the top of the head. It would be very difficult for a fall forward to cause such a wound. If she fell backwards, it could happen. But that doesn’t seem likely. Unless they’re pushed, people usually don’t fall backwards down a flight of stairs.”
“We were supposed to meet here and go up to a conference room together. That’s what we always do. So I don’t see why Sylvia would have gone upstairs without me.”
Sylvia was murdered! Ronni thought. My God. Of course, Ronni knew most of the kids disliked her…and that she’d done some really bad things to others. But for someone to murder her! Ronni felt chills run up and down her back.
“Unless maybe she fell backward down the stairs,” Solomon said. He shook his head. “But that doesn’t seem very likely, does it? What would she be doing upstairs anyway?”
“The conference rooms are upstairs,” Ronni told him.
“But… but we’re going to meet here and then go up. That’s what we always did when we came in early to study.” Emma said, shakily.
“We’re going to have to secure the place immediately,” Solomon said. “No one leaves the campus.” He turned to Hostetler. “Notify school security of that immediately, all right.”
Hostetler nodded as he took out his cell phone. “Mr. Ramsey, this is Dalton Hostetler. There’s been an accident. The police are here. No one is allowed either to leave or to enter the school. Please make that announcement and prevent anyone from going anywhere. Police orders.” He disconnected and turned to Solomon. “There are guards at every entrance, and there are three entrances, though almost everyone uses the one you came through.”
“Good.”
“What about students who are just arriving?
“No one can leave. You know, of course, if the victim were attacked, it could have been by someone who was here and then left…and is only now coming back. Someone who wants to divert suspicion from himself or herself.”
“I understand,” Hostetler said.
Ronni noticed that the poor man was still trembling, and his face had not yet returned to its normal color.
“I’ll call forensics,” Solomon said. He unfastened his cell from his belt and called. Then he turned back to Hostetler. “You said Ms. Adams came to you with what she perceived as a problem concerning the victim?”
Hostetler’s face held a look of horror. “I…I told her it was
all poppycock. I should have listened to what she told me. Instead, I couldn’t believe Sylvia would be the sort of person Ms. Adams described.” He turned to Ronni. “I’m sorry for not listening.” He shook his head. “I can never forgive myself for that.”
“I understand,” Ronni replied. “I probably would have reacted—”
“I think you’d better tell us what this is all about, ” Kolonich said.
“Ms. Adams told me, in effect, that Sylvia Hawkins—instead of being the person we thought—was a bully. She taunted other students…” He turned to Ronni. “Right?”
“That’s what I heard a lot of the other students say when they didn’t know I was listening.”
“And that she tried to harm students physically. That when she supposed lost her balance and bumped into another student—knocking him down the stairs—it was deliberate. I didn’t pay attention. In fact, I became angry at the accusations. I told Ms. Adams she was imagining things.” He ran a hand back over his head, smoothing down his hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t heed what she said. That I didn’t listen.”
“I don’t know what you could have done,” Ronni said. She addressed the detectives. “I only just heard the accusations. I don’t see how anyone could have foreseen such a thing as this happening.”
“We’ll wait till the forensic team gets here and see what they think,” Solomon said. “Maybe it really was just an accident.”
“I hope you’re right,” Ronni said.
Someone was shouting outside. It was a woman, who sounded hysterical and seemed to be doing her best to open the door. “It’s my daughter!” she screamed. “She’s dead. Don’t you understand.? It’s my daughter, Sylvia!”
“Oh, God,” Hostetler said, “it’s Sylvia’s mother.” He turned to the two detectives. “What should I do?”
“Can you lead her around to another entrance?” Kolonich asked. “So they don’t have to witness this?”
“Of course, she can come in the back way.”
“Why don’t you take her… maybe to your office/” He shook his head. “It’s certainly not an ideal situation. I need to talk with you further. At the same time, it certainly would not be a good idea to leave the mother by herself.” He hesitated for a moment. “Maybe you can stay with her till the forensic team has come and gone and the body can be moved. I’ll send someone back to your office as soon as forensics arrives. We’ll want to talk to Mrs. Hawkins, of course. See if she has any idea what happened and why.”
Ronni gave Hostetler a sympathetic look. This had to be really difficult for him. He hurriedly left.
“Where’s my daughter! I want to see her!” a woman’s voice demanded.
The front door closed, shutting out most of the sound.
Suddenly, Ronni noticed that a statue on a pedestal at the bottom of the stairs WAS turned the wrong way. It was made of metal, about two feet high, depicting the ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle. She peered more closely and walked up to it. Could this be the murder weapon? she wondered.
Solomon noticed her looking at the statue. “What are you doing, Ms. Adams?” he asked.
“The statue’s turned wrong.”
“What about it?”
“I thought it might be the murder weapon,” Ronni answered.
“Oh, you do?”
“It’s never turned the wrong way.”
“You’re sure of that?” His voice sounded accusatory.
“There’s a tradition,” she told him.
“A tradition. What are you trying to say?”
She frowned. Why was he acting so negatively?”
“When an exam is coming up, students believe or pretend to believe that if they touch Aristotle, it will bring them luck because he was such an intelligent man. Founded of an important school, the Lyceum, in ancient Greece. The students revere him, think it would be bad luck to move or damage the statue of him.” At a meeting for new faculty and staff before classes had started for the year, each person had received a pamphlet about the school. Included was a section on school traditions.
“I see.” He sounded sarcastic. She wondered why, He heaved an exaggerated sigh and walked over to the statue. He straightened up and turned. “Drew, look at this!”
“What is it?”
“Look at the statue.”
Drew joined him near the pedestal and bent over to see it better. “It’s a strand of hair.”
Solomon turned to Ronni. “Well, I guess you were probably right.”
Oh, my God, she thought. Who could have done this? Someone Sylvia had bullied or mocked? Someone like Millie or Justin Sears? How were they ever going to find out?
Chapter 9
Throughout all of this, the other students and most of the faculty and staff had to wait outside. Ronni could hear them, impatient to get in. The sun shone brightly, and Ronni was sure everyone was becoming uncomfortable due to the heat.
The forensics team had come and gone, and Sylvia’s body taken away on a gurney to a waiting ambulance. Ronni was sure everyone outside now knew something terrible had happened. They couldn’t help it after seeing the closed body bag on the gurney.
By now Dalton Hostetler was back. He said Sylvia’s mother and father both still waited in his office.
“Are they going to be okay there?” Ronni asked.
“I told them it would be for only a few minutes. Of course, they’re both very upset. They want to see Sylvia. But I told them the police are still here, and it’s better to wait.”
“Good,” Kolonich said. “We’ll try not to take long.”
“We need to set up some rooms to interview everyone,” Solomon said. “Can you arrange that?” he asked.
“Of course,” Hostetler replied. “There are a couple of rooms with conference tables, and you certainly can have access to any of the classrooms.”
Ronni expelled a sharp breath. It was going to be a long, long day.
“We’ll call people in individually,” Kolonich said. “That means there has to be a large space for everyone else to gather. We don’t want anyone running off.”
“The gym or the auditorium,” Hostetler said. He spoke to Ronni. “I suppose things are set up for your acting class in the auditorium.”
“Only some chairs and a table onstage. No problem in meeting there.”
“Then the auditorium it is,” Kolonich said. “Now we want the students and the staff to file in and gather around us for a few moments so we can explain to them what is going to happen.”
“Yes, sir,” Hostetler said and once more used his cell phone to call security. Within a few moments, people were streaming in through the front door.
“What’s happening?” someone asked.