by Cynthia Raye
A few moments later Emma appeared outside the office. “You wanted to ask me something?” Emma said to the two detectives.
They both stood. “We do. Please sit down.” He indicated the middle chair in front of Ronni’s desk and assumed the same positions they’d held when questioning Millie—the perfect stage picture, Ronni remembered thinking.
“Let’s get right to the point,” Kolonich said, leaning toward her. “Did you murder Sylvia Hawkins?”
“What!” Her tone was sharp, loud, filled with disbelief. “Why would you even ask me something like that?” Just like when Ronni came upon her at the murder scene, her face had drained of color. “You think I did it?” She shook her head in bewilderment. “Sylvia was my friend. In fact, I was her only friend… unless you want to count her…group.”
“Those who looked up to her, wanted to be like her?” Kolonich asked. “That who you mean?”
“Yes.” She looked at Kolonich with hurt in her eyes. “But they weren’t friends. Sylvia would never think of being friends with those who weren’t as good as she was. And that’s how she viewed the group of followers. As sort of sub-human beings. And she acted as if they owed her some sort of homage. I don’t know.” She paused as if to gather her thoughts. “She often tried that with me. Treating me as if I were not up to her standards. But after I time I learned just to ignore it.”
“It seems to me,” Solomon said, “that you didn’t like her very much. Maybe she was really getting to you. Maybe you decided you were tired of being treated the way she treated you.”
“No! Despite her faults, we were friends.” She let out a deep breath as she glanced at Ronni. “As I told Ms. Adams, no, I wouldn’t have chosen her as my friend, if it were totally up to me. But to tell the truth, she was forced onto me.”
“I don’t understand that,” Kolonich said.
“Sylvia’s mom and my mom have been best friends since college. We live only a few houses apart. Our moms hoped we’d become best friends too. So they thew us together, from the time we were…. well, babies, I suppose. So I didn’t have much choice.” She glanced again at the two detectives. “No, we weren’t bosom buddies. But we did spend a lot of time together.”
“And finally you couldn’t stand it anymore and bashed in her head with the statue.”
“No! Why do you keep saying that?” she cried.
“So you say she was already lying on the floor by the stairs when you entered the building. Correct?” Solomon asked.
“Yes.”
“But you were standing beside her body when you screamed. Why didn’t you scream when you first saw her lying there?”
“For God’s sake, I didn’t know she was dead.”
“So you examined the body, stood up, and then screamed.”
“I tried to wake her up. And then, yes, I felt for a pulse. I couldn’t find any. That’s when it hit me that she was dead. That she was really dead.”
“Tell me something else,” Kolonich said.
“What!” Ronni could tell Emma was very angry.
“Wouldn’t it be more natural for you to react to her death while you were bent down. When you found no pulse?”
“I don’t know. It’s all so hazy. I just remember discovering that she was dead. Oh, my God! She was dead. Whether I stood or squatted down or what! I don’t remember.”
“Convenient, isn’t it?” Kolonich said, “that you just don’t remember.”
“Why are you treating me this way?” Emma asked. “I’m the one—besides Ms. Adams and Ms. Lindquist—who’s been trying to help.” She turned once more to Ronni. “Haven’t I been trying to help?”
“You have, yes.”
Emma turned back to the detectives, looking from one to the other. “I talked to a lot of kids to find out if they’d had problems with Sylvia. A lot of them did. I could tell you about all of them. I did tell Ms. Adams and Ms. Lindquist about some. Ask them, please. If I murdered her, why would I be running around trying to find out the real murderer?”
“Simple,” Solomon said. “To try to fool us. To throw us off track. If you can convince us, you’re doing everything you can to find the person who murdered Miss Hawkins, you divert attention away from yourself.”
“I don’t understand why you think I killed her. You wanted my help early on. You tried to find out if I heard or saw anyone in the building. Now, all at once you think I killed Sylvia.” She buried her face in her hands.
“It’s not that we think you murdered her. It’s that we have to explore every aspect of the case. As you say, there are any number of Miss Hawkins’ classmates who have reason to resent her, even want her dead. “You’re one of the suspects… as are many others.”
“But I didn’t do it.”
“Possibly not,” Solomon said. “We’ll see, sooner or later. We’ll find out.”
Chapter 35
“Missed you second period,” Liz told Ronni at lunch time.” Today there was turkey with gravy, mashed potatoes, and corn—topped off, of course, by pumpkin pie, even though Thanksgiving was still a few weeks away.
“The cops again!” Ronni replied. “They wanted to question Kimberly, and they also questioned Emma.”
“Emma! Why, for goodness sake!”
“They accused her of the murder.”
“But she’s been doing her best to find out who really murdered Sylvia.”
“The detectives said it might be to cover up. To make everyone think that it had to be someone else because she was trying so hard to discover who the murderer is.”
“Wow! How did Emma react?” Liz asked.
“She couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t either.”
“Were they nasty to her, like to Millie?”
“Firm, I’d say,” Ronni answered. “Accusative. But not as mean as they were to Millie.”
Liz frowned. “Do you think they really believe Emma could be the murderer?”
“I think… as they said, they were just exploring every aspect of the case,” Ronni told her. “Questioning everyone who had a grudge against Sylvia or anyone who spent time with her. Because of that, I’m sure they’ll talk to all Sylvia’s followers.”
Liz shook her head. “I’d hate to think they’d seriously consider Emma as Sylvia’s killer.”
“It boggles the mind, doesn’t it? But I must admit it did get me thinking. Though I don’t believe it was Emma, it could have been. No one else we know of was in the building, except Millie, and I’m sure she isn’t the murderer.”
“So you think it’s possible Emma could be faking the whole thing?”
“It’s not what I think. It’s a possibility the detectives suggested.”
“How did Emma react to this?”
“As if she couldn’t believe it was happening. Upset about it. What you’d expect.”
“Poor kid. I’m sorry she had to go through that.”
“They brought in Kimberly again too.”
“I heard her being paged.”
“And here I planned to spend the period going over my prompt book one last time. They questioned Kimberly first, which took maybe twelve or fifteen minutes. So I thought I’d have time to finish it. But no, that’s when Emma appeared.”
“Liz gave her a sympathetic look. Sorry you’re caught up in all this.”
“Well, maybe I can write a police procedural play.”
“A play? I’ve heard of police procedural novels… but never a play.”
“I’d be a trail blazer then, wouldn’t I? I’d go down in history. They’d erect a statue of me to stand in front of the School of Dramatic Arts.” She laughed. “Sure, they would. Besides, I’m an actress, not a playwright. Or at least was. Now I’m a teacher.”
“You don’t want to act at all anymore?” Liz asked.
“Possibly. Summer stock or something maybe. But not in the foreseeable future. I just want to enjoy my long summer vacation this coming year. Then we’ll see.”
“So you still have the acting bug?”
Ronni laughed. “I suppose I do.”
Emma entered the cafeteria and came immediately to Ronni and Liz’s table. “Did you believe that!” Emma said. “Why would the accuse me of the murder? I don’t understand.”
“I doubt they really consider you a suspect,” Ronni said. “They’re just being thorough in their investigation.”
“So why don’t you go through the line and come back and join us?” Liz asked.
“I’ll do that,” Emma said. She gave them a smile and headed to the end of what was now a short line waiting to be served.
“You mentioned that they also questioned Kimberly again.”
“Yes, but only to see if she could shed any light on who the murderer might be.” She glanced at Liz. “She said some very surprising things.”
“Oh?”
“She said she joined the group of Sylvia’s followers only because she was having trouble making friends at Watson-Collins. She said she’d had lots of friends before and didn’t know why or how she got off on the wrong foot here. So when one of the followers asked to join the group, she agreed. But apparently pretty soon after that she started having doubts.
“She said she found that Sylvia certainly wasn’t the type of person she wanted to look up to. So she started dropping hints. The other girls thought she was jealous because she herself wanted attention. She said that wasn’t true. She just wanted out of the group…which she compared to a street gang.”
“What does that mean?” Liz asked.
“That it’s about as hard to get out of the group of followers as it is to leave a street gang. In fact, she said, she was afraid of what might happen to her now if she quit.”
Liz’s raised her eyebrows. “Wow. I didn’t think was that sort of group.”
“I don’t think anyone did. But they obviously were influenced by Sylvia’s actions and attitude. If you cross them in any way, you pay the price. At least that’s what Kimberly thinks.” She shook her head. “I told her that Sylvia was no longer alive, there seemed to be little reason for the group to continue, so I think she has little to worry about.”
Just then Emma returned to the table with her food. “Are you talking about Kimberly?” she asked.
“We are,” Liz told her. “It seems she became entirely disenchanted with the followers and was trying to sound out what the reaction would be if she quit. The other girls, it seems, thought she was jealous that Sylvia was receiving all the attention. But that wasn’t it at all. She just wanted out.”
“Why on earth did she join them in the first place?” Sylvia asked.
Ronni told her what she’d told Liz—that Kimberly had had trouble making friends at first and then was asked to join the group. It seemed like a good solution to her problem.”
“That’s terrible,” Emma said. “Wish I’d known. I’d have tried to make her feel welcome.”
“I suppose I can understand how she felt,” Ronni said. “Most of the kids—the upperclassmen anyhow—have spent all their high school years here. With Kimberly it was different. She didn’t start till the beginning of this year, her junior year. Everyone else, all the other juniors and seniors, had been together for a couple of years already. She was the outsider.”
Ronni stopped and laughed. “What am I saying! I’m the outsider too, right? The newbie? The one who just started teaching two months ago?”
“And you’ve made no friends at all, I see,” Liz kidded.
“Right. No friends… except for this other teacher. I think her name is Ellie or Liz or something like that.”
“Yeah, right!” Liz said and most of the other faculty members—if not friends, at least good acquaintances.
“Me you’re talking about? Me? The one who is anti-social and hides in corners whenever anyone else is around.”
“Uh huh,” Liz said. “Shy, little Ronni Adams.”
They both laughed.
“May I ask a question?” Emma said.
Ronnie turned toward her. “Of course.”
“Do you think the police believe Kimberly murdered Sylvia?
“I’m sure they don’t,” Ronni answered. “She wouldn’t be able to because she’s so short and petite.”
“And the statue is really heavy,” Emma said. “Most metal statues, I think, are hollow. The metal is poured into a mold. But the statue by the stairs is solid.”
“I’m surprised you know that,” Liz said. “I’d think most people would assume it’s hollow.”
Emma blushed. “Oh, no. I’ve known almost since I came to Watson-Collins that it’s solid metal.”
“How did you find out?” Ronni asked.
“Not sure.” She frowned for a moment, lost in thought. “I remember. There were some tremors from an earthquake in the desert. Not strong. But enough to knock the statue off the pedestal. Another girl, Jill Henley, one of the followers, and I were nearby when it happened. We tried to pick it up and found out it was a lot heavier than we expected. It wasn’t all that hard to pick up. Not hard at all since there were two of us. It was just a surprise to find out it was solid, rather than like a shell.”
“Tremors? Hmmm. I don’t remember that.” Liz frowned. “The last tremors I remember were long before that.” She laughed. “I woke up in the middle of the night and the overhead light in my bedroom was going on and off, on and off. I glanced at the closet. All the clothes on hangers were swinging back and forth. It was weird.”
“Hmmm,” Emma said. “Maybe you weren’t here that day for some reason. Or like I said, the tremors weren’t very strong, so you just might not have noticed. I doubt anyone outside, for instance, would have been aware of it.”
“Well, anyhow, that explains how you know about the statue,” Liz said. “And you said Jill helped you pick it up.”
“Could have done it myself, but she insisted.”
“Well, despite being one of the followers,” Ronni said, “she must not have been totally under Sylvia’s influence.”
“I think it was more that she knew I was Sylvia’s friend.”
“Probably.”
“Changing the subject,” Liz said, “I wonder if the detectives are going to question the other students who had problems with Sylvia—people like Polly, for instance.”
“I would think so,” Ronni answered. “They said they wanted to be thorough in the investigation. And I’m sure that means talking to everyone who had a run-in with Sylvia.”
“Wow, that could take days,” Emma said. “But I understand. They did ask me earlier, when they first come to the school this morning, if I’d give them a list of everyone I talked to who had problems with Sylvia.” She shook her head. “They were nice to me then, totally different from the way they treated me this time.”
“Well, as I told Detective Kolonich, police have to play different roles in their work and that he actually could talk to my acting classes and tell them about it. This was after he sarcastically suggested that he appear in front of my class. He was mad that I’d objected to the way he and Detective Solomon were treating Kimberly. He accused me of interfering in his job,” she explained. She turned to Emma. “I assume that’s what he and Detective Solomon were doing when they questioned you. Playing a role… like we all do in real life. Like I’m a different person in front of a class than I am with my neighbor Rose. We all exhibit different sides of ourselves depending on the people we’re with and the situation. It’s called role-playing. But police, I would think, often have to take that up a step and make it more like acting.”