Outline for Murder

by Anthony J. Pucci

  ***

  It wasn’t until the faculty had received an e-mail from Sister Ann informing them that there would be a mandatory meeting after school in the library that the rumor mill kicked into high gear.

  Stephanie, whose classroom was across the hall from Bishop’s, appeared at his door as the last of his students had filed out. “Mike, what do you make of that e-mail?”

  Without repeating the details of what he had heard when he was in the break room, he told her that there had been a meeting behind closed doors in the principal’s office earlier in the day, but that he didn’t have any idea what it might have been about.

  Steph’s face looked pale as she said, “Well, I think I might know.”

  “Know what?”

  “I think I know what that meeting was about.”

  “Really? How would you know?” Bishop assumed that the rumors about Sister Pascala were already spreading.

  “The kids in my last class just told me.”

  “Told you what?” he asked with some annoyance. He thought that Steph was smart enough to ignore such unfounded gossip.

  “The kids said that Coach Zappala didn’t have a heart attack.” Then, in a whispered tone, she added, “They said he was murdered.”

  Bishop didn’t know whether to laugh at this outrageous idea or not. He was the one who had found the body. There was no evidence of foul play. Yet, in the back of his mind, fears surfaced that this might be true. It wouldn’t be the first time that the students knew more about what was going on than the teachers.

  ***

  At the end of the last class of the day, as the students rushed to their lockers, the teachers made their way to the library. Some walked in alone; others came in in groups of two or three, talking in hushed voices, deciding where to sit. Lieutenant Hodge was there, standing near the podium with a look of deep concern on his face. Sister Ann was already at the podium shuffling through some papers. Sister Pat was seated at a table near the podium, writing down names as teachers walked in. It was unlikely that anyone else would sit at that table until all other options had been exhausted. As the last of the group arrived a few minutes late, Sister Pat made her annoyance obvious as she scowled, eyed the clock, and placed an exaggerated check mark next to their names. She then signaled for Sister Ann to begin.

  “If you would all place yourselves in the presence of the Lord, I would like to begin with a prayer.” With that, the buzz in the room ceased, and everyone bowed their heads. The prayer, one of her old favorites, asked for God’s guidance through difficult times. She then introduced the Lieutenant, and sat next to Sister Pat who shoved the attendance list towards her so that she would know who had had the temerity to skip this meeting.

  Hodge stepped behind the podium and took a deep breath that seemed to tax the limits of his uniform shirt. “Thank you for coming here this afternoon.” It struck Bishop that a similar sentiment had been absent from Sister Ann’s opening remarks. “I’m afraid I have some rather disturbing news to share with you.” At that, there was a palpable tension in the room as teachers exchanged worried glances. He went on to explain that he had received the results of a toxicology report from Albany identifying the cause of the death of their colleague, Coach Albert Zappala. Everyone had assumed that he had had a massive heart attack so no one was prepared for what came next.

  Hodge took a firm grip on the podium as he said, “According to these test results, although there was a moderate level of alcohol in his system, Mr. Zappala died of acute poisoning caused by sodium cyanide.” There was moment of stunned silence. A few of the female staff members reached for tissues as they became teary. Hodge went on to explain that given this new evidence, an investigation of Zappala’s death had officially begun. After asking for the full cooperation of the administration and staff, he opened the meeting up for questions.

  Ron Jennings, the assistant principal, who had been in on the earlier closed-door meeting, asked the first question, obviously knowing the answer but wanting everyone else to hear it directly from Hodge. “Do you mean that he committed suicide?”

  “No, not at all. At this point, there is absolutely no reason to believe that he took his own life.” Hodge went on to explain that no note was found. No one had reported a sudden change in mood or behavior. Although the autopsy had found the beginning stages of heart disease, he was in relatively good health, eliminating that as a possible reason to consider suicide. He concluded, “Under the circumstances, we have to look at this as a homicide.”

  A few people audibly gasped; others were bewildered. Bishop raised his hand. Hodge pointed at him as if he were a teacher answering the questions of his class, “Yes, Mr. Bishop?”

  “Lieutenant, what happens now?”

  “Excellent question, Mr. Bishop.” That turned out to be the perfect segue for what he wanted to say next. “Earlier today I discovered that a small bottle of sodium cyanide is missing from the school’s science lab storeroom. I need to talk with anyone who might know anything about that.”

  Many of the teachers began whispering with those sitting near them. The rumor mill was already beginning to churn.

  Bishop realized with a quick glance around the room that Sister Pascala was not present. According to Jack, she had seemed very upset after that morning meeting. Sofia Ramos, a Spanish teacher who was one of those who had come in at the last minute, blurted out to no one in particular, “Why would we have cyanide or anything dangerous like that in the school in the first place?”

  Sister Ann was prepared for that one. “It had been purchased many years ago by one of the teachers interested in the effects of that substance on metal. It hadn’t been used for years, and was kept in a locked cabinet. I am sure you realize that every science lab contains any number of dangerous chemicals and compounds.” She approached the podium in an attempt to end the meeting. Diane replied, “Then what makes you think that the poison used to kill him came from our lab?”

  Hodge interjected, “We can’t be sure that it did,” he admitted. “But it does seem like a good place to start, especially since the school’s bottle is missing.”

  Bishop raised his hand again. “Lieutenant, surely you don’t believe that one of us had anything to do with this tragic event, do you?”

  Sister Pat, still seated, barked out a response. “Anyone with a classroom key is a suspect!” Her eyes darted around the room as if she expected the perpetrator to confess to her on the spot. She failed to realize, of course, that she had one of those keys in the ring that she had placed on the clipboard in front of her.

  Frank Wilson, who taught Social Studies and rarely contributed at faculty meetings, bolted out, “Then you’d have to include students as suspects since I know for a fact that teachers routinely lend their keys to kids who need to get into a locked classroom to get books that they had forgotten or whatever. I’ve done it lots of times myself.” His face had turned red as he continued. “Why would anyone of us want to kill the coach?”

  Hodge raise his hands defensively. “I’m not saying that one of you did. But it’s pretty clear that somebody did, and I aim to find out who that person is.” Then he added, “I’d appreciate your cooperation, that’s all.”

  Sister Ann again attempted to end the meeting at that point, but someone was waving her hand in the air as if she were hailing a taxi. Without any hesitation, Bishop assumed correctly that that hand belonged to Mary Nickerson. The woman had gained a reputation as the human rain delay of faculty meetings. Her last-minute need to ask one more question had become the stuff of legend among the faculty. Usually, the question she asked had already been answered or was several light years off topic, generating a faintly audible collective groan among her peers. This time, however, Mary outdid herself by asking, “What about the cameras? Wouldn’t the films show who went into that storeroom?”

  “Theoretically, yes, ma’am, they would,” replied Hodge. “The problem is that the tapes are set on a 72-hour cycle which means that older video is tap
ed over by newer video. By the time we realized that Zappala had been poisoned and that the school’s container of cyanide was missing, the window of opportunity had long passed.”

  Assuming that the missing cyanide was in fact the source of the poison that killed Zappala, Bishop felt a chill as he realized that the identity of the individual who had taken that bottle from the lab had been captured on tape for 72 hours. How fortunate for the killer! Was it possible that the killer knew that proof of the theft would be so easily erased?

  In her third attempt, Sister Ann finally dismissed the group. Sister Pat approached the principal, seemingly more concerned with the list of those who had missed the meeting than with what had transpired in the meeting itself. As the teachers headed for the doors, some had pulled out their cell phones to check messages or make calls. Others walked out alone, still shaken by the news.

  “Steph, I guess your kids were right, after all,” observed Bishop. “Did they tell you how they knew?” She briefly explained that one of the boys in that class got a text from his mother. The mother works in the same office as the wife of one of the police officers who had called to tell his wife what the investigation had revealed.

  “So much for confidentiality, I guess.”

  “Believe me, Steph, in a small town, nothing stays a secret for long.”

  Just as he said that, Ron Jennings caught up with them. He didn’t miss an opportunity to be close to Stephanie. “Secrets?” he said, picking up on what he had heard. “You know what they say. For three people to keep a secret, two of them have to be dead.” Neither Bishop nor Stephanie responded. Jennings must have quickly realized that his remark about the dead was in poor taste considering what had recently transpired. “Sorry,” he said with much embarrassment. “I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

  Bishop was lost in thought as he walked past Stephanie and Ron without saying another word. He was thinking about the glass of beer that he had accidentally knocked over the morning that he had discovered the body. Had he unintentionally hampered a murder investigation?

  Chapter 7

  Bishop spent most of that evening working on his papers and plans for next week’s classes. As he worked, he listened to classical music in the background. He found that it not only blocked out any distractions, it also helped him think more clearly. He had selected the piano sonatas of Scarlatti. When he was grading, he often lost track of time. The vibration of his cell phone interrupted his focus. He glanced at the screen but did not recognize the number of the incoming call that was displayed.

  “Hello?”

  “Good evening, Mr. Bishop. This is Lieutenant Hodge. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  Even though he had hoped to finish his work before he became too sleepy to concentrate, he replied, “Not at all, Lieutenant. What can I do for you?”

  Hodge didn’t hesitate to put his cards on the table. “You must realize that as the person who discovered Zappala’s body, you are, shall we say, a ‘person of interest’ in this investigation.”

  Bishop was torn between shock and indignation. “Why, that’s absurd, Lieutenant!”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, for starters, as one of the teachers pointed out at today’s faculty meeting, anyone with a classroom key would have had access to that lab.”

  “True, but you just happened to be the one to find the body,” countered Hodge.

  “That’s true, but the only reason I went to his house that morning is that Sister Ann called me and asked me to go up there. He was late for a meeting, and she thought he might have overslept.” He decided to leave out the concern about Zappala’s drinking habits.

  “Listen, I know all about that,” said Hodge. “The point is that you had access to the cyanide, you live near the victim, your fingerprints were found at the scene, and you tampered with possible evidence in the case.”

  “I think you should stop right there, Lieutenant. As soon as you arrived at Zappala’s house that morning, I told you that I had accidentally bumped into that table and that I had cleaned up the mess as best I could. You didn’t have a problem with that then. Obviously, my fingerprints would be there!” Bishop practically spit out the words as his anger and frustration grew.

  “I didn’t know he had been murdered then, either,” Hodge was quick to reply. “Are you accusing me of any wrongdoing? If so, I will naturally seek the advice of a lawyer.”

  “No, no, Mr. Bishop,” Hodge said in a much more conciliatory manner. “I realize that the missing piece to this puzzle is motive. As you said yourself, many people had access to the cyanide. I also know that the victim was in the habit of keeping his front door unlocked, so anybody could have walked right in on him.”

  “Wouldn’t it have to be someone who knew him?” asked Bishop even though as he asked that question, he realized that he was placing himself once again in that ‘person of interest’ category.

  “That’s exactly what I think, too,” declared Hodge with some satisfaction. He added, “That’s really why I called.”

  “Excuse me. I don’t understand.”

  “Bishop, you’re a sharp guy. My daughter tells me that you were her favorite teacher over at Trinity.”

  “Thanks. And your point is?” asked Bishop, having no idea where Hodge was headed.

  “Means, motive, opportunity. Lots of people had access to the means. Some had the opportunity. It’s motive, Bishop. Who had a reason to want Zappala dead?”

  “With all due respect, Lieutenant, isn’t that what you are supposed to investigate?”

  “Yes. And I could use your help.”

  “My help? How can I help?” asked a dumbfounded Bishop who had apparently gone from “person of interest” to assistant detective.

  “Listen, you’ve been around there for ages. People respect you. They trust you. Maybe you’ll pick up something that somebody lets slip.”

  “You mean that you want me to spy on my colleagues, my friends? I can’t do that, Lieutenant.”

  “What I mean is that you might be more effective in certain aspects of this investigation than I would be. After all, someone did kill your colleague and friend, Mr. Zappala. I’m asking you to help me find the person who did it.”

  In his heart, Bishop knew that it was the right thing to do. Although he did not want to accept the possibility, what if the murder was committed by someone connected to Holy Trinity? He had an obligation to help in any way that he could. A shiver ran through his body as he realized that the murder of the coach might not have been an isolated event. What if the perpetrator decided to strike again, and he had done nothing to help prevent that from happening?

  “You mentioned that you found my fingerprints there. Might I ask, Lieutenant, if you were able to identify any of the other prints?”

  “My people were able to pull a number of prints at the scene. As you know, all of the faculty and staff at Trinity are fingerprinted as a requirement of working there. We could identify only yours and those of the victim.” He also mentioned that the lab people had found traces of cyanide in the sample of carpet fibers where the beer had spilled. Additionally, he told Bishop that the autopsy revealed a high level of cyanide in his system, indicating the death would have occurred within minutes of ingestion.

  “Are you saying that you have other prints that you can’t match against your database?”

  “You got it. The killer might have actually left his calling card there for us, but we have no way of identifying who that might be short of asking everyone even remotely connected to Zappala to voluntarily agree to be fingerprinted.” It went without saying that the killer would be unlikely to volunteer. “It’s also possible that the killer either used gloves or wiped any evidence so the faculty and staff, even the students, are not necessarily in the clear.”

  Bishop was beginning to see how difficult the task of identifying the murderer was going to be. The authorities could use whatever help they could get. “I’m sure that everyone in Groveland wants
your investigation to be successful.” He added with a newly acquired conviction, “I’ll do what I can to help.”

  “Thanks, Mike, if I might call you by that name, I appreciate it, but you are wrong about one thing.”

  “What’s that?” Bishop was genuinely confused.

  “There is one person in Groveland who doesn’t want this investigation to be successful, and that’s the person we’re looking for.”

  Bishop was quick to remind Hodge that he was assuming that the murderer was a local, and that he was not convinced that that was the case. Hodge agreed with Bishop, but he didn’t sound convinced.

  Hodge gave him his home phone number and his cell phone number as well. He explained that it would be preferable to make contact by phone. In that way, no suspicions would be raised about his involvement in the investigation. .

  ***

  He had not accomplished as much as he would have liked, but the prospect of grading any more papers that night had faded. He recorded all of the results in his grade book and considered his options for the rest of the evening. He could begin looking over some of the considerable number of documents that Andy White had given him regarding the estate. He was too tired to attempt that either. He could see what was on television. Other than the news and some sporting events, he didn’t really care for television all that much. When his students asked him if he caught the latest episode of “American Idol” or “Survivor,” he usually replied that he had missed that one. No wonder SAT scores were down.

  As he got ready for bed, Bishop couldn’t help but replay his conversation with Lieutenant Hodge. He could not get one question out of his mind. Who had a motive to kill Zappala?

  Chapter 8

  By the time Bishop took his green tea into the sunroom that next Saturday morning, the sun was already making its way into the autumn sky. School certainly had a way of making time pass quickly as there always seemed to be more work to do than there were hours in the day. Weekends were a chance to relax a bit and to catch up on his grading. As if he didn’t have enough on his plate, Andy White had delivered boxes of papers that he had taken from Zappala’s house. Bishop would have to go through all of that material, and White had cautioned him that there were more boxes to come. His work as a teacher was his priority. He would complete his work as executor, but not at the expense of his students.