Outline for Murder

by Anthony J. Pucci

  As he walked to his classroom, he glanced at the note and was relieved to see that it was a parent who had called.

  ***

  He decided to make the return call during his free period. On his way to the phone reserved for teacher use, Terry left her desk and called to him, “Hey, Mr. Bishop! Got a minute?”

  Knowing Terry, Bishop suspected that she had a bit of “news” that she was bursting to share.

  “What’s up?”

  Terry grabbed his arm and motioned him over to a small alcove in the hallway, a place free from detection by security cameras. Terry looked older than her forty-five years. She had been forced to give up her plans for college and a career as a nurse when she became pregnant shortly after graduating from high school. Her husband turned out to be an abusive alcoholic. When she finally decided to leave him, she took her two children with her. Terry saw her job as a refuge from a difficult life as a single parent. As the secretary for the principal, she often knew more of what was going on in the school at any given moment than almost anyone else. “Did you hear about the big meeting that Russ Chandler had with the head honchos this morning?”

  “No. I didn’t get in until second period, and I’ve had straight classes. Did Sister Ann give Russ the head coaching position?” Bishop couldn’t imagine what was so interesting about that. Russ was clearly one of the favorites for that job.

  Terry leaned closer so that she could whisper. “Russ did get the job, but that’s not the point.”

  “Then what is?” he asked, mimicking her whisper. He hoped that she would just spit it out so that he could salvage what was left of his free period.

  She went on to explain that Russ told Sister that he had overheard Al and Doug arguing in the coach’s office after the game during which Zappala had benched Chris Jennings. She continued, “Things got pretty heated, I guess, and the coach told Doug to pack up his stuff after the game.”

  “You mean he fired him?” asked a puzzled Bishop.

  “Bingo! That’s exactly what I mean.” Just in case he hadn’t made the connection, she added, “And that was the same night that the coach was murdered.”

  “Terry, how do you know what Russ told Sister? Was her office door open?” He knew full well that eavesdropping was one of her more developed skills.

  “Heck, no,” she laughed. “All the good stuff happens when that door is closed. But I have my ways,” she added mysteriously as she walked back to her desk. Bishop knew that Terry would readily share gossip, but she wasn’t about to share any of her snooping techniques with him. As he made his way to the phone room, he wondered if Russ had been telling the truth about that argument. Perhaps he had made it all up in order to convince Sister Ann to select him over Doug as head coach. He made another mental note to share what he had just heard with Lieutenant Hodge. It might be nothing, but he couldn’t dismiss it entirely. He remembered the words of Sherlock Holmes in a story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. “It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important.” The list of suspects seemed to grow by the day.

  ***

  Andy White had seen right through Bishop’s ruse for an early morning meeting. “Trying to avoid your first period class?” Andy teased as he invited him into his office.

  “Well, not exactly,” he answered as his face lit up in an embarrassed grin, “but thanks for agreeing to see me.”

  Bishop did have some questions about procedures that White patiently answered. He planned on presenting Zappala’s will to Probate Court. If there were no challenges or irregularities, Bishop would be named executor by the court. It could be several months before the distribution of assets took place. Before the property could be listed for sale, Bishop would have to go through the contents of the house, determining what should be sold, what should be donated to Goodwill, and what should be discarded. White suggested a few names of liquidators and realtors for Bishop to contact.

  “What about all those boxes?” asked Bishop, hoping to be told that the contents could simply be shredded.

  “I’m afraid that you’re going to have to give them at least a cursory look to make sure that nothing of value is destroyed.” White tried to soften the burden by suggesting that if he found anything of value, it would increase Zappala’s bequest to the charity that, as executor, Bishop would have the opportunity to select.

  Bishop already had been given Zappala’s checkbook, and Andy thought he should start paying bills as they came in. With some hesitation, Bishop said, “There is one thing bothering me so far.”

  “Oh, what’s that?”

  “It’s about that checkbook.”

  “His checkbook? What do you mean?”

  “It’s the balance. He had over $53,000 in checking.” White just whistled. “I mean, who leaves that kind of money in checking?”

  “I hear you, Mike. That’s more money than a lot of people make in a year.”

  “Especially if you teach at Holy Trinity,” Bishop added, having personal knowledge in that regard. “Another thing I noticed is that he only added to his checking in large sums at the beginning of the quarter.” White speculated that Zappala was making withdrawals from a brokerage account as quarterly dividends were paid. A nest egg in excess of five million dollars properly invested would generate a tidy sum.

  “Anything else?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” Bishop took advantage of this opening to mention a couple of other transactions that he had noticed. “Every couple of months he wrote a check to ‘Cash’ for two or three thousand dollars. I assume that represents his gambling money.”

  “You’re probably right. I guess he was entitled to do what he wanted with his own money,” added White, not sure where Bishop was headed with that observation.

  “That assumes that it was, in fact, his money,” he said, finally verbalizing his concern.

  “Mike, I honestly don’t know how the man got his money. He came in here and wanted a will made, and I helped him do it. It’s not my business to ask those questions. If I did, I’d be out of clients pretty soon.”

  “Okay, I understand.” Bishop decided not to tell White that he had also noticed an unusual withdrawal within the last year. It was for $25,000 paid to Holy Trinity High School. Why would Zappala make such a large donation to the school? Was it a donation or something else?

  White interrupted his inner monologue. “Listen, I do know that Bob Barnstead was Zappala’s financial advisor and also prepared his taxes. Maybe he can help you.”

  “Bobby Barnstead, the basketball player that went to Trinity?”

  “I’m pretty sure he’s a local product. Did you teach him?”

  “Yes, I did.” Bishop wasn’t sure that what he did for Bobby would qualify as teaching. As he recalled, Bobby wasn’t much of a student. He coasted most of the time. Did just enough to get by. There was a reason the kids called him, “Booby.” He wasn’t the type of student that he felt got anything out of class discussions of literature. He’d probably never read a book from start to finish. When he wasn’t tripping over himself, however, that young man could put the ball in the hoop. He had to remind himself that kids do grow up. Priorities change. It was time for Bishop to meet the new Bob Barrett.

  ***

  That night after he finished all the work that was absolutely essential for the next day, he decided to call Ron Jennings.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time, Ron?”

  “Not at all. Actually, I was thinking of giving you a call myself.”

  “Oh? Why? What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to thank you for suggesting that I could give Stephanie a ride. It worked out great,” he added, barely able to contain his enthusiasm. “I had been thinking about asking her out.”

  “No kidding!” Bishop responded as if he had been told something that he didn’t already know.

  Ron also told him that he had asked Steph if he could take her to the Halloween dance since they both had been asked to be chaperones,
and that Steph had agreed. After the phone call ended, Bishop was pleased with himself for getting two of his favorite people together. He wondered if Sarah and some of the other female faculty members would be just as pleased.

  Next, he decided to call Lieutenant Hodge. He recounted his concerns about Chris Delaney. How far might a disgruntled athlete go to preserve his scholarship chances? He made sure that the Lieutenant understood that this was pure speculation on his part.

  Hodge remained silent as he absorbed what Bishop was telling him.

  Bishop also told Hodge about the heated argument that supposedly had taken place between Zappala and his assistant coach, Doug Sanders. He quickly added, “Of course that may not have happened at all. I’m getting that story third-hand.”

  “Listen, Mike, I understand what you’re saying. In my experience, ninety-nine percent of what I hear in the course of an investigation turns out to be inaccurate or of no help whatsoever. But it’s that one percent that I’m after. And the thing is you never know what seemingly insignificant detail turns out to be that one percent.” Bishop wondered if Lieutenant Hodge had also been reading Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

  He then told Hodge about Rocco Santorini’s behavior at Andy White’s office when the will was read, and about the phone conversation that he had with Mrs. Santorini the day before. “How do we know that Rocco hadn’t been in town earlier? With the possible loss of the bakery, he certainly seems to have had a motive.”

  “True. But how would he have been able to take the cyanide from the school’s lab without anyone noticing?” asked Hodge with a sharpness in his voice indicating that Bishop should have asked himself the very same question.

  Bishop realized that Hodge had a good point. He was allowing his eagerness to find a suspect unconnected to the school to cloud his judgment. Hodge did agree to make some calls to the authorities in Connecticut to see what he could find out about the Santorini family. “One more idea,” Bishop said. “Do you think it’s possible that Sister Pat, without realizing it at the time, had seen the killer on the security tapes before they had been taped over?” Hodge agreed to ask her about it. With that, he ended the call. It did not, however, put an end to Bishop’s ruminations.

  Before it got too late, Bishop called Bob Barrett to set up an appointment. He was looking forward to meeting his former student in the hope that he could provide a few answers regarding Zappala’s finances. Bob was very receptive on the phone and agreed to meet with Bishop after school the next day.

  Normally, it was hard enough for him to keep up with his papers. When Grace died, all of the routine tasks of daily life became his responsibility as well. He managed everything quite well except for cooking. There wasn’t a restaurant within twenty miles of town that Bishop hadn’t frequented. He often found it difficult to read more than was required for his classes although reading had always been one of the great pleasures of his life. That was one of the primary reasons that he had become a teacher. It provided him an opportunity to share his love of literature with others. He had been given another significant responsibility as executor, and he worried about how he would be able to do it all and do it well. A meeting with Bobby would be welcomed in one respect, but it was also taking time away normally reserved for other tasks. He tried to remember what his days were like just a few short weeks ago before he had walked into the murder scene.

  As he pulled his bedroom curtains closed, he watched the moon dance in and out of the passing clouds. He didn’t need a degree in meteorology to know that a storm was coming.

  ***

  When Bishop first saw Bobby Barrett, he had to consciously hide any expression of shock. Some students didn’t change very much over the years; Bobby, unfortunately, was not one of them. The lanky athlete with a mop of hair had gained a considerable amount of weight and lost a considerable amount of hair. His playing days were clearly well in the past. His smile was still warm and his handshake firm. “It’s certainly good to see you after all these years,” Bishop said. Looking around the well-appointed office, he added, “You seem to have done quite well for yourself.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Bishop. You haven’t changed much. Are you still teaching at Trinity?”

  Bishop was used to being asked that question. Not too many would have believed that he was, in fact, still there some forty years after he started. After a few minutes spent reminiscing about the old days, Bishop got down to business.

  “Bobby, I need to ask you a favor.”

  “Sure, what it is?”

  “As you may know, I’ve been named executor of Coach Zappala’s estate.”

  “Yeah, good luck with that. It ain’t gonna be easy. That guy had a few bucks.”

  “That’s just what I’m talking about, Bobby. In your dealings with him as his accountant, were you aware of how he managed to acquire such a large fortune?”

  “Well, he didn’t rob a bank, if that’s what you mean.”

  “How did he do it, then?”

  “The way most people do, I guess.”

  “Hard work?” Bishop ventured.

  “More like dumb luck.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Barrett explained that as far as he could tell, a large portion of his money had come through investing in the stock market. It seems that in addition to the sports pages, coach also read the financial pages. Years ago, he had invested in a relatively unknown company. Most people who did that never saw their money again. Coach was different.

  Bishop asked the obvious question. “What was the company?”

  “Did you ever hear of Apple?” Barrett laughed as he asked the question.

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Nope. He got in near the beginning for who knows what reason, and more importantly, he knew when to take profits off the table. Go figure, huh?”

  Barrett provided a list of Zappala’s accounts and the latest balances that were available. There was no point in converting everything to cash right away. Bobby said that he would be ready to help in the liquidation of the assets once he got the word that the will had gone through probate. They chatted a bit about the rumors circulating in town about Zappala’s death. Apparently, Bishop wasn’t the only individual with an active imagination triggered by such an unlikely event occurring in their fair city.

  Bishop thanked Bobby for his help. He had found the answer to one question. The source of his wealth had been obtained by legal means. As he walked to his car, Bishop started to wonder if it were possible that Bobby Barrett was stealing money from his wealthy client, and when discovered, was forced to silence him before he went to the authorities. Another example of his overactive imagination? He couldn’t be sure about anyone’s innocence other than his own.

  Chapter 11

  The next day, it was raining heavily which usually added to the decibel level generated by the kids. Instead of his prep period, Bishop had cafeteria duty which was one of his least favorite parts of the job. He got to walk around the cafeteria watching about two hundred teenagers throw down their lunches, laugh and scream, push and shove, flirt and tease. As long as they cleaned up their tables, didn’t have a food fight, and didn’t accidentally break any windows, Bishop was content to count the minutes until it was over.

  Just a few minutes before he could escape to have his own lunch, a pimply-faced junior, Aaron Metcalf, approached him. His slender frame didn’t seem very well suited for football. Perhaps that explained why he was on the sidelines most of the time.

  “Uh, Mr. Bishop, you got a sec?” Aaron was a bundle of nerves most of the time, but he seemed particularly uncomfortable now. Instead of making eye contact with Bishop, he kept glancing around the room as if he were afraid of someone.

  “Sure, Aaron. What can I do for you?”

  Aaron moved away from the tables and Bishop moved along with him.

  “There’s something I heard that I thought you should know about.”

  Perhaps Aaron had overheard something about a drinking party, and since he
wasn’t invited, he was going to rat on the other kids. Maybe he had heard about an instance of cheating and his conscience was compelling him to come forward. Although Aaron was on the football team, he wasn’t really accepted by a lot of the other students. For one thing, Bishop recalled that he had made a bonehead play that had almost cost the team a win a few weeks earlier. The coach had gone up one side of him and down the other in front of the entire team. It wasn’t the right way to handle the mistake, but that was the coach.

  “What is it, Aaron? What did you hear?”

  “Remember the game against Central when Chris got benched?”

  “Yes, of course. What about it?”

  Aaron, having checked the room again to be sure that he wasn’t being watched, began to whisper, “I heard him say that he wouldn’t let him get away with it and that he would kill the bastard.”

  Bishop was surprised, but did his best to hide his reaction from Aaron. He pulled Aaron even farther away from the nearest tables. “Are you telling me you heard Chris Delaney say that?”

  “No! Not Chris! It was Mr. Delaney. I heard him in the parking lot. He was talking to his wife as he got into their car. I was sitting in the car next to theirs. I guess he didn’t see me.”

  “Have you told anyone else?”

  “No, I guess I should have said something sooner.”

  “Listen, Aaron. You did the right thing by telling me, but I would advise you against telling anyone else. You know very well that people say things that they don’t mean, especially when they’re upset. There is absolutely no reason to think that Mr. Delaney actually did kill the coach. The one person you should tell your story to is Lieutenant Hodge.” Before Aaron had a chance to object, Bishop added, “Don’t worry. I’ll arrange it so that no one here will have any idea of what’s going on.”