Bishop was tempted to quickly peek into Stephanie’s room just to make sure that she was okay, but he just as quickly realized that she would be far better off without the interference of a veteran teacher. He could talk to her about it later if she wanted to, but for now, he had to draw his students back to their discussion of Gene.
***
As his students filed out of class, some were still talking about the novel, and others were dreading a Calculus quiz that they were about to take. Stephanie made a quick appearance at his door. “I’m sure you must have heard the commotion. Sorry about that,” she said with an apologetic laugh. She had evidently regained control of the situation, whatever it had been, and was back to her normal self. If she didn’t volunteer an explanation of what had happened, Bishop was not about to ask for one. “I’ve got another class coming in. Gotta go!” and with that she went back to her room. There were no further outbursts for the rest of the day.
***
As Bishop was headed down to the lunchroom, he was stopped by Sister Pascala, who looked better than she did the last time they had talked. “Michael, do you have a minute?”
“Of course, Sister.”
She asked him to walk with her to her room. They exchanged only superficial chitchat as they passed throngs of students and occasionally another teacher. Her classroom door was closed. Sister took a ring of keys from her pocket, quickly sorted through until she found the one she needed, unlocked the door, and let Bishop in. It had been quite some time since he had had occasion to be in this classroom. He sat at one of the student’s stations as Sister settled in behind her desk. On the wall behind her was an enormous chart of the Periodic Table, and on the whiteboard was written, “Endothermic vs. Exothermic Reaction.” For Bishop, the reaction was a queasy feeling as he flashbacked more than fifty years to his own struggles with Chemistry.
Sister Pascala snapped him out of his reverie by saying, “You know, Michael, I’ve been thinking quite a bit about this cyanide business.” Not knowing where she could be going with this topic, he urged her to continue.
“I have my doubts that the cyanide used to murder Zappala was actually taken from my storeroom.”
When he asked her to explain, she said that it was possible that Sister Wilhelmina, the teacher who had originally acquired the cyanide, had also disposed of what remained of it after her classes had conducted their experiments. Bishop vaguely remembered Sister Wilhelmina as being on the faculty when he first arrived so many years ago. She was elderly then, in frail health, and as Jim Croce once phrased it, “meaner than a junkyard dog.”
“What made you think of that possibility?”
“Believe it or not, I had a dream and Wilhelmina kept telling me that she had sent the remainder of the bottle’s contents back to the supplier. She kept asking me, ‘Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember?’”
It was obvious that this poor woman had been blaming herself for what had happened, and that this dream provided her a way of alleviating her guilt. He was not about to take whatever solace this dream provided away from her. “Well, Sister, that may be exactly what happened. I’ve learned that there are lots of places on the Internet that make obtaining such poisons relatively easy.” As he left her room for a quick lunch, he smiled at Sister Pascala who looked relieved that she had shared her dream with someone who did not dismiss her theory out of hand.
If Pascala was right, then Rocco Santorini’s name went to the top of the list of suspects since he was least likely to have obtained the cyanide from the school in the first place. And Rocco admitted to being at his uncle’s house on the night of the murder. And Rocco’s family needed money to save their business. “Foul deeds will rise…” as Shakespeare wrote in Hamlet.
***
One class quickly followed another, giving Bishop little time to give any more thought to what had prompted the outburst in Stephanie’s classroom. Had it anything to do with Shelley Olson and her plans to torment Hannah Driscoll? As the last student left his room that afternoon, Ron popped his head in the doorway. “Say, Mike, got a minute?”
“Sure. I was on my way down to see you anyway. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing this morning from Shelley Olson. I assume you clipped her wings.”
“She won’t be trash talking in the cafeteria any time soon. I’ll fill you in on that one later. I have something more pressing that I need to discuss with you.”
“Okay. What’s up?”
“Why don’t we go back down to my office?” There was nothing friendly in his tone, and the clenched jaw emphasized the tension that he felt.
Ron usually chattered nonstop, but on this occasion, they walked down to his office silently. Once inside the office, Ron shut the door. Bishop didn’t know what to expect. He tried to catalog all of the possibilities. Had a parent called to complain about a grade? Had he sent a student in to see Ron and then forgotten? Had he forgotten to show up for a class? Did Ron want him to serve another semester on the Sports Eligibility Committee? Then his thoughts took a different turn. Had someone else been poisoned? Had Zappala’s killer been identified? Apprehended?
“For God’s sakes, Ron, what’s going on?”
“I’m sure you know that there was an incident in one of Stephanie’s classes today,” he began rather tentatively.
“Well, yes, I did hear a bit of a ruckus, but it only lasted for a couple of minutes.”
“She’s really quite embarrassed by the entire situation. She was in my office for about fifteen minutes earlier this afternoon.”
“I hope that you told her that there’s no need to feel embarrassed. We’ve all had our share of bad days. Steph came in to my room after that class to apologize although there was really no need for her to do that,” he said, rather dismissively, relieved that this was “much ado about nothing.” He started to get up to leave, but Ron asked him to sit down again. “There’s more,” said Ron with obvious discomfort.
As Bishop settled back into his chair, Ron told him what had led to the outburst that he had heard. Even before her class had begun, as some of the boys walked in and saw Stephanie writing on the board, they started meowing and laughing as they took their seats. They were obviously making reference to her ill-advised appearance as Catwoman at the dance on Saturday night. She ignored them, at first, but they continued to make noises during the class. Then one of them said something about her being “hot.” The rest of the class joined in the laughter as Steph lost her patience. “Then it got worse,” Ron said ominously.
“What do you mean?”
“Connie Goldblatt got everyone’s attention by asking Stephanie, ‘Are you sleeping with Mr. Jennings?’”
“Oh, brother!”
“Steph told me that her first impulse was to slap that girl silly, but she managed to get control of herself. I think that some of the other kids were stunned by Connie’s question, Steph threatened them all with detention, and that diffused the situation for the moment.”
Bishop listened attentively. Ron went on to say that Stephanie felt that she had to report Connie’s comment to him as the assistant principal, but that she didn’t want to discuss it with anyone else. He had Steph give him the names of the boys who had made comments and promised her that he would have a chat with each one of them. He also planned to call Connie in to get her side of the story. Assuming that she admitted that what she said was totally inappropriate and disrespectful, he planned on giving her two nights of detention, and asking her to write a letter of apology to Miss Harris. He also planned to inform her parents of what had happened.
Bishop told Ron that he agreed with his approach. He added that Stephanie needed to realize that kids are going to talk, and that sometimes kids ask stupid questions without thinking. He was confident that Stephanie would develop strategies to cope with such situations in the future. “Steph is a natural as a teacher from what I have observed. Her only mistake here is to let some sophomores get to her. She lost it, that’s all. Happens to all of us a
t one time or another.”
The tension seemed to have disappeared from Ron’s face. He asked him not to mention to Stephanie that they had discussed the situation. “And thanks for the heads-up on Shelley. I had her in here for over a half an hour. She broke down after about two minutes. I don’t think that she’ll be threatening anybody anytime soon.”
It had been a long day, and Bishop was looking forward to getting home.
***
He made it into the parking lot, and he had his car key in his hand, when he heard someone rapidly approaching. “Mike, I’m glad I caught you!” said Diane Brennan, somewhat breathlessly. Diane, who taught Art classes at Trinity, was in her early forties but not in very good shape. She was wearing a floral-patterned dress that was all wrong for a person of her build and a plain white sweater that she probably couldn’t have buttoned if she wanted to.
“Hi, Diane! I didn’t see you at all today. How are things?”
That was exactly the opening she needed. Right in the middle of the parking lot, she started unloading on him all of her frustrations of the day. Bishop listened patiently, interrupting her barrage of stories about who did what to whom, and who said what about whom. He politely interjected a brief “Really” or “Oh, my!” when he could. Then, she relayed a story in which he actually took some interest.
Diane served as the moderator of the Student Council, and they were the ones who had put on the Halloween Dance. She had written checks from the club’s account for the DJ, refreshments, flowers and decorations, and security, and paid for some other odds and ends with her own money. She saved her receipts and expected to be reimbursed by the school. The problem was that the ticket sales came in about $300 short of expenses. Knowing that the SC account had over $3,500 in it from the previous school year, she didn’t give the shortfall much thought.
However, as she explained to Bishop, earlier in the day she gone into the Business Manager’s office. Annette Dunkirk had been the Business Manager for years. She was thin as a rail, always smelled of smoke even though Trinity was a smoke-free campus, and she wore her long gray hair piled in a bun. Whenever anyone asked Annette a question, she always acted as if they were accusing her of a crime. Most of the faculty avoided her if they could. She made people feel as though she didn’t have time for their stupid questions. When Diane gave Annette her receipts and asked to be reimbursed at her convenience, Annette smugly said, “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
At that point, Bishop opened his car door, and put his briefcase in the backseat. He was tempted to get in the car so that he could get off his feet after a long day, but he remained attentive as he leaned against the side of the car. Diane continued without skipping a beat, “So, I ask her, ‘Why is that impossible?’ and she tells me that the Student Council account has a zero balance.”
Bishop was suddenly more interested. “I thought you just told me that you had $3,500 in there?”
“I did!” she practically screamed. When she told Annette that there had to be a mistake somewhere, Annette explained that there was no mistake. At the end of last school year, Sister Ann directed her to transfer the remaining monies in all club accounts to the General Fund. The school was having some cash flow problems, and it made more sense to use the monies in those accounts than it did to borrow what she needed from a bank. When Diane asked Annette if Sister intended to reimburse the Student Council, Annette laughed and said, “You’ll have to ask her yourself.” As Diane left the office, Annette added, “Good luck with that!”
“What are you going to do?” queried Bishop. He hoped that she read into his question that there was nothing that he planned to do about it.
“What can I do?” she responded in frustration. “I can’t afford to confront Sister about this. I need my job, and I’m afraid that if I complain, they’ll find a way to let me go. You know very well that without a union, we have no job security.” Diane was right. Challenging Sister Ann on her questionable behavior was a foolhardy proposition. Over the years, the staff learned that she could be a very vindictive person, especially when encouraged by Sister Pat. They had said on more than one occasion that they didn’t get mad. They got even.
Bishop told Diane that he was sorry for her troubles. If all of the club moderators got together, they might be able to get their funds restored, but the chances of getting all of them to agree to anything was remote. There didn’t seem to be much of anything that he could do about it. When Diane was talked out, he finally was able to start his car. Diane’s story did get him thinking. How desperate was the school’s financial position that the principal would resort to such shady bookkeeping? What else might she be capable of? Did she realize the extent of Zappala’s wealth? Had he possibly mentioned to her that he had named the school in his will? Was she any less likely to commit a murder simply because she was a member of a religious order?
***
By the time Bishop pulled out of the parking lot, there were only a few scattered spaces that were not empty. He turned the radio on to NPR, but he wasn’t able to concentrate on the discussion of the increasing power of Political Action Committees (PACs) in American politics. Money and power in Washington. Was it much different at Holy Trinity? He decided to stop and pick up something for dinner. Ever since Grace died, he had struggled with meals. He had never been very interested in taking the time required to cook nutritious meals. It just didn’t seem worth all the trouble to cook for one. Even dining out had lost its appeal. Although he loved to read, he hated sitting in a restaurant with a book for a companion.
As soon as he arrived home, he grabbed the mail from his box at the end of his driveway, and unlocked the door. The emptiness of the house always gave him a momentary pause. Skipper, their West Highland White Terrier, had died about six months after Grace. The dog had been good company for him in those early days after Grace’s death. Perhaps Skipper had died of a broken heart. He wouldn’t have been surprised if that had been his fate as well. But he had survived. For a man the age of seventy, he was doing quite well. Holy Trinity brought with it its share of problems, but it was clear to him that his teaching kept him in the game.
He put his ham and cheese sub in the fridge, checked through the mail that was mostly ads and solicitations for money. It was hard for him to remember the last time he had received a handwritten letter in the mail. That was rapidly becoming a lost art. Now everything was e-mail and texts and Skype. He made himself some tea, put a CD of Scriabin’s piano sonatas in the player, and settled into his favorite chair in the sunroom.
Just then his phone started vibrating and ringing. He had been turning off his phone when he was at home, but had not done so this time. It was Lieutenant Hodge.
“Hello, Lieutenant. Any news?”
“As a matter of fact, there is a bit of news,” he said without giving any hint as to whether the news was good or bad. Bishop waited for Hodge to elaborate. Doug Sanders had been pulled over by the State Police for speeding in the town of Avalon, about a hundred miles west of Groveland. He blew a 0.93 on his BAC so they arrested him for DUI. When they ran his plate, they realized that it was his second violation and that he was also wanted for skipping out on his landlord. Apparently, he was a couple of months behind on his rent. When they contacted the Groveland police because of the rent issue, Hodge picked up on the opportunity to ask Sanders a few questions of his own.
“Did you find out anything interesting?” Bishop recalled that Zappala had fired Sanders just a couple of days before his death, at least according to Russ Chandler.
“A few things,” Hodge started. “For one, he was carrying about $2,300 in cash at the time of his arrest, and he refused to explain where that money had come from.”
“That is interesting,” said Bishop as he mulled over the possibilities. “If he had that kind of cash, he probably could have squared up with this landlord.” He also remembered Jack, the custodian at school, telling him that Doug had lost his part-time job as a driver for UPS about six m
onths earlier and that his coaching stipend was his only source of income. Perhaps the earlier DUI had cost him his job. The question remained: Where did Doug come up with that amount of cash?
“Did you ask him if it was true that Zappala had fired him?”
Hodge explained that not only did Sanders admit that that was true, he also said that he had driven up to Zappala’s house on the night of the murder.
“You’ve got to be kidding!” said a flabbergasted Bishop.
“No kidding! But wait, it gets better! He said that he went up there to beg the coach to give him his job back.”
“And Zappala refused…?”
“No.”
“He gave him his job back?”
“No.”
“I’m confused,” admitted Bishop.
“Here’s the catch. He claims that when he got to Zappala’s house, there was another car in the driveway besides the coach’s Lincoln. He wanted to talk to the coach alone, so he turned around and went home. He swears he never went into that house that night.”
“Did you ask him if he recognized the other car?”
“Yes, I did. Unfortunately, he doesn’t recall anything about that car. It could have been Rocco Santorini’s. He’s admitted that he was there,” Hodge added.
“And if Rocco is telling the truth when he says that his uncle was alive when he left, then the car that Doug saw was more than likely the car driven by the murderer.”
Bishop thanked the Lieutenant for the update and asked him to keep him posted on any new developments. As he prepared to have his dinner, he considered what he had learned. It was obvious that Russ was telling the truth when he told Sister Ann that Zappala had fired Doug. That still didn’t entirely clear Russ who might not have wanted to wait until Zappala retired to become the head coach. Sanders admitted that he was there the night of the murder. He could also be lying about seeing another car in the driveway. He might have gone in, tried to get his job back, and failing that, slipped the cyanide into Zappala’s beer before he left.
Outline for Murder Page 13