Outline for Murder

by Anthony J. Pucci

  “This isn’t the work of a disgruntled trick-or-treater,” Hodge said soberly.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this. Whoever did this was either looking for something or venting their anger,” observed Bishop.

  “I’ll call this in and get some lab boys up here. Whoever did this might also be the person who poisoned the coach.”

  “The criminal returns to the scene of the crime?”

  “If we’re lucky,” added Hodge.

  ***

  After the Lieutenant dropped him off at his home, Bishop put on some classical music, the Polonaises of Chopin, made himself a cup of Earl Grey tea, sat in his favorite chair in the sunroom, and tried to make sense of what he had just witnessed. Why would anyone so thoroughly trash the place? It was almost as incomprehensible as Zappala’s murder itself. He might have understood this destruction if it had been part of the murder scene that morning in early October. Revenge? That didn’t make sense. Zappala was already dead. Looking for something? What could anyone possibly hope to find? Now that the extent of Zappala’s wealth was common knowledge, perhaps whoever did this was hoping to find some cash left behind. But no one would have murdered him if the real intent were theft. There would certainly have been opportunities to ransack the house while he was out. He was at school every weekday. He had a schedule of practices and games. A robbery could have been committed then unless, of course, the perpetrator also went to school everyday, and attended practices and games as well. Chris Delaney fit that description.

  Then Bishop remembered Hodge telling him that when Russ Chandler had been picked up he had about $2,300 in cash on him. Was it possible that Chandler had decided to return to Zappala’s house after he had been frustrated in his earlier attempt to talk the coach into giving him his job back? But the trashing of that house had taken place on Saturday night at the earliest. Chandler was already in custody in Avalon. What about Rocco, someone who was high on Bishop’s list of likely suspects? He made a mental note to check with Mrs. Proulx to find out if Rocco had stayed at the Weary Traveler Inn recently. But why would Rocco rip the place to shreds? He couldn’t have expected that his uncle kept his fortune under his mattress. If not money, what could he have been looking for? When Bishop remembered the phone message from Andy White indicating that the Santorinis were going to contest the will, the thought crossed his mind that Rocco might have been hoping to find another, more recent and more favorable, will. Only one point seemed clear to Bishop — whoever had ransacked that house was not the person who had murdered the coach.

  Considering the late hour, he decided to wait until tomorrow to return Andy White’s call. The music and the tea had done little to soothe Bishop. He hadn’t managed to grade a single paper. As he prepared for bed, he knew that he was in for a night of restless sleep.

  Chapter 19

  The end of the first marking period was rapidly approaching, and the added tension was palpable among students and teachers. Bishop made an attempt to schedule tests and essay due dates in such a way that his students did not face three or four major tests on the same day. A few teachers rather relished watching the kids stress out. Perhaps that was the way they were treated when they were students. Then again, most teachers had their own sources of stress when faced with the daunting task of grading all of the end-of-the-quarter assessments and submitting grades on time. A few teachers solved the problem by giving mostly multiple choice tests, preferably ones that they found online so that they not only didn’t have to spend time grading papers, they didn’t spend much time developing their own assessments either. Heaven help any teacher who failed to meet that deadline. They faced the fury of Sister Pat unleashed. Of course, she didn’t have any papers to grade or deadlines to meet. The absence of any defined duties other than watching what everyone else was or was not doing and reporting all to her best buddy, Sister Ann, made this time of the year all the more enjoyable for her.

  If Bishop was going to devote all of Saturday to his search for information in Madison, he knew that he would have to work feverishly to complete his grading as well as solidify his plans for each class for the upcoming week. He believed in the theory that the amount of work one faces expands to fill the time one has to devote to it. He would never allow the quality of his work in the classroom to suffer. Not only was it a matter of personal and professional pride; it was also a matter of survival. The students would know immediately if he was not giving his job top priority. He knew that he would find the strength to do whatever needed to be done. It would be done well and done on time. The thought of a five-day break at Thanksgiving brought him a measure of comfort.

  ***

  Bishop and Andy White played telephone tag all day Wednesday, but they finally did have a chance to talk on Thursday. White had received a call from Vito Petrocelli, the attorney hired by the Santorini family. They planned to contest the will on the grounds of undue influence. Since Zappala had left only approximately one percent of the value of his estate to his family, they would contend that Sister Ann, the Principal of Holy Trinity, had befriended her employee, Albert Zappala. Having knowledge of his vast wealth, she sought to manipulate him into naming her school as a beneficiary of a large portion of his estate.

  When Bishop commented that Zappala hardly appeared to be the type of person to be so easily manipulated, White agreed. He said that if the case went to court, he would line up a number of witnesses who would give testimony to that fact. Sister Ann would be questioned. White added that it was somewhat troubling that Zappala had essentially cut his family out of the will without any explanation. Nevertheless, he felt that their attempt to contest the will would ultimately fail just as ninety-nine percent of all attempts fail. He suggested that Bishop not let it trouble him too much. Bishop thanked him for his time, and given everything else that was on his plate at the moment, he was determined to take that advice.

  ***

  Bishop was listening to NPR as he drove to school on Friday morning. After the hard work of the last few days, all of his grading was complete. Most of his students had done quite well. For those who had not, Bishop planned to make calls home early the following week. He had discovered over the years that parents were usually very receptive to his expression of concern. He would offer some suggestions for improvement. Keeping the parents fully informed ultimately made his job easier. As he pulled into the parking lot, he was looking forward to a quiet day at school.

  His morning classes went smoothly. Once the students were in front of him, he could easily block out all of his other concerns and focus solely on the business of teaching. Although some of his students might have felt differently, he was usually surprised at how quickly the forty-five minute class period passed. When he walked into the teachers’ lunchroom, he greeted the few people who were already there. He sat down next to Ron Jennings. Their talk was interspersed with the serious business of eating lunch. Ron told Bishop about a conversation he had had that morning with a junior boy to whom he had assigned detention for repeated tardiness to class.

  “Josh looks at me in disbelief and says, ‘Detention? That’s not fair! I know at least five other kids who have been late to the same class that didn’t get detention.’ I tried to explain the difference between being tardy on occasion and being tardy habitually. Then Josh said, ‘You just don’t like me, I guess.’”

  “What did you say to that?” Bishop asked, although he had a fairly good idea of the answer.

  Ron polished off the last of the macs and cheese on his tray before answering. “I said, ‘That’s not true, Josh. In fact, you are my second favorite student.’ Then he asked me, ‘Who’s your favorite student?’ and I answered, ‘Everybody else.’”

  Bishop had heard that one before, but they both shared a good laugh over it. Ron had used that line many times over the years. This bit of normalcy was just what Bishop needed. The conversation then turned in a different direction.

  Ron gulped down the remaining contents of his carton of milk,
crushed the carton, and launched it into a trash can on the other side of the table. “Are you planning anything special for Thanksgiving break?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am. Stephanie invited me to have dinner with her parents in Fairmont,” his pleasure in announcing this quite evident.

  “Really, that’s great! I’m happy for you both.”

  Just then Sarah Humphries entered the room. She took a moment to survey the occupants. Once she saw Ron, she headed directly for the vacant seat next to him. Now that Ron and Stephanie were dating, Sarah seemed to have renewed her own interest in Ron.

  “It seems as though I hardly ever see you, Ron. How are you doing?”

  “Fine, thanks. And you?”

  She launched into an account of her life’s little trials and tribulations. Bishop thought it rude that Sarah had barely acknowledged his presence, but he had learned to expect that from her. If she needed something, she’d be all sweetness and light. She was telling Ron that she didn’t know how she was going to remove the air conditioner from her bedroom window. It was, it seemed to Bishop, a not-so-subtle invitation for Ron to offer to help her with that chore. He was saved from having to respond by Sister Ann who had rushed into the room.

  “Mike, I need you in my office right away. Ron, you better come, too.” She then left as quickly as she had entered. They both immediately got up, dumped their trash into the bucket, placed their trays on the stack near the door, and headed down the hallway.

  “Any idea what’s up?” Bishop asked.

  “No. I was going to ask you the same thing.”

  When they arrived at Sister Ann’s office, the door was closed. Ron knocked, and Sister Pat opened the door. “Well, it took you two long enough!” she said in a tone of disgust. Neither of the gentlemen responded to her taunt. One look at the distress on Sister Ann’s face said it all. Something was up. Lieutenant Hodge was seated at a conference table. Had the killer been identified? Was the killer in this room? Bishop felt his pulse quicken. When they were all seated, Hodge broke the silence.

  “As you all know, Coach Zappala’s house was vandalized this past weekend. I know who broke in and how it was done. I’ve come to make an arrest.”

  For a moment, no one spoke. Ron finally asked the question.

  “Who did it?”

  Hodge studied his hands as if the answer were written there. He took no pleasure in being the bearer of this news.

  “Chris Delaney.”

  ***

  For a moment, everyone was speechless. Sister Pat began to shake her head affirmatively as if she had known this all along.

  “Chris Delaney?” Bishop repeated in disbelief. “What makes you think Chris did it?”

  Hodge cleared his throat and leaned forward. “Well, after we went up there the other day to check the place over, something kept bothering me. The door was locked when we approached. Since there was no sign of a forced entry, I figured that someone had opened it another way.”

  Ron wasn’t following. “How else can you open a locked door? You just said that there was no sign of damage to the lock.”

  “That’s exactly right, but there are other ways of working the lock, especially a cheap one like Zappala had on there. I took a credit card and slipped it in the lock, and it popped open like a jack-in-the-box. It was easy. Anybody could have done it.”

  “Then why do you think it was Chris?” Bishop asked, not wanting to believe that Chris could have caused so much damage.

  “Because when the lab boys went through the place, they found this under a pile of magazines,” and as he spoke, he reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out something, and placed it on the conference table. They all stared at the evidence. It was Chris Delaney’s Holy Trinity ID card, complete with his photo and signature. All the students received laminated photo ID cards that were used for admission to dances and games among other things. Bishop picked up the card. It was the card for the current school year. He wished that he could think of some explanation that would trump the card that Hodge had played, but he couldn’t. He had to admit to himself that Chris seemed guilty of something, but even if he had broken into the house, that didn’t mean that he killed the coach. Sister Ann broke the silence.

  “Lieutenant, should we ask Chris to join us?”

  “Yes, Sister, I think that would be an excellent idea.”

  Ron interrupted. “Don’t you think that he should have a lawyer present or at least his parents?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll inform the boy of his rights. He won’t have to answer any questions if he doesn’t want to, but if he cooperates, it might make it better for him later.”

  “Wait a minute, Lieutenant,” Bishop cautioned. “You are talking as if you already have him convicted. There may be some reasonable explanation.” Although he spoke with conviction, he inwardly doubted that such an explanation existed. Ron went to find Chris. As he left the office, Bishop said, “While you’re out there, would you please find someone to cover my next class? Have the students read quietly until I get there. This should only take a few more minutes,” he said hopefully. As the door opened, Bishop caught a glimpse of the custodian, Jack Slater, picking up a scrap of paper in the hallway. If Jack had heard what had been said in that office, a good portion of the school would soon know as well.

  Ron left to get Bishop’s class covered and to check Chris’s schedule. He needed to make calling Chris out of class as routine as possible. However, with Hodge’s patrol car in the visitor’s parking lot, it would not take some students long to figure out that Chris was involved in something serious.

  The young man looked shaken as he was led into the closed-door meeting. Bishop looked directly into his eyes. It was Shakespeare who had described the eyes as “the window to the soul.” He wanted to determine if the shaken look was also the look of someone who knew he had been caught in a wrongdoing. Sister Ann indicated a chair for Chris to be seated. Hodge explained to Chris why he had been called in and asked if he was willing to answer some questions although he was under no obligation to do so. Chris agreed too quickly Bishop thought.

  Hodge had placed the ID card back in his shirt pocket, and now he produced it again with more dramatic flair than he had the first time. He felt that he had solved the mystery. Everyone studied Chris’s reaction. He picked it up nonchalantly, looked at it briefly, and put it back on the table.

  “That’s mine, all right.” Bishop was in disbelief. Did Chris really understand the seriousness of the situation? Was he confessing to the breakin and the destruction of personal property? Was he confessing to murder?

  “That’s mine, all right,” Chris repeated. “The only problem is that I haven’t received my ID card yet this year. When everybody else received their cards, mine was missing. I had another picture taken, but the retakes haven’t come back yet.”

  “He’s right about the retakes, Lieutenant,” Sister Ann quickly added. “The company has had some computer glitches. Those IDs aren’t expected until next week.”

  “Chris, did you have your picture taken at the beginning of the year?” asked Ron.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Then how could it be missing?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is that everyone in my homeroom got theirs except me. At first, we thought it must have gotten mixed in with cards for another homeroom, but it never showed up so I just waited for a retake.”

  “What homeroom are you in?” Sister Pat asked.

  “303.”

  Bishop felt his face flush.

  Sister Pat slammed her pen down on the conference table. She asked with obvious pleasure, “And whose homeroom is that?”

  “My homeroom teacher is Miss Harris.”

  ***

  Chris was dismissed from the meeting and urged by Sister Ann not to discuss this matter with his classmates. She knew that he would undoubtedly tell his parents, and she knew that it would not be a question of if, but only when, Mr. Delaney would call. Ron left again to check Stepha
nie’s schedule. She was teaching a class of French II. He asked Terry, the main office secretary, to call her room, tell her that there was an important phone call for her, and that Ron would be up to cover her class. That was the only way to get her out of the classroom without arousing the suspicions of the students too much.

  When Ron explained that she was needed downstairs, Stephanie tried to contain her anxiety.

  “Is it my parents? Is it Henrietta? Did something happen?” she whispered.

  “No, no. Nothing like that. Really. There’s a meeting in Sister Ann’s office, and she needs your input. That’s all,” he said smiling in a reassuring way. Inwardly, he was hoping that his words of reassurance would prove correct.

  “A meeting? What could be so important that she has to interrupt my class?”

  “Steph, the sooner you get down there, the sooner you’ll be back.”

  Those who remained in the office sat quietly around the conference table while they waited for Stephanie’s arrival. Bishop wondered if Stephanie could have taken Chris Delaney’s ID card and used it to frame him for the breakin. It made no sense, he told himself. There had to be another explanation.

  Sister Ann answered the gentle knock at her door. When Steph saw Lieutenant Hodge and Bishop at the table, a look of extreme apprehension came over her. She knew immediately that this had nothing to do with her parents or Henrietta. She was about to be interrogated, but for what?

  “What’s going on?” she asked in a wavering voice.

  “Please sit down, Stephanie,” Sister Ann said curtly.

  Hodge began. “Are you Chris Delaney’s homeroom teacher?”

  “Of course, I am. You wouldn’t need to take me out of my class to ask me that. What’s wrong?” Her voice sounded more confident now.

  Hodge showed her the ID card.

  “Do you recognize this?”

  “Of course. It’s Chris Delaney’s ID card.” She turned to Sister Ann. “Is this the retake?”