Outline for Murder

by Anthony J. Pucci

  “I think that I’ve done pretty good.”

  “Fairly well?”

  “Fairly well, yes. I think that I’ve done fairly well.” At least it wasn’t too early in the morning for him to catch on to the gentle reminder to use good grammar.

  “Do you feel that your skills in reading, writing, and thinking have improved in the last ten weeks?”

  “Yes, I think so,” he said with some resignation, knowing the conclusion that his teacher was heading toward.

  “Then, I would say that your grade should reflect that, and you needn’t worry about it too much. After all, it’s what you are learning that’s important, not the specific number on your report card.”

  Jimmy thanked Bishop for his time, and as he left the room, Bishop imagined that he was still disappointed that he hadn’t managed to learn his grade, and that he would hear a few “I told you so” remarks when he relayed to his friends how Bishop had responded.

  ***

  Homeroom period was more than just a time to take morning attendance and to listen to morning announcements. The phone usually rang at least once or twice. A student might need to report to the Main Office or to the Guidance Office. One of the teachers might need to see a student for a moment. Since it was all part of the rhythm of the day, Bishop expected more of the same when he answered the phone, but on this occasion, the call was for him.

  Terry Mortenson delivered the message succinctly. “Mike, Sister Ann wants to see you in her office right after second period.”

  It wasn’t everyday that he was called down to her office. “Do you know what this is about?” There was a moment’s hesitation. “No, I don’t. All I know is that she wants to see you in her office. I’ve got another call coming in that I have to take. Bye now.”

  Someone had to have been listening to Terry making that call. Either Sister Ann or Sister Pat must have been standing close by. Bishop would have liked to have some idea of why he was being called down. Sister obviously didn’t want to tip her hand. He fought the urge to get ahead of himself. Perhaps this had nothing to do with recent events. He would find out soon enough.

  ***

  He walked in to Sister Ann’s office at the appointed time. She greeted him with a curt, “Sit down, Michael,” as she pointed to the hard-backed chair with which he was becoming much too familiar. She pressed one of the buttons on the phone on her desk, leaned toward the speaker, and said, “He’s here.” The heavy footsteps that he heard behind him confirmed his suspicion that Sister Pat had just been invited to join them. She closed the door with the flip of one hand as she grabbed a cushioned chair and dragged it across the carpet. She angled the chair so that she would be able to look at both the principal and Bishop. As she plopped into the chair, what air had been in the cushion was suddenly expelled, making a hissing sound. Bishop looked directly at Sister Ann who seemed to be deciding how to begin. Determined not to appear anxious, he sat in the silence, punctuated only by the belabored breathing of Sister Pat. Moving that chair perhaps had been her only exercise of the day.

  Sister Ann finally spoke. In an accusatory tone, she said, “First thing this morning I had a phone call from Mr. Delaney.” The anger in her tone intensified as she added, “He’s threatening to sue the school!”

  Bishop wasn’t sure exactly how this related to him, and he wasn’t about to ask. He wasn’t going to ask what prompted the threat either. It was rather obvious that it had something to do with the meeting that had taken place in her office last Friday. Still, he wanted to hear what Sister would say. Sister Ann, however, was waiting for Bishop’s response. Unable to contain herself, Sister Pat broke the stalemate. Gesticulating wildly, she shouted, “Don’t you understand what this means? If he sues us, we’ll be ruined! We’ll have to close the school!”

  Bishop was going to point out that Mr. Delaney had only threatened to sue the school. That didn’t mean that he actually would. Even if he did, one would have to assume that the school would lose the case. Additionally, the judgment would have to be quite large to force the school in bankruptcy. Based on past experience, he knew that any appeal to logic would be disregarded. Hysterical overreaction was so much more satisfying. Bishop calmly looked at Sister Pat and offered, “Shouldn’t you be telling this to the school’s attorney? I’m afraid I don’t have any legal bona fides.”

  Sister Pat gave him a befuddled look. As he suspected, the study of Latin had not been high on her list of academic pursuits. In an attempt to save her friend from embarrassment, Sister Ann interjected, “I’m not asking for legal advice, Michael.”

  “What exactly are you asking for, Sister?” Bishop knew that they hadn’t called him in to a closed-door meeting to keep him abreast of the latest legal threats made against the school. They wanted something. They always did.

  “I need you to call Mr. Delaney and convince him to drop this business of a lawsuit.”

  Sister Pat had recovered sufficiently to add a “That’s right!” to Sister Ann’s request.

  Bishop had already decided that he would do no such thing, but he first sought a clear statement of the basis of Delaney’s threat. Sister Pat hit her forehead with her open hand in frustration and blurted out “For Pete’s sake!” before Sister Ann could cut her off. “He’s upset that we allowed Lieutenant Hodge to interrogate Chris without his parents and their lawyer being present.”

  “I don’t think you have too much to worry about. Hodge explained to Chris that he didn’t have to answer any questions if he didn’t want to. In addition, Chris is eighteen and capable of making his own decisions.”

  “Well, that’s not the way his father sees it, believe me,” Sister said as she replayed the verbal lambasting she had received on that phone call. “That’s why you have to talk to him.”

  “We all know that Mr. Delaney is all bluster. Now that he’s made his threat, the best approach is simply to let him cool off.”

  “You’re not going to call him?” Sister Pat asked in a tone of outrage and disbelief.

  Bishop countered with an understated, “That’s right, Sister.” Before Sister Ann had a chance to dismiss him, he decided to ask a few questions of his own. Looking directly at the principal, he inquired, “Have you had a call from Andy White recently?”

  “No. Why do you ask?” Sister Pat shifted her weight causing the chair’s cushion to emit a rather unpleasant noise.

  “Andy called me the other day to let me know that the Zappala family might contest the will.”

  She reacted as if she had been slapped in the face. “They can’t do that! This school won’t survive without that money!” Realizing that she had either overreacted or divulged information that was not for public consumption, she quickly added, “We could certainly use that money.”

  Her comments about the financial condition of the school gave Bishop cause for concern. Just how bad was it? Were they actually considering closing the school? If that were even a remote possibility, didn’t the faculty, staff, students, and parents have a right to know? Something else occurred to him. “If they do challenge, they will contend that you exerted undue influence on Zappala to include the school in his will.” He decided not to tell her that Andy had assured him that such challenges failed in a vast majority of cases. “Did you ever discuss his will with him?”

  Sister Ann and Sister Pat exchanged a look that told Bishop that he had hit a nerve. The principal’s face flushed, and she began to stumble over her words. “Well I might have … I mean … he said … he asked me if he could … help.” Then, as she regained a bit of composure, she added, “But I never told him to leave his family with so little.”

  Bishop struggled to understand why Zappala would have even asked how he could help the school. Robert Penn Warren’s All The King’s Men came to mind. Willie Stark was a terrible man in many ways, but he wanted to build the best hospital in the state. He wanted the best care for his people, and he wanted everyone to have access to it. He thought that if he could accomplish that one g
oal without any corrupting influence, it would somehow redeem him for all his sins. Did it do that? No. Might Zappala have been like Willie in that regard? Giving almost all of his money to charity, including Trinity, might have been his way of buying redemption. Somehow, it didn’t add up. There was a greatness to Willie completely lacking in Zappala. Giving money to help others? That wasn’t his style. Unless he was paying someone off.

  Suddenly, the pieces began to fall into place. “Sister, did you know why Zappala left Madison?” She looked as if she might become ill. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she asked him to leave her office. Coming to her defense, Sister Pat said sharply, “You don’t have to answer that question.” However, it seemed to Bishop that she felt that she did have to answer. He thought of the ancient mariner in Coleridge’s poem who admits, “I shot the Albatross,” as he is compelled to retell the story of his sin. Sister Ann revealed that a few days after she had hired Zappala, she received a phone call from Mr. Bostwick, the principal at Madison, who shared with her the real reason that Zappala had left Madison. He apologized for not being truthful in his letter of recommendation.

  Although Bishop had known Sister Ann for about twenty years, he was nonetheless shocked by her admission. “So you knew about Honesty Jones?”

  “That’s enough!” screamed Sister Pat. “Get out! Get out!”

  Bishop stood up and stared at the principal. Grabbing a tissue from the box on her desk, she dabbed at her eyes. Her silence was an admission of guilt. He felt no pity for her, only outrage. “He could have done that to one of our girls,” he said in disgust as he opened the door and left the room.

  The halls were empty, but they wouldn’t be for long. Classes would be out in a few minutes. As Bishop made his way back to his room, thoughts of the meeting that had just concluded flooded his mind. What the principal had done was morally reprehensible. He considered reporting her to the Board of Trustees. She should be removed from her position of leadership. Knowing that most of the board members had been handpicked by Sister Ann herself, he doubted that they would take such decisive action. She hadn’t committed a crime, unless in her desire to receive Zappala’s bequest, she had been involved in his early demise. He had to admit that that was fairly unlikely. There were more plausible perpetrators of that crime, with Rocco still at the top of the list. He muttered to himself that if the board did find out, they might sympathize with her dilemma. A million dollars was at stake.

  Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice that Terry had followed him upstairs. “Mike, are you all right?” she asked with a look of concern on her face.

  “Yes, yes. I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “Sounds like it got pretty heated in there,” she said, fishing for some information.

  He wondered how many times Jack, the spymaster custodian, had managed to walk by that closed door.

  “Nothing that I can discuss. I’m sure you understand,” hoping to deter her from asking any more questions. Students thankfully began to emerge from their classrooms, providing him with a reason to end Terry’s interrogation. He had decided not to divulge what he had learned to anyone other than Lieutenant Hodge.

  ***

  A short time later Bishop found himself patrolling the noisy cafeteria with Ron who obviously knew that he had spent a long time in the principal’s office. Unlike Terry, Ron didn’t pry. While maintaining a watchful eye on the students, Ron told Bishop that Sister Ann had filled him in on Mr. Delaney’s threat. Since she couldn’t convince Bishop to make that call, she had ordered Ron to do so before the end of the day. Unfortunately, as part of the administrative team, Ron could not refuse as easily as Bishop had.

  “I don’t envy you that call.” He didn’t tell Ron that it was a call that Sister Ann had asked him to make. “You know how difficult some parents can be. Frankly, the more I know about the father, the more impressed I am with Chris. It couldn’t be easy to live with that man and his expectations.”

  “That’s another thing. Sister told me that Delaney is also blaming us for the fact that Chris hasn’t received a scholarship.”

  Bishop wasn’t surprised to realize that Sister Ann hadn’t told him everything about that call. “His grades have slipped a bit, but his SAT scores are excellent. He’s been involved in many school activities. I’m sure he received excellent recommendations from his teachers. I know I wrote a very strong letter for him.”

  “Apparently, it wasn’t enough.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Delaney told her that the coaches who were scouting him so heavily have been calling one by one to tell Chris that he is not going to receive a scholarship.”

  “Did they say why?”

  “According to Delaney, each comes up with a different excuse, but he believes that it all comes down to Trinity. It’s our fault,” mimicking the tone that Sister must have used.

  “You know, Mr. Delaney might have been better off not telling her about the those calls from the coaches.”

  “Why?”

  “Although his father blames the school, Chris might blame his coach whose recommendation would have been more important than anything in his formal application. Chris might have wanted to lash out at the coach in any way that he could.” Ron agreed that Chris did have a temper as displayed in threatening Zappala in public and in his reactions at the dance.

  Just then Mary Nickerson came into the cafeteria, walked up to Ron, and whispered a message in his ear. Apparently, Ron was needed elsewhere, and Mary had volunteered to fill in for him. Bishop smiled at Mary and told her that she didn’t have to stay. He could handle it by himself. As he began to walk down the center aisle of the cafeteria, he surmised that Mary was not being exclusively altruistic in volunteering for café duty. Teachers didn’t spend years of study and thousand of dollars in tuition so that they could watch students eat. Mary wanted to talk to him about something. Terry might have put her up to it, having failed herself to extract any details about the meeting earlier that morning.

  Several 9th grade boys at the other end of the room were getting a bit too rowdy. He used that as an excuse to put some distance between himself and Mary. As he arrived at their table, it was clear that one of the boys was about to launch a tater tot as a missile directed at a group of 9th grade girls seated at the next table. A stern look from Bishop was all it took to prevent the attack. Inwardly, he smiled at the behavior of these young people. Year after year, the seating arrangements in the café were so predictable. The seniors always sat together on the same side, and freshmen instinctively knew not to sit there. The underclassmen, especially freshmen, sat by gender. More boys might be seated at one table than it could comfortably accommodate, but that was preferable to straying from the security of the group. Tossing an occasional tater tot or green pea at a group of the opposite sex was evidently some sort of rite of passage. It was his job to see that things didn’t get out of hand. It also served to keep him and Mary at opposite ends of the café until the period ended.

  Chapter 24

  The remainder of the day had been something of a blur. He breathed a sigh of relief as the dismissal bell rang. He was hoping to make an uninterrupted escape to the parking lot just as Aaron Metcalf knocked sheepishly at the open door of Bishop’s classroom.

  “Of course. Come in, Aaron. Have a seat.” With the revelations of that meeting with Sister Ann dominating his thoughts, he had completely forgotten about the folded piece of paper in his pocket. Aaron had wanted to see him after school. He got up from behind his desk, pulled a student desk around, and gestured for Aaron to sit down opposite him.

  “Should I close the door?” Aaron asked.

  “That won’t be necessary. I’ve got a clear view of the hallway from here. If anyone stops by, we can quickly change the subject to English. Am I correct in assuming that you don’t want to talk to me about English?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.” His green canvas backpack, laden with heavy textbooks needed for that night’s homework, made a t
hud as he dropped it on the floor. He fished out a pen from his jacket pocket even though he had no need for one and began to click it open and shut several times in rapid succession. Bishop understood that students, confronted with moments of high anxiety, were often unaware of this idiosyncrasy.

  “Okay, Aaron. What’s on your mind?”

  Aaron, still subconsciously clicking his pen, began to explain that he had heard kids talking about the meeting held in Sister Ann’s office last Friday. Apparently, Chris Delaney was telling his friends that Lieutenant Hodge had tried to accuse of him of vandalizing the coach’s house. Aaron stopped several times when he heard someone passing in the hall. Each time, Bishop signaled that it was safe to continue. Metcalf said that lots of people thought that Chris did it because his ID card was found at the house.

  “Chris didn’t do it, Mr. Bishop,” he announced as if he were telling him something he didn’t already know.

  “I agree with you, Aaron. I was at that meeting, and I can assure you that he had never been in possession of that card. Someone else had it, and the identity of that person is what the police need to find out.” He spoke with finality as if this meeting was at an end.

  “That’s what I came to tell you.”

  “What do you mean, Aaron?”

  He put the pen down on the desk, and twisted around to check that no one was near the door. Turning back to Bishop, he said softly, “I know who had that card.”

  “You do?” He wondered if this pimply-faced young man who seemed afraid of his own shadow could possibly have taken the card. How many times did the culprit turn out to be the one you would least expect?