A Well-Timed Murder

by Tracee de Hahn

  “Don’t move,” she cried, reaching for a board and shoving it away, exposing Koulsy’s head and shoulders. He lay on his side, blood running from a cut to his scalp.

  “Tommy, help me,” she said. Scaglia didn’t move. He stared at his injured friend. She grabbed Tommy’s arm and shook him slightly. “I need your help.” He blinked and started forward, his legs uncoordinated.

  “Get over here.” She was unable to lift the longer boards on her own. “Tommy!”

  He stumbled forward.

  “Lift there.” Agnes motioned to a board pressed onto Koulsy’s shoulder and hips. It was two meters long, as thick as two fingers, and heavy. Tommy grasped it, and she counted one, two, three, then they lifted. Koulsy let out a cry of relief. Agnes glanced up, wondering why no one had come to help, then realized that the teachers and other students were in class across the lawn. No one was near.

  Tommy was breathing hard. He leaned over and put his hands on his knees like a runner at the end of a race. Agnes gave him a sharp once-over. He was scraped and bruised by his fall, but not seriously injured. Right now, Koulsy needed their help.

  “Again,” she said sharply.

  Tommy flinched and straightened.

  “Careful,” she said as they lifted another board.

  It took a few minutes to remove the pieces covering Koulsy. When he was free, Agnes knelt beside him. His eyes fluttered open and shut a few times. He grimaced. She yanked a handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it to the cut on his head. Koulsy rolled onto his back and blinked as if he were surprised to be alive.

  The flower box had fallen from an upper-balcony balustrade. Constructed of heavy timber and filled with earth, it would have killed the boy if one end hadn’t landed on the decorative concrete ball that marked the edge of the sidewalk. It had created a pocket of space for his head.

  “Take your time. We’ll get help,” she said, looking him up and down. Despite his cuts and scrapes, Koulsy didn’t appear to be seriously injured. “Tommy, go get the nurse.”

  “Is he going to die?” Tommy whispered.

  “No, but he’s injured. Go get help.”

  Tommy didn’t move. She stood and looked in his eyes. They weren’t dilated and there were no other signs of trauma. “Did you hit your head?” She shook him slightly.

  He blinked as if he were waking up. “It just happened. I was waiting and it all happened so fast. I thought he was dead.”

  “Tommy, you need to focus.” Agnes gripped his shoulders. “Go get the nurse.”

  He wiped sweat from his forehead and started to speak again, but no sound came from his mouth. She was about to go for the nurse herself when he nodded over and over and turned toward the infirmary. Agnes watched him until she was sure he would make it. Then she knelt by Koulsy.

  “I didn’t see anything. If Tommy hadn’t pushed me out of the way, it would have hit me on the head. He saved my life.”

  Koulsy was holding the handkerchief to his forehead, and she adjusted it to better cover the wound. Blood dripped down his temple, across his cheekbone to his chin.

  “It fell. I didn’t hear it. I was walking from the pool and had my head down.” He looked up as if to judge the impact of the falling box. “I was standing right there.”

  Bernard Fontenay raced up, out of breath. “I saw Tommy … he was barely coherent. What happened?” Fontenay glanced at Agnes, eyes panicked, then quickly gathered himself. “How are you, son?”

  Koulsy sat up slowly and used his free hand to brush gravel from his arms and legs. Fontenay helped him stand. Koulsy winced when his right foot touched the ground. He touched his ankle and groaned.

  Fontenay looked up. “Hamel will be distraught when he sees this. He takes good care of the place, but you can’t prevent everything.”

  Koulsy seemed steadier now, and Fontenay looped the boy’s arm around his own shoulder to take the weight off the injured leg. Thanking Agnes for her help, Fontenay started toward the infirmary. She felt her heart slow with relief. The accident could have been a tragedy. She walked inside and headed up the stairs, curious to see where the box had fallen from.

  The upper dormitory floor was empty, and she walked through the nearest bedroom to the balcony. It was narrow, just wide enough for two people to pass. A solid wood rail rested on sturdy carved spindles. The flower boxes were butted against one another the entire length.

  Agnes looked down from the place the box had fallen. The balcony on the floor below was damaged as the box had twisted and hit before landing on the ground and splintering. Koulsy had been covered with debris after the box impacted. A direct hit would have killed him.

  She studied the bare balustrade. The metal brackets that held the box in place were missing. All that was left were the holes where they had been screwed in. She moved to the adjacent box. The brackets were custom-made and fitted the rail perfectly, running along the top, then down the outside and turning back to clamp into place. This way no one needed to lean out and over to screw the box into place. She pushed the box and it didn’t move.

  Returning to the empty space, she crouched to study the holes left by the missing straps. She eyed them carefully. Were the holes enlarged by the force of the screws pulling loose when the box tipped over? She had trouble imagining that. What was the likelihood of all six screw holes giving way at the same time?

  A dark concern emerged. This wasn’t an accident. Someone had loosened the screws and pushed the box over; perhaps timing it for when Koulsy passed beneath. She looked down at the ground again. If true, then this was a vicious act. Or was she jumping to conclusions? Perhaps a bored kid sitting on the balcony had fiddled with the screws, not meaning any harm, but passing the time? She knew enough about boys to realize that was possible. One of her own sons had loosened the ladder leading to his grandfather’s hayloft without thinking about what would happen the next time someone climbed up. He wanted to see if he was strong enough to do it, was the explanation.

  She studied the whole assembly. Even with the brackets loosened, the weight of the flower box should have kept it in place until it was shoved or dislodged by a strong wind. If this was done on purpose, then someone must have been standing on the balcony when it fell. She looked out across the campus. Almost every building had a view of the chalet. Someone had to be watching.

  She texted Petit to meet her and headed for the ground floor. Monsieur Hamel was standing by the debris when she emerged from the chalet.

  “Walked through the infirmary and Madame Butty told me what happened.” He studied the remains of the shattered box. He removed his hat and rubbed his head. “I’d have never forgiven myself if one of the boys was hurt.”

  “No one is blaming you.”

  Hamel shook his head, mumbling to himself, and walked toward the garden shed. In his absence Agnes sifted through the pile of wood and earth. The earth was loose, with old roots mixed in. There was a small amount of trash: cigarette butts, an old lighter, a length of fishing line, plastic bottle caps. She found a loose screw and scratched it against a plank. The screw barely made a dent. This was old hardwood. Tough as iron. That eliminated any chance of the screws pulling out on their own. Once Hamel recovered from his shock, he’d realize the same thing. This wasn’t negligence.

  Pushing bits of debris aside, she found what she wanted: one of the metal brackets. Both heads of the two screws were scratched as if turned by someone using the wrong tool. Amateur or hurried?

  Petit ran up, breathless with worry. Agnes expanded on what she had included in her text message. Petit gave a low whistle. “That would have been murder, plain and simple. Premeditated and carried out in cold blood.”

  “Start asking questions. See if anyone is unaccounted for and might have been on that balcony.”

  He shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “How could the kid not see that big box falling?”

  “Easily. When I walked to the pool with him, he studied his shoes the entire time.” Agnes looked across the lawn. I
t was deceptively serene. “I’ll visit the infirmary and see what I can learn from the boys.” She gave Petit a plastic evidence bag for the bracket and screws and told him to take photographs of everything.

  When Agnes reached the infirmary, Madame Butty was in her office, washing her hands. The door to the examination room was closed. “I hope the boys are recovering,” Agnes said after introducing herself.

  “Koulsy needs rest. He hit his head when he fell, and although he doesn’t need a stitch, I’d like him to be quiet and under observation the rest of the day. He told me that Tommy Scaglia saved his life. He didn’t see a thing until he was pushed out of the way.”

  “How is Tommy?”

  “I just finished cleaning his scratches. He’s around the corner. I asked him to wait a few more minutes before standing up. I think he should be excused from class as well. His injuries are superficial, but he’s shaken. He’s more upset than Koulsy, poor boy.”

  Agnes found Tommy sitting on a plastic chair, staring down at his uniform pants. Or what was left of them. They been torn up by the gravel, and the nurse had simply cut them off above the knees to treat his cuts.

  “Madame Butty said they were ruined anyway,” he said when Agnes approached.

  “Something to tell your friends about.” She sat next to him. “You’re a bit of a hero, the way Koulsy tells it. What do you remember?”

  He slumped over until his head was nearly between his knees, and Agnes wondered if he was going to be sick.

  “I don’t remember anything.” She gave him a moment and he kept talking. “I’d left my homework upstairs and went back to get it. That’s why I was late going to class. I saw Koulsy walking back from the pool.”

  “He wasn’t in class?”

  “Koulsy got special permission to skip because a dude came today from a swimming organization to time him. Anyway, I saw him coming across the field, and I stopped to wait. I wanted to hear how it went. When he got close, there was a scraping sound over my head. I don’t know if I looked up or just felt what was happening.” Tommy’s shoulders heaved.

  Agnes put her hand lightly on his arm.

  “I didn’t think. I ran forward, right into him, then it slammed into the ground. Koulsy yelled and I thought he’d been hit. Next thing I remember, you were there.” Tommy sat up straight and wiped sweat from his forehead. “I thought he was dead.”

  “How many people knew Koulsy was at the pool?”

  “I don’t know.” Tommy leaned forward, clutching his stomach. “Everyone who noticed he wasn’t in class. It’s not a secret. It’s kind of cool that he’s that good a swimmer. I’d have told everyone.” He looked at her. “I was scared.”

  She believed him. He still looked scared. Not something she would have imagined upon meeting him. His swagger had been crushed.

  “Why didn’t he go straight to class from the pool?”

  “He never does.”

  “But he changes in the locker room. It would be quicker to go straight on to class. Why would he climb all the way up to his room?” While boys had enough energy to run up dozens of flights of stairs, she knew they also were lazy. They called it taking a shortcut.

  “Ritual.”

  Agnes nearly laughed, but Tommy’s expression was serious.

  “He always does the same thing, in the same order. Since he doesn’t always need to go to class after a swim, the ritual has to be to return to his room. He just stops and picks up his books or looks around. I don’t know. But he likes the ritual. Same thing with meals. Never has snacks or late dessert.”

  Agnes remembered how Koulsy looked nearly frightened by the idea of a chocolate biscuit when she offered one to him. She’d thought it was because they weren’t usually allowed, but this made sense. She understood, to a degree. On the shooting range she had her rituals, most of them insignificant, probably not noticeable to anyone else, but she wouldn’t shoot without them. Even her mental process was a ritual when she was out there. Even when the ritual happened in a flash, it was there. That mental process was what had kept her focused when she had needed to make that one shot just three weeks ago. Koulsy was a serious sportsman. He would take his rituals seriously. It was unfortunate that they might be used against him.

  She warned Tommy not to talk to the other boys about what had happened. She thought he took her caution seriously. Likely because his father was an American criminal defense attorney. Probably had visions of “the slammer” if he didn’t behave.

  Thirty-two

  Agnes met Madame Fontenay inside the chalet.

  “Ask Jean to send something up. Coffee and a sweet,” Helene said as they passed the receptionist.

  “Don’t trouble him for me,” said Agnes.

  “It’s not for you.”

  Agnes followed the headmistress into her office and chose a comfortable chair. She had confirmed a suspicion with a quick phone call earlier and looked forward to speaking with Helene.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. I remember you as Helene Durand.”

  Helene’s expression froze for a short second, then she smiled and Agnes saw a light spark in her eyes. “I never used my married name professionally; it was easier to keep a name that everyone knew. What made you think of it?”

  “I remembered the photograph on the wall behind you. Your face isn’t visible, but I remember that day. I saw you ski a few times. World Cup at St. Moritz and Wengen, and maybe one other time. We are a skiing family. Of course, none of us have your technique. Do you miss it?”

  Helene went rigid, then laughed. “You’re the first person to ask me. People here don’t know, or if they do, they treat the subject as if it’s taboo. Even my husband mentions ski weekend like it’s an Ebola outbreak. It’s difficult to have something that was your entire life become the thing no one will speak about.”

  “Have you considered skiing again?”

  “When I say that I loved skiing, I don’t mean the beauty of the landscape or the peace of the slopes or whatever it is that you feel. The kind of skiing that could be arranged for me now. I loved the speed. I loved being on the outer edge of control.” Helene shrugged. “That’s what got me in the end, didn’t it? Speed on the wrong side of control. Did you know that I crashed with a training coach? It wasn’t even during a race. I practically flew over the fencing. They clocked me at one hundred and forty kilometers an hour and gaining. With perfect aim, I slammed right into a tree. My pelvis was crushed, along with a few other important things. Bernard was there, waiting to take me to dinner after the run. He was there when I regained consciousness in the hospital.” Helene stopped speaking; it seemed as if she’d slipped into a trance.

  After a few seconds, she shook herself slightly. “You’re a policewoman. You’ve surely seen people injured. People dying, perhaps. Have you ever told someone to be thankful they lived?”

  Agnes shook her head.

  “That’s what Bernard said to me when I woke up. What the doctors said. The nurses. My parents. I wasn’t thankful. I’m still not. I have a half life.” Tears glinted in Helene’s eyes. “Bernard thinks it’s been long enough. Like there is a timeline for recovery. The pain is lessened, so you’re nearly there! Start your new life. Every day is the start of a new journey. So many platitudes.” She pressed the corners of her eyes. “Next time someone says to you that they wished they’d died, do them the courtesy of believing them.”

  Helene adjusted the front of her sweater. “I should thank you, though. I actually like to talk about skiing. Those were the happiest days of my life. Reliving them is reliving them, not reliving the fall, which is what people assume.”

  “It must have been traumatic for Monsieur Fontenay; maybe that’s why he doesn’t care to relive it.”

  Helene Fontenay slid her crutches to the side. “More traumatic than it was for me?”

  “As you say, who gets to decide how long it takes to heal?” For a moment, Agnes thought she’d gone too far, but the headmistress relaxed her shoulders a
nd nodded.

  “I’d like to hear about your ski career.”

  Helene smiled and shook her head. “Not today. You’re not here to talk about my past. Or my present. You have other questions. We should move on to those.”

  Agnes nearly asked about skiing again, but she felt that the mood had shifted and the topic was closed for now. She understood that memories and grief, even if unconsciously, had to be compartmentalized. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. She hoped that Helene would someday make it past anger to acceptance.

  “I wanted to ask where you were when the flower box fell?”

  “I was here, in the office.” Helene was Headmistress Fontenay again.

  “Madame Jomini said you weren’t here.”

  “Are you accusing me?” Helene didn’t blink. “Clearly I don’t remember where I was at that exact moment and I didn’t hear it fall. I’ve been in my office most of the day, that’s what I meant. At some point, I went down to speak with Chef Jean about his food order. He would serve the boys filet and truffles every day if I didn’t watch him. I was reviewing the menus in my office before that.”

  “Madame Jomini said she looked for you downstairs and didn’t find you. In fact, she looked everywhere she could think of. There was a parent waiting on the phone.”

  “Well, I wasn’t upstairs throwing boxes off balconies.” Helene shifted a crutch.

  “I didn’t mean to sound accusatory. I wondered if you saw anyone else. My colleague will check alibis. So far, you, Tommy, and Koulsy are the only ones who couldn’t have done it. If you saw someone else in the moments when the box fell, I could rule them out.”

  “I wouldn’t count Tommy out. I wouldn’t count any of them out. Their own parents don’t want them. You do realize that? Where can we send our child so far away we won’t have to see Tommy or Michael or Rudolph again? We have the leftovers from parents too busy with their own lives.”

  Agnes felt the woman’s anger like a blast of wind. It nearly pressed Agnes back. She wondered why Bernard Fontenay thought it was a good idea to bring his wife to a place full of children she obviously didn’t like. Agnes’s gaze flicked downward. Broken pelvis. Helene Fontenay couldn’t have children after the accident. Agnes wondered if she’d wanted to before.