Any of her stunts could’ve gotten her killed, of course, and that’s what had kept him and Estelle up pacing the floor whenever Caroline was out. But he’d never felt she was totally out of control. She must have sampled booze and drugs, but he was so attuned to the symptoms of regular use that he knew she’d never had a problem with the stuff. All Caroline’s antics were pulled off while staying a straight-A student, running track, and playing cello in the school orchestra.
What would they have done if she’d been a danger to other people, like Heather, or an addict and thief like Steve Vreeland? Would they have sent her away as a last resort, a desperate gamble? He couldn’t imagine it, if for no other reason than it would seem like admitting utter failure as a parent.
But if your child had pushed you to the limit, if he was destroying the rest of your family, would a school like the North Country Academy seem like a logical choice? Or maybe these parents were simply unwilling to deal with the mess of their children’s lives any longer and jumped at the opportunity to dump them in the lap of someone like MacArthur Payne.
Impulsively, he reached for the phone and dialed Caroline’s number.
“Hi, Daddy! What's up?”
“I’m just sitting here thinking about the time you told us you were spending the night at Jennie Roth’s and instead you hitched to St. Louis for a rock concert.”
Caroline laughed. “U2—an awesome performance! What put that in your head?"
Frank told her about the North Country Academy and his anxiety over Heather LeBron.
“Wow, that puts my day in perspective. I’m sitting here worrying about Ty and Jeremy waving sticks on the playground. You don't think that’s an early sign of delinquency, do you?”
“No, I think it’s a sign of being three-year-old boys. How’s Eric?” Frank continued in the most casual tone he could muster. His son-in-law had briefly moved out of the house, but supposedly their marriage was now on the mend.
“He’s fine. We both really like this new therapist we’re seeing. We go once a week together, then once a week alone to work on issues we each brought to the marriage.”
What issues? he longed to ask. Issues created by your inept parents and your traumatic childhood? Or issues of being a person with flaws and desires and needs that your husband never noticed over the long candlelight dinners of your courtship?
“But you’re working things out?” he prodded gently, hopefully.
“Yes, Daddy. Don’t worry.”
Don’t worry—as if that could ever be possible, as long as they both walked this earth. Worry began at the moment of conception and it seemed to him it never let up, only changed form. To stop worrying about his daughter would be to stop loving her. Maybe that’s what had baffled him about Heather’s mother. It seemed that Heather had pushed the woman to the absolute limit of worry, and she had to shift the burden to MacArthur Payne or be crushed by it. It seemed cold at first glance, but it didn’t necessarily mean she didn’t love her daughter.
“Bennett!” His own name thundered through the telephone receiver and ricocheted around his head. Frank didn’t have to ask who was calling. MacArthur Payne had obviously read the New York Beat.
“I need to talk to you about this newspaper article. There are some things going on here that you clearly don’t understand.”
First Reid, now Payne. Frank was angrier at himself than at either of them, but he couldn’t find a way to keep the frost out of his voice. “What might that be?”
“I’m not going to discuss it on the phone. Do you want me to come there, or will you come out here?”
Frank took a deep breath; this was his penance. “I’ll be right over.”
The rapport of their last visit—whether it had been forced or sincere—was banished today. Frank sat in the low-slung visitor’s chair, designed for intimidation, while MacArthur Payne loomed over him, lecturing.
“You have been sadly misled by a number of people here, Bennett.”
“Oh?” was the best that Frank could manage as a sarcasm-free response.
"First, this notion that academy students sabotaged Jake Reiger’s sleeping bag is ludicrous. I told you that the camping gear is kept under lock and key and that the students would have no access to the kitchen or any food supplies.”
“I didn’t tell the reporter that I believed the students did it. She drew that conclusion herself.”
“No, she did not.” Payne jabbed a long index finger in Frank's direction. “I’ll tell you why she wrote it, Bennett. Because she’s got an anti-academy agenda. Someone’s been poring vitriol in her ear, and I'm quite sure I know who.”
Frank was getting weary of the pauses for dramatic effect. He stared at Payne silently until he spit it out.
“Paul Petrucci. He’s a thief and a liar."
Frank sat up straighter and Payne continued, looking gratified. "When I took over the academy and did an audit, I discovered funds missing from a student activities account that Petrucci had access to, not to mention valuable video equipment and cameras that had somehow walked away when Petrucci mentored the photography dub.”
“You reported this to the police?"
“I didn't have enough evidence, but when I confronted Paul, he couldn’t explain what had happened. He became very defensive and contradictory. So I warned him that I would be keeping an eye on him.”
“If you think he’s stealing from you and spreading stories, why don’t you fire him?”
Payne pursed his thin, nearly colorless lips. “I can’t afford to lose another staff member right now. I’m expecting five new students this week who will need close supervision. I’m already stretched thin with Jake’s death. And Petrucci has solid academic credentials that enhance the academy’s prospectus, I’ll say that much for him. He’s hard to replace on short notice. But he can see he has no long-term future here. This stunt with the reporter is his parting shot.”
Payne dropped into the second visitor’s chair beside Frank and leaned across to face him. "I’m at a critical juncture here, Bennett. I can succeed with these kids, but if I don’t appear to succeed, it’s all for naught. Get it?”
Frank drew back.
“Public perception is as important as reality,” Payne continued. “Even if nothing is ever proved regarding this bear incident, the school is condemned, because the academy can't function under a cloud of suspicion and doubt. We won’t be able to make the claim that troubled students are transformed into productive citizens under our care. Enrollment drops, the doors close, the jobs evaporate.”
Frank’s eyes locked with Payne’s and he received the message: If the academy closed due to rumor and innuendo, it would be laid at his feet. On the other hand, if any of this stuff were true and he appeared to be hushing it up, as Dawn Klotz implied, he’d be doubly screwed. His neck muscles felt as stiff as oak boughs; he could feel the seeds of a colossal headache sprouting. “I’ll get to the bottom of all this.”
"I’m glad we see eye to eye.”
Chapter 15
Frank had intentionally avoided discussing Heather LeBron with Payne. Heather’s mother had verified everything that Payne said about the girl, but it couldn’t hurt to check up on the kid. Now, standing in the hallway outside Payne’s office, Frank looked up the wide staircase at the numbered rooms that lined the second-floor hallway. She was most likely in class right above him; he headed up to look. It was always easier to apologize than to ask permission.
Each closed door had a window that framed an amazingly similar scene: a small group of students sat with their eyes focused directly ahead on their teacher or directly down on their desk. No one slumped or sprawled, no one looked out the window or up at the ceiling. No one looked at the door, so no one noticed him. In the third room he checked, he found Heather, her close-cropped head bowed over a notebook as she wrote steadily.
Frank tapped on the door, then walked right in. “Excuse me for interrupting, but I need to speak to Heather LeBron, please.”
> The teacher hesitated, but Frank’s uniform and the confidence of the request seemed to reassure her that Frank’s presence was sanctioned. She nodded at Heather. “You may go.”
Heather walked toward Frank, as wide-eyed as if the tooth fairy had come for her. Before she left the room, she glanced back at a boy who was watching the proceedings intently.
“What are you doing here?” Heather asked when they were alone in the hall.
“Just thought I’d check on you. You were a little wound up the last time I saw you.”
She jerked her head toward the lower level as they walked toward a bench at the end of the hall. “He knows you’re here?”
“He knows I was here. He may believe I’ve already left although I didn’t tell him that.”
“Oh, Christ! You’re going to screw me over.”
“Your teacher gave you permission to speak to a police officer. I fail to see how you can be blamed for anything.”
“That’s the problem—you fail to see a lot of things.”
Frank put his hands on Heather’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Well, then, why don’t you set me straight? And no bullshit.”
Heather slid away from him and sat on the bench, her eyes cast down. His willingness to listen had taken the wind out of her sails, and Frank wondered if she knew how to communicate with someone who wasn’t an adversary.
“Let’s start with the camping trip when Mr. Reiger was killed. Is there anything, uh, worrying you about that?”
Heather’s eyes glittered with unshed tears and her breathing quickened. “I have nightmares... nightmares... about him being eaten alive.”
Questioning Heather was going to be a little trickier than anticipated. Obviously if he put the slightest suggestion of sabotage in her head, she would run with it. "How was the camping trip going before the attack? Any problems?”
Heather heaved a huge sigh. “It was so hard. Hauling all that heavy shit up the mountain, trying to put up those dumb tents with all those stupid poles. And Mr. Reiger wouldn’t help us. He said we had to figure it out ourselves. Like I could do that—I’ve never camped in my life! Good thing Justin was there—he was the only one who could do it right.”
So much for the sinister aspects of the camping trip. He moved on.
“Tell me about the hike when you got lost,” Frank prompted. “You said they intentionally left you behind to try to harm you. Tell me why you think that.”
Heather stretched the sleeves of her green sweatshirt over her hands. “Well, um ... I told Steve that my boot was giving me a blister and that I couldn’t walk that fast, and I swear they speeded up until I lost sight of them. That’s when I went off the trail.”
“Maybe you thought that if you fell behind, you could find another way down to the road and hitchhike away from here.”
Heather gave him that disgusted eye roll that every teenager has perfected. “Yeah, right. Like I would even know what direction to look for the road. I grew up in New Jersey—if it’s not an exit on the turnpike, I can’t find it.”
It was hard to picture Heather as an intrepid bushwhacker, but desperation could drive a person to take chances. “We probably would have found you much sooner, except the search-and-rescue dog was following the wrong scent. Did you know we’d been given your roommate’s sock, not yours?"
“Really? That figures—the bitch hates me.”
“So you think Melissa herself would have done that intentionally?”
She hunched her shoulders up to her ears, glowering at him like a snapping turtle.
“What about when I was here the other day—you told me someone else was going to get hurt. What did you mean?”
Heather scuffed her sneaker against the bench. “The way they treat people here, something’s bound to happen sooner or later. Probably sooner. That’s why I want out.”
“You’ve been at a lot of schools, haven’t you?”
“This one is the worst.”
“Why? What makes it so terrible?”
“Every single person is awful.” She paused. “Well, except for Mr. Petrucci—he's okay. And there are so many rules, and everyone’s watching me, just waiting for me to fuck up. Not only the teachers and the Pathfinders, but the other kids, too. They rat each other out.”
“Why?”
“So they can get ahead—earn points to get privileges, like calling home; earn more points and you finally earn your way out of here. Except I’ll never get out. I’ll never get enough points so that I can even call my mom.” Her voice got shriller. “I can never get ahead, because someone’s always turning me in for some stupid infraction. I’m always at rock bottom.”
She was winding up to the drama queen routine again. “It’s a school, Heather, not a prison. Even if you never earn any points, you still get out when you’re eighteen.”
“Eighteen! That’s three years—I’ll die before then! Don’t you see, when you’re like me and you have no points to lose, they have to find another way to punish you.”
Was she going to claim they beat her? Because surely any signs of physical abuse would have been apparent when they treated her at the hospital for hypothermia.
“How do they punish you?”
“They put me in the isolation room, and I can’t stand it.” She reached for a strand of hair to fiddle with, forgetting that she no longer had that prop, and ended up tugging on the tiny tufts available.
“The isolation room?”
“It’s this white tile room, totally empty.” Her eyes opened wide and her lip trembled. “They put you in there naked. It’s freezing and there’s no place to sit, nothing to look at, nothing to hear. They won’t give you any food or water because they won’t even let you out to go to the bathroom. You either hold it in or go on the floor. The first time I was in there for three hours; the second time it was a whole day.
“You’re in there all alone and there’s nothing but your thoughts ... terrible, terrible thoughts. That’s why you’ve got to get in touch with my mom and tell her about this place.” Heather leaned forward and grabbed Frank’s hand. “She didn’t realize it was like this when she sent me here. If she knew, she’d get me out.”
“I did talk to you mother today, Heather. She seems pretty committed to having you stay here.”
Heather shoved his hand away and shrank into the corner of the bench. He knew he’d taken away her last shred of hope, so he decided to give her one more chance to convince him.
“Back up a minute. You were put in this room naked? You had no food or bathroom for twenty-four hours? Who took away your clothes?”
Heather gnawed on a fingernail that was already bitten to the quick. “One of the new Pathfinders—I forget her name.”
“Describe her.”
Heather squirmed into the corner of the bench. "Uh, kinda tall, with stringy blond hair.”
“Lorrie Betz?”
Heather stood up and backed away from him. “Look, there’s no point in asking her about it—she'll deny it. Just let me call my mom.”
“I need to know—”
“Oh, forget about it!” Heather hunched her shoulders and folded her arms across her chest.
“You're describing physical abuse—I can’t forget about it. I need to know the truth. What other students have been put naked into this isolation room? They can verify your story.”
“No, they won’t! Look, no one else thinks it’s as bad as I do. I guess I, I—exaggerated a little.”
Only her pathetic, cowed expression kept him from a sarcastic response. “How so?”
“I wasn’t naked, but I only had on a T-shirt and jeans, and it was cold and they wouldn’t give me a sweater. And I told them I had to go to the bathroom, but they wouldn’t let me out.”
“Did they make you go on the floor?”
She shook her head.
"Were you really in there for twenty-four hours?”
“Well, it seemed like it,” she said in a small voice. “But I guess it was
less."
“How long?"
"Four hours, maybe. See, I knew you wouldn’t understand! It’s awful! I can’t bear it! I won’t survive if they send me there again.” She began to cry noisily, but when a teacher stuck her head out of a classroom door. Heather turned off the display as if her tears were controlled by a switch.
Frank was beginning to understand how Heather’s family had come to send her to the North Country Academy. Dealing with this hysteria, on top of the drinking and wild behavior, would wear a person down.
Frank laid his hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I'm sure you don’t want my advice, but I’m going to give it to you anyway. If you don’t like the isolation room, try not to do anything to get yourself sent there. Follow the rules. Study hard. And no tall tales.” He gave her shoulder a little squeeze. "You’d better get back to class.”
She trudged down the hall, then turned and shot one last sullen look at Frank.
“Stop playing the victim, Heather,” he responded. “You may find this place does you some good.”
Great-grandma Gert Davis’s ninetieth birthday bash was in full swing when Frank arrived after work. The birthday girl was dancing to a Dwight Yoakam tune with one of her many grandsons, a hip replacement waiting to happen. Earl played disc jockey while his mom and aunts buzzed around the buffet table.
Earl’s family threw these huge parties for most significant life events, and every single death. Frank had only attended one other—the annual Davis Fourth of July picnic—mainly to prevent Earl from blowing his hand off with illegal fireworks. But no matter how many times Frank politely declined the invitations to these family gatherings, Earl continued to ask him. He had planned to pass on Great-grandma Gert’s birthday too, but Earl had begged him, saying that Gert had asked for him specially.
She was a feisty old gal and Frank got a kick out of the way she said whatever she pleased right to people’s faces. That was one perk of old age he was looking forward to. So here he was at the site of all the Davis hoedowns: the huge garage/workshop Earl’s uncle Mike had built behind his house.
Blood Knot: a small town murder mystery (Frank Bennett Adirondack Mysteries Book 3) Page 11