“But shouldn’t we continue searching?” Payne protested. “Someone’s been gravely hurt.”
“The state police will search,” Frank answered. What he didn’t add was “until they find a body.”
By ten a.m. Frank had already put in a full day of work.
Ceaseless activity—briefing the state police crime scene team, coordinating efforts with Lieutenant Meyerson, interviewing witnesses—was the only way to keep at bay the terrible fear he felt for Heather LeBron. The child had warned him that she was in danger, that something terrible was going to happen, and he had written it off as teenage melodrama. He’d allowed MacArthur Payne to convince him that nothing was amiss at the school, despite the rumors and freakish accidents. Payne wouldn’t talk his way out of this, but that was small consolation to Heather.
Establishing a few definite facts helped him feel more in control. At dinner, Melissa Trenk, Heather’s roommate, had received the last serving of lasagna. Heather, right behind her in line, had been forced to take pot roast, which she disliked. When they sat down, Heather’s milk spilled onto Melissa’s lasagna, ruining it. Melissa maintained, and the others students at the table backed her story, that Heather had done it intentionally. Heather claimed it was an accident and became hysterical when the others accused her of spoiling her roommate’s meal. Lorrie Betz, the Pathfinder on duty in that half of the cafeteria, had decreed that Heather must spend five hours in the isolation room. Heather refused to go quietly, and Ray Stulke and Lorrie had dragged her there and locked her in.
What happened next was anybody’s guess.
Under intensive questioning from Frank and Lieutenant Lew Meyerson, Ray Stulke had insisted that he’d followed isolation room procedures to the letter. He’d unlocked the room and checked to be sure it was totally empty, while Lorrie had taken away Heather’s belt and shoes and emptied her pockets. But Ray admitted that Heather had been struggling the entire time, so it was possible that Lorrie had missed something. Like a big knife, Frank thought.
Ray explained that he had to help Lorrie pry Heather’s hands off the door and slam it quickly. Then Lorrie had locked the door and double-checked it. They’d each gone their separate ways, Lorrie with the key.
Heather’s session in the isolation room had been set to end at 11:30 p.m. Since Lorrie had been the one to send her there, it was her responsibility to let Heather out, and everyone assumed she had. At midnight, prior to locking the outside door, Ray had been making one final patrol of the main building when he saw the light on and the door open to the isolation room. He’d discovered the blood, notified MacArthur Payne, and they’d both gone to look for Heather and Lorrie. But not before each of them had stepped into the isolation room, thoroughly contaminating the crime scene. Not only had they not found the women, they’d discovered that Justin Levine was also missing.
Now Frank and Lew sat in a classroom on the second floor that they had commandeered for their interviews. They’d already spoken to all the students and half the staff. A team of state troopers was searching the academy grounds, while another pair had been dispatched to Lorrie’s home in Trout Run.
Frank rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "What do you think, Lew?”
“Let’s start with the most obvious scenario. This kid Justin decides to spring Heather from the cell. He jumps Lorrie for the key; she gets stabbed trying to resist, they get rid of the body and take off.”
Frank stood up and paced the room while he played devil’s advocate. “Why should he take such a huge risk for a girl he barely knows? None of the other students said Justin and Heather were special friends.”
Lew knew Frank was thinking out loud, and let him continue.
“Second, how the hell would they carry a woman Lorrie's size down the hall, down the stairs, and out the door into the grounds without getting any blood on the floor and without anyone noticing? Why move the body at all? Why not just run?”
Lew shook his head. “The other possibility is that Heather did try suicide, and Lorrie feels responsible because she overlooked the weapon Heather must have had on her.”
“If Lorrie ran off in a panic, where’s Heather?" Frank objected. “Lorrie couldn't move Heather any easier than Heather could move Lorrie—they’re about the same size. And another thing that doesn’t make sense: What made Ray and Payne both go into that room?”
“Ray’s a moron, but you’d think Payne would have more sense,” Lew agreed. “Why walk into that blood when you can see everything there is to see from the doorway?”
“Unless you wanted to pick something up,” Frank said. “Like a weapon. Or a body.”
“Why—”
Lew was interrupted by a tap on the door as Trooper Pauline Phelps appeared. “Got the lab results on the blood in the room—type O positive. Also tracked down the medical records of all three missing persons. Heather LeBron and Lorrie Betz are both O positive.” Frank’s eyes met Lew’s. “The truth is, we can’t be sure who the victim is here.”
The door shut behind another staff member. They only had a few more left to interview, and Frank still hadn’t learned who had placed the call that had brought him to the academy last night. The students had quickly been eliminated as possibilities—access to the phone was so tightly controlled that it seemed virtually impossible for one of them to have called.
Payne had insisted that he had been about to call when Frank had arrived, although Frank doubted it. Payne would have kept this mess hushed up as long as possible. One of the staff must have become uneasy about the cover-up and called anonymously. And now that person was afraid to own up to it, for fear of losing his or her job. Frank had been listening closely to each staff member they interviewed, trying to place that breathy voice.
Oliver Greffe entered the room next, looking bewildered.
“Hi, Frank. What in the world's going on? I can’t get a straight story out of anyone here.”
Frank nodded a greeting—he couldn’t afford to treat Oliver any differently than the other staff members.
“Heather LeBron, Lorrie Betz, and Justin Levine are missing. One of them has been injured. I need you to recount for me everything you did last night, from dinnertime forward.”
Oliver’s mouth dropped open slightly and he nodded, taken aback by Frank’s unaccustomed severity.
“Were you present at dinner when Heather was taken to isolation?”
“Yes, poor Heather. I felt so bad that she was in trouble again.”
No one else had expressed much sympathy for Heather. Frank looked more closely at Oliver. “Did you go to check on her in the isolation room?”
Oliver cocked his head. “Check on her? No, what could I do? I went back to the boys' dorm after dinner. I was on duty in the recreation room until lights-out at nine-thirty.”
“Was Justin in the rec room?"
“He came in for awhile—watched us playing cards. Then he went back to his room.”
“You didn’t see Justin after that?” Frank asked.
Oliver paused to think. “He might have come back in again later, but he didn't stay long. At nine-thirty the boys all went to their rooms and I locked their doors. Then I went to my room and read until I dozed off.”
“What time was that?”
Oliver shrugged. “Ten-thirty, maybe. Next thing I knew, it was one a.m. and all hell had broken loose. Dr. Payne and Ray Stulke came to the boys’ dorm and discovered Justin was gone. I heard them say something about Heather, but I couldn’t piece together what they meant. They told me to stay awake and keep watch in the dorm.” He yawned. “I’ve been up ever since, but no one ever came back to tell me what was happening.”
“There’s a phone in the boys’ dorm, isn’t there?”
"Yes, in the office.”
Frank leaned forward slightly. "Oliver, did you place the call to my home last night requesting my assistance here?”
Oliver blinked his bloodshot eyes. “Me? Call you? No, of course not. Wasn’t it Dr. Payne who called?”
> Frank listened to Oliver’s voice, clouded with exhaustion and confusion. He was pretty sure this was not the voice he’d heard last night. “Thanks, Oliver. You can go.
“Who’s left?” Frank asked Meyerson as Oliver left the room, casting a perplexed look over his shoulder.
“Steven Vreeland. Roster says he’s a Pathfinder. He wasn’t on duty in the cafeteria last night—worked the early shift. But he lives here on campus.”
“Ah, Pathfinder Steve. I think he and Heather have a little history.”
The door opened and Steve Vreeland walked in. He looked only slightly older than most of the kids here, but he possessed an entirely different bearing. All the students they had interviewed had fallen into two categories: sullen or scared. Steve presented himself as the ultimate in clean-cut confidence. He met their eyes, shook their hands firmly, and sat facing them with a look of eager attentiveness. Frank could sense Meyerson relax a bit.
Frank led off. “So, Steve, you’re a Pathfinder here, just like Lorrie Betz?”
“Yes, sir, that is correct.”
“How did you find working with her? Did she do a good job?”
“Lorrie has the potential to become an outstanding Pathfinder. She hasn’t mastered all the procedure yet.”
“I see. How does one go about mastering the procedure?”
“It comes with experience.” Steve stared unblinkingly at Frank, yet his focus seemed to be a little off-center.
“You’re pretty young, Steve. What—eighteen, nineteen? How have you managed to become such an experienced Pathfinder?"
“I’m nineteen. I am a graduate of the Langley Wilderness School. I accepted this job out of gratitude to Dr. Payne for saving my life.”
“You started out like some of these kids and Mr. Payne’s program turned you around?” Meyerson asked.
“That is correct. I was on a self-destructive downward spiral, and by following the procedure I have been returned to a productive life.” Despite use of the first-person pronoun, Steve seemed to be speaking about some other young man of his acquaintance.
“You’re living proof that it works, huh?"
“I am.”
“How about Heather? Was the procedure working with her?”
“She was extremely resistant, as they sometimes are. Always looking for a back door, a way to avoid taking responsibility for her choices. We needed to break down her barriers.”
“By putting her in the isolation room?”
"She had no points available. The isolation room was our only recourse.” Steve spoke with the certainty of a mathematician proving a quadratic equation.
Frank wanted to say “Even though you knew it might make her crazy enough to kill herself?” but that was an issue to take up with Payne, not his foot soldier. “Have you had occasion to send Heather to the isolation room?”
“Yes. Twice.”
Frank studied the young man’s emotionless face. He was certainly a good-looking guy—even features, straight teeth, wavy hair—if you could get past that blank expression. Surely it wasn’t wise to put someone like this in a position of authority over young women.
“And did she do anything to try get out of that punishment?” Like offer you a quick fuck. He could imagine Heather that desperate. Would Steve be immune?
“It’s not punishment. It’s the repercussion for inappropriate behavior. And there is no way to get out of it. It’s mandated by the procedure.”
Frank studied the young man’s resolute face. He wondered what it was like to go through life never having any doubts that you were doing the right thing. He wasn’t likely ever to find out. “Thank you, Steve. That’s all for now. We may need to speak to you again later.”
“What d’ya make of him?” Frank asked as the door closed behind Steve. He suspected Meyerson approved of Steve’s tale of redemption through adherence to the rules. But Lew surprised him.
"I think if someone pulled his system software, he’d crash.”
“Two of my men have found Justin Levine,” Meyerson said, coming back into the interview room after a break.
Frank looked up. He didn’t have to speak the words “dead or alive?”
“Standing outside the Noonmark Diner in Keene Valley, waiting for the Trailways bus.”
“Well, that’s the best news we’ve had today. They're on their way here?"
“They’ll be here in twenty. No point talking to anyone else until we hear what Justin has to say.”
“Let’s see if we can scare up some coff—” The phone rang, and Frank eyed it warily.
Meyerson picked it up, listened briefly, and handed it over. “Earl. Says it’s important.”
“This better not be another bear sighting, Earl,” Frank said before Earl had uttered a word.
“No, that reporter’s here, Frank. I know you’re busy. If you want, I can—”
“No!”
That’s all he needed. Bad enough that damn woman twisted him in knots. He could only imagine the job she’d do on Earl. No surprise she was on to the story. With so many state police cars cruising through Trout Run, he was amazed it had taken her this long to show up.
“Listen, Earl—I need time to think before I talk to her. Tell her we’ve had a break in the case, and if she can be patient for an hour, I'll have a statement for her. Let me know if she’s okay with that.”
Frank stretched in his chair and stared at the ceiling while he waited for Earl to come back on the line. He wasn’t going to take the rap for giving this Klotz woman information that she could inflate into some salacious story. He would have Reid Burlingame right beside him while he talked to the reporter. After all, Reid was a politician—he ought to know how to beat the press at their own game.
Earl’s voice brought him back to the here and now. “She didn’t look real happy, but she said she’d be at Malone’s waiting for your call.”
As soon as he hung up, two burly state troopers escorted a skinny, foot-dragging teenager into the room. He plopped into a chair and stared at Frank through heavy-lidded eyes.
“Justin Levine?”
“No, Michael Jackson. I just flew in from Neverland.”
Frank leaned across the table that separated them and spoke softly. “Look, son, I’m sure you’ve made a specialty of the wise-guy rebel routine, but we’re going to put that away today. I want straight answers.”
“What’s the big freakin’ deal? I ran away, you found me, I’m back. End of story.”
“You’re back. Where are Heather LeBron and Lorrie Betz?"
“Huh?”
Meyerson slammed his hand down on the table, taking on the bad-cop role. “I’m not screwing around with pot-smoking and shoplifting, boy. Someone’s been badly hurt here and I want to get to the bottom of it. So let’s talk.”
Justin looked from Frank to Lew in confusion. “Who’s hurt? Why are you asking me about Heather?”
“You ate dinner in the cafeteria last night?” Meyerson asked.
“Yeah.”
“Then what?”
“Went back to my room.”
“And ... ?”
Justin folded his arms across his chest. “I’m a minor. You can’t question me without a parent present. And mine are both in Europe. At least, that’s where they were last time anyone checked.”
Nothing like an experienced felon to know his rights, backward and forward. He’d overlooked one loophole, though—and Meyerson knew it, too. “You're at boarding school. Mr. Payne is in loco parentis. Do you want me to call him in to be present during the interview?”
Justin sat bolt upright. “No! No, ask me what you want to know.”
“How did you get out of your room last night?”
Justin sighed. “It was such a good system, I hate to give it up. But I guess it wouldn't work again anyway. I kept a piece of plastic wrap from my lunch when we were hiking a couple of weeks ago. I put it over the latch in my door—it kept it from locking, even though the doorknob wouldn’t turn from the ou
tside, so it looked like it was locked. Then I waited for the right night.”
“Which was last night, because Heather was in the isolation room,” Meyerson said.
Justin glanced at him in annoyance. “I don’t know why you keep bringing up Heather. It was the right night because of who was on duty in the boys’ dorm.”
Frank was instantly alert although his face remained impassive. “Randy Ohlandt," Frank prompted. He had been on duty watching Justin and the other boys confined to their rooms, and he swore he’d locked Justin in and never left his post. Obviously, he was lying.
“It was the combination of Randy and Oliver together that I had to wait for,” Justin explained. “See, whenever Randy worked, before lights-out he always headed into the bathroom—with a magazine, if ya know what I mean. And the person watching the rec room was supposed to cover the main hall while he was in there. But whenever Oliver worked the rec room, he always played cards with the guys. He was the only staff member who did. So, when Randy was in the can and Oliver was playing blackjack, I slipped out and headed through the woods for Keene Valley.”
“Very clever. Now back up and tell us how you got Heather out of the isolation room. Does the plastic wrap trick work there, too?”
“Nah, you can’t use the plastic there—door’s got a double dead bolt.” Then Justin’s eyes widened as the full import of what Meyerson had said sunk in. “You mean Heather got outta isolation somehow? And you think I helped her?” Justin pushed back from the table.
“I was looking out for me, not leading the Great Escape. If Heather got out of isolation, it’s because she worked her own deal.”
“Worked a deal? With whom?”
The boy rolled his shoulders. “Chicks. They have their ways. Know what I mean?”
Chapter 18
Frank drove back to Trout Run for his appointment with Dawn Klotz and Reid Burlingame, enjoying a few minutes of peace in the patrol car. The day of interviewing students and staff at the academy had turned up many facts, but he hadn’t been able yet to organize them into a coherent picture of what had occurred at the school last night. He hoped he could dispense with the reporter quickly and regroup with Meyerson’s team to analyze the information they had so far. If they couldn’t figure out what had happened to Heather and Lorrie, at least the brainstorming would prepare him for a second round of interviews at the school.
Blood Knot: a small town murder mystery (Frank Bennett Adirondack Mysteries Book 3) Page 13