by Gayle Wilson
“I was sitting in my car when he got out of his. County tags. Besides, he looks like a cop. Glad to know my powers of observation are as well-developed as I thought.” Steven grinned at her, blue eyes shining through his glasses.
“So you were guessing.”
“Only until you were kind enough to verify it. What’d you do? Run a red light?”
“Something like that,” she hedged.
Neither Dave nor Nolan had cautioned her to keep what they’d told her to herself, but it wasn’t the kind of thing she would ever share with a student. Not even one like Steven, whom she considered trustworthy.
“Naw, they’d send a uniform for that. So it’s probably not about you. That means it’s about us.”
“Us?”
“Students. Maybe your students? And if I had to guess—”
“I think you’ve done enough guessing,” Lindsey said, putting a hint of classroom firmness into her voice.
It wasn’t lost on Steven. “Okay. I can keep my mouth shut. You know that. I’m not surprised they showed up here.”
Unable to resist, Lindsey asked, “Why?”
“The usual suspects. They always focus on kids for something like that. Especially if the fires are copycat things like the news says.”
The previous spate of fires had been the work of a few college kids without a political agenda. Although those had not focused exclusively on black churches, that was probably a geographical consideration more than anything else. And the three buildings that had been set on fire in this county were the only ones so conveniently isolated.
“Is that what you think?”
“I think this is just as stupid as those were. The only difference is that in this case, they knew when to stop.”
That was part of the local speculation. That the arsonists had simply run out of churches they could torch without getting caught. And apparently they’d learned something from the earlier fires. According to the papers, there had been little physical evidence found at the recent ones.
“You hear any talk about the fires?”
“Sure,” Steven acknowledged, holding the folded flag against his chest as he closed the closet door with his elbow. “A lot of talk. A lot of guessing. Nothing that made me pay attention. Got to get this up.”
She nodded, moving aside to let him go by her in the narrow hallway. As she watched him follow the route the detective had taken, Lindsey thought about what both had said. She almost turned back to Dave’s door, but the first bell sounded, reminding her that her room was locked.
The school day had officially begun. Any other discussion with anyone about the surprise visitor she’d had this morning would have to wait until after it was done.
For a few select members of the staff, the teachers’ lounge was a refuge at the end of the day. Surprisingly, today the room was empty.
Lindsey glanced at her watch to find that it was only twelve minutes after three. Like her students in last period, she’d been more than eager to put this day behind her. She’d had her things gathered up almost before the last of the stragglers had left.
She set her canvas tote down on the table beside the nearest sofa and went over to the coffeepot. The liquid in the bottom of the glass carafe looked black and strong, which was exactly what she needed.
Picking her mug out from the dozen or so residing on a plastic lunchroom tray on the counter, she poured some of the thick liquid into it, relishing the slightly scorched smell. Before she could bring the cup to her lips, the familiar squeak of the outer door caused her to lower it again.
She turned to see the person she was closest to on the staff enter and drop her briefcase on the table by the door. Shannon Anderson was the Junior/Senior counselor. Although she was a few years younger and undeniably more hip than Lindsey, the two of them had struck up a friendship almost as soon as Shannon had been assigned to Randolph-Lowen.
“Any more of that?” she asked.
Lindsey turned back to locate Shannon’s mug on the counter and fill it. She held it out to her friend.
“Thanks.” Shannon took the cup with her right hand. With her left, she hooked a curling strand of long, dark hair behind her ear before she sipped the coffee. “I think I made this third period.” She pulled a face at the bitterness.
“How can you tell?” Lindsey asked with a laugh.
“Tastes like third period.” Shannon walked over to one of the couches. She sat, tucking long, boot-clad legs under her. Her colorful skirt spilled around her, almost touching the floor. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “I hate the beginning of school. I’m so frigging tired.”
“You’re a twelve-month employee. You’re supposed to be used to working.” Counselors didn’t get the nearly three-month summer break teachers did.
“It ain’t work if the little darlings aren’t here.”
Lindsey laughed. Shannon loved interacting with their students more than almost anyone else on the faculty, but she was right. It was dealing with teenagers and their raging hormones that put the stress in all their lives. Shannon dealt with them on a much more personal, one-on-one basis, unlike the relationship in the classrooms.
“Who’s giving you grief now?”
“No one in particular.” Shannon raised her head from the back of the couch to take another swallow of her coffee. “Little darlings en masse,” she said, giving the words their correct French pronunciation. “‘Can you change my schedule, Ms. Anderson. I didn’t mean to sign up for Algebra II.’ Translation, I did, but now I don’t want crazy old Ms. Brock.”
“Can you blame them?”
“Well, no, but somebody’s got to be in her class.”
“She needs to retire. She was here when I was in school.” Fourteen years ago, which wasn’t quite as long as she’d just made it out to be. “We called her old Ms. Brock then, too.”
“Was she as bad as she is now?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t have her. I don’t remember that kids talked about her the way these do. But, I don’t remember kids talking all that bad about any teacher back then.”
“You hung with the wrong crowd.”
“Or the right one.”
They drank their coffee, the silence that had fallen companionable and unstrained. Shannon leaned her head back, her fingers making that habitual rearrangement of her hair.
“Something weird happened this morning,” Lindsey began.
Shannon straightened, her eyes interested. “In class?”
“Before. Melanie told me when I signed in that Dave wanted to see me. Some detective with the sheriff’s department was in his office. He said the FBI has developed a profile of the arsonists in the church fires.” She hesitated, wanting to see if Shannon reached the same conclusion she had.
“And they wanted to talk to you? They think your kids are involved?”
“Apparently. I’ve been thinking about it all day, getting more and more pissed.”
Shannon didn’t respond, but Lindsey could almost track the thoughts moving behind her green eyes. She knew the counselor was running through the individuals in the gifted program, just as Lindsey had been all day. The fact that she had been was a large part of her building anger.
“He give you any idea who?”
“He wanted me to give him ideas.”
“Well, that sucks. You think…?”
Lindsey shook her head. “But I admit it ate at me. I kept trying to think of anyone who might be involved, but…You know them. Who the hell would do something like that?”
“I told you. Little darlings. They aren’t any different from the others except they’re probably smart enough not to get caught.”
That, too, was a thought that had occurred to Lindsey at some point. She had wondered if that’s why the profilers had zeroed in on the students in her gifted program—simply because of the lack of evidence, something law enforcement officials had openly acknowledged.
“I think that might be exactly what they’re thi
nking.”
“That they must be geniuses because the cops can’t catch ’em?” Shannon asked. “Isn’t that convenient.”
“They can’t admit that some dumb, redneck yahoo can outsmart them, burn three black churches, and get away with it. So, stands to reason, this has got to be somebody else.”
“Who was the detective? Anybody I know?”
Shannon had dated a sheriff’s deputy a couple of years ago. Surprisingly, they’d managed to maintain a friendship after the romantic relationship had ended. If, Lindsey amended, knowing her friend too well not to have wondered if all aspects of that particular relationship had come to an end.
“Jace Nolan.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“I don’t think he’s from around here.”
“Want me to ask Rick why they’re looking at your kids?”
“Would it get back to Nolan if you did?”
“Not if I tell Rick to keep his mouth shut.”
“Would he?”
“Sure. Why not?”
Why not, indeed, Lindsey thought. And as Shannon said, what could it hurt?
Two
“So I hear you got finally somethin’ on the fires.”
Jace raised his eyes to find one of the county deputies looking down at the papers spread out over on his desk. He resisted the impulse to push them together. After all, the man was a fellow law enforcement officer.
“A profile. From the Bureau. We’re working from that.”
“Yeah? I always thought those were pretty general. You think this one’s helpful, then?”
“A place to start.” The words echoed inside Jace’s head. Exactly what he’d told the two at the high school yesterday.
The transition from that realization to the next was almost instantaneous. Before today, few of the deputies had bothered to speak to him, not even when passing him in the halls, much less visit his desk to ask questions. Not that he gave a damn whether they did are not. Still…
A glance at the name bar above the man’s shirt pocket provided the name. Had Deputy Carlisle attended Randolph-Lowen? And if so, did he have ties to any of the people Jace had talked to there yesterday?
Like maybe the redhead who’d been so determined to question the validity of his interest in her kids?
He didn’t blame Ms. Sloan for her skepticism. She had every right to question why he suspected the students in her gifted program might be involved.
“So who are we looking for?”
“Thrill seekers,” Jace said, watching for reaction as he rolled out the now-familiar list of characteristics the Bureau had given him. “Young. White. Male.”
“How young?”
“Probably teens. Possibly early twenties. The profile isn’t that precise.”
“College age. Like those others.”
“Maybe. But since there isn’t a college in this area—”
“Junior college over in Carroll. Another near Bedford. Hell, thanks to old George Wallace and Lurleen, we got a junior college or trade school on about every other corner.”
“And neither of those is in the geographic center of the arsons. This community, and its high school, are.”
“Sounds like you got your mind made up.”
Despite the beginnings of what would soon became a paunch, Deputy Carlisle looked as if he might be a few years younger than Jace. Early thirties or so.
Old enough to know better.
As he waited for Jace to respond to that accusation, the deputy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, displaying what might be a hint of nervousness. The movement was accompanied by the creak of his utility belt, reminding Jace that whatever else he was, the man was a fellow officer.
“Like I said,” he said softly. “It’s a place to start.”
“I heard you were out at the high school yesterday.”
At least this approach was more honest than the previous one. Maybe he could even work it to his advantage.
“That’s right. Since I didn’t talk to many people there, I’d be curious as to who shared that information with you.”
The deputy grinned. “In a town this size, all information’s shared. Half the department probably knew you’d been over there before you got back in your car.”
“I’ll remember that. I thought maybe you had a friend who’d asked you to see if you could find out why I was there.”
The grin wavered so that Jace knew he’d struck a nerve. It hadn’t taken a lot of deductive reasoning to figure out the reason “Deputy Dawg” here had stopped by to chat, no matter how subtle Carlisle thought he was being.
“So you’re a friend of Ms. Sloan’s,” Jace went on before the man had a chance to think up an excuse.
“Sorry.” Carlisle shook his head. “Don’t believe I know her. That the teacher you talked to?”
“The gifted coordinator. I’m not totally clear what that means, but I’ll find out.”
“Yeah? Me, either. They didn’t have one of them when I was in school.”
“You go there?”
“Everybody around here did.”
“Know anybody there now?”
“I might. You looking to talk to people? Unofficially?”
“Something like that.”
“Kids?”
“I don’t care. Just somebody who’ll be candid.”
“I’ll think about who I know. You believe whoever’s doing this is a genius.”
“They burned down three churches without leaving physical evidence. Does that make them a genius?”
“Might just make ’em lucky.” Carlisle’s grin was back.
“That’s what I figure.”
“’Course my daddy always said it’s better to be lucky than good.”
“Eventually luck runs out.”
On Jace’s orders, the remaining black churches in this county and the adjacent ones had been under patrol since the last fire. So far it had worked, but if he was right…
If he was right, something else was going to happen. Sooner rather than later. And he intended to be on top of it when it did.
The slight headache Lindsey had been conscious of when she’d awakened this morning, after another night of less-than-restful sleep, had become full blown. It was the Friday afternoon pep rally, and the entire student population was crammed into a gym that had been too small to hold it for at least three years. The band blasted away on the fight song, the sound of the drums throbbing through the prefabricated building like a toothache.
She had thought about retreating to the quietness of her room until the dismissal bell, but faculty was supposed to supervise assemblies. As a compromise, she had moved to one of the two pairs of open double doors, so that she was actually standing out in the hall, looking back into the gym. Not only was the noise less out here, so was the heat and the claustrophobic press of bodies.
In any case, this one was almost over, with only the obligatory speeches by the game captains and Coach Spears remaining on the program. After those, even the cheerleaders would give up, trailing out of the gym after the transported students, who’d be off to catch their buses.
As soon as the fight song ground to a halt, the football coach, who had held his position for more than twenty years, took the microphone and began introducing the two boys standing diffidently beside him. Lindsey took a deep, calming breath, savoring the fact that the week was almost over. She could sleep in tomorrow morning. Right now, she couldn’t think of anything more appealing.
“Will they win?”
In spite of the brevity of the question, the accent was distinctive enough to allow her to identify the speaker even before she looked around. Detective Jace Nolan was beside her, his dark eyes focused on the three people standing along the midcourt line. When she didn’t answer, he turned his head, peering down at her.
From this angle his lashes looked incredibly long. A hint of stubble that hadn’t been there Tuesday morning darkened his cheeks. The knot of his tie had been loose
ned, although the pale blue dress shirt still managed to look crisp. As did his midnight hair, which in the humidity was displaying a surprising tendency to curl.
“What are you doing here?” Lindsey asked.
“Watching the pep rally. I thought that was permitted.”
Parents and others from the community always showed up at assemblies. At Randolph-Lowen they’d never imposed the strict security measures other schools now took for granted, given today’s climate of fear. At this moment dozens of outsiders lined the court, mingling with the faculty and staff.
“It is. I just didn’t think you’d be interested.”
“I’m interested in anything that goes on around here. It’s part of my job.”
He refocused his eyes on the trio at center stage, appearing to listen to the senior captain’s stumbling rhetoric. Lindsey’s gaze followed his, but she heard nothing of what the football player was saying. She was examining the implications of Nolan being back at school so quickly, as well as those inherent in him once more singling her out.
“And you’re on the job now?” she asked, without taking her eyes off the boy holding the mike.
“Since the county’s paying me for a full day’s work.”
“Why here? Why today?”
“The fires occurred on a weekend. I’m trying to get a feel for what these kids do outside of school.”
“So you came to school?”
He glanced down again, a slight tilt at one corner of what she’d once thought of as a hard mouth.
“Doesn’t make much sense, does it? What would you think about showing me?”
“Showing you what?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Lindsey knew what he wanted. Despite that, she was unprepared when he put the request into words.
“What these kids do on a Friday night.”
She looked back toward the center of the gym, watching Ray Garrett pass the microphone to the second captain, their junior fullback. She eased a breath, unobtrusively she hoped, and then raised her eyes to Nolan again.
His were on her face. Waiting.
“They go to the football game,” she said.