“Again, not that I know of, but they might not have the same last name, you know.”
“Yes, of course. Thanks for your time. I’ve got to get to class.”
As he hurried to his room, he realized that, although some questions about the doctor might have just been answered, other questions remained. Just before he arrived at his own room, he noticed Liz Atkins walking alone in the opposite direction. He smiled and said “Hi, Liz. How are you?” as they passed each other.
“Fine, thanks.”
From her negative comments about Nick, he wondered if, in fact, everything was “fine.” Nick was dead. Was she still bitter over being dumped for Ashley Barrington? Could she have been so upset as to lash out at him? If there was more to her story, Bishop had every intention of finding out what it was.
Chapter Thirteen
By the end of the day, Bishop was exhausted, and it was only Tuesday. In each of his five classes, he had used all of the time for discussion. Unless students were writing or having individual writing conferences with him, that was the way he preferred to spend valuable class time. He was considered “old school” in that regard, but he preferred discussion and debate over having students work quietly or work in small groups.
He considered the possibility that it was his age catching up with him. Dismissing that thought, he realized that his frustration with being no closer to knowing who had killed Nick Borelli and why was more likely the reason. He had hoped to ask Dave Cavanaugh a few questions after school, but Dave was absent. He had also wanted to talk with Liz Atkins, but when he had seen her in the hall earlier in the day, there had been no time to set up a meeting. Furthermore, he simply did not want to believe that either young person could be involved in such a cold-blooded crime. Lieutenant Hodge had shared with him the knowledge that Nick’s father had a record of erratic behavior and that he had no alibi for his whereabouts the night of Nick’s death. That added some credence to Ms. Urbanski’s belief that her husband was the culprit. Other than that, the investigation had reached a standstill.
As he sat at his desk gazing out at the playing fields, it occurred to him that Nick would have been out there practicing with the baseball team, looking forward to pitching the team into the playoffs and himself into any number of college athletic scholarships. He couldn’t agree with the narrator in Housman’s poem who tried to rationalize the death of that “smart lad.” In that poem, the young athlete in that poem had died of unknown causes; in this instance, a young man had been murdered. There was a difference, and Bishop was even more determined to get to the truth.
Charlie Mitchell’s appearance in his room shook him from his reflective mood. Another one of Holy Trinity’s more active purveyors of gossip, Bishop knew that Charlie came in either to share some gossip or to complain about something. This time, it was both.
“Did you hear what our esteemed assistant principal did to that sub in his Chemistry class this morning?” he asked.
“I did hear that she caused a bit of a scene, yes.” He shifted his eyes from Charlie to some papers on his desk as if to suggest that he had no interest in discussing that topic any further.
Undeterred, Charlie sat in one of the desks in front of Bishop and continued his story. “Apparently, she waddled in there, clapped her hands, and ordered the students to quiet down immediately. Then she wagged her finger at Blake and told him that if he couldn’t control that class she would find someone who could.”
Bishop wondered about the accuracy of Charlie’s version of that incident. What actually happened tended to be embellished as the story was passed from one person to the next. Charlie managed to capture Bishop’s interest when he added, “And that’s not all!”
“What do you mean?”
“As she turned to leave, she caught Chris Fitzgerald with a big grin on his face. She didn’t know his name, but she yanked him out of class, and brought him down to Ron’s office.”
Bishop shook his head in regret. Although Holy Trinity took a stand against bullying, Sister Pat was probably the worst offender on campus. “I’m sure that Ron will take care of it.”
“Speaking of Ron, I wonder how he’s dealing with Mischief and Meany’s decision to fire Mary Ellen?”
The veteran English teacher was willing to bet that his colleague had privately congratulated them for taking swift action to rid the school of an incompetent employee. No one was better at playing up to the administrators in their presence and trashing them behind their backs.
Annoyed by this false display of concern for Ron, he said sharply, “If you really want to know, why don’t you ask him yourself?” At least, Frank Wilson had recognized that his overreaction to Mary Ellen’s mistakes had contributed to her losing her job. Apparently, Charlie had not come to the same realization.
Quickly looking for a way to back out of this awkward moment, Charlie announced, “You won’t believe this site I found on the Internet. I needed to make up a test on Lord of the Flies, and I found one that had true-false questions, multiple choice questions, all with answers, of course, and even some essay topics and model answers.”
Charlie seemed quite pleased with himself.
“Charlie, did you google for tests on Lord of the Flies?”
“Indeed, I did, my good man,” he beamed.
“And what would stop any of your students from doing the same thing?”
Crestfallen, he simply said, “Oh!” He had made two mistakes. Looking for the easy way out, and sharing his approach with the department chairman.
He stood up to leave. “I guess I better get going. I’ve got some work to do.”
***
After Charlie left, Bishop realized that he had forgotten to turn his phone back on when classes were finished. There was a message from Lieutenant Hodge. He decided to shut his classroom door, switch off the lights, and sit at one of the student desks in the back of the room to ensure his privacy.
“Hello, Lieutenant. This is Michael Bishop returning your call.”
“Anything new at school today?”
“Not really,” he said with a sigh of frustration. “I wanted to ask Cavanaugh a few questions, but he was absent today. I didn’t manage to catch up with Liz Atkins either, but I can’t imagine that either of them is involved. I still think that Nick’s father is the most likely suspect. After his divorce, he made known his desire to destroy his wife’s life, and he doesn’t have an alibi for that day.”
“Well, I had a very interesting morning.”
“How so?” he asked with piqued interest.
“I had a visitor in my office.”
Bishop wasn’t sure why Hodge was dispensing his news in this piecemeal fashion. Had he made a breakthrough in the case?
“Go on,” urged Bishop.
“Yes … well … Red Wagner stopped by. I believe I told you that he and I went way back.”
“Yes, you did.” Bishop wondered if Nick’s basketball coach had suddenly remembered something that was pertinent to the investigation. “What did he have to say for himself?”
“He had a confession to make,” said Hodge matter-of-factly.
Bishop’s heart began to pump harder. When he had talked with the coach at his home on the day the results of the coroner’s report had appeared in the newspaper, Bishop had had the distinct impression that Wagner was holding something back. Had Wagner confessed? Could Wagner have been the killer? What possible motive could he have had for committing such a horrendous act? Was he the monster for whom they had been searching?
“What did he have to say?”
Before Hodge had a chance to answer, Bishop heard someone opening his classroom door with a key. “Excuse me, Lieutenant. I have to put you on hold for a minute.” Without waiting for a response, he hit the hold button and went to the front of the room just as the door opened.
“Oh, jeez! I’m sorry, Mike. I didn’t realize you were in here.” Bishop should have realized that the night custodian would come in if the room were empty.
“No problem, Larry,” he said as he motioned him in. Larry was a retired truck driver who had taken this job just to making a little spending money. He generally came in, swept the floor, straightened up the desks, and emptied the trash without engaging in much idle chitchat. Ordinarily, Bishop would have stayed in his room while Larry went about his business. The problem was that Larry was quite a slow worker, and Bishop had Hodge on hold in a call to which he desperately wanted to return.
“I’ll be back in about ten minutes,” he said as Larry surveyed the room to see what needed to be done. With his phone in one hand, he grabbed his keys and headed out to the parking lot where he hoped to have some privacy.
As soon as he was in the empty hallway, he resumed his call. “Lieutenant, are you still there? I apologize for that interruption.”
“Yes, I’m still here. Are you running or something?”
“No. I’m just going for a walk.” He realized that he was a bit winded as he made his way down the stairs. “You were saying that Red made a confession?”
“I could tell right away that something was bothering him. Turns out he lied when he said that he had filled the water bottles for the team that night.”
“Who did?”
“Bobby.”
“His grandson?” asked Bishop in disbelief.
“Yup.”
He wanted to say that that couldn’t be right. What possible motivation could a twelve-year-old boy have for doing such a thing? Would he even have known that a concentrated dose of caffeine would be lethal?
“Why did he lie about it?”
“Just think about it. After that newspaper article came out, it seemed clear that whoever had handled Nick’s drink was also the one most likely to have tampered with it. He didn’t want his grandson to be the object of suspicion.”
Bishop could easily see the logic of Wagner’s reasoning … a grandfather’s love for his grandchild. It was the same love that he had seen in the eyes of Luigi in the presence of his dear Maria the other night at Christy’s.
“But why did he decide to tell you now?”
“Because he simply couldn’t live with the lie. And he pleaded with me not to question the boy unless absolutely necessary.”
“Did you agree to that?”
“I did, but that doesn’t mean that you couldn’t ask him a few questions yourself.”
“Me?”
“Sure. You are a lot less intimidating than I am,” he added with a laugh.
***
He was sitting on the top step of the entrance to the now mostly deserted building. He was bent over with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His phone was between his shoes. He wasn’t quite sure how long he had been sitting there. He was trying to come to terms with the latest developments. Was Red telling the truth now, or was he using the boy to deflect attention from himself? Or was it possible that Bobby had done the unthinkable?
Suddenly, Charlie’s reference to Lord of the Flies took on a whole new meaning. It had been years since Bishop had read William Golding’s novel, but the chilling portrait of human nature was hard to forget. Those British schoolboys were about Bobby’s age. Stranded on a deserted island and without the fear of punishment, the boy with the spectacles and asthma had been targeted and savagely beaten to death by the other boys. Golding made the point that without the veneer of civilization as a deterrent, mankind was inherently given to violence and war. It was a sobering thought.
“Are you all right?” he heard someone ask.
He didn’t quite recognize the voice. When he looked up, he realized that it was the owner of the Kia Sorento, one of the only cars still in the faculty lot other than his own. He quickly picked up his phone and got to his feet. “Yes, yes. I’m fine. Thank you.”
Blake was holding a brown leather briefcase in one hand and his keys in the other.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” As Blake began to walk to his car, Bishop remembered that Blake had had a pretty rough day himself. Sister Pat’s unprofessional behavior would have unnerved even a veteran teacher. He also recalled that Ron was having dinner with Mary Ellen that evening.
He followed him into the parking lot. “Hey, Blake. I’m going to Finnegan’s for dinner tonight. Why don’t you meet me there around 6?”
“What kind of place is it?”
“Nothing fancy. It’s a family restaurant with some of the best food in town. He gave him some quick directions.
“Thanks. Sounds good.”
With NPR playing in the background and fresh air streaming in from the open front windows, Bishop drove home looking forward to a relaxing evening. He hadn’t picked up any additional sets of papers to grade, and his preparations for classes for the remainder of the week were done. His evening, however, turned out to be far from relaxing.
Chapter Fourteen
Bishop managed to change clothes, feed and walk Max, and check the mail before he drove to the restaurant. The parking lot was fairly crowded for a weeknight, but for a restaurant that always a good sign. He pulled his small Corolla in a space between two massive 4x4 trucks, appreciative of the space and the fact that he didn’t have to contend with the fuel bills of the owners of those vehicles.
As he entered the restaurant, he was greeted with a smile from the hostess, a girl of about twenty. She was wearing dark pants and a white blouse with her nametag on it.
“Good evening, sir. Welcome to Finnegan’s. Table for one?” she asked pleasantly as she reached for a menu and silverware wrapped in a heavy cloth napkin.
He quickly scanned the room and saw Blake seated at a booth studying a menu. “Actually, I’m having dinner with someone, and I see him right down there,” as he pointed in that direction.
“Follow me, please.” She led him to the booth and placed the menu and silverware in front of him. “Your server will be right with you. Enjoy your meal,” she said mechanically.
Glancing at his watch, Bishop realized that he was ten minutes late, so he apologized for his tardiness.
“I just got here myself,” he acknowledged. “There are a lot of tempting items on this menu. What do you recommend?”
A middle-aged woman with bleached blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, approached their booth. “My name is Diane.” When she smiled, she revealed her yellow-stained teeth. “I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Can I start you off with drinks?” She pulled a pad of paper from the front pocket of her apron and a pencil from behind her ear.
Predictably, Bishop asked for a cup of tea. Everett wanted a decaf coffee.
Looking at the menu again, Blake asked, “What do you recommend?”
“I think they have the best chicken parm in town.”
“Sounds good to me,” Blake said as he closed his menu and placed it at the edge of the table.
When Diane took their order, she asked if they wanted separate checks.
Bishop spoke up quickly. “One check, please.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind of you,” Blake said.
Bishop brushed off his good deed with a laugh. “Listen, I know what Trinity pays their subs.”
While waiting for their meals to arrive, Blake took the opportunity to thank Bishop once again for offering to let him stay at his place. “Sounded great until I heard about the dog.”
“I understand. My wife had terrible allergies.”
Not picking up on Bishop’s use of the past tense, he asked, “What does your wife do?”
Bishop glanced down at the placemat. “She was in real estate. She passed away some time ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry!”
“No need to apologize.” At the time of her sudden death, it had just seemed right to continue to wear his wedding ring, and he was still pleased with that decision even though it occasionally led to some confusion.
In a few minutes, Diane arrived, carrying a large tray. She deftly placed the entrees before the two men, warning them that the plates were very hot. She also placed a b
asket of warm bread on the table. “Refills on your drinks?”
“Yes, please,” both men said almost simultaneously.
The conversation was more limited as they ate their meals.
As he was finishing the last of his dinner, Blake said, “You were right! That chicken parm was delicious.”
Ever the slow eater and rapidly feeling full, Bishop decided to ask Diane for a box. There were enough leftovers for another meal. Both men declined dessert, but accepted second refills on their drinks.
Bishop thought that this would be a good time to try to get a better read of this man without being too direct. Blake seemed like a great guy, but something just didn’t seem right. The gold band on his ring finger confirmed that he was married, and the large SUV he was driving suggested that he had children. Why would he take two weeks away from his family to fill in for Sister Pascala? It certainly wasn’t for the money. Before he could broach the topic, Blake surprised him with a question of his own.
Speaking softly so that no one at any of the nearby tables would be able to hear him other than Bishop, he asked, “What’s with Sister Pat?”
“What do you mean?” He wasn’t sure why he responded that way since he knew exactly what he meant.
“I’m sure that you’ve heard what she did in my classroom this morning. It must be all over the school.”
“Yes, I did hear something,” he admitted.
“Not only did she act unprofessionally by making her comments in front of the class, she also pulled a student out of class because he had a smile on his face.”
“Yes, I heard that, too.”
“I haven’t talked to Ron about it yet, but I hope that guy didn’t get into too much trouble. I mean, what she did was pretty funny in a way.”
“I’m sure that Ron handled it fairly. He would give the young man a chance to explain himself, and probably a reminder to be very careful when Sister Pat is involved.”
“The kids told me that they call her ‘Sister Meany.’”
“Well, her last name is Meehan.”
“I get that part,” he said with a laugh. “I just don’t get why anyone who acts like that would be in education.”
A Question of Judgment: A Michael Bishop Mystery Page 11