“I wouldn’t quite call it that,” said Lucy. “I’m really more of a secretary, but I am doing some research at the moment, about our new assistant principal, Carol Crane.”
“Ah, Carol!”
At least he recognized the name, thought Lucy. “You were listed as a reference on her résumé. Could you tell me a little bit about her?”
“Certainly. What do you want to know?”
“Well, how do you know her? Was she a student at Winchester?”
“No, no. I was her faculty adviser at the University of Maine. I worked there until a few years ago, when I came to Winchester.”
“As her adviser you must have known her pretty well,” suggested Lucy.
“An unforgettable personality. Dynamic. Enterprising. Showed great initiative. Overcame obstacles. Goal oriented. Persevering. Have I missed anything?”
“Honest?” asked Lucy.
“Ah,” said the professor, hesitating. “True to herself. How’s that?”
“It sounds like you’re hedging?”
“You said that, I didn’t,” chuckled the professor. There was a pause. “Is this for publication?”
“Of course,” said Lucy.
“I think I’ve said enough then.”
Lucy wondered what his reaction would be if she told him Carol was dead. She couldn’t do that, of course, or the story wouldn’t be Ted’s scoop for very long.
“How are you finding the course?” he asked, breaking the silence.
“I’m enjoying it,” said Lucy. “It’s nice to use my brain again. I was worried it might have atrophied.”
“You seem to have a very fine brain, indeed.”
“Thanks.” Lucy was flattered. “I have to get back to work, but it was nice talking to you.”
“Oh, the pleasure was mutual,” said the professor.
“Goodbye,” said Lucy firmly, ending the call. But when she replaced the receiver, her hand lingered. The professor was certainly a ladies man—she wondered if he had been more than an adviser to Carol. If they had been lovers, that could explain his reluctance to say much about her.
“Ted,” she called, eager to share her suspicion.
“Shhh!” said Ted, waving his hand for silence. “When will the M.E. issue his report? Two weeks? What about a preliminary finding? Against policy? Whaddya mean? Compromise the investigation?” He brightened. “Does that mean there is an investigation?” He looked at the receiver. “Damn. Hung up on me.” He quickly redialed. “Sorry, we must have been cut off…” he began.
Lucy shook her head. That was a trick she hadn’t seen before, she thought, filing it away for future use. She dialed the third reference, the superintendent of schools in Bridgton, where Carol had worked before she came to Tinker’s Cove.
“Dr. Franklin has retired,” said the secretary, who sounded like a brisk, efficient type. “The new superintendent is Dr. Helen Slavin. Perhaps she can help you.”
“I don’t think so. Is there any way I can reach Dr. Franklin?”
“You can try him at home,” she said, giving the number. “But I doubt you’ll find him there. He’s been quite involved in the upcoming election—he’s been campaigning for Bob Angus, the candidate for the statehouse.”
She tried Franklin’s home number, and then dialed the Angus for Representative headquarters and left a message on the answering machine. She had little confidence the call would be returned, especially once Carol’s death became public. Politicians usually tried to distance themselves from the untimely deaths of young women.
Glancing over the résumé, she typed a precis for Ted. Two years at N.M.C.C.C., two more at the state university, then substitute teaching while working toward her master’s degree, again at the state university. A year or two of teaching, then she enrolled in the state university’s certificate program for school administrators. A year as an assistant principal in Bridgton, and then she came to Tinker’s Cove. Not a dazzling résumé, but local schools were experiencing hard times. As budgets got tighter, there were fewer and fewer administrative jobs. It was probably difficult for a new graduate to get started.
“I’ve got the info you wanted,” she told Ted. “I’m sending it to you right now.”
“Print it out instead, easier for me to work from,” said Ted, pausing to blow his nose before pushing back his chair and standing up. “Police have called a press conference. I’ve gotta go now or I’ll miss it.”
“See you tomorrow, then,” said Lucy, glancing at the clock. She had to go, too. She had promised Toby she would watch his soccer game.
Parking the Subaru beside the soccer field behind the high school, Lucy freed Zoë from her safety seat and began walking across the grass to the sidelines. Zoë toddled ahead of her, drawn by the noisy cheers of the bystanders. Home games always drew a healthy crowd of parents and students, who stood along the sidelines because there were no bleachers.
Toby was in goal, she noticed, filling in for Todd Johnson, the team’s first-string goalie.
“What’s the score?” she asked one of the anxious-looking parents.
“Three-zip.”
“We’re winning?”
“No. They are.”
“Too bad,” said Lucy. No wonder Toby was in goal. Todd must be off his game today.
Zoë sat down at her feet and began poking through the grass with her stubby little fingers. Tired, Lucy sat beside her. Not much was going on; the coach was arguing with a referee about a penalty.
Lucy scanned the faces of the parents watching the game. What would their reaction be, she wondered, when they learned about Carol? She thought of the warm reception she had received at the school committee meeting. A lot of people would be incredibly upset; Carol had become a local hero for saving Tommy from the bomb.
Zoë pressed a handful of grass into her hand.
“Flowers,” she said.
“Thank you,” said Lucy, pretending to smell the crumpled bouquet. Zoë beamed with pride, and began picking more grass.
The bomb, thought Lucy, wondering if Carol’s death was somehow connected to the bombing. What if Carol had figured out who had planted it? That would definitely be a motive for murdering her.
Hearing a groan from the crowd, Lucy looked up. The visiting team was moving the ball down the field toward Toby. The Tinker’s Cove team’s defense was disorganized, and the Rough Riders forward, a huge kid with bright red hair, was in scoring position. The ball whizzed across the grass, straight to the goal.
Toby was ready. He threw himself across the goal and stopped the ball, then jumped to his feet and threw it to a teammate. Lucy found herself cheering, along with the rest of the Tinker’s Cove contingent. The referee blew the whistle and the game was over. Tinker’s Cove had lost, but thanks to Toby, they hadn’t disgraced themselves.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Nice play.”
“Coach should have put me in earlier. Todd’s got a pulled tendon.”
“That’s too bad for him, but I’m glad you got a chance to play. Meet you out front.”
Lucy picked up Zoë, who seemed to get heavier every day, and carried her back to the car. She strapped her in the safety seat and then drove around to the front of the school, where she switched on the radio and waited for Toby to change out of his uniform.
“Five o’clock news in just a minute,” advised the announcer. Lucy hummed along with Natalie Merchant, leaning back against the headrest and shutting her eyes for a few minutes. She began to drift off, and jumped when Toby yanked open the door.
“So, how was school? Didn’t you have a math test today?”
“I think I did okay.”
“Got much homework?”
“Nah.”
The song faded out, and the announcer promised the news after a few messages. They drove along in silence, listening to the commercials, as they followed the familiar route through town and past piney woods to Red Top Hill Road. Finally the throbbing musical theme for the news began.
“Reporte
r Don Lawson is on location at the Tinker’s Cove Police Station at this hour, reporting on a breaking news story. What’s going on over there, Don?”
“Police Chief Oswald Crowley has just announced the arrest of Tinker’s Cove high school teacher Josh Cunningham for the brutal murder of his colleague, Carol Crane, whose body was discovered in her apartment today. She was apparently smothered to death. Ms. Crane was the elementary school assistant principal who heroically saved a special-needs student when the school was bombed last week. Mr. Cunningham is now in police custody, and will be arraigned tomorrow morning.”
Stunned, Lucy turned off the radio and turned to Toby.
“That can’t be true,” he said, fighting back tears. “Mr. C would never hurt anyone. It’s all a mistake. I know it is.”
“If it is, it will all get sorted out sooner or later,” said Lucy, reaching across the shift console and patting his hand. Privately, she had doubts. The police wouldn’t have arrested Josh and called a press conference unless they had some pretty hard evidence.
“I know him, Mom. He couldn’t do something like that. I know it.”
Lucy studied her son’s face. It was still round and boyish, and his teeth seemed too big for his mouth, but the down on his upper lip was already darkening. She wished he could remain her sweet little boy forever. She wished he could always believe that people are good and would never have to lose faith in others, but that wasn’t possible. He was growing up; he would soon be an adult.
“Oh, Toby. I know it’s hard to accept, but we never really know other people. You knew him as a teacher, but he had a life outside school you know nothing about. I don’t think the police would make an arrest so quickly unless they were awfully sure.”
Toby set his chin and shook his head. “No matter what they say, I’ll never believe it. Mr. C’s innocent. I know it.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Lucy got to work on Thursday morning, Ted had an assignment for her.
“I want you to go over to the police station. They’re having another press conference this morning.”
“Me? Why don’t you go?” Lucy was puzzled.
“Two reasons. One, the arraignment is in an hour and I want to be there. Second, I’m not exactly popular with the chief,” said Ted. “In fact, it’s department policy to ignore The Pennysaver. They never tell me about press conferences. I heard about this one from Doreen, my editor at the Globe.”
“That’s crazy,” said Lucy. “You’d think they’d want coverage from The Pennysaver. It’s the hometown paper.”
“The chief’s got a grudge against me,” admitted Ted, with a wry smile. “I printed a story about the use of unnecessary force in an arrest by an especially promising young officer, and he’s never forgiven me.”
“What was so bad about that?”
“He had to fire the kid.”
“So?”
“It was Oswald, Jr.”
“Oh,” said Lucy, as understanding dawned. “Do you have any special instructions for me?”
“Just get whatever they hand out, write down whatever they say, and try to get a photo.”
“Got it.”
When Lucy arrived at the police station briefing room, she saw that a crew from the Portland TV station was taping an interview with the chief. This was definitely a step up from the usual local coverage. She picked up one of the press releases that were stacked on a table, and took a seat in the front row and listened.
“Chief Crowley, what evidence led you to arrest Josh Cunningham?” asked Laura Quattrone, Channel Seven’s newest rising star.
She wasn’t as pretty in person as she was on TV, thought Lucy. Her hair was stiff with spray, and her makeup seemed overdone in daylight.
“Well, Laura,” began the chief, and Lucy opened her notebook.
“There are a number of factors that pointed toward Mr. Cunningham.” The chief paused and grinned, revealing his huge, yellow teeth. “Mr. Cunningham was suspended from his teaching job at the high school a couple of days ago, and we know that Ms. Crane played an instrumental role in that. We believe he blamed her. Secondly, we found some written evidence in the victim’s apartment that implicated Mr. Cunningham. And finally, we have a witness who places him at the apartment at the time of the murder.”
“That sounds like circumstantial evidence to me,” said Laura, with an apologetic smile. “Do you have any physical evidence?”
“The state police crime investigation unit has examined Ms. Crane’s apartment and we will have the results in a couple of weeks.”
“Who’s the witness?” Lucy turned and saw a young man standing in the row behind her, and decided he was probably from one of the Portland papers.
“I’m not at liberty to reveal that information just now,” said the chief, glaring at him.
Lucy suspected the chief’s antipathy to the press extended beyond Ted, to anyone who asked questions.
“Why not?” persisted the Portland reporter.
“I’m just not and that’s all there is to it,” said the chief, going red around the collar.
“Is there any connection between this murder and the bombing?” asked Lucy.
“I can’t tell you anything about that,” said the chief.
“What about Cunningham’s suspension? Was he suspended for making the bomb? After all, he was a science teacher.” It was the Portland reporter, following up on Lucy’s question.
“This conference is over,” said the chief, turning on his heel and leaving the room.
“Sorry,” said the Portland reporter, apologizing to the TV crew. “I shouldn’t have butted in on your interview.”
“No problem. We got what we needed,” said Laura, bending down to pack the microphone in a huge equipment bag.
“What did I miss?” asked Lucy.
“Not much. Chief Crowley likes them short and sweet. Take the pictures, but don’t ask questions,” said the reporter.
“He must be double-jointed,” joked the cameraman. “The way he pats himself on the back.”
“It’s amazing,” agreed the reporter. “He oughta join the circus.”
They all laughed, left the briefing room, and exited the station together. Spotting DeWalt on the sidewalk, Lucy wondered what he had to say about the murder.
“Hi,” she began, approaching him. “I’m Lucy Stone and I work for The Pennysaver.”
“Nice to meet you,” said DeWalt, grabbing her hand.
Face to face, the minister’s presence was overpowering. He was tall anyway, and tended to speak every day as if it were Sunday and he was in the pulpit.
“I wondered if you would like to make a comment about Carol Crane’s murder.”
“I am shocked and saddened that such a foul deed could take place in our town,” he said. “Carol was an inspiration to our youth and a positive force for good. I was looking forward to collaborating with her on a number of projects that would have restored family values to the schools.”
Lucy wrote it down in her notebook, then raised her head. “Do you think the police have arrested the right man?”
“I do. I’ve come to compliment Chief Crowley on a fine job. Getting that evil fornicator and vicious murderer off the streets means Tinker’s Cove will be a much safer place for our wives and daughters. I’m sure you, as a woman yourself, appreciate that.”
“I never felt I was in any danger from Josh Cunningham,” said Lucy. “What makes you so sure he’s guilty?”
“I have had occasion to look into that man’s character,” said DeWalt, folding his hands together in front of his stomach and nodding virtuously. “He was not what he seemed to be.”
“Few of us are,” said Lucy. “Did you have anything particular in mind?”
“Satan glories in unrepented sin,” thundered DeWalt. “His disciple, Josh Cunningham, was devious but his sins could not be hidden forever. It only took the voice of one innocent, pure lamb of God to reveal his wickedness and corruption.”
Lucy recalled Josh’s concern for her in the dark parking lot, and how much Toby admired him. He seemed to her to be a caring person and a committed teacher. He didn’t have to coach field hockey, or set up science demonstrations in advance of class, but he did.
“Those are pretty strong words,” she said. “What exactly do you mean?”
“He tempted one of the Lord’s blessed children and invited her to leave the Good Shepherd’s fold. He induced that sweet young handmaiden of the Lord to forsake the teachings of her parents and her church and to fall into sin and degradation.”
“He seduced a student?” asked Lucy. “Is that what he was suspended for?”
“Oh, yes. Seduced, indeed. And thanks to Carol Crane, he did not get away with it. She insisted that he be suspended. Staked her job on it when I brought his misdeeds to the attention of Superintendent Eubanks.”
“I find this a bit hard to believe,” said Lucy. “Are you saying that Josh Cunningham attempted to have sex with a student?”
“Not sex, no. Something worse.” DeWalt brought his face down level with Lucy’s, and lowered his voice. “He attempted to seduce a student away from the ways of her family and church. The young woman—you’ll understand if I don’t use her name—is not allowed to wear slacks or shorts.”
“Why not?”
“A number of families in the Revelation Congregation believe in a quite literal interpretation of Holy Gospel, and insist that their daughters wear skirts.”
“That’s in the Bible?” Lucy was doubtful; she hadn’t heard anything about this in Sunday School.
“It’s a matter of interpretation. The verse actually forbids one sex to wear the clothing of the other. For that reason, she chose to play field hockey. The players wear kilts. However, Mr. Cunningham advised her to wear shorts for practice.”
“You call that inappropriate behavior for a coach?” Lucy couldn’t believe it.
“I certainly do. Don’t you know the Ten Commandments?” DeWalt pulled himself back to his full height and proclaimed for all the world to hear, “‘Thou shalt honor thy father and thy mother.’ Mr. Cunningham advised that little girl, that sweet child of God, to stand up in defiance against the very parents who nurtured her and cared for her and raised her from infancy in the ways of the Lord. He urged her to disobey them and borrow practice clothes from her teammates.”
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