Jessie saw Graham’s brow furrow, and sensed that they were thinking the same thing. When Russell Lanford’s father had told them he was moving, they had both assumed that the decision to move had come after the shooting, as a response to the anger directed at him from his former friends and neighbors. Now it appeared that the decision to move predated the shooting. Was that relevant? Did it mean something?
“Am I in trouble?” Weaver said.
“Don’t talk to the media again,” Graham said. “Don’t give them anything. Definitely don’t sell them anything. We’ll forget this happened, this time.”
Weaver looked massively relieved. “I won’t. I swear to God. Thank you!”
Graham nodded. “We’ll call you if we have further questions.”
Weaver hurried back to the building and her waiting English class. They watched her go.
“What do you think?” Jessie said.
“I think she’s an asshole.”
“Yeah, but aside from that. Harrison saw that essay, knew about it, but didn’t do anything.”
Graham seemed to consider. “The paper is stupid—hateful even—but it’s not explicitly threatening. What was Harrison going to do? Put a red flag in the kid’s file, potentially ruin the kid’s future over a one-page essay? Kids say stupid things all the time. It’s part of being a teenager. I cringe when I remember some of the stuff I wrote and said when I was younger.”
Jessie couldn’t deny the logic. “Okay, but why didn’t he tell us about the essay? It’s clearly relevant now.”
Graham shrugged. “Because he’s in cover-up mode, trying to protect the school and save his job at all costs. If he told us about the essay, he’d have to admit not acting on it when Weaver first brought it to his attention, and that would put everything he cares about at risk.”
“So you don’t want to confront him about it?”
Graham grinned. “I didn’t say that.”
Novak rejoined them as they started to walk back toward the school’s entrance. “We’re going back?” he said. “I missed something, didn’t I?”
Jessie sighed. “Nothing particularly useful.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Graham said, walking at her side. “We learned that Wesley Lanford was planning to move his family out of state, and that Russell was unhappy about it.”
“That information is even less useful than the essay.”
“Is it?” Graham said.
“It means something important to you?” Jessie said.
“You know I don’t have a good feeling about Wesley Lanford. The guy just, I don’t know, sets off my asshole detector.”
“Being an asshole isn’t a crime,” Jessie said. “The guy did bring Manpower and True_Man to our attention. He’s trying to do the right thing.”
“Look at it from another angle,” Graham said. “Dad wants to take his hot young girlfriend to a new state for a new life. But his pain-in-the-ass, weirdo kid doesn’t want to go along. So, what’s a way to get rid of the kid? Give him some guns. Put some crazy ideas in his head about dying in a blaze of glory. Think about it. What if Wesley Lanford is True_Man?”
“That’s a little far-fetched, don’t you think? For one thing, Lanford claims he didn’t learn about the website until after the shooting.”
“Yeah,” Graham said with a sneer. “From an anonymous email. How convenient. It’s just as likely—more likely—that he already knew about the site. That he found it on Russell’s computer or Russell told him about it.”
Jessie still wasn’t convinced. “Then why would he tell us about it? Why would he want us to look for True_Man if he’s True_Man?”
“Who knows? He’s a rich guy who probably arrogantly believes himself smarter than and superior to everyone else. Maybe he’s playing with us. Laughing at us.”
Jessie let out a breath. “I guess it’s a theory.” Not a theory she was inclined to believe, but if her experience digging into the actions and motivations of criminals had taught her anything, it was to be receptive to the seemingly unbelievable. “It still brings us back to needing a warrant for the identification of True_Man.”
Graham held up the essay. “Maybe our helpful principal will be more forthcoming when he sees this.”
11
This time, Principal Clark Harrison dispensed with the niceties—no praises for the thoroughness of the Philadelphia PD, no leisurely walk to the teachers’ lounge. He barricaded himself behind his desk and sat rigidly and with his eyes narrowed.
“What are you trying to imply?” he said. His gaze shifted between Graham and Jessie, as if unsure of the greater threat—Novak, with his ever-present smartphone, apparently posed none. “Is this about liability? It is, isn’t it? I knew I shouldn’t have believed a word you said. The school has insurance, but….” His voice trailed off. “Look,” he said. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Does it help anyone if I lose my job? Does that bring anyone back to life? What is the point of this … this persecution?” He glared at them.
“Are you finished, Mr. Harrison?” Graham said.
He frowned and wrung his hands. “What do you want from me?”
“You could start by explaining why you didn’t tell us about the personal essay the first few times we spoke,” Graham said. “And then, after you’ve explained that, you can tell us all of the other things you’ve been holding back.”
Harrison licked his lips. The anger in his gaze was giving way to panic. “Other things? There aren’t any other things. You make it sound like this is some kind of cover up.”
Graham shrugged, as if to say, if the shoe fits….
Jessie suppressed a laugh. Graham’s abrasive demeanor could be pretty entertaining when it wasn’t aimed at her.
“How is the essay even important at this point?” Harrison said. “The students are dead. Ms. Kerensa is dead. Russell Lanford is dead. Does that sound cold? Maybe. But it’s true. What’s the point in looking back now—with perfect hindsight—and second-guessing what I should have made of a stupid essay written by an angry, angsty teen? Neither of you are in education. Who are you to judge me?”
Graham leaned toward him. Jessie could tell by the glint in her eyes that she wasn’t ready to let Harrison off the hook so easily. He cringed back from her. “Ms. Weaver made something of it, didn’t she?” Graham said. “And without the benefit of perfect hindsight. She found the essay disturbing enough to bring to your attention.”
“What did you do when she showed it to you?” Jessie said.
Harrison’s mouth opened and closed. Clearly, he did not want to answer. Jessie wondered if they should Mirandize him, but decided that would only cause him to clam up further. The Miranda warnings were only required when a suspect was interrogated while in police custody. Here, Harrison was in his own office and not even really a suspect. Although she could imagine Graham arresting him for obstruction of justice, just out of spite.
“You did nothing, isn’t that right?” Graham said.
Harrison swallowed hard. “Please, you need to look at this from my perspective. Disciplinary action is part of my job. I deal with the school’s ‘bad kids’ on a daily basis. Russell Lanford wasn’t one of the bad kids. At least, he wasn’t at the time. He was quiet, brooding, obviously unhappy—but so was I when I was fifteen. Why taint the kid’s file by flagging his essay as potentially threatening? Why make a big production out of a paper he probably dashed off between episodes of South Park? That was my thinking. I was cutting the kid a break because I felt bad for him.”
Graham nodded. “Would you have cut him a break if his paper had been about hating blacks instead of hating women?”
Harrison let out a strangled laugh. “That’s hardly the same thing.”
“What about Jews?” Graham pressed. “Is Jew bashing okay at Stevens Academy? Or what if he wrote a diatribe against gays? You would have let those essays slide, too?”
“Of course not. Stevens Academy has a zero tolerance policy for any kind of bigotry.”
<
br /> “But this essay was only about hating women, so it was tolerated.”
Harrison sighed. He looked deflated and defeated. At this point, Jessie felt bad for the guy, but she wasn’t going to come to his rescue. If there was a chance that Graham’s questions might shake some important piece of information loose, she wanted to be here to hear it.
“Like I said, in hindsight, I maybe should have been more concerned about his essay. Bad judgment. But I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Is there anything else you haven’t told us?” Graham said, changing tack. “Any other secrets? Because it would be much better to get them out now. As you just learned, these things have a way of bubbling up to the surface.”
“No.” Harrison shook his head vigorously. “No other secrets.”
Graham arched an eyebrow. “You told us that Russell Lanford didn’t have any friends, that he wasn’t close with any students or teachers. Was that the truth, or were you just trying to steer us away from learning about the essay?”
“It was the truth. Russell was a loner.”
“Ms. Weaver said he was upset about having to move to Delaware. If he was so friendless and alone, why would he care?”
Harrison looked pained. Jessie could only imagine what he was thinking right now about Weaver and her big mouth. “I have no idea. There are lots of reasons a kid wouldn’t want to move. Maybe he liked his house. Who knows?”
“Okay,” Graham said. “I guess we’re done for now.”
Harrison nodded but apparently couldn’t quite bring himself to speak.
“Hold on,” Novak said from the back of the principal’s office. “I have a question.”
Jessie had almost forgotten the older detective was in the room. Now, she turned to see him approaching Harrison’s desk with an intent look on his face.
“After you read the kid’s essay,” Novak said, “did you check out the website?”
“The … website?” Harrison said.
“The Manpower website. The forum he talked about in his essay.” Novak held out the essay, then looked meaningfully at the computer on Harrison’s desk.
Harrison wet his lips again. “I don’t think so.”
“Really?” Novak said. “So if we look, we won’t find it in your browser history? If we send your PC to the police lab, they won’t uncover it?”
“Uh, well, I….” Harrison stammered. “I might have looked at it once, the day I first saw the essay. You know, real quickly, out of curiosity. I don’t really remember.”
Jessie stared at the man, incredulous. How could anyone read that venomous message board and not immediately seek help for the impressionable kid who’d been taken in by it? Harrison was right to worry about his job. He didn’t deserve to keep it.
“There seem to be a lot of things you don’t remember,” Graham said. “A lot of things you didn’t do wrong.”
Harrison just nodded, speechless.
Graham rose from her chair. Jessie took her cue and did the same. With Novak, they headed for the door.
“Are you going to go after my job for this?” Harrison said. “Or the school? Are you going to claim we’re responsible for what happened?”
Graham said, “We’ll be in touch.” Then they left.
Outside in the fresh air, Graham turned to Jessie and said, “How’d I do?”
The question took Jessie off-guard. She peered at the blonde detective, looking for signs of sarcasm. “Are you asking me?”
“I’m sure not asking him,” she said with a dismissive shrug in Novak’s direction.
“I didn’t think you cared what I thought.”
Graham frowned. She looked hurt. “Look, if you don’t want to answer the question—”
“I thought you did great. You backed him into one corner after another. He gave up everything he knows, and he’s scared enough to tell us more if he remembers anything else. I was very impressed, and I’ve worked with a lot of detectives.”
“Thanks.”
Jessie glimpsed a vulnerability in Graham’s expression that the woman had never let show before. Acting on intuition, she said, “Listen, Emily, maybe we got off on the wrong foot. Do you, uh, have plans for dinner tonight?”
Graham seemed to study her for a moment. “I don’t think—”
Jessie felt her face redden. “No, I mean, if you’re busy, don’t worry about it. I was just thinking—”
“The truth is I’m supposed to go on a date. A guy my mother met at her doctor’s office.” Graham groaned.
“You don’t sound too excited about it.”
“Believe me, I’d skip it if I could.”
Jessie thought for a second. “Can you change it to a double date? You and him, with me and Leary?”
Graham nodded slowly. “That would be less excruciating.”
The woman was full of compliments, Jessie thought, already regretting this. “Great,” she said.
Graham turned to Novak and said, “What the hell are you smiling about?”
12
“Hold on,” Leary said. “Let me get this straight. You invited Emily Graham—who’s been nothing but standoffish toward you—along her date—whom apparently not even she likes—to join us for dinner on one of the exceedingly rare occasions when we’re able to get a romantic night to ourselves?”
“Well, of course it sounds bad when you put it that way.” Jessie wrung her hands.
“And you’re telling me now, half an hour before our reservation?”
Le Virtù was a fine Italian restaurant in East Passyunk Crossing. Jessie had been wanting to try it for months, ever since reading a bunch of enticing reviews online. So, while she still wasn’t sure if asking the confrontational detective to dinner would turn out to be one of her best ideas or one of her worst, she figured even in a worst case scenario, she’d still get to enjoy a great meal.
Leary was less enthused.
“Look,” she said, “it was a last minute decision. And it wasn’t easy to get the restaurant to change our reservation from two to four. I had to name drop the DA’s office before they agreed.”
“Lucky us,” Leary said.
“You’re really upset?”
His look of incredulity might have been humorous under other circumstances. “What were you thinking?”
“If I don’t forge a bond with this woman, my ability to win this case is going to be impaired. And who knows how many cases down the line? There’s nothing worse than a detective and a prosecutor not getting along—I’ve heard horror stories, and I’m sure you have, too. There was a moment today when she seemed to warm up to me. I decided to take advantage of it.”
“Exactly. You decided.”
“I have a feeling Emily’s not so bad once you get to know her,” she said.
“Oh, so now she’s Emily instead of Graham? For God sakes, Jessie, you’re barely on a first name basis with me!”
“Leary—” He glared triumphantly at her. She started over. “Mark, it’s just one dinner. Please just do this for me as a favor. I’ll make it up to you.”
“Well,” he said with a hesitant smile, “now we’re getting somewhere.”
Le Virtù was located at the end of East Passyunk Avenue, off Broad Street. There was a pleasant-looking patio, but the night was too chilly for outdoor dining, so most of the patrons were inside. Jessie and Leary waited at the curb, where a valet was parking cars.
When Graham and her date arrived, Jessie almost did a double-take. Graham looked surprisingly elegant in a dress. It was hard to believe this woman was the same hard-edged cop she’d gotten to know since the shooting.
“You look great,” Jessie said as they walked inside. Jessie gave the hostess her name, and they waited by a bar. Quiet sounds, like the clink of silverware and the low babble of voices, created a soothing atmosphere.
“You clean up pretty well yourself,” Graham said. “You must be Leary. I don’t think we’ve actually met.”
“No, you must have joined the Homic
ide Division just after I left,” Leary said.
“This is Troy Eckert,” Graham said, introducing her date.
He turned out to be unexpectedly normal-looking, considering that Graham’s mother had apparently met him randomly in a doctor’s waiting room. He had a firm handshake and wore a conservative suit. When Leary asked him what he did for a living, he said he was a commodities trader downtown. “How about you? Emily said you used to be a detective?”
Jessie sensed Leary’s discomfort with the subject, but he did a good job hiding it behind a friendly smile. “Yeah, I had a few years of adventure,” he said in a light tone, “but that’s behind me. Now I work in the private sector. Loss prevention.”
“Oh, that’s interesting,” Eckert said. “What made you decide to leave the police department?”
Leary was spared from having to answer this question when the hostess, holding four menus to her chest, politely interrupted them. “Your table is ready. Would you like to follow me, please?”
“Thanks,” Leary said, and Jessie heard the relief in his voice.
The hostess guided them behind the bar to a small dining room. Most of the tables were filled and the noise level was loud, but not unpleasantly so.
They ordered a bottle of wine and settled into the obligatory small talk while looking at their menus. The wine loosened them up a little bit—as did the pasta course, which was homemade and amazing—but Jessie noticed that Graham wasn’t saying much. Her date, on the other hand, seemed to have an endless supply of long stories to recount in minute detail. Several times, she had to brush Leary’s hand away as he tried to pinch her leg.
When the waiter arrived with their entrees, Jessie’s nostrils filled with the aromas of garlic, pasta, meat, and other savory smells. Her mouth watered. She smiled at Leary through the steam rising from their plates. He smiled back.
She had ordered brodetto, a seafood stew. She paused a moment just to smell it—hints of saffron and wine and red pepper—then turned her spoon through shrimp, calamari, and big chunks of monkfish and sole. She tasted the stew. “Oh, this is good.”
Jessie Black Legal Thrillers Box Set 1 Page 59