“A body bag will work better.” She waited patiently until Mears appeared again, and they draped the corpse from head to toe under black vinyl. “Go ahead and send Archer back.”
“It’s going to be interesting to see how the rumor mill plays this one,” Torrez said.
Chapter Twelve
Estelle left the shower to intercept Superintendent Glenn Archer back in the locker room. A gentle, warm-hearted man, he cherished his school. While no stranger to tragedy, this was the sort of brutal, senseless act that would haunt his dreams, and Estelle tried to think of a way to soften the blow. There was no way. Headlines all too often trumpeted this shooting tragedy or that, but Posadas had been mercifully spared over the years. Now the press would have a field day. Dr. Archer needed to be armed with blunt, unvarnished facts.
The superintendent walked down the row of lockers to meet Estelle and extended both hands as if greeting an old cherished friend…which was, in fact, the case. He had been principal of Posadas High School when the teenaged Estelle Reyes had arrived from Tres Santos, Mexico, for her final two years of high school. He remembered the current undersheriff of Posadas County as a shy, exquisitely beautiful youngster who had blossomed to graduate as salutatorian—whose heavy accent was polished in months until she became completely fluent, completely bilingual.
“This is awful,” Archer said by way of greeting. “My God, I just spoke to Barry Lavin—this is terrible for him, walking in on something like this. What can you tell me?”
“Coach Scott was discovered shortly after noon by Mr. Lavin, sir. Coach was found dead in the girls’ shower. He had been shot at least four times. When he collapsed, it appears that he fell on top of the drain, which accounts for the flooding.”
“My God.”
“My guess is that he was shot sometime late last night. That’s Dr. Perrone’s best preliminary guess. We have a time window from just after the game, when Barry Lavin last talked to the Coach Scott, until just after noon, when his body was found.”
“My God.”
She reached out and held his arm at the elbow. “Sir, we’re going to need to talk with a number of people, and we’ll start with Mr. Lavin. He’s been very patient. Lieutenant Mears conducted a preliminary with him.”
“Yes, absolutely. We’ll do everything we can, certainly. My God. And think of his elderly parents…”
“If you would provide Coach Scott’s contacts, we’d appreciate that.”
“They’re in Albuquerque, you know. His parents, I mean. Parents and two sisters, as I remember.” He looked toward the shower. “Should I…?”
“It’s not necessary, sir. The custodian already identified the victim, and of course, we all know him.”
Archer didn’t look relieved, but stood with both hands on the sides of his ruddy face as if fearful that his head might pop off his neck. “What happens now?”
“Sir, this building is absolutely off limits to students and personnel until we clear it. That may not come until early next week. It just depends.”
“Oh, my. I think it would be best just to close school for a couple of days, come Monday, don’t you?”
“That would work best on all accounts.”
He leaned against a locker, his face gray. “No one saw anyone…?”
“We don’t know that yet, sir.”
“Of course. Of course.” He looked back toward the coaches’ offices, his head shaking slowly. “Is there anything you need?”
“Thank you, sir. We have the State Police Crime Lab unit on the way. They have some facilities that we lack. I have to confess that we’re not hopeful that something magical will pop up to clear all this, but still. We’ll take any assistance we can get.”
“Should I…?” he hesitated, not able to frame the words of what he should do.
“It would be helpful if you would remain on campus and available. Everyone else is in Lordsburg today for the conference, and that’s a big help, keeping the facility clear. But if you would stay? We may need keys to access various parts of the building that our master doesn’t open, and we’ll need employee information. If you’d be in your office for a while?”
“Certainly, certainly. As I said, I spoke just briefly with Mr. Lavin on my way in. He’s most distraught. I’m wondering if he might need some medical attention.”
“We’ll see. The EMTs are just outside across the parking lot, if need be. We’re going to need his cooperation, painful as that may be for him.”
“I’m sure…no doubt of that.”
“But for now, we’re isolating him in the office.”
“You don’t think that he…?”
“At this early stage, we go one careful step at a time. And, sir…if we’re not careful, this is going to turn into the worst kind of media circus. The press is in town in a big way, number one because of the game last night, and second because of the NightZone train deal. The most popular coach in the state found murdered the day after the game is going to dump lots of fuel on the fire.”
She looked hard at the superintendent, forcing his attention. “The press will want to talk with you. For right now, I’m going to ask that you stick to the simplest script. Do not let yourself be drawn into a discussion of the crime scene, or the investigation. Sir, you know that somebody is going to ask you what you think. Could the killer have been a jilted lover, could it have been an angry fan of the visiting team? Could it have been robbery? Could it have been this or that? Please, sir. Just stonewall. Refer questions to me or to Sheriff Torrez. You might take a minute and compose a stock answer for the phone calls when they come. And they certainly will.”
“Coach Scott.” Dr. Archer shook his head in disbelief. “Such a talented man. Such an asset to the school.” He heaved a deep breath and straightened. “This is going to be hard, Estelle. His second grade class—they won’t understand something this horrible. His team, his friends on the faculty…my God.”
“Yes, sir. It would be helpful if you’d pull his personnel files for us.”
“Certainly.”
Her cell phone vibrated. The text message from Lieutenant Tom Mears was brief. “Coach Avila to the SO now. After we finish here, I’ll start the process with her. We have the game DVD as well.”
The superintendent thrust out both hands and folded Estelle’s right hand in his. “You’ll call me? For absolutely anything?”
“Count on that, sir. And sir, be careful of what you tell Frank Dayan. He’s a local, he’s a friend, and the tendency will be to discuss this tragedy prematurely. Stick to the same statement with him that you give the others.”
“Frank?” Archer looked stunned, as if suddenly realizing that the school was going to be Page One news—and not celebratory cheering, either. The story would swell until even the national anchors would wallow in it.
“I was told he’s waiting outside. At this point, we don’t know any details.”
“And nor do I.” He grimaced, closed his eyes, and shook his head. “I should see the crime scene, I suppose. I don’t want to, but I suppose I should. Someone from the school should.”
“If that’s what you wish, I’ll escort you down there, but ask that you don’t step in the water, or into the shower room itself, sir.” Her tone took on an edge. “And do not discuss the crime scene with anyone else. I mean that literally, sir. Not with your secretary, not with Mrs. Archer, not with Frank, not with AP or UPI when they call. Not with any of the television or radio crews.” She squeezed his arm. “We can’t afford that sort of complication just now.”
She hooked an arm through his and led him toward the shower, feeling the resistance in every step. A man now in his mid-sixties, he moved as if he were ninety. He reached out his free hand and grasped the side of the doorway when they reached the showers.
“Evenin’, Glenn,” Sheriff Torrez said as if they had casually met on the street corner for a chat. With surprising daintiness, Torrez reached down and peeled the body bag away just far enough to expose all four
wounds.
“Oh, my God.” Archer’s voice was muffled behind his hand clasped over his mouth. “Who would…?” He shook his head, staring at the corpse for a long moment before his eyes wandered around the shower room. “All of this is just beyond my comprehension. Just unbelievable.” He turned away, his head still shaking. “You know,” he said to Estelle, “the school is such a closed community. And we try to keep it that way. We know the world is full of all kinds of horrors, but I think sometimes we embrace the old NIMBY so much that when something does happen, some awful thing like this…”
The torrent of words stopped as suddenly as it had begun. He ducked his head, jaw slack. Estelle thought for a moment that he was about to vomit. He shook his head helplessly again. “Thank God kids weren’t in school. That they didn’t see him like this.”
He reached out a hand and took Estelle by the elbow. “I’ll be in my office until you say otherwise.” He tried to smile. “Any little thing you need, and no worries about the hour. I have a sofa. Just let the phone ring. Of course, who’s going to sleep?” He started to turn away, then stopped.
“The last time I spoke with Mr. Scott…on Monday, I think. I mean I went to the game last night, too, but had to leave a few minutes early. The score was like twenty-five to two, and Coach Scott had every second-and third-string player off the bench to play. He gave the visitors every chance. But, anyway, last Monday, he was in his classroom, with those tiny second graders. Of course, they looked even smaller because Mr. Scott is such a big man. He was down on the floor, on his hands and knees, making a game out of some arithmetic concept. He had three of the kids hanging off him as if he were their private pony or something.”
Archer tried to laugh. “He told me afterward that this was his last year for second grade. ‘Too hard on the back,’ he tells me.” Archer shook his head slowly. ‘“Too hard on the back.’ He’s requested a transfer to high school. He has the certification, so why not? Work where you’re happy. The elementary program will hate to see him go.” Archer’s face crumpled when he remembered that Clint Scott was not going to transfer anywhere.
Chapter Thirteen
Leaving the sheriff and Lieutenant Tom Mears to finish with the preliminary survey, including more blood and tissue samples from the swath on the wall and a complete survey of the locker room itself, Estelle found a fretting Barry Lavin in the coaches’ office. He was no longer sitting, but paced nervously as if he’d been corralled inside an electric fence.
“Mr. Lavin, thanks for being so patient.” She shook hands with him and found his grip cold and clammy.
“Probably don’t have much choice, right?” His grim smile showed teeth that ended with the first pre-molars. “I told the lieutenant everything I know, so…”
Estelle sat down in a swivel chair, pulling it out from behind the desk, and waved Lavin toward a heavy wooden chair. Surveying the three teachers’ desks, all relics from half a century ago, she asked, “So which of these is Coach Scott’s?”
“His office is on the other side of the building. Outside the boys’ lockers. Him and Head Coach Harvey and Coach Avila. Coach Emilio Avila, I mean. When he’s got work to do in here for volleyball, he uses Coach Marilee’s desk on this side. That way, nobody needs to go huntin’ for him.” Lavin pointed at the desk beside Estelle. “Emilio’s better half. Marilee is, I mean.” Pulling out a hideously dirty handkerchief, he blew his nose loudly, then regarded the cloth distantly, as if he really didn’t see it. “Never seen nothing like this.” He shook his head, clearly not referring to the hanky.
Estelle withdrew her notebook. “So tell me what happened from the final game buzzer onward.”
He ran a hand through thinning hair. “Well, like I told the lieutenant, we deal with the mess. We start up in the gym, push the bleachers in, run the big floor mop and bag up all the crap. Volleyball ain’t too bad. Nowhere near the draw of basketball. With a small crowd, it don’t take long.”
“You say ‘we.’”
“Oh. I mean me.”
“How long does it take to finish the gym?”
“Not so long. Push the bleachers in, wheel the net supports back out of the way, roll the net…then run the chem mop. Maybe half an hour.”
“Then?”
“By then the kids are finished down in the locker room. Visitors are over on the boys’ side, our gals over here. I can hear ’em.” He rolled his eyes. “I mean our kids. Whoopin’ and hollerin’. They are the noisiest flock of chicks you ever heard. I can hear ’em in the locker, in the showers…” He hesitated, then continued, “When they run screechin’ down the hall to outside. And then the cars drivin’ away. I’m out by the front doors then.” He grinned. “Tryin’ to keep some peace in the parkin’ lot. And I gotta say good night, you know. I’ve known these kids since they were…” and he held a hand three feet off the floor. “When I drove the activity bus, you know. You see ’em all day, every day, over the years. You get to know ’em.”
“I would imagine so.”
He looked at her sideways, slyly. “I know your two, Sheriff. That younger one, he’s a pistol. Asked me a couple weeks ago if he could run the floor waxer.” He laughed a brief cough. “I can see it, the orbital standin’ still and old Carlos whippin’ around, hangin’ on to the handles for dear life.”
“You said no, I hope.”
He smiled as if to say, “silly question,” but instead said, “I don’t think there’s a single thing on this earth that he isn’t interested in.”
Estelle felt the acute pang of knowing that when she returned home, she would have to find a way to explain Coach Scott’s death to her son, who had enjoyed immensely his second grade year with Clint Scott just three years before.
“So the spectators leave, then the team leaves.”
“Yup, except for a few parents waitin’ out in the parkin’ lot for the slow ones.”
“Then?”
“Then Coach Marilee follows the last girls out. Always does. She don’t leave until they’re all gone.”
“Did she speak to you?”
“Said good night. I told her to enjoy the day off. Don’t think she thought that was funny. That teachers’ workshop thing, you know. I saw her out in the parking lot a bit ago, so I guess she didn’t attend over in Lordsburg.” He shrugged.
“And then? After the last one is gone?”
He regarded his hands carefully, brows furrowed. “Then I go back in and polish the hall floor. Got some little stinker who likes to kick black marks along the floor tile. Can’t let that stay, so I polished the hall. Done with that, put the polisher away, and checked the doors. The doors to the locker room are closed and locked, and I holler ‘good night’ to Coach Scott, ’cause I can see the light is on in the office. He hollers back for me to have a good weekend.”
“He stayed behind when you left?”
“Yeah.” Lavin hesitated. “That ain’t unusual. He’s got to call the game in to the newspapers…with this winnin’ streak the Jags got goin’, there’s some interest in this little old backwater place.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know, those were the last words I ever heard him say. ‘Have a good weekend.’”
“And you’re sure it was his voice you heard?”
Lavin looked puzzled. “Of course, I’m sure.”
“So as far as you’re concerned, the building is locked up, and all is quiet when you leave. And Coach Scott is hard at work in this office.”
“That’s right. And he ain’t one to ignore the newspapers or TV, that’s for sure.”
“Everything locked. Even the back door.”
“Especially that one, ’cause the locks don’t work like they should. That’s why we have the chain around the push bars. That latch is worn, and it’s just as apt to stick open as closed.”
“I remember those when I was here a hundred years ago.”
Lavin smiled. “Ain’t been that long, Sheriff. Now, I was here a hundred years ago, and I remember when thi
s scared little Mexican kid started here.” His eyes crinkled, and Estelle purposely avoided the urge to reminisce.
“So,” and she pointed first at the doors outside the office, “locked, locked up in back, and locked out front.”
“Yup.”
“And the doors on the other side of the building?”
“Locked. I checked ’em soon as the last of the spectators and visiting team left.”
Estelle regarded him thoughtfully, and he met her gaze, his eyebrows finally lifting as if to say, “So? Now what?”
“When I walked down the hall a few minutes ago, I could look up the back team stairway and see the back doors.” The “team” stairway, identical to the one just inside the front foyer, allowed teams, or physical education classes, to run directly from the locker room up to the gymnasium, bypassing all the classrooms.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“The chain is not locked now.”
He looked as if she’d slapped him. “’Course it is.” He rose from his chair.
“Show me.”
Chapter Fourteen
They left the coaches’ office and once in the hallway turned right, up the stairs. The outside doors were closed, the hand bar closed, but the chain hung loose, the large padlock open.
“Please don’t touch,” Estelle said quickly as Lavin reached out toward the lock.
Lavin backed up a step, and stabbed a finger at the offending door. “This door was locked. I know it was.”
She peered through the door’s wire-mesh glass. A sidewalk circled the building, and ten feet out from the sidewalk, a chain-link fence skirted the parking lots.
“I open it in the morning, when school is underway, and lock it up at night. Fire marshals would have a cow if they knew it was chained up during school hours with this place full of kids. Can’t do that, ’cause if it’s chained, you can’t get in, you can’t get out. First thing in the morning—maybe about seven—I open it. Last thing in the day, I lock it.”
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