A Simple Suburban Murder (2 page)

"Any kids you know with grudges, active dislikes, enough to kill?"

I shook my head. "Not that I've heard. In fact, this year the kids have said very little about him at all."

"How about the faculty, any enemies there, any major quarrels?"

"Not that I know of. You've got to realize that with over 150 faculty members, we see very few people other than those in our own department."

There was a momentary pause. Robertson shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Finally he asked, "Where were you last night, Mr. Mason?"

I understood that since I found the body I was a suspect. "I spent the evening home alone. I had no visitors or phone calls."

It was after eleven o'clock by the time they finished with me. I stopped in the school office to find out where my classwas.

In the office Georgette fluttered nervously at the teachers' mailboxes, cramming memos into them. She gasped when she saw me. "Aren't you going home?" she said. "I'd need a sedative. If I came in and found"—she gulped—"found what you did. I'd be a nervous wreck. You should sit down for a while. Do you want to lie down? There's a couch in the nurse's office. Or can I get you something?"

"No, thank you, Georgette. Do you know where my class is meeting?"

"No, I don't. I think Mr. Sylvester knows." She gave another little gasp. "I just remembered." She clutched her throat, lowered her voice to a whisper, and said, "They want to meet with you."

"Who does?"

"Mr. Sylvester and the superintendent. He called earlier. I had the hardest time finding Mr. Sylvester."

Long ago I ceased being impressed with principals and superintendents. "Do they want to see me now, Georgette?"

"I'll buzz Mr. Sylvester." She spoke into the intercom on her desk then looked up at me. "They'll see you now, Mr. Mason."

I walked to the door of Sylvester's office.

"Mr. Mason," Georgette called. I turned back to her. "Do the police, did they"—she hesitated over the words—"do they know who did it?"

"No, Georgette."

"Do you think someone from school did this?"

"I don't know."

She glanced fearfully at the office door as if a gang of murderers might rush in any moment to claim her as their next victim.

Row upon row of rigidly straight plaques filled with platitudes covered one entire wall of Sylvester's office. The other walls were barren. The desk, chairs, computer, filing cabinets, and carpet were all various shades of gray. The lone window looked out on the faculty parking lot.

The superintendent stood in the center of this uniformity. Jason Brompton Armstrong took up a major portion of what was not a small office. Blimp was a rude but accurate word for him. He wore a black suit and a red tie. His head was bald on top with a gray fringe around the sides. His manner said salesman with all the negative connotations attached to that word and profession. He gave me a big smile, spread his arms in friendly welcome. This made him look like a blimp ready to land. I mistrusted the look in his eyes, his smile, and the way he stood.

We exchanged greetings. Sylvester flopped officiously behind his desk. He looked fawning and alert. Armstrong subsided his bulk onto the metallic couch. I was not invited to sit. I did so anyway. The superintendent spoke. "Mr. Mason, can I call you Tom?" He didn't pause for a response. "I asked to meet with you this morning. Mr. Sylvester was kind enough to arrange it."

Arrange what? I walked into the office. Georgette told me about a meeting. Of course, arranging meetings of such simplicity was about Sylvester's level of ability.

"We wanted to be sure you were all right."

"I'm fine, thanks." What the hell did they want?

"Well, good, good. I wanted to be sure. You don't need a few days off? We'd be happy to give it to you. It must have been quite a shock walking in on, well, quite a shock."

"A little out of the ordinary," I admitted.

He laughed uproariously. Sylvester echoed him. Armstrong chortled and slapped his knee. "You're a cool customer, Tom."

"Thanks for the offer," I said, "but I'm fine."

He gave me a searching look. "Well, that's good, that's great. I checked your file before I came, all top ratings. A good, good teacher. That's great. And I saw that you were a marine. That's what I like. We've got to be tough, don't we? Strength is our only defense."

I watched his unfriendly fat as he prattled non sequiturs. The end-of-class bell rang. We all looked at our watches. "Well, time's rushing," Armstrong said, "I'll get to the point. I think the thing to remember is that in unfortunate situations such as this the most important thing is to minimize the risk of the school district being seen in a bad light in the community. We don't want them to think we aren't in control. We don't want any more bad publicity. It's bad enough as it is, all three TV networks here filming, the district's name linked to murder on TV, terrible, terrible, and a man dead of course, horribly sad. I wish I'd known him." He paused to look sad and then quickly continued. "But now the important thing is to remain dignified and serene. We have to be above all this awful mess. Don't you agree?"

It sounded like pure bullshit to me. I simply looked at him.

Sylvester answered for me. "I'm sure Tom agrees that we don't want any unfortunate slips to jeopardize our position, our standing in the community."

Armstrong frowned him to silence. "Tom, we would prefer if this wasn't discussed with the students, or other faculty members, and when you talk to the police, if you remember that the district has been good to you for fourteen years. Police can be hardheaded. We must be seen in a good light, and of course if reporters ask you anything, you'll refer them to us."

I didn't like what he said, and I resented his nerve in saying it. Plus the whole thing was suspicious as hell. What were these two up to? I rethought my acidic response. I gave them a neutral promise. "I'll do what I can."

I wanted a chance to sort out what these two were up to. Maybe I'm too suspicious of administrators. All of them I've dealt with lie, some less than others. Few are actually outright evil human beings. These two were putting on some kind of show and I wanted to know why. I tried to look sincere and benign. The tardy bell rang. It was time for the next class to begin. Briefly Armstrong looked suspicious, but he shrugged it away.

* * *

The group of seniors I tutor after school arrived on time, a rarity. The four of them, Lee Jones, Alice Delderfield, Greg Davis, and Paul Howard, clustered around my desk.

"You're all a little early today," I commented.

"We want to know what happened," Lee blurted out. He played right defensive tackle on the football team. The knocks to his head hadn't added anything to his performance in school. They couldn't possibly have hurt either, unfortunately.

Alice said, "What was it like, Mr. Mason?" Alice was a pleasantly ditzy girl.

Briefly I explained what happened.

"How awful!" was Alice's reaction.

"Was there a lot of blood?" Lee asked. He attended every blood-and-guts, machine-gun-them-all movie that came out.

"Don't be gross," Alice said.

He rolled his eyes, gave her a disgusted look. "Girls don't understand anything. Mr. Mason can handle this stuff. He was in the marines in Vietnam." Besides being a teenage sexist pig, he also thinks my being in the marines qualifies me as second to God. This I learned from his parole officer, who also suggested I never disabuse the boy of this notion, since I was the first teacher in five years the kid did any schoolwork for.

I said, "I don't think telling all the gruesome details would be helpful, and don't be sexist, Lee."

Greg broke in. "You know the creepiest part is that it happened in school." Recently Greg had grown a mustache. It leant him a certain rakish air. Alice had informed me that all the girls thought it made him very sexy.

"This whole thing is creepy," Alice said.

"Especially Mr. Evans," Lee said.

"What an awful thing to say," Alice told him. "You aren't supposed to say mean things about dead people."

"I don't care," Lee said to her, then turned to me. "Mr. Mason, you said it's always better to be honest."

My curiosity was up. I said, "I haven't heard you talk about him this year. What brought on these negative feelings? You didn't have him this year, did you?"

"No," Lee replied, "I had him last year. I tell you he was creepy to be around."

"How so, creepy?" I asked.

"Well, there were always rumors about him." Lee looked at the others. For one of the rare times since I'd known him he hesitated.

Alice goaded him on. "You're so brave, talking about honest, go ahead tell him. I dare you."

I saw Greg give Lee a warning look.

Lee was caught now. His nemesis, Alice, pushing him to speak, but his buddy, Greg, pulling him to silence.

Paul, the quiet one in the bunch, broke the logjam.

"What the heck? What's the big deal?" He shrugged his boney shoulders. "It was all kids' talk."

"What was?" I asked.

Paul broke the circle around the desk and began hunting through the pile for his after-school work. We were in the science room. I'd stacked their work on a nearby table. He talked with his back to us. "They said he gave the bright senior girls A's if they would have sex with him."

"Paul!" Alice shrieked.

"Alice, please lower your decibels," I said.

Paul took his materials to a desk. He looked up at us. "What's the big deal?" His voice was flat, almost bored. "There's no proof that he ever did it. I think a bunch of kids who didn't like him made it up. Kids make up all kinds of stuff." He folded his lanky frame into a desk, turned to his work, and proceeded to ignore us.

Lee puffed his chest out and throwing caution aside, said, "I know it's true. I heard once—"

"Hold it, Lee," I interrupted. "We don't need more rumors. Before you say anything be sure you have proof for it."

"Well, I don't have proof, but everybody says—"

"Not 'everybody says,' Lee. Something you saw with your own eyes."

He looked sullen. "I didn't actually see him, but—"

"No buts."

Lee looked disgusted. "All right, but come on, Mr. Mason, you said you wanted to know stuff." A new thought struck him. "Are you going to be a detective and solve the murder? We all could help."

"Slow down, Lee. The police are taking care of the murder investigation. I only asked because you knew him better than I did, and you expressed some negative feelings."

"You mean I'm a suspect?" He sounded almost hopeful.

"No such luck."

He was crestfallen. "I can't even be a suspect. You won't listen to what I have to say." His tone was more depressed than angry. "Stupid proof." Then his face brightened. "At least I do have proof about his kid, that Phil Evans."

I thought I knew Phil pretty well, but I wanted to learn as much about the Evans family as I could, including the kids.

Alice piped up, "He's probably just going to tell you that Phil ran around with a bunch of kids who wrecked stuff and stole things when they were in eighth grade."

"Was not," Lee objected.

Alice ignored him. "Everybody knows it already." She sneered.

"I didn't," I said.

"What I know nobody else knows," Lee boasted.

"What's that?" I asked.

Lee didn't look to the others for approval this time. "He's a faggot. Last year I saw him and another guy in Lincoln Park in Chicago. He and this other guy were kissing."

"Oh, gross," Alice said.

"Come on, Lee, are you sure it was him?" I said.

"I was as close to him then as I am to you now."

"Didn't he recognize you?"

"Nah, he was too busy kissing, ugh."

Alice broke in, "What were you doing there?"

Lee looked sheepish. "I took a girl to the zoo." This was extremely uncharacteristic, non-macho behavior on Lee's part. He growled, "I only took her there because she insisted we go. It was a cheap date."

"I think it's sweet," Alice said.

He gave her a dirty look, then went back to his story. "I saw him as we walked through the park to get to the zoo."

Lee didn't sound like he made the story up. I had another thought. "Did you recognize who he was with?" "Never saw the other guy before. He was real old, like you, Mr. Mason."

"I don't consider thirty-eight old."

"Oh, sorry, you know what I mean—an adult, an old guy."

"This was last year, when he was a junior?" I asked.

"Last summer," Lee said.

I looked at the others for confirmation. Greg rallied to Lee's support. "I heard rumors about him too. Lots of kids think he's gay. I don't think he is." He pointed at Lee accusingly. "You never told me about this." The two of them were good friends.

"It was summer. You weren't around, and I forgot about it until now."

"Yeah, you forgot, you don't remember nothing half the time," Greg said.

"Anything," I corrected.

Alice turned up her nose. "I think this whole discussion is icky. I won't talk about those kind of people. The whole family is so sad. I think they should be left alone."

Teenage reticence took over. Discussion drifted into more mundane topics.

An hour later the kids left and I went in search of Meg Swarthmore, our ancient and learned librarian, and ultimate clearing house for all school gossip. If there were secrets to be known, Meg would have them to tell.

She perched in her usual spot on a tall stool behind the book return: a tiny woman, not much over five feet tall, and plump in a grandmotherly way.

"Hi, sexy" was her greeting. "You're in here so rarely these days I figured I better cut the bull and get to what interests me. So how about a hot date?"

I glanced around checking for kids.

She laughed when she saw me. She teased, "You mean you didn't plan this visit, waiting until all the kids were gone to come in and ravish me?" She twisted her kindly face into a brief pout, then a wicked grin, and finally gave a melodramatic sigh. "But you're too young for me and already spoken for."

I smiled contentedly.