Finals (9 page)

Thankfully, Hayley spoke up and did the thing she always does when a discussion gets out of hand.

“
Taisez vous tous
!”

I had no idea why shouting French remarks continued to work. I guessed Trevor was too perplexed to speak because foreign languages boggled his peanut size brain, and Vickie hoped that at the end of the year, Hayley would recommend her for my job, meaning it was best to stay in the tiny blonde’s good graces, rather than let a “WTF” slip out.

“
Merci
,” said Hayley, as an approving smile surfaced. “Let’s get back to the topic at hand, shall we? Trevor, when you said you thought the culprit to be Vickie’s type were you referring to her ethnicity, her behavior, her interests, what?”

“
I’m not a racist, ok Vickie. I swear to high heaven I wasn’t talking about your being black. I was talking about your lack of faith.”

“
I have faith, you piece of—”

“
Fine, faith in Catholicism then. Gosh! I mean a Catholic couldn’t do what this dude did because first off, it’s a sin. Second, Catholics bear a burden of guilt that is tremendous. It’s constantly there, like a super tight-fitting belt. A Catholic would feel so dang horrible and guilty about committing murder. I don’t think that like, a good standing member of the Church would do something like that.”

Poor naïve Trevor. I hoped that he like many others would be kept in the dark about my secret. He’d be destroyed to learn that an outstanding Catholic, one whom he thoroughly respected, had waxed Brent.

“
Wonderful thought, Trevor! Many religious radicals have committed acts of violence; however, Christianity helps individuals learn acceptable societal norms and establishes a sense of morality. As Catholics, the concept of guilt is a familiar one, and as conventional wisdom indicates, sociopaths are immune to feeling a sense of remorse. This means our killer is a non-Catholic or has lost his way since he is clearly not regretting his actions,” said Hayley.

“
Or maybe the guy is just a Catholic prick who is impervious to catching feelings. Some of my exes were that way,” said Vickie.

“
What does that say about your love life?” I asked.

“
Fuck you, Wayne.”

“
Excellent idea, Trevor!” said the bubbly one, ignoring the side conversation taking place. “You’re turn, Wayne. Will you share a few of your theories with us?”

“
I believe the killer knew Brent well or at least knew a few of his tendencies. Murder is often not a spur-of-the-moment decision, meaning whoever killed him did research or knew the victim’s characteristics. For example, if the alleged killer knew Brent had a bladder the size of an acorn and went to the bathroom more often than an old man with a prostate problem, then he or she knew the bathroom would be an ideal location for the murder. Also, given that Brent liked to study in the library an hour or two before a big test, the odds of finding him in a study room a few hours before his Personal Taxation test were high. Using this knowledge of the victim, the killer could have waited until he spotted Brent’s shoes from underneath one of the library’s bathroom stalls.

“
With regard to the murder weapon, the selection of the knife was simple; it was the practical choice. Guns are efficient but the process is entirely too fast. The murderer doesn’t get the satisfaction of the kill. He can’t watch as the victim strains to live before sucking in one last dying breath. With a gun, one moment a person is alive and kicking and the next, their body is slouched on the sidewalk like a pile of trash waiting to be collected. Wire or fishing line lets the killer savor the process of taking a life. The drawback of this approach is that more effort is required. Given Brent’s physique, the chances of him escaping or hollering would have increased twofold if this weapon were chosen, which is why our killer used a blade.

“
Sticking with the assumption that Brent and the killer were friends or acquaintances, the perpetrator likely said something to Brent to announce his presence. Something like, ‘You ready for the test today, big guy?’ Keeping in mind the killer moved quickly from the stall to the urinal, Brent was perhaps startled. Due to his brazen disposition, he would give a douche response such as, ‘Dude, you came out of nowhere. Don’t you see I have my dick in my hand? If I didn’t know you man, I’d say you were a homo.’ The killer would have pretended to vacate the room, causing the victim to become calm and urinate freely, then without a moment’s hesitation, the killer would return to Brent’s side. With the blade removed from his pocket, our sociopath would push Brent’s head downward, and in one fell swoop, slit his throat.

“
Like in a horror movie, the wounded party would spray red corn syrup across the room, flailing around in an overly-dramatic manner. At this point, we know the killer is clearly a smart guy considering he picked out the perfect spot for the murder. He probably had a duffel bag or a backpack containing sweatpants, a light jacket and a different pair of shoes. The fiend would quickly put on the items to hide any traces of blood. The shoe swap would occur outside the bathroom so the police would believe the killer wore a size nine Converse. This was merely a ploy to throw the coppers off the trail because the killer hated Converse and wore a size eleven (It had been a tight fit, but our killer managed to barely squeeze his toes in). To put the cherry on top, the murderer slid the knife into Brent’s unflinching fingers, leaving behind his weapon hoping that a few asinine detectives would call it suicide.”

All of that would have sounded great, but I’m guessing my colleagues would have been rather disturbed by such a descriptive narrative with in-depth analysis. Instead of retelling my account of the events, which transpired that fateful morning, I made up some bull about how the killer was a transfer student or a freshman. I said the killer had not adopted the St. Elizabeth philosophy of faith, leadership and service. A member of our beloved community could not commit such an act. At St. Elizabeth, the society is one of love and togetherness. A member of a group so strong and united could not perform a feat of this enormity. Blah, blah, blah, it was a steaming pile of crap.

My next fictitious theory was that Brent was involved in drugs. I stated that sources close to me said that Brent’s cocaine addiction had worsened. The need to snort gratuitous amounts of blow had increased substantially as the semester went on. It seemed probable that Brent had gotten in over his head and his dealer wasn’t going to take it any longer so he snuffed him out because he didn’t have the dough. Maybe he had run into an unhappy customer or a wacked out junkie who decided to shank him at the pisser because he had cut him off. Actually, if I had no idea how my bitch of an ex-friend died, this solution would have appeared plausible. Brent snorted cocaine frequently and his stash was large enough that he could have distributed it if he wanted to earn some green on the side.

All but Hayley were intrigued by my speculation. The drumming of her pen against her spiral notebook told me she was not amused. Her unwavering joyful expression masked the discontent surely underneath the surface. In her customary refined tone, Hayley informed me that her sources indicated Brent was merely a social drug user, and that he by no means had a substance abuse problem. Of course, by quoting her “sources” Hayley was really just stating her own opinion. She often made statements such as these to put me in my place, demonstrating the power she held atop
The Gazette
hierarchy. To me it seemed as juvenile as Tommy Lee whipping out his junk in an all-Asian locker room at USC merely to prove he was top dog. Obviously, she had the control or at least liked to think she did. Like her lover, concealment and deceit were second nature to her, but she wasn’t the only one in the room lurking amongst the shadows. Hayley knew more about Brent in the later stages of his life than I did, but I was present for his last moments, watching as his life source slowly depleted.

Despite my inaccurate sources, the praise that always followed a mediocre idea came from the blonde’s mouth before Vickie divulged her thoughts about Brent’s murder.

“
I’m spit-balling here but I have to disagree with everything that just came out of your mouth, Wayne, even though it wasn’t half bad,” Vickie began.

“
I remember my freshman year, I didn’t know my ass from my elbow. It was a confusing time trying to find the right people, the right parties. Knowing how much effort to put into a project was tough too. Some things are easy as fuck and you can do a shitty job while still earning a decent grade. Some assignments you really have to be sober to complete, because those uppity hags with yardsticks shoved up their cooches won’t take any half-ass malarkey. I guess what I’m trying to say is that, I was so busy with school and trying to make friends that I definitely wouldn’t have had time to plan a murder.”

“
So you’d venture to guess that freshmen or transfer students would not be a position to commit a crime due to their similar disposition?” Hayley asked, helping to destroy any strain of believability left from my suggestion.

“
Sure, I’d say it is unlikely since they’re busy as shit. I think the murder was premeditated. This was no chance run-in where the poor motherfucker got knifed because he was in the wrong bathroom at the wrong time. Our killer knew that was the spot. He must have known the bathroom was gross and the probability of the forensic team finding plenty of DNA samples was high.”

“
You think the dude was that smart?” Trevor said.

“
Hell, yeah! Of all the places on campus, that location is money. In a sick way, the killer is fucking brilliant because he knew that even if the cops found his DNA, they would find tons of other suspects as well.”

One side of my mouth slowly started to curl when she said the killer was fucking brilliant but I managed to keep my poker face. I was proud of my kill, but the fact that this profane reporter was gaining ground, did little to uphold my confidence.

“
Fantastic reasoning, Vickie, I do agree that the killer intended to kill Brent in the men’s bathroom of the library. Now we need to determine how the killer knew Brent was going to be in the library at that juncture in the morning or better yet, why was Brent his intended target?” Hayley said, continuing to write up her case profile.

“
Yeah, I mean, Brent was probably followed to the bathroom. Murderers are like cameo wearing rednecks, they stalk their prey to find out when their victim is most susceptible to an attack. In this case, it was when Brent’s trousers were down. I agree with you girl, the real question is why did this sick bastard have it out for Brent?”

“
That my friends, is what we will find out. With limited resources at our disposal and no faculty encouragement, this undertaking will be a challenge. However, before this fiend dissolves into the shadows, justice will be had and our tale told to the community of St. Elizabeth. If there is one mistake this criminal made, it was underestimating the fortitude and willpower of our
Gazette
team. As a unit, there is nothing that can stand in our way. We will get this story, and we will get our man! ” Hayley said elatedly.

“
Hell to the yeah!” Vickie followed, equally as stoked.

The only speech I could think of that trumped Hayley’s in regards to pumping up idiotic accomplices was William Wallace’s speech about freedom in
Braveheart
. As I looked over at Vickie, she appeared like she would mess a few people up to learn the identity of the villain who had slaughtered Brent like a baby lamb. Even Trevor, who was usually apathetic and sleepy at this point in our meetings, had a twinkle in his eye that said, “I will follow you into battle, commander!”

For every William Wallace in life, there is a Longshanks to counter the hero and in this instance, I was Longshanks. I was the bad guy. Yes, that’s right, Wayne York. I was the evildoer, and deep down I knew that these misguided fools wouldn’t have a chance because like any devious mastermind, I would stay one step ahead.

“
So how do you propose we lure this fiend out of the shadows and uncover the truth?” I asked, becoming annoyed by this hopeful rouse.

“
You see, our ultimate question is why was the killer after Brent? As Victoria alluded to, the killer planned to commit this act, he had a reason or a motive for doing so. We should try to find out if anyone on campus has a motive for wanting to murder Brent. Use your sources: friends, professors, et cetera. Dig up some dirt, but do so subtly. I don’t need any emails stating that my reporters are causing a ruckus, attempting to find details about a murder that the school has forbidden us to report on.”

I think Vickie followed with a stereotypical remark such as, “I’ll keep it on the DL, girl” but I couldn’t be sure since I was wondering where I would go to gather this needed information. I could bullshit, I was a great bullshitter, but Vickie and Hayley could detect when something sounded fishy. I knew Hayley was a masterful bullshitter as well, which made it more difficult to come up with excellent lies. Telling the truth was an option, a recklessly stupid one, which would land me behind bars, so that probably wasn’t my best move.