Schooled in Murder (20 page)

As I made my way though the darkened gym, I heard my name called. I glanced around warily. Edgar Cauchon, the athletic director, hustled across the floor toward me. Cauchon, like so many PE coaches, had let his body run to a barrel belly, which he clad in an array of sweatpants and T-shirts that must be sold on an Ugly Gym Teachers’ Clothes Web site. Today’s outfit was maroon.

He asked, “Are they going to cancel the football game tonight?”

“I have no idea.”

“They can’t do that. It’s all set up. I’ve got parents calling me insisting we play. I’m sure there’s no danger to the kids.”

“If something bad does happen, are you planning to pay out of your own pocket for any lawsuits that are filed?”

“We’ve got to play the game.”

I said, “I don’t care if you play the game.”

“You’re the union rep. You’ve got to handle this.”

I said, “Talk to Teresa Merton.”

“She won’t listen. She never does.”

I said, “I heard you and a bunch of the guys play cards at lunchtime.”

“Huh?”

I waited.

“Well, sometimes. It’s not a crime. It’s not a lot of money.” “You guys have an argument this week?” “No. Who told you that?”

“Just a rumor I’m checking.”

“It’s not true.”

I said, “Did you know Peter well?”

“He was real friendly. A great guy.”

I said, “Do you know anyone who would have a reason to kill him?”

“No.”

“He never talked about other people in the English department?”

“No offense, but who cares about the English department?”

Over the years the PE department had become known for opposing every contract and for being the biggest complainers. They’d gotten nothing in our last contract settlement. You want to be the continuous, unreasoning opposition? Yeah, well, welcome to getting nothing.

I said, “I got a rumor that you guys had a pretty organized way of double dipping. Was Peter in on that?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“District office is responsible for checking pay sheets.”

“Actually, you would be. You’re the one who has to sign off on all the coaching assignments. It’s likely that the secretaries don’t have the season schedules memorized.”

“Double dipping doesn’t happen.”

“You sure? You’re in charge. If you haven’t done it, but you know about it, you could still be in trouble.”

He said, “Nobody keeps perfect records.”

I said, “Maybe one of your colleagues has been keeping track behind your back. The English department might not be the only one with vicious backstabbing beyond reason. If one person has records and is planning to go public, then you could all be in trouble.”

“I know who it is: it has to be Emily Haggerty. She’s a lesbian who hates the rest of us.”

“I’ll have to talk with her.”

“Do you really need to bring all this up?”

“Peter was an assistant football coach. Was he double dipping?”

“Maybe. I guess. I’m not sure.”

I waited some more.

Finally, “Peter might have, but nobody would be angry enough to kill over it. And that Eberson woman wasn’t even a coach.”

“Did Peter take somebody else’s coaching position?” “Nothing like that happens.” I said, “You guys rigging grades for athletes?” “Hey, that’s out of line. We don’t do that. Are you going to get us investigated?”

I hesitated.

He turned red. “That’s why we don’t like you. Nobody can ever slide by. You find every fucking thing and mess it up for everybody. Why don’t you back off?”

I said, “I prefer to play by the rules. I have no desire to bring trouble to you, but I won’t cover for you either. If somebody catches you, find your union rep.”

“That’s you.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Fuck.”

I said, “Talk to Graniento or Teresa Merton about your precious game tonight.” I left.

And this was the third person to tell me I was generally disliked. Maybe my being under suspicion made me vulnerable in their eyes and let them feel like they were free to attack. Or maybe they were homophobic pigs.

27

I found Meg in the library and told her the upshot of my conversations. She said, “Take them out and shoot them.”

“I thought we were against the death penalty.”

“Not today.”

I said, “That’s three people who said they don’t like me and/or the job I’m doing. It bothers me.”

“Do you care what these people think?”

“Not really, but sort of. And it’s so odd. Three I-don’t-like-yous. Two murders.”

“And a partridge in a pear tree,” Meg added.

“I wish I knew what it all meant.”

“Danger and death,” Meg said. “Until the killer is found, we all need to be on guard.”

Luci Gamboni rushed into the library. She slumped into the chair behind Meg’s desk. She put her chin in her hand. Tears slipped down her cheeks.

Meg and I settled into seats next to her. Meg asked, “Luci, what’s wrong?”

“Here!” She pulled a crumpled eight and a half by eleven—inch piece of paper out of her purse. She thrust it
into my hands. I uncrumpled it. In boldface thirty-two-point type it said, “I know what you did.”

She said, “I snuck around with Peter Higden. No one knew. Absolutely no one knew. There was no one I could tell. I’m married. Happily married. But he was kind and friendly.”

Meg and I spent several minutes comforting her. When her tears were under control, Luci said, “I know he was in the other faction, but I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t betray anyone on our side. Never. I never gave away our secrets. I know he’d go out with others, but he was always kind to me. What do I do at the funeral? Go up to his wife and say, ´I had a great time having sex with your husband’?”

Meg said, “I wouldn’t.”

I said, “I heard he was having three-ways with Spandrel and Gracie?”

“Those were just vicious rumors. He fooled around a lot before he met me. He was faithful to me.”

She was in for a jolt.

Meg said, “He cheated with you faithfully.”

A trifle cruel but accurate.

Luci said, “Once I got this note, I had to tell somebody. I had to let it out. I’m scared. Meg, you’ve always been a friend. You too, Tom. I’ve known you both for years. I’ve never cheated on my husband. Not before this. Never. He’s a good man. What are my kids going to think?”

“Are you going to tell them?” Meg asked.

“How would anyone ever know?” I asked. “We’re certainly not going to tell anyone.”

She shook the note. “This. It’s going to come out. All of it. The police have been asking about Peter all day. Someone’s going to blab.”

“Did anyone else know?” I asked.

“I never told.”

“Did Peter?” I asked.

“Who knows? Everything else is coming out. Look at that stuff about Mabel and Gracie. I know it isn’t true.”

I said, “I’ve had confirmation of it from a pretty reliable source.”

Meg said, “And Peter was involved with them intimately.”

Luci gaped. She drew ragged breaths and wiped at tears. “He told me he loved me. Are you sure?”

Meg said, “I’m sorry, yes.”

“A traitor and now this.” Luci threw the note as hard as she could. “Who would send such a thing?” she asked. “I’m just so frightened. Is someone going to try and kill me?”

Meg said, “Kids do this kind of thing. It’s a game.”

“You think a kid did this?” Luci asked.

“Or a demented adult,” Meg said. “Remember Pinyon got those hate notes, which everybody thinks were made up. This could be designed to do exactly what it’s done. Scare you.”

Brook Burdock, who’d been cheering Gracie’s death on Thursday, bashed open the library door and rushed up to us. “Mabel Spandrel called me into her office. She recited chapter and verse of what Schaven and his cronies claim they overheard me saying. The nerve of those people! I didn’t say anything criminal. She started to threaten me. I said I wanted a union representative. She threatened me some more. She called me uncooperative. She told me I wasn’t a team player. I told her I made comments protected by free speech rights. She might not like them, but she can’t stop me from saying them. Again, I said I wanted a union representative. By this time I thought she was going to have a stroke. Frankly, I was hoping she would. I just kept repeating I wanted a union representative. She threw me out. I want that woman crucified.”

Burdock paused in his recitation long enough to notice Luci’s tears. “What’s wrong? Have those suckups done something to you? Did Spandrel threaten you?”

Luci showed him the note. She left out the part about Peter. When she was done, Burdock glanced around the library. He lowered his voice. “I’m glad Gracie is dead. I’m glad Peter is dead. I wish Mabel Spandrel was dead. I hated the two dead ones. I hate the live one. They are moronic, fucked-up people who deserve to die.”

Meg said, “Tell us how you really feel. Don’t hold back.”

Luci said, “Brook, I think you’re going a little too far.”

“They were cruel and vicious to me. They tried to turn my students against me. They tried to tell them they didn’t have to do homework I assigned.”

“What?” Gamboni asked.

“Tom knows the story. At the beginning of last year, I kept having kids not do their homework. I couldn’t figure out why. Finally, one of the little darlings confessed. He was on the football team. Higden had told him he didn’t have to listen to me and do my homework. The kid told his buddies and word spread.”

“Did you confront him?” I asked.

“I went to Mabel. She brought him in. He denied it. The kid came in. He denied saying anything to me. The parent came in and demanded her kid be taken out of my classroom. They all just lied, and they got the kid to lie.”

“That’s sick,” I said.

“Got that right,” Burdock said. “About Mabel, just now, do I need to be worried? I am protected, right?”

“Yes,” I said. “I think any of us who is still breathing is a step ahead.”

“Is it that dangerous?” Luci asked.

“It is to them,” Burdock said. “I hope they all die, painfully.”

I said, “A couple people have mentioned to me that they aren’t fond of the way I do my job as building rep.”

Burdock said, “Some people can’t stand you. Sure. It’s
pretty much the suckup faction. You’re terrific. You stand up for us. You do what’s right.”

Luci said, “It’s a few malcontents who you’ve given reality checks to. You do wonderful work. Don’t worry about it.”

After reassuring them both as best I could, we arranged it so that Luci and Brook walked out to their cars together.

Scott showed up a few minutes later. We decided to dine at Francesca’s Fortunato in Frankfort, a wonderful place to have a meal. While we ate, I told him what I’d learned this afternoon.

When I was done, he said, “They claim lots of teachers don’t like you?”

“That bothers me and it doesn’t. I don’t do this to be popular. I try to be fair. I also refuse to lie to them. I try and make bitter pills easier to swallow, but sometimes they have to take some tough things.”

Scott said, “I know this kind of thing does bother you. Try not to let it. You do a great job.”

“I always thought so. You know, those people don’t seem to have the same kinds of self-doubt.”

“They do,” Scott said. “They just don’t tell you about it.”

“I think they’re oblivious.”

“Nobody’s accusing them of being smart. Is that note Luci got serious?” Scott asked.

“I don’t know. If the murders hadn’t happened, I’d be inclined to give it less weight. Now? Who knows? It is the kind of thing kids would do.”

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