Schooled in Murder (35 page)

“Do you think you’ve done something to earn their loyalty?”

“I bring them doughnuts on Fridays.” I said, “Give them back their twenty-five cents and tell them to go to hell.”

“Huh?”

“The punch line to an old joke. Skip it. Doughnuts didn’t cut it?”

“Those secretaries know everything. My husband is going to sue for custody of the kids and probably everything I’ve ever earned.”

“And he’ll win,” I said. “Good for him. You did have sex with Eberson and Higden?”

“Of course, you dope. Sometimes one at a time. Sometimes both at once.” While she talked she waved the gun around. Eventually it would get heavy. She’d have to rest it and her hand on the desk. Would it be enough of an opening?

“How did you get the gun into the school?” I asked.

“Who doesn’t have to go through security? Who has a key to every door? The administrators. Only the main entrances have metal detectors.”

“Why try to make all of us so miserable?” I asked.

“I was hired to do that. The day I signed my contract, Towne and Bochka met with me. They told me to ´get into that department and clean house.’ They specifically targeted you and the union.”

“But you failed every single time. You didn’t have one success. Every time you violated the contract, you lost. I never pestered you as long as you didn’t screw something up connected with the contract. They gave you direct orders to be miserable to us? You and they could have brought about changes without being Nazis about the whole thing.”

“You were just angry because you weren’t in charge anymore.”

“People keep saying that. I was never in charge. All I did was check the contract and help people.”

“Hah.” She rested hand and gun on the desk. The weapon was still pointed at my midsection.

I said, “You were part of the conspiracy to get me fired.”

“Getting you accused of and convicted of murder would have been perfect. Short of that, getting you fired would have been the next best thing. It was fun making shit up about you. How did you get Bochka’s dope of a son to blab, tickle his torso? We never should have trusted him. We
should have gotten Spike Faherty to do it. He’d have been tough enough. I called Spike into the office. I asked him if you’d ever done anything. The stupid kid is loyal to you. He said you’d never touched him. That all you did was try to teach them grammar and writing. Then he got pissed and walked out. Asshole.”

“Me or the kid?”

“Both.”

“Was it just sex or were you having an affair with Eberson?”

“And you’re an out faggot.”

“And with Peter?”

“With anybody I want.”

There was an ego for you.

“Why are Eberson and Higden dead?”

“I didn’t kill them.”

“Who did?”

“I don’t know.”

The door began to open. A voice I didn’t recognize called softly, “Mason?”

Spandrel swung the gun toward the door. The moonlight caught a metallic gleam in a hand that appeared in the opening.

I dove for the ground. Desks crashed and scattered out of my path. A volley of gunshots rang out. Shards of wood flew near me. I heard screams and grunts. I lifted my head up.

49

Spandrel’s head rested on the top of my desk. Her eyes reflected the moonlight. She blinked several times and moaned. Blood pooled around her left arm. I saw a rivulet escape from the large mass, slowly work its way toward the end of the desk, then drip to the floor.

I heard a gasp behind me. I turned. One knee on the floor, one hand on the back of a student’s desk, Amando Graniento seemed to be holding his breath. I began to get up. The gun in his hand moved wildly. He said, “It hurts.” He gasped. The gun swung. It discharged. I hit the floor again. A window shattered.

From my spot on the floor, I could see Graniento’s body draped over a student’s desk. Moments later he slumped to the floor. The gun skittered away.

I know I gaped for a few moments, not quite sure which one I should go to. I’d banged my knee and my head. I felt a bit woozy. I began to pull myself up with one hand, and I reached for my cell phone with the other. I tried using a student’s desk for leverage.

When I was halfway up, the desk began to skid away. I grabbed at it. My head swirled. I leaned over carefully. I heard a swishing noise, and then my head exploded in pain. Blackness.

50

When I awoke, I was staring into the jean-clad crotch of Steven Frecking. I was still on the floor. Blinding stabs of pain shot through my skull.

Kara Bochka’s voice was saying, “… not to come here.”

Frecking said, “I expected to find Mason alone.” He looked down at me and said, “He’s awake.”

I got to my knees and heaved myself into a student’s desk. My head throbbed.

Bochka stood next to Spandrel, who was taped to my teacher’s chair. She had tears in her eyes. Blood caked the left side of her jacket and blouse.

Bochka paced. She directed her words to Spandrel. “You fucked everything up. We had Mason. He was a goner. The police were suspicious, but you screwed everything up.” She swung a serrated-edge hunting knife back and forth in her right hand. “You did absolutely nothing right.”

Spandrel spoke between gasps, “We planned together. I did everything you said. You can’t kill me.”

“I can. I have no choice. You know everything. You couldn’t control that department. You couldn’t even control this fag.”

Spandrel said, “You can’t kill everyone who knows. We were all in on it. Towne isn’t here.”

“I’ll have to decide what to do about that idiot superintendent later. If I kill you, the police will put it down to whoever killed the first two.” Bochka marched up and down the room. She swung the knife and raved about politics and changing the schools and how Spandrel had failed her with her incompetence. Asshole turning upon asshole. Bochka stopped next to the tied-up department head.

Mabel Spandrel certainly deserved to die. I certainly wanted to escape. I had to do something for myself, but I couldn’t just stand there and let Bochka kill Spandrel. She was the most awful administrator in the history of the planet, little more than a Nazi in disguise. She bullied teachers. She would tell any lie to protect herself or just for the hell of it, but she couldn’t just be killed in cold blood. Murder was not to be countenanced, but saving my ass was high on my priority list right then.

I willed my muscles to move. Nothing. I felt tears on my cheeks.

Bochka would swing her knife close to Spandrel’s neck, then pace back and forth, return, threaten her with the knife again. Frecking’s attention was riveted on the two of them. I almost gasped. I was sitting, and from my perspective, I could see his massive erection. Murder turned him on.

I was between him and the exit. Could I possibly make a rush to the door, get it locked with them inside, get away, and make a call? Not likely. Frecking had a gun. His own or Spandrel’s? Graniento didn’t move. I couldn’t see him breathing. His gun was six inches away from his right hand. Maybe three feet from me. I could maybe get that gun. I could maybe raise and fire faster than Frecking could react. Maybe get to the door before he fired. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. I had to try something.

Spandrel coughed and gagged for a few moments. Bochka brought the knife close to the department head’s throat. Bochka said, “You are more trouble than you’re worth. I should have stuck with my original opinion of you as stupid, useless fool. Ah, well, you were conveniently at hand, for a while.”

I eased myself to the edge of the desk. Bochka raved. Spandrel and Frecking’s eyes followed the knife. Less than an inch separated her from death.

I felt for my cell phone. Could I possibly punch in 911? Would whoever answered have the patience and the insight to figure out what was happening? I tried moving my arm. The movement caught Spandrel’s eye. Bochka saw her gaze in my direction.

Bochka whirled toward me as I tried to rise. My head swam. I nearly made it to my feet.

Frecking said, “I wouldn’t.” He picked up the gun from the floor and pointed both of them at me. “There are two of us and one of you.”

I said, “I got that part.”

Bochka walked over to Graniento and peered down at his corpse. She said, “He was an officious dope. There are going to be a lot of corpses.” She stood on tiptoe and looked at Spandrel at the far end of the room. “Why did you shoot him?”

Spandrel twisted in the chair, let out a gasp of pain. Through gritted teeth she said, “I was aiming for Mason. I missed.”

Bochka frowned. Frecking laughed. I frantically tried to think of methods of escape. Bochka began to pace again.

I couldn’t tell how long I’d been unconscious. Moonlight still flooded the room. It couldn’t have been that long. If anyone had heard the gunfire, they hadn’t responded.

I asked, “Did you two just happen to be lurking around in the halls?”

Bochka said, “I was lurking. I called Steven on his cell phone when I saw Graniento leave the office. I believed he and Mabel might have had something cooked up for you or each other. I didn’t know they were planning to shoot each other.”

Spandrel said, “I didn’t know who it was at the door. I thought it might be another one of his fucking spies. I told you. I was aiming for him. I saw the gun and didn’t want to take a chance.”

“This is all spontaneous?” I asked.

Bochka said, “Pretty much.”

“You didn’t plan the murders with them?” I asked.

Spandrel said, “I didn’t.”

Bochka said, “Dear me, I believe she’s lying again. Their deaths are a bonus, but I didn’t care if they lived or died.”

I said, “I’m confused. Who killed who and why?”

Spandrel said, “Eberson and Higden were going to tell all about our conspiracies. They were going to break down and tell the truth. We couldn’t have that.”

“Eberson didn’t sound like she was ready to abandon the cause when she was screaming at Jourdan last Thursday.”

Spandrel said, “I’m sure she believed what she was saying, she just no longer wanted to be a part of what we were doing and all our plotting. Said she was tired of the lies and deceptions. Stupid cunt.”

I said, “They’d have taken you all down in the scandal.”

“Ah,” Bochka said, “not quite true. I’m elected by the people. These administrators made their own decisions about their plotting and planning and what they were cheating on.”