The Headmaster's Wife (25 page)

I'm being unfair this time, too,
Gregor thought, and thatwas true. He was making assumptions about Peter Makepeace just as he had been making assumptions about the hospital's nurses. God only knew Makepeace seemed to be nervous enough. He had been pacing nonstop for most of the time he'd been in the waiting room, and Gregor got the impression that he'd go on pacing until something forcibly stopped him. Gregor would have paced himself except that he was too tired to move.

Peter Makepeace stopped in midpace and looked down at him. “Did you say you were a friend of the family? That's what you're doing here?”

“I'm acquainted with Mark's mother,” Gregor said.

“And he asked you down here,” Peter said. “Yes, I know about that The whole school knows about that. It's been the subject of gossip for days. He shouldn't have done that. There's been enough conspiracy talk about Michael's death as it is. Now everybody and his brother will assume that Michael Feyre was murdered.”

“I don't see why,” Gregor said. “I've got no information that would indicate that Michael Feyre was murdered.”

Peter Makepeace smiled. It was a thin, bitter smile. “Excuse me if I feel that you're very naive no matter how many years you spent in the Federal Bureau of Investigation. You investigate murders. If you're here, somebody must have been murdered. The only likely candidate is Michael Feyre. He's the one who's dead. Of course, now there's Mark.”

“He's not dead.”

“No, he isn't, but I think there's reason to say he could have been. People will just say it was attempted murder, don't you think?”

Gregor stretched out his legs. It was difficult because he was very tall, and Peter Makepeace was standing up close, towering over him, intimidating.

“What do you think
did
happen to Mark DeAvecca tonight?”

Peter shrugged. “Drugs, I'd expect. My guess is some kind of speed, which is what Michael sold. Did you know that Michael sold drugs?”

“I didn't know that you did.”

“Oh, I couldn't prove it. If I could have proved it, I'd have sent him packing with no ceremony whatsoever. As it is I would have gotten rid of both of them at the end of the year. We issue contracts, you know. Students have to get a new contract every year. We don't always give them if we think the student is unsuitable.”

“And you thought both Michael Feyre and Mark DeAvecca were unsuitable? On what grounds? Were they flunking out? Were they discipline problems?”

“Ah, that's the beauty of it,” Peter Makepeace said, “we don't have to have grounds. All we need to do is say that we think they're unsuitable. They don't fit the school. They're not comfortable here. We think they won't be able to succeed.”

“I find it hard to believe that Mark DeAvecca would have trouble succeeding anywhere.”

Peter Makepeace turned away and went back to the window end of the room. He looked out, probably on nothing. “Yes, I know. I've heard that. And I've checked his papers. He's got a truly spectacular set of papers. And God only knows, he's not flunking out even now, in spite of the mess he's made of himself. I think he's averaging about a C plus.”

“In my day that was a perfectly respectable showing.”

“It's a bit low for this place, but I agree. It's nothing to have a fit about. That makes it all the worse really. Think of how well he'd have done if he hadn't gone off into the world of chemicals.”

“I talked to Mark earlier this evening, you know. He says he hasn't been taking drugs.”

“They all say that, don't they?” Peter Makepeace replied. “They never admit it straight off. But I've been around a long time, Mr. Demarkian. That kid was on speed half the time and on tranquilizers at least sometimes. I know all the signs.”

“He offered to take a drug test.”

“They'll take him up on it in here,” Peter said. “Screening for drugs is probably the first thing they did after they pumped his stomach. And they'll screen what came out of that, too. If that damned doctor wasn't such a martinet, we'd know already what the kid was on tonight.”

“He can't just give information to anybody and everybody,” Gregor said. “There's a federal law at the very least about medical privacy. I knew Mark before, you know. I'd have said he was the last kid to end up on drugs.”

“Yes, well,” Peter Makepeace said, “that's what everybody says about every kid, or at least every kid from a well-heeled family.”

“I don't think I'm subject to that kind of prejudice,” Gregor said. “I've spent a lot of my life in law enforcement. I know what goes on. But I did meet Mark, and I'd be surprised if they find drugs.”

Peter Makepeace turned around again. “Have you seen him? The way he is? What was he like when you talked to him today?”

“He was a mess.”

“Did you think he was on drugs?”

“At first, yes.”

“There, then.”

“But only at first,” Gregor said. “And I didn't change my mind only because he told me he wasn't or offered to take a blood test. Some of the things he was telling me don't make sense as drug symptoms.”

“What things? That he couldn't remember anything? That could be drugs. That he was having blackouts? Everything he's ever reported to the infirmary could be drug-related—everything. And it's been worse since Michael died. I'd be willing to bet everything that Mark knows where Michael kept whatever he was selling.”

“I think it's interesting that Mark reported his symptoms to the infirmary,” Gregor said. “Why would he do that if he was taking drugs?”

“Why do they ever do anything?” Peter Makepeace said. “Have you any idea what it's like trying to run a school like this? Half the boarding students are only boarding because their parents want to get rid of them. If you ever repeat that, I'll deny that I ever said it, but it's true. The level of hostility between some children and some parents is unbelievable. The other half are here for a variety of reasons, but they rarely like being here. They may think it's a good idea because their parents live in Zimbabwe or the Ivory Coast and boarding is the only way they can get a decent education, or because we have a program they like and can't find closer to home or for a million other reasons. And we screen. We screen until we're blue in the face. It doesn't matter. There are always some kids, like Mark, who just shouldn't be here.”

“Shouldn't be? Why not?”

“A million reasons. I saw it at orientation though. He just didn't fit. We should have seen it in the interview. We didn't. I knew the minute he walked on this campus that he wasn't going to last more than a year. Now it seems he's going to last less.”

“You don't expect him to recover from this sufficiently to return to classes?”

“I expect at least one of those drug tests to come back positive, and when it does I have every intention of expelling him. The only reason I haven't expelled him yet is because I had to be careful about the legal situation and about the reputation of the school. A woman like Elizabeth Toliver can do us a lot of damage if she wants to.”

“She could still do it.”

“Of course she could. But it doesn't matter anymore, does it?” Peter said. “You know and I know that after this there's going to be no hope that we can keep it all out of the papers. It was hard enough to keep Michael's suicide out. But Jimmy Card's stepson takes a drug overdose and nearly dies in his dorm at Windsor Academy? Please. We're about to become a national sensation. And I'm about to become unemployed.”

“Was it a drug overdose?” Liz Toliver asked.

The two of them both turned toward the swinging fire doors at once. Gregor thought, rather uselessly, that he hadnever seen Liz in winter clothes before, and at the same time that these were probably not the clothes she wore in New York. She was dressed in jeans and L.L. Bean hunting boots and a big quilted jacket in an odd color that was neither red nor orange. Her hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck. She was wearing no makeup.

Peter Makepeace nearly leaped forward and held out his hand. “Ms. Toliver, I'm so sorry. I don't know if you remember me, but I'm—”

“You're Peter Makepeace. You're the headmaster. I remember you. Gregor? Was it a drug overdose?”

“I don't know,” Gregor said, “the doctor isn't telling us anything. He probably shouldn't; I don't know if he'll tell you.”

“The nurse said he was all right,” Liz said. “Do you think that?”

“Yes,” Gregor said. “That I can definitely tell you. He's not dead, and from what they've told us, he's not likely to suffer permanent damage; but he's in bad shape.”

“Right,” Liz said.

“Ms. Toliver,” Peter Makepeace said.

“Mr. Makepeace,” Liz said, “right this second, between what I heard from Mr. Demarkian earlier this evening on the phone, and what I've heard since about Mark's trip to this place, I'd suggest that it was far and away the better part of valor for you to just shut up. I'm going to take Mr. Demarkian here. We're going to go in to see my son. Then we're going to talk to the doctor. You are not welcome in either place; and I'll discuss the details of the lawsuit I'll be filing against Windsor Academy at some later date. Have I made myself clear?”

“I don't believe the doctor will talk to you,” Peter Makepeace said. “I think his position is that you'll need to hear anything that is to be heard from the regular ward physician when he comes on in the morning.”

Gregor saw Liz give him the kind of look God probably gave souls trying to bullshit their way out of purgatory. She then turned back to the swinging doors.

“He'll talk to me,” she said, dragging Gregor behind her.

Liz Toliver was not usually a high-handed woman. In fact, in Gregor's experience, she was usually anything but. This was not a usual circumstance, and Gregor did not blame her for using what clout she had to get the answers she needed about Mark. It was, though, truly remarkable to behold her operating at full-tilt boogie. He'd never seen her that way before. She pulled him up to the nurses' station, spent less than thirty seconds arguing with the nurse on duty about calling the doctor out of emergency, and then started down the hall in the other direction to find Mark's room.

“I want him moved to a single as soon as possible,” was the last thing she said to the nurse. “My husband's due up here in the morning. My husband's Jimmy Card—”

The nurse looked startled.

“—the musician,” Liz went on, “and as soon as he arrives a complete circus of press is likely to arrive with him, so there are going to be issues of security. Get Mark moved within the hour.”

Gregor had no doubt that the nurse would get Mark moved within the hour, and probably faster. He followed Liz down the hall. The rooms all seemed to be full, with two patients each. Everybody seemed to be sleeping.

They got to the door of the room where the nurse had said they would find Mark. The door had been left slightly open, and the lights were off inside. Liz hesitated for a moment, gave Gregor a look, took a deep breath, and went inside. It turned out that Mark might as well have been in a private room. There was no other patient bunked in with him. The bed closest to the door was empty. Liz went past it to the bed by the windows and motioned Gregor to come along.

Mark was lying in bed, breathing normally, seemingly no worse than asleep. Gregor reminded himself that he had no reason to think that Mark was anything but asleep. It was just that he'd seen the kid in convulsions, and this completereturn to normalcy seemed odd and out of place. Mark actually looked good. He looked a lot better than either of the times Gregor had seen him tonight.

Liz went over to Mark and ran her hand through his hair. “It's stiff with sweat,” she said. “I wonder if they've given him a sedative.”

“I don't know,” Gregor said.

“You know I'm not one of those mothers who sends her children off to boarding school and then pretends they don't exist. I hated the idea of his going away to school so soon. I did everything I could to prevent him. And there are a couple of very good places within commuting distance of where we live in Connecticut. He could have stayed home.”

“I take it he didn't want to.”

“Windsor has a film department,” Liz said. “It's a very famous one, actually. They've got a man running it who's actually won an Emmy and works in the field. That's what Mark wants to do in the long run—film. There was that. And this place has a decent record of getting people into USC, too, which is where he wants to go.”

“USC?”

“University of Southern California. That or UCLA, which I think would be the better place. Oh, I don't know. It's the kind of thing you think of when you send your child to a school. And he loved this place the minute he laid eyes on it. He completely loved it. Oddly enough, I hated it.”

“And you let him go anyway?”

“He was the one who had to live with it,” Liz said. “And I didn't hate it because I thought it was full of irresponsible jerks, which apparently it is. I hated it because it was so, so—eh. Who knows what to call it? So
smug.”

“I'd think any rich private school would be smug,” Gregor said.

Liz laughed, just a little. “True enough. Self-righteously smug, I guess is what I really want to say. And I should have known he would never have fit here any more than I would have. But I thought it was his life, and it is. And I thought that there was no harm in trying it out for a year. Anybodycould get through a year of anything; and even if you end up hating it, you've learned something. And now look.”

“I think it's going to be all right,” Gregor said. “I wouldn't insist on that until we've heard from the doctor, but I do think it will.”