4 The Killing Bee (9 page)

Authors: Matt Witten

BOOK: 4 The Killing Bee

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"You really didn't know?"

She either missed my skepticism or ignored it, and gave her head a disgusted shake. "Figures Meckel
would come up with something incredibly stupid like that."

"He set the cutoff at ninety-five. And he did the preliminary scoring
himself, so he could get his administrative business done in plenty of time. Anyway, it turns out Adam didn't make the cutoff. The cops think that's why Laura killed Meckel."

"He deserved it. What a jerk."

"Better not say that too loud, or
you'll
be a suspect," I said jokingly.

"Yeah, well, I almost mean it. You know what our kids are going through. Every morning when I take Christine to school, she
starts crying. She's so miserable here. And Meckel didn't give a shit."

Still hanging on to the joking tone, I said, "By the way, I hope you have a good alibi for the cops. What is it you told me before, you and Elena were together all morning?"

"No, she and Barry came later. I was in the library with my kids, and Adam."

So far Susie's story matched what she had told me on Tuesday. "And when did Elena get there?" I asked.

"About the same time Barry did. A little before you. I can't imagine anybody would suspect
Elena."

"Why not?"

"Well, because she's an elementary school teacher. Elementary school teachers don't kill people."

"She's not just a teacher, she's a parent. And her kid didn't make the 95 cutoff either. Did she know about that?"

"She didn't say anything."

"Did she seem . . . flustered?"

Susie looked at me questioningly. "I wouldn't say
flustered
. We were both pretty anxious about what would happen at the meeting."

"Did you know about your kid not making the cutoff?"

Susie's questioning look turned downright hostile. Her arm came off the steering wheel. "What the hell is this, Jake?"

"Susie
—"

"You think
I
did it?"

"I have to follow every lead."

"I can't believe you'd try to trick me like this—"

"Look,
it’s for Laura's sake."

"Get real. I didn't kill Sam Meckel. You're not helping Laura one bit, you're just acting stupid."

Then she rolled up her window and drove off. These Missouri farm girls are tough.

I wondered, how would Susie act if she killed somebody by mistake? Would she be tough enough to fake like it never happened, and several minutes later act essentially normal?

I checked my watch. Eight-fifty. I was supposed to meet my lawyer at Madeline's Espresso Bar in ten minutes.

But maybe I should try to get hold of Elena first, before Susie called and warned her against me. I entered the school and headed up the hall toward Elena's fourth-grade classroom. There were a lot of flowers and candles inside the school, too. Usually at this time of day, before the morning bell rang, the school was filled with laughing, shouting, running children. But not today. Everybody was muted. The kids walked slowly and stiffly, like they'd been taken over by pod people. The hallway monitors stood by awkwardly with their arms folded in front of them, not sure what to do with themselves when there were no rowdy kids to control.

The mood in Elena's classroom was somber, too.

Most of the kids were fidgeting silently in their chairs. Elena was up at her desk whispering softly with a chubby girl wearing a black T-shirt.

I walked over to them. "Excuse me, Elena," I said in a normal tone, and instantly felt weird because "normal" sounded way too loud today.

She waved hello. I relegated my voice to a whisper. "Could we talk for a minute? Privately?"

Elena looked around the classroom. "Sure," she said quietly. "Doesn't look like they'll be acting too wild today." She stood up. "Class, I'll be right back."

She led me down the hall to the teachers' lounge. "It’s going to be quite a day," she said. "Assemblies, grief counseling . . ."

We stepped into the lounge, and she shut the door. Except for us, the place was empty. "How's
the investigating going?" she asked.

"I'm doing my darnedest," I said, as I tried to think up some wa
y to question Elena without making her mad at me.

Then I got mad at myself for even worrying about that. You never caught S. Spade feeling bad about hurting his suspects' feelings.

"I went to see Laura last night, brought her some Heavenly Hash ice cream," Elena said. "God, she needed it. She was so depressed."

I decided on my approach. "Listen, do you know a kid named Mark Robinson?"

"Sure, he was in my class last year. Why?"

"Tell me about him."

Elena sat down in one of the plastic chairs that ringed the central table. I sat, too. "Okay kid," Elena said. "Not much of a student. But he didn't cause me too much trouble, after I had him sit up front."

"What kind of trouble
did
he cause?"

"Oh, you know. Talking during class, pulling the girls' hair, making loud farts. . . ."

Sounded like the stuff I used to do as a kid. "Did he strike you as ADD or ADHD?"

Elena scratched her head. She was about thirty
-five, with long black hair and the thick red lipstick that Cuban-American women often seem to favor.

She'd been teaching at High Rock for two years now. I wondered, where would Elena go if she didn't get tenure? Elementary school jobs are hard to come by in upstate New York. She might have to go teach in some inner-city
school in Troy, Albany, or Schenectady. Even worse, she might have to move herself and her daughter Luce down to New York City or Poughkeepsie or somewhere.

And then in two or three years, she'd have to deal with the tenure torture all over again.

"That’s a tough question to answer," Elena was saying. "ADD is tricky. A lot of kids, if they're not doing well in school, and the work just feels too hard, they start to lose their confidence. And they sort of give up, you know? But which comes first? Do they do badly and then time out, or do they tune out because they have ADD—and
then
do badly?"

"Good question. So with Mark, you felt he was tuning out?"

"Maybe a little," she said guiltily. "I did my best, tried to give him individual attention and everything. But it was hard. He wasn't one of my slowest students, just below average. Kids like Mark tend to get lost in the classroom. See, Jake, when I've got thirty-six little
muchachos
and
muchachas
in my class, if s not just the gifted kids that suffer. If s everybody."

I nodded intently, still trying to draw her out.

"But some sort of attention-deficit disorder?" Elena shrugged. "Personally, with a lot of these kids, I think they just drug them up so they'll sit quietly in class. It’s easier to throw
drogas
at problem kids than reorient your teaching so you can reach them." She leaned forward confidentially. "Mark's teacher this year—that new girl, Melanie—between you and me, she's no prize."

So Elena agreed with Mark's parents on that. "Did you ever see Mark get violent?" I asked.

She stared at me.
"Violent?
Are you thinking...?"

"Maybe. He's big enough."

"God, how horrible." She shivered. "I hope it’s not him."

"So did he ever act violent in your class?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "He used to tease the other kids, and put them down… Maybe I saw him pushing kids around at recess sometimes, but that was about it."

"I wonder if he might
’ve gotten worse this year."

"I don't know. If he's having trouble with his teacher, o
r there's problems at home…"

Problems at home
—I thought about his parents' endless losing battle against global capitalism, i.e. Kinko's.

"Why don't you talk to Irene Topor, the school psychologist?" Elena suggested. "She might know more about him, if she tested him for ADHD."

Sure, and no doubt she'd feel perfectly at ease violating confidentiality rules and telling a total stranger about a young child who was under her care.

I hoped I'd softened Elena up with questions about Mark Robinson. Now
I'd try to slip in the more personal stuff.

"So on Tuesday morning, did you see Mark or any other kids besides, you know, the kids in the library?"

"No."

"I forget. When did you get to the library?"

"Maybe seven-twenty. I was in there chatting with Susie for about ten or fifteen minutes."

Hmm
. My antennae went up. I had gotten the impression from Susie that Elena wasn't in the library all that long. Was Elena trying to pad her time in there, to beef up her alibi?

"What about Barry, by the way? Where was he?"

"In the library too, the whole time. Except for when he went to the bathroom for a minute." She eyed me sharply. "You don't suspect Barry, do you?"

"I suspect everybody. Even you," I joked.

The school bell rang. Elena stood up. "Saved by the bell. You won't be able to wring a confession out of me, because I have to get back to class. Or assembly, whatever."

"Hey, not to change the subject," I said casually, "but have you heard the Terra Nova results yet?"

"No, it always takes a while before we get the results back. They're scored by BOCES down in Albany."

I eyed her closely, but didn't see any jaw twitching, eye darting, or other time-honored signs of lying. BOCES
—pronounced "bow sees"—was one of many state agencies that had some control over how local schools operate. "Doesn't the school itself, like Mr. Meckel or somebody, do preliminary scoring of the tests?" I asked innocently.

"Not that I know of. But I guess if he was in a hurry for the scores and didn't want to wait. . . Why?"

"I was thinking maybe Meckel planned on using the tests as a criteria. For the gifted program."

"I guess we'll never know what he planned," Elena said. Still no twitching or darting. "Let me know if there's any other way I can help."

I watched Elena take off down the hall. On the plus side, I'd made it through the interrogation without getting into a big angry scene.

On the negative side, I'd learned absolutely zilch. Maybe I'd have been more successful if I'd riled her up.

And maybe I was too darned sensitive for this whole P.I. business.

Once again I thought back to Tuesday morning, replaying every word and gesture. Had Elena's laughter been forced? Had Susie acted more hyped up than usual? Had Barry acted more British? I tried to think about everybody's time line again, but it just made me nutty.

I checked my watch. Nine-oh-two. I hurried out of the school, cajoled my Toyota into starting up, and made it to Madeline's by nine-fifteen. Malcolm was still there. "Thanks for waiting," I said.

"Perfectly alright. After all, you're paying me by the hour. So whose case do you want to talk about first
—yours or Laura's."

"Let's be selfish. Talk about me."

"You want it diluted or full strength?"

"Diluted."

"Everything's groovy. You're sitting pretty. The mayor's gonna throw you a ticker-tape parade."

I sipped some java to prepare myself. "How about full strength?"

"You're in deep excrement. Scuttlebutt is, you've ticked off some heavy hitters around town in the last couple of years. Such as the mayor, the police chief, and the judge. I think you're gonna end up doing time."

My throat tightened so much the coffee barely made it through. "But
—but the school door was open. So was Meckel's office. I didn't break in."

"But you did break out. You ran from the cops. Bad move."

"Okay, I was foolish. I panicked. But I wasn't a criminal."

"Prove it."

"I was stopping a burglary in progress. I was being a good Samaritan."

"That'll be our defense. Unfortunately it sounds like a fantasy."

"So what do you suggest?"

"I wish I knew. You want half of my cookie?"

"How much time are we talking about?"

"Maybe six months. Maybe a year."

"God." By the time I got out, Charizard would probably have forgotten all about Pokémon. I'd miss Latree's fall basketball season.

I felt like a total jerk. I'd allowed my macho lawbreaking routine to seriously screw up my family.