Aftermath (33 page)

“Teenager.”

As if debating if he should join her ranks or not, he flexed his jaw, but didn’t look up. “Fine. Are we talking about the same
teenager
who ignored my safety briefings about walking through alleys?” He tossed the notebook aside. Grabbed another. “Because I
’
m pretty sure I explained that wasn
’
t a real
safe
area. And I didn
’
t want her near it.”

“Are you listening to yourself? A briefing? She
’
s a teenager. Not a rookie straight out of Hogan
’
s Alley. Had she not gone through there...” Jonas would be dead. No questions.

He sent her a scowl, then glanced at the notebook in his hand. “Tell me what I
’
m looking for, here.”

Conversation over. Message received loud and clear. She blew out a breath. What did she know anyway? “Some form of harassment.” Hopefully, they wouldn
’
t find any. And Ariana was simply dealing with normal teenage issues.

Something dark passed over his features. He scanned the still empty hallway. “You can
’
t be serious. She
’
s thirteen. Aren
’
t thirteen-year-olds supposed to have slumber parties, giggle about nonsense and eat junk food? Girl stuff. Harassment should be nonexistent. And more so at school.”

At another time, she might have laughed. He
’
d thrown himself into the guardian role a long time ago. It wasn
’
t likely to disappear because Lilly appeared to be on the mend. “Put away the befuddled and disgusted parent inside you for a second. Whatever made her skip class might not even be directly related to being here.”

“I
’
ve asked her.” Annoyance came out on his syllables. As if he
’
d been staring down a perp he
’
d caught red-handed, with enough evidence to put him away for a thousand lifetimes, and the guy still wouldn
’
t confess. “She refuses to talk to me.
”

“If you used that voice, I can see why. Maybe you should have
debriefed
her, Robbie. Might have been more successful.”

He shook his head. “I don
’
t even know why I try to talk to you.”

“The feeling is, often, mutual.” And frustrating in the best kind of way.

She pulled one of the pictures from the door and stared at it. A group shot held a dozen girls and guys or more, all making ridiculous faces.

“Y
’
all have passes to be inside my school?” Sam Richardson came to stand beside them, hands in the pockets of his gray slacks, a blue polo tucked neatly into them.

Robinson straightened and faced him. “They demote you to hall monitor, Richardson?”

As if he were in on some colossal joke, a smile lit Sam
’
s face. “For your information, I
’
m on the board. I
’
m a teacher. Everything that happens within these walls and on the premises is my business.”

She handed the passes over. “So, you
’
d know if a student was having issues? With other students, faculty members or counselors?”

Sam
’
s gaze flicked to the paper in his hand. Then back up to them as if he didn
’
t trust they
’
d stay put. “We don
’
t have many issues here. The students come from good homes, are academically challenged and have plenty of opportunity to excel in extracurricular activities.”

“Paige Jurik was suspended a little over six months ago.” Robinson crossed his arms over his chest, his face a blank canvas. “What do you know about it?”

Sam slapped their passes against the palm of his free hand. “This isn
’
t a search warrant. And we don
’
t give out information about our students, current or former, to just anyone.”

Robinson stilled. His hands clenched. And then he was a flurry of movement as he pulled his badge from his belt clip. Exposed his SIG in the process. Then shoved the material as close to the other man
’
s face as he could without actually touching him.

Not as if he were scared of the ramifications if he did, but like he didn
’
t want to soil his skin by doing so.

“I assume you can still read, but just in case you can
’
t.” He tapped the metal surface with his middle finger. “Federal Bureau of Investigation. One call, and I
’
ll have about six different warrants. I imagine at least one will be personal, Richardson.”

Sam didn
’
t move.

“That
’
s some minimum wage job—that
’
s how you phrased it, right? I don
’
t give a crap about the fact that you
think
there aren
’
t issues here. Or that the kids come from good homes and are challenged mentally and physically. None of that means squat when they
’
re faced with real danger.”

Crime didn’t occur only in the ghettos. It was everywhere. Didn’t care about gender, race or age.

Sam wet his lips. Batted the badge away from his face. “I
’
m not intimidated.”

Robinson stared at the other man as if he were the biggest waste of space he
’
d ever seen. Tucked his badge away. “Or you just don
’
t care for the welfare of your students, despite the circumstances. And that would make a person wonder why you even became a teacher in the first place. Maybe a little easy prey?”

The paper in Sam
’
s hand crumpled in his now closed fist. He had to understand what noncompliance implicated in their world.

“That sounds an awful lot like slander.” The words were harsh.

“It sounds like a conversation where you prove your words are true.”

The math teacher crossed his arms over his chest and continued to eye Robinson. “We have a zero tolerance policy. Accusations were flung between Paige and another student. Paige broke the other girl
’
s nose with the first punch. She hasn
’
t been a student here since her suspension.”

“And that
’
s not at all alarming.” Amanda bit back the verbal whiplash tearing through her system.

Sam’s gaze lit on her as if she were nothing more than scum stuck on his shoe. “If I kept track of every student that transferred from this school, I’d need more hours in a day.”

“It never occurred to you to check into the situation?” Amanda started shoving Ariana
’
s things into the bag she
’
d brought along. Couldn
’
t stand to look at Sam one more minute. Or think about Camelia Jurik
’
s pleas for help.

The group shot caught her eye again. Made her wish she
’
d paid more attention to who all these kids were to Ariana. The only two she recognized were the boy and girl standing on either side of Robinson
’
s niece. Both Kate and Hunter had an arm slung over her shoulders.

A crude drawing, she hadn
’
t noticed at first glance, depicted male genitalia awfully close to Ariana
’
s smiling mouth. A pair of lopsided breasts were penciled over her Nike t-shirt, the boy
’
s hand elongated to cover the cartoon area. As if a near-inkless pen had been used, the shapes were more imprint than actual color.

Robinson said something to Sam. Words she couldn
’
t concentrate on.

There, in the background, taller than most of the boys, stood Paige Jurik. A failed smile as if she weren
’
t quite sure why she
’
d been selected for this photograph.

The same drawing covered almost shell-shocked features.

___

NOISE CAME FROM the woman sitting one seat to the left of Beth.

A horrific and gut-wrenching scrape of pen against paper. It reverberated against the NCCIW dayroom like a forgotten echo in a horror flick. And every hard-pressed pass burrowed the ball-point further into the next page.

The girl—somewhere in her early twenties, if her fine bone structure and wrinkle-free face could be trusted—brought the utensil up, followed the same straight line. Another nails on chalkboard screech filled the silence around them.

It made every fine hair on Beth
’
s body raise in self-awareness.

Soon the young woman might find herself on the other side of the pad and halfway through the table. Her gaze shot upward, dark, glazed and unfocused. It pierced through Beth as if this entire moment were a figment of her imagination.

A string of dark gibberish came from her mouth as if she were a toddler talking in harsh, too-fast tones.

Across from them, the old woman
tisked
as if the girl were her granddaughter. Her gray hair was in a neat bun. Back always ram-rod straight. Manners in place. Perhaps it was the only thing she had left after twenty years on death row.

The other two women in the room occupied the table next to them, eyes glued to the TV hung in the corner. Beth liked to think of them as
Thing One
and
Thing Two
due to their wild hair and senseless chatter.

The antiquated PC, in the corner, was stored behind plexiglas, the keyboard and mouse fixed to the desktop. The machine was slower than a Sunday driver in rush hour traffic, but free for once. If she requested her ten minutes, could she put them to good use?

Another strand of nonsense shot from beside Beth, filled with a heavy dose of cursing. Then the girl stood and paced toward the CO
’
s standing on either side of the entrance. The one closest watched her like an alligator sizing its prey. In the far corner, the second officer continued to monitor Beth and the old woman.

And, from experience, she knew the tall, female CO at the back of the room, a thick wannabe linebacker-type, always had a keen eye on their five person group.

On the randomized occasion they were all together.

To her left, the girl paced back and forth. One wall to another. Smart enough to stay as far from the door as possible, so nobody mistook her actions for an escape attempt.

It would equal instant taser to the chest or beat down with a baton. And, really, who would give two figs about a death row inmate going down?

No one.

Beth didn’t expect the outcome to be any other way, but not everyone shared her views.

The justice system had made a grave error sentencing the young woman to death row. Her actions during their daily free time—a ridiculous word to use in a prison setting—bespoke mental illness at its core.

An institution had to be better suited to her needs.

Repeated actions. Glazed eyes. Dark, under-the-breath mumbling. As far as Beth could tell, the girl had never even tried to have a normal conversation with anyone.

Neither have you.

Of course, if Beth had killed more kids than she had fingers and toes...

Not kids. Infants. A nanny who
’
d cut near-term babies from their mother
’
s wombs. And left both mother and child to die.

Something crawled up Beth’s esophagus and tried to gain a choke hold. She resisted shaking her head and covering her ears. She didn
’
t care. Didn
’
t want to know. Usually avoided the whispers shared amongst the other women.

Instead of discussing topics best left alone, she
’
d manage to travel in her mind to another time. A warm beach. Bustling city surrounded by people. In the warm arms of a man. Administering lifesaving techniques to those in need.

Instead of joining in on the gossip, or filling the burning need for human interaction, she
’
d chosen silence. Listened deeper than words went. A skill she
’
d picked up in her youth.

Often doing one task while her mind concentrated on something entirely different. Dishes while straining for snippets of adult conversation, in which her future was directly involved. Homework and a hasty snack amidst the jittery sense that the front door might burst open any second and she wouldn
’
t be prepared for what lay beyond.