An Educated Death (16 page)

She dropped her arms. "Thank you. Now, in accordance with our meeting procedures, the floor is yours. Is there anyone who wants to speak?"

Josh Meyer jumped to his feet and strode toward the front. I knew what was coming, and gritted my teeth again. This was all we needed. This disaster had definitely sidetracked Dorrie from her normal level of caution and control or she never would have set this in motion. And there was no sense in hiring me to give her advice if she wouldn't take it.

Josh replaced her at the podium with a graceful bow, and leaned out over it, draping his lanky body sinuously across the wood. He stared out at his schoolmates. "You all know who I am, so I guess I don't have to waste your time on introductions. Many of you even know why I'm here, which, to get right to the point, is Laney's death. You can forget that"—he waved his arms in the air, like a baseball ref declaring the runner out—"bullshit our esteemed headmistress just fed you."

Dorrie stiffened beside me and I heard her groan.

"You all knew Laney, right? Not exactly an Eddie Bauerette, was she?" Josh the actor paused for his laugh. "She wouldn't have gone out to that pond at night unless she had to, right? And not to be too euphemistic about it, she was hardly the suicidal type. She might have wished some of us would drop dead, but never herself. In Laney's book, if someone had to die, it was someone else. What happened is that someone lured her out there, shoved her out on the ice, and walked away. Her death was no"—his voice took on a sneering tone—"unfortunate accident, as our fearless leaders so euphemistically put it. Ms. Margaret Delaney Taggert, late of the Bucksport School, was murdered, pure and simple."

He slammed his fist down for emphasis, pausing dramatically as the sound echoed in the unnaturally silent room. "And if anyone knows anything about it, they'd better speak up. We need to demand some answers!" He shook his head in disgust. "Unfortunate accident. And they wonder why our generation is cynical about truth." He walked off the stage, down the aisle, and out the door, slamming it behind him.

 

 

 

Chapter 8

 

Dorrie sat behind her desk with her head in her hands. "Why on earth did I do that?" she moaned.

"I wish you'd—"

"I know. I know. I know. You told me not to do it. I didn't listen. I thought it was the right thing to go directly to the students—"

"I don't believe it was a student that she met. All we can do now is pray that this doesn't get back to Chip Barrett and become front-page news."

"All we can do now is for you to find out what really happened, as quickly as possible."

"Do you think Josh Meyer is right?" I asked. Dorrie didn't answer. Her chair was turned away from me and she was staring out across the circle, where a mean gray sky was spitting snow. "What does Rocky think about Josh's theory?"

"Rocky thinks we should declare the whole thing an accident, send you home, and get back to business as usual. As for Josh, Rocky thinks he's a smart-assed troublemaker out to call attention to himself."

"He's a good actor," I replied.

"Yes, but is that all?" She swung around to face me. "Isn't it time for you to start?" Dorrie wasn't my child or my charge; she was my client and my boss. If she didn't want to discuss things, I couldn't make her. She turned back to the window. "Find out what happened."

I gathered up my stuff and went to work, feeling utterly unprepared to face Curt Sawyer.

Curt didn't seem to be doing much better. He huddled in the chair and glowered at me. His graying hair was cut so close to his narrow head that his ears looked like big pink cup handles. His nose was as red as Rudolph's from a combination of the chilly air and too many years of liberal drinking. His eyes were watery and it was clear he was fighting a cold. None of it did anything to improve his disposition. "This is all just a goddamned wild goose chase," he said as he unbuttoned his jacket. "Dumb kid falls through the ice and the press and everybody else acts like it's the first time an accident's happened in the history of the world. Nobody kills themselves that way and there sure as hell wasn't no murderer out running around that night. Too darn cold."

"Did you know Laney Taggert, Curt?"

"Miserable little hoity-toity pain in the ass, she was."

"What's your basis for that assessment?"

"Huh?"

I forgot that subtlety doesn't work with Curt. "What made you decide she was a pain in the ass?"

He shrugged. "She just was. Most of 'em are. Arrives in my office with a list as long as her arm of stuff she wants done for the spring show and then it's, 'We'll need this, Mr. Sawyer, and this and that and that and can you have it done by Friday?' Not so much as a please. If their parents had spanked 'em more, maybe they'd've learned some manners."

"Was the spring show the only time you dealt with Laney Taggert?"

"Don't I wish! Once she'd made my acquaintance she was in and out all the time, acting like I was her personal servant.'Mr. Sawyer, the shower is dripping. Mr. Sawyer, the light-bulbs need changing. Mr. Sawyer, there isn't enough hot water.' If I wasn't there, she'd bug my staff. Make 'em stop what they were doing and come and wait on her. Like some little princess or something."

"Was she unique?"

"Huh?"

"Was she the only student who bugged you like that? Was her behavior unusual?"

"There's a lot of 'em that are spoiled rotten but she was one of the worst."

"Is there any chance she was hanging around because she was interested in someone on your crew?"

Sawyer shifted uneasily in his chair. "My men," he said stiffly, "are trained to handle problems like that. They do not fraternize with the students."

"I'm glad to hear that, Curt, but what I asked was whether Laney Taggert had showed a special interest in anyone."

"You're talking through your hat, lady." He assumed a stubborn posture, arms folded firmly across his chest.

What I could see, even through my hat, was that Laney had been interested in one of his men, or one of his men had been interested in her and Curt knew it. He tugged at his ear and sucked his teeth and didn't answer. "Who was it, Curt? And what did you do about it?"

"I swatted that miserable cock-teasing little bitch on her adorable ass and told her to go play with kids her own age."

"And did she?"

He grunted something that sounded affirmative. "Did you talk to her dorm parents?"

Another grunt. I waited. Finally he said, "I talked to Kathy Donahue. She was about as responsive as a pet rock. Bland smiles and would you like some tea, Mr. Sawyer, and a brush-off along the lines of 'Wasn't it up to my man to discourage that.' "

"I get the picture. Let's switch to something else. What procedures do you use to test the safety of the ice and warn the students about it?"

"Enough," he said gruffly. "There's always a sign by the pond that says No Swimming and No Boating without Permission. They've got to sign the book in my office and get the boathouse key if they want to use the pond for that. Then when the weather gets cold we've got signs we put out that say Danger, Thin Ice. One of the guys checks the ice every day and if it ever does get thick enough for skating, which it usually doesn't, we'll post a sign with the skating rules. There are also announcements periodically at all-school meetings about the danger of going out on the ice. We tell 'em we'll let 'em know when the ice is safe for skating." He shrugged. "I don't know what more we can do except put a fence around the pond. And if we did, they'd climb over it."

"They probably would," I agreed. "Tell me about how the security service works. How many people do you have on campus at night?"

"Enough."

"Curt, don't start stonewalling me. This is important."

"There's never been an incident which suggests we aren't providing adequate security. Besides, I've been over all this with the chief. I don't see why we need to go over it again."

"Well, we do, Curt, because my job is to be sure that all the procedures for the protection of the students are adequate."

After a few more rounds of verbal wrestling we reached a truce and Curt reluctantly gave me some of the details. It was a minimalist offering but I knew it was all I was going to get. As soon as the last phrases were out of his mouth, he stood up and started buttoning his coat. "Not so fast, Curt," I said. "We're not done."

"I've got work to do," he said.

"This is part of your work. Do you patrol the woods paths on a regular basis?" He took a step toward the door. "That was a question, Curt."

He swung back toward me and the face he presented was distinctly unpleasant. "What difference does that make now?"

"Just answer the question, Curt." He stood there sullenly silent. "Do I need to bring Dorrie in to moderate this discussion? You know she asked me to do this."

"I don't have enough manpower to do all the things we're supposed to do. When the weather is warm it's even worse. I'm supposed to have guys checking behind every bush."

"I assume, then, for the record, that someone was supposed to check the woods path but didn't do so?"

Curt stared with interest at his shoes.

"Who was the guy who found Laney?"

"That crazy McTeague."

"He doesn't work at Bucksport?"

Curt shook his head vehemently. "No way. Guy's a nutcase, lives half a mile down the road. He just comes here to jog."

"Are there many joggers who use the path?"

"Not in the winter. Some of the students who like to stay in shape and a few hard cores like McTeague."

"Ever had any trouble between the students and joggers?"

He shrugged. "Once a jogger came in to complain that two of our boys had followed her and made suggestive remarks."

"What did you do about that?"

"Said I'd refer the problem to the dean of students... and advised her she might want to wear more clothes. All she had on were these skin-tight little shorts with half her butt hanging out and a little bra top with her nipples stickin' out like traffic signals. You ask me, it's a damned-fool thing to do to dress like that and then go running through a campus full of horny boys. That uptight asshole Van Deusen's always talkin' about this thing or that thing being an attractive nuisance. You ask me, that's just what that woman was."

Unreconstructed as Sawyer was, I was inclined to agree with him. I find myself casting disapproving glances at women—and men—who go around in public with every wrinkle and bulge of their anatomy outlined in tight, shiny fabric. "Joanne Perlin says one of your maintenance men saw a girl who might have been Laney heading off toward the jogging path around five-thirty on Friday. I need to talk to him. Can you find out who it was and call Lori to put him on my schedule?"

It wasn't a request, it was a polite command, but Curt's reaction didn't surprise me. "There's no more to it than that," he said. "He didn't know the girl. You've heard what he saw. There's no need to talk to him." Curt had talked himself into a foul mood and decided it was my fault.

"That's my decision, not yours, and I want to talk to him. Please arrange it." I had a pretty good idea that the man in question was the same one Laney had taken an interest in.

"It's not important," he said, and walked out.

"And the horse you rode in on," I muttered, making a rude gesture at his departing back. Dave or Dorrie could handle this. Curt was immune to charm and persuasion. The only thing that worked with him was authority and I didn't have it. Not that I'd tried charm or persuasion. I know better than to waste my time.

Conflict always whets my appetite and I was ready for breakfast. I was about to ask Lori if she could find me some food when there was a tentative knock on my door. I called a brisk "Come in" and it opened to reveal a vibrant pixie in a long red stocking cap, bulky red parka, red-and-black striped leggings, and shiny black boots. I half expected her to say "Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas," but all she did was shuck the parka, kick
off
the boots, and curl up in the chair, cozy as a kitten, and regard me with her shining black eyes.

"I'm Merri Naigler," she said. Her cheeks were pink, her curls were black and saucy and her smile infectious. I'd never seen a person better named. "Lori... I mean, Mrs. Leonard... said you wanted to talk to me. Is it about Laney?"

"Yes. My name is Thea Kozak. Were you at the meeting this morning?"

She shook her head. "My mom was having a cow about my not being dressed warmly. By the time I went back and changed, I'd missed it."

"I've been hired by the trustees to review the circumstances surrounding Laney Taggert's accident—the procedural things like sign-outs, student-faculty contacts, safety precautions, things like that. They want to make sure everything possible is being done to keep you all safe." We shook hands. Hers was small and warm.

"Oh, was it an accident? I'm so glad! I mean, I'm not glad about Laney being dead. She was my best friend and I don't know what I'm going to do now. I feel sort of lost without her." She hesitated, absently fingering a curl. "I mean I'm glad it was an accident. She'd been so moody lately, I was afraid she might have—" She stopped and shrugged. "You know... gone out on the pond on purpose." She stared down at her clasped hands. "And I'm sure you know what Josh is saying...."