Murder Of A Snake In The Grass (10 page)

“I’ll go get the drinks; you two rest,” Skye offered.

After handing over her last three dollars to the soda vendor, Skye walked over to the bench, handed each teen a bottle, and sat on the end, turning so she could face them. “So, what do you think about last night?”

“We’ve been talking,” Justin answered, “and we decided we better tell you the truth. Not that we lied last night; we just didn’t tell you the whole story.”

“I see.” Skye nodded encouragingly.

“The thing is,” Frannie joined in, “a bunch of us are trying to start a school newspaper. Mr. Knapik won’t let us. He says there’s nothing to write about. So we thought, if we came up with a big story, he’d have to let us.”

Skye nodded again, although knowing Homer Knapik,
she doubted he’d let them start a paper even if the kids found proof of Bigfoot. He wouldn’t want the fuss—he was too close to retirement. And student newspapers almost always caused controversy.

Justin stood up and paced. “Anyway, so we’ve been trying to get the scoop on this band of bullies that have been vandalizing property all around town. We heard that they hang out at the bandstand in the park sometimes, so we were staking it out last night.”

Frannie added, “But I really did have to go to the bathroom.”

“Did you see anything?” Skye asked.

“No, the rest is just like we told you. I went to the toilet, Justin spotted something shiny, we saw the body and ran.”

“Well,” Justin said, “I did see one thing that might be important. It was just a quick glimpse as I turned away.”

“What?” Skye asked.

“We checked out the bandstand earlier that night, around six-thirty, so I know what it looked like then.”

“Uh huh.”

“The second time I saw it, there was something new spray-painted on the wall in some weird shiny red color.”

“What?” both females asked.

“It looked like this.” From his shirt pocket Justin took out a piece of paper with a drawing on it.

Skye studied the figure. It was from a test she routinely administered to measure visual-motor skills. Except this symbol was remarkably poorly reproduced. Where had she seen those unique errors before?

She let her mind drift over the last few weeks. Who had she evaluated? She ticked the students off in her mind. No, not the kindergarten girl. Not the fifth grader or the eighth grader. Grady! It was Grady Nelson who had made those exact errors on the Visual Motor Integration test. Could the killer be Grady? A random act of violence would fit his personality.
And Gabriel Scumble was a stranger in town. Who else would have a reason to kill a newcomer?

Skye half rose from the bench, thinking she had to tell the police. But wait. She sat down again. Could she ethically share that information, or was it covered by confidentiality? She’d better check with the Illinois School Psychologists’ ethics committee first. She only hoped she could get hold of someone on a Saturday.

A
fter leaving Frannie and Justin, Skye walked across the high school’s athletic field to the junior high. She used her key to unlock the outer door, entered the empty building, and headed straight for her office.

The hallway smelled of pine cleaner, with an underlying odor of something less pleasant—thirty years of chalk, sweat, and vomit. Skye’s sandals tapped out an urgent rhythm on the orange linoleum as she hurried past the banks of turquoise lockers.

Her office was near the back of the building. She unlocked the door and edged her way around the desk and chair that took up most of the floor space.

This was the beginning of her third year at this school. Skye had gotten used to the smallness of her office and was grateful for the private space, even if it had originally been a janitor’s closet. She had spiffed it up with bright paint and a fake window. Except for the pipe sticking out of the wall where the sink had been, no one would ever guess its origins.

Skye had considered trying to disguise the pipe, but all her attempts appeared phallic—probably not a good idea in light of her predominantly adolescent male clientele.

A file cabinet was the only other furniture in the room. She unlocked it and grabbed the Illinois School Psychologists
Association Membership Directory from the bottom drawer. Flipping the pages, she found the name of the Ethics and Professional Standards chair.

Luck was still with her: The chairperson’s home number was listed. Skye hated bothering someone on a Saturday, but this was an emergency. She dialed the phone. When it was picked up after a single ring, she was relieved.

Skye explained the situation to the ethics chair. After some questions and pauses, the woman said, “Since the boy in question is over twelve years old, information can only be revealed with the consent of both the child and his legal guardian, except in situations where failing to disclose information would result in a clear danger to the client or others.”

“So, it comes down to my best judgment as to whether someone else might get hurt if I don’t tell?”

“Sort of. You’re in a murky position. You should probably consult a lawyer that specializes in school law.”

“Do you have a list of names?”

“Sure, but they charge three hundred dollars or more an hour, so you’d better clear it with your district first,” the woman cautioned.

“Do you think they’d be able to give me a concrete yes or no?”

“I doubt it. Like so much in special education, the answer lies in how something is interpreted. So, one lawyer may say do this and another may tell you to do the exact opposite.”

“I think I understand what you’re saying.” Skye tapped the desktop with her nail while she tried to think if there was some other question she should ask. Nothing came to her. “Thank you so much for your time. I’m very sorry to bother you at home on a Saturday.”

“No problem. I wish I could be more help. It’s an interesting quandary. You might want to think about writing an
article for the newsletter about it once everything gets sorted out. Good luck.”

After hanging up, Skye ran everything through her head again. It wasn’t a clear-cut decision by any means, but it felt like the moral thing to do would be to tell the chief. Wally was an honorable man. She could trust him to do the right thing with the information—she hoped.

Considering that there had been a murder not even twenty-four hours ago, the police station was strangely quiet. Skye parked the Bel Air next to the only other car in the lot, a dented blue Chevy Cavalier. It was nearly eleven, and the temperature had reached a humid eighty-nine degrees. She was looking forward to sitting in Wally’s airconditioned office as she told her story.

Skye pushed open the glass door and walked into the reception area. To her right was a combination chest-high counter and window. The bulletproof glass had been added last February after a gun-toting Bonnie had tried to break her Clyde out of jail. She had become quite upset when she found out that his wife had already fetched him. In a snit, the woman had started firing, and things had gotten ugly. Lucky for the dispatcher on duty, that particular Bonnie was a terrible shot.

The incident had resulted in heightened security at the police department, and Skye could no longer press the “secret” button on the underside of the counter to buzz herself in. While she understood the need for it, she found the new system irritating.

She knocked on the glass, and a grandmotherly woman hurried into the dispatch room. She smiled and rushed over to let Skye into the inner sanctum.

Thea Jones hugged Skye. “It’s so good to see you. You haven’t been around as much as you used to. I hear a man’s been keeping you busy.”

Skye panicked. Could Thea already know about Luc?
Did everyone know? No, she meant Simon. “I have been busy, but no man could keep me from visiting my friends.”

“Good for you. Besides, the right guy for you works right here at the PD.”

Skye wanted to run screaming from the room, but instead she forced a smile. The woman meant well. “Well, I do need to talk to the chief.”

Thea grinned. “I’ll tell you exactly where to find him.”

Skye saw her chance to sit and chat in a nice cool office slipping away. “He’s not here?”

“No, he’s at the park. The Crazy Craft races start at noon, and he’s the judge.”

“Crazy Craft, what’s that?”

“It’s a little hard to describe.” Thea scratched her head and wrinkled her nose. “A bunch of people who are an egg short of a full carton ride anything that floats down the river. Whoever crosses the finish line first with most of their boat still intact wins.”

“So, why is Wally wasting his time judging something like that?”

“Well, the thing is, the other time we tried this race, during Chokeberry Days last year, there were some differences of opinion as to who won. A bunch of drunks started pushing and shoving each other, and a few ended up in the river. A couple nearabouts drowned. Wally’s hoping that if he judges the thing, that won’t happen this time.”

“I suppose cancelling the race is out of the question.”

Thea looked at Skye with a puzzled expression. “But everyone had so much fun last time.”

“Of course, how silly of me.” Skye smiled and patted the dispatcher’s hand. “You said Wally was in the park. Do you know where exactly?”

“Sure, he’s at the boat launch just past the bandstand.”

Skye started to leave but stopped. “Near where the body was found?”

The dispatcher nodded.

“But the evidence. People will be trampling all over that area.”

“Oh, Wally had the crime-scene technicians from the sheriff’s office out there early this morning. They released the area about an hour ago, except for the bandstand and about fifty feet around it, and they taped that off.”

“Did they find anything?”

“I haven’t heard,” Thea said.

“Do you know if they talked to the carnival workers yet?”

“Yep, Wally and our officers were up all night interviewing that crew. Not that they found anything out from them. They all alibi each other.” The phone started ringing, and Thea turned to answer it.

Skye waved and mouthed thank you as she backed out of the room.

Although Skye had had the Bel Air for five months, she still had trouble reversing the huge vehicle. She maneuvered back and forth, trying to avoid the light pole directly behind her, and finally freed the car from its parking spot. As she drove away from the police station, she noted all the food and craft tents set up shoulder to shoulder along Maryland Street. What a difference from last night. People and cars were everywhere now.

The booths stopped abruptly just before the bridge at the Up A Lazy River Motor Court. Both the motor court and the Brown Bag Liquor Store’s lots were being used for public parking, as no cars were being allowed inside the park.

Skye pulled the Bel Air into an empty spot near the Dumpster in back. It was normally not a good place, but no garbage truck would be coming through today.

A teenager hurried up to her as she got out of the car. “Lady, you can’t park there.”

“It’s okay, I’m Charlie’s goddaughter.”

The boy looked skeptical. “Sure.”

There was no sign of Charlie. How could she convince
this kid? She unzipped her fanny pack and pulled out her wallet. After a short search, she found what she wanted, a picture of Charlie and her hugging. She handed it over.

He inspected it and handed it back. “Okay, I guess. I better not get into trouble over this.”

“It’ll be fine, I promise.” She reached into her wallet to tip the boy but found the bill compartment empty. Shoot! She had forgotten to stop by the bank, and it closed at one. She’d better hurry. She found four quarters in the change compartment and handed them over. “Sorry. I need to go to the bank.”

The teenager shrugged and walked away.

Skye cut diagonally across the parking lot to the south-west tip and took the wooden footbridge over to the park. It was already thronged with people.

Although the carnival wouldn’t open until dusk, there was plenty for people to do during the day. The odor from the Lions Club’s pony ride and the Junior Chamber of Commerce’s petting farm hung in the humid air. A mini golf course, set up by the Elks, had players lined up three-deep. But the biggest crowd was at the Grand Union of the Mighty Bull’s bingo tent. It seemed that no matter what the other organizations did, the GUMBs managed to do it a little better. The rivalry among the groups was legendary.

Skye waved to family and friends almost continuously as she made her way down the length of the park peninsula toward the tip. It seemed that almost everyone in Scumble River was partaking of the bicentennial events.

According to her watch, it was close to noon when she finally reached the boat docks. She could see Wally sitting on a lawn chair under an awning. A table to his right held a plate and a plastic cup. Several women hovered at his elbow, poised to offer refills.

Skye had heard that Wally’s official period of mourning for his divorce had been declared over by the single ladies of Scumble River and that he had been receiving a lot of
attention since then, but this was the first time she had witnessed the women in action. She felt an odd twinge of jealousy but pushed it down.