Chasing Shadows

by Jason Richards

  “All good enough reasons, I guess, for a teenage girl to want to date him,” Rick said. “But I don't think that was it.”

  “How so?” I said.

  “He was known as, what do you call it,” Rick paused a moment. Then he continued, “a bad boy. You know, not the type of guy you want to take home to mom and dad, or marry, but a little dangerous. I don't get it, but I guess that's a thing.”

  “Are you aware if our bad boy liked to hang out at places you would rather not see a teenager at?”

  “What? Like clubs or something?”

  I nodded.

  “I have no idea,” Rick said.

  “Fair enough,” I said. “He date any girls outside of Hancock Academy?”

  “Can't say for sure,” Rick said. “But a kid like that, wouldn't surprise me in the least.”

  I took out my phone and opened the image of Aaron Hurley and Tina Ross.

  “Ever see these two together?” I said as I showed Rick the picture.

  I doubted Tina had ever been to Hancock Academy, but that wasn't what I was after. Rick knew that. And he played along to help me out.

  “Nope,” Rick said plainly.

  No surprise in his answer. Also, no surprise in the momentary look of recognition in Rick's eyes when he saw Aaron Hurley on the screen. Sure, he would recognize Aaron as a former student at Hancock Academy. But this was different. Rick's eyes told me Aaron Hurley is the kid we had been talking about.

  “Thanks, Rick. I appreciate your time.”

  “Sure thing,” Rick said. “Let me open the gate and then I'll call Mrs. Moore and tell her you are on your way to her office. It's in the main administrative building. Just follow the drive to the end. It will be the first building on your right.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I got into my car. The gate swung open and I drove through.

  CHAPTER 10

  GRACE MOORE WAS A TALL, thin, woman in her late fifties or early sixties. While not unattractive, her physical appearance was rather unremarkable. She countered her plain looks by dressing smartly in a fashionable black skirt and silk pink blouse. Her outfit was complimented with a snazzy pearl necklace and matching earrings. I had no idea what a guidance counselor made at Hancock Academy, but I was guessing she either had family money or married well.

  Her heels clacked loudly on the wood floor as she crossed her office to greet me. The heels looked very uncomfortable. Despite the pain I imagined the shoes caused her feet, she moved effortlessly and without complaint.

  “Grace Moore,” she said. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Patrick.”

  “Please, call me Drew.”

  “Very well,” she said.

  There was no reciprocal offer to call her by her first name, so I would stick with formality. Respect and courtesy I'm sure are somewhere in the private detective's manual.

  She sat in a plush leather chair behind her mahogany desk. Fine art hung on the wood paneled walls surrounding us. Her office window offered a panoramic view of the campus. It was a far cry from the guidance office where I had gone to high school.

  “You have a great space here,” I said. “I can only imagine what the headmaster's office looks like.”

  “Please, have a seat.”

  Grace Moore seemed unaffected by my charming wit. Or maybe she was simply hard of hearing. I sat in the seat directly in front of her desk.

  “Rachel Campbell speaks very highly of you,” she said. “It is the only reason I agreed to meet with you.”

  “Well, I appreciate your time,” I said.

  “I am afraid, however, that this will be a wasted trip for you,” she said. “I doubt I have any information I can share that will assist with your investigation.”

  In other words, this lady isn't going to volunteer anything. Perhaps if I turn my charm up to full power.

  “You would be surprised at what information may be useful in an investigation,” I said.

  “Perhaps you misunderstood,” she said. “I hold conversations with our students in the strictest of confidence.”

  Grace Moore leaned back in the chair and waited for my response.

  “I'm not asking for you to break any confidences, Mrs. Moore,” I said. “But if I may ask you a few general questions, there might be something of value.”

  “You may ask any question you like, Mr. Patrick, but I reserve the right to decline to answer any question I deem infringes upon the privacy of a student.”

  I wondered whatever happened to calling me Drew. I guess we needed to be pals for her to feel comfortable enough to call me by my first name. I doubted we would ever be pals.

  “What can you tell me about Aaron Hurley?” I said.

  Grace Moore pondered the question like I asked her about Einstein's Theory of Relativity. Eventually, she replied, “He graduated last year.”

  “Is that all you can share about Aaron Hurley?” I said.

  She leaned forward in her chair and rested her arms on her desk. She glared at me in a way that brought me back to sitting in the principal's office. Grace Moore and I were definitely not going to be pals.

  “Mr. Patrick, if you would like to be apprised of something specific you should ask a specific question. Surely a private detective is good at asking questions.”

  “What kind of student was Aaron?” I said.

  “I can't discuss his academic record.”

  “How about his athletic record as a football player at Hancock?”

  Mrs. Moore sat back in her chair once again. She tilted her head at me. “That is a matter of public sports records. I suggest you Google his athletic performance or inquire at the Athletic Department.”

  Okay, then, I thought.

  “Did you ever see him play?” I said. “They say he's the next Rob Gronkowski.”

  “I'm not a sports fan,” she said.

  I declined to ask if she at least was aware of who Gronk was. I suspected she had at least a passing awareness the Patriots were New England's NFL team. But I wouldn't bet my house on it.

  “So you never went to a game to support the students? Show a little school spirit?”

  I thought I might get a little rise out of her. Nothing registered.

  “Student athletes did not require my support as a spectator at sporting events,” she said as a matter-of-fact.

  “Are you aware of what Aaron is doing now?” I asked.

  “He is a student at Boston College on a football scholarship,” she replied. “That is also information rather easily obtained by the general public should they care to seek it out.”

  I felt that was a bit of a dig at my detecting skills. Perhaps I was getting under Mrs. Moore's skin just a little.

  At least I learned Aaron is attending Boston College on a football scholarship. It is true I would have discovered that information easily enough with a little more searching, but it wouldn't have been nearly as fun as having Grace Moore tell me.

  “Aaron have any close friends here at Hancock?” I said.

  Grace Moore stared off into the distance. I settled in for what would seem like an eternity for her reply. Perhaps I could ponder the mysteries of the universe while I waited.

  “I feel that may be skirting on Mr. Hurley's privacy,” she said after at least nine months of pregnant pauses. “Not to mention the privacy of those whom Mr. Hurley associated with while a student here at Hancock Academy.”

  I figured I'd try one more time, being more specific. “Did Aaron spend time with a Carla and Stewart? I understand they are all friends.”

  “Again, Mr. Patrick, I don't feel it appropriate to discuss Mr. Hurley's personal associations.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “Do you, Mr. Patrick?”

  I felt I had overstayed my welcome. I thanked Mrs. Moore and let myself out.

  Before I left campus, I stopped by the guard booth for another quick visit with Rick.

  “If I had been a student at Hancock Academy last year,” I said to him, “I bet I would have seen a ce
rtain star tight end hanging out with two other students named Carla and Stewart. I bet I would even know their last names?”

  “You would,” Rick said. “Hard not to when her name is on the library, and his is on the gymnasium.”

  “Hard not to, indeed,” I said.

  CHAPTER 11

  AFTER ONLY A FEW MINUTES with them, it was clear that neither Carla Travis nor Stewart Vincent cared much about being at Hancock Academy. Were it not for the Travis Library and Vincent Gymnasium, I doubted either one of them would have even been admitted. I also figured neither had a choice about attending. Probably Hancock Academy legacy kids.

  The three of us sat at a table in the cafeteria, which felt more like a museum. Naming rights for the cafeteria were still available for a generous donation to the school. Perhaps I should inquire how big a donation it would take for it to become the Patrick Cafeteria.

  “You two are seniors this year?” I said.

  They both nodded.

  “But you are still friends with Aaron Hurley?”

  “Yeah,” Stewart said. “We like to hang when we get the chance.”

  Carla was studying me. “How did you even find us?” She asked.

  “I'm a detective. It's what I do.”

  “He also paid a kid twenty bucks to point us out,” Stewart said. “I saw him.”

  “Hey,” I said, “ten bucks a person isn't shabby.”

  “Whatever,” Carla said.

  “But you're still buying our lunches, right?” Stewart said.

  I looked across the table at him. “Your family tapped out after building the gym?”

  “Stewart's just cheap,” Carla said. She nudged him with her elbow.

  “Shut up,” Stewart said to her.

  “You always talk to a young lady like that?” I said.

  “Believe me, dude, she's no lady.”

  “Now you shut up,” Carla said. But there was playfulness in her voice. The two were close. Probably very close. You could say they made a cute couple.

  Carla had a pretty face, short blonde hair, and blue eyes. She was thin and average height with a look that a teenage boy would find attractive. Stewart looked like he belonged in a boy band with a slender frame, dark wavy hair, and brown eyes. He was a few inches taller than Carla, which put him at average height for a seventeen-year-old male.

  “We're up,” Stewart said. He held out his hand I gave him money for lunch. He and Carla got up from the table and got into the lunch line. I was saving room for a late lunch with Jessica.

  Hancock students moved past the table with their lunch trays. Suddenly I felt rather conspicuous in my jeans, knit pullover shirt, and sneakers. All the male students wore light gray dress slacks, white dress shirt with navy blue tie, and a crimson blazer with the Hancock Academy crest. The female students wore light gray skirts, white blouses, and the same crimson blazer with the Hancock Academy crest.

  Most of the students seemed to at least tolerate the school uniforms, Carla and Stewart looked as uncomfortable in them as one could imagine. They sat back down and placed their trays on the table.

  “So, what is it you want to ask about Aaron?” Stewart said. He was eating a burger and fries. Carla picked at a chicken Caesar salad. The food looked pretty good for a school cafeteria. Then again, we were at a pricey school offering the best money can buy.

  “What's he like?” I said.

  Stewart shrugged. I noticed teens did a lot of shrugging. Stewart finally said, “He was a big man on campus. Football star. Now he's at Boston College.”

  “Tell me something I can't find out by looking on the Internet or talking to anyone else here at Hancock,” I said.

  “Like what?” Stewart said.

  “What's he like when you're hanging out? Where do you all like to go? Stuff like that.”

  “Look, dude, I thought you were looking into Aaron as part of some background check for an NFL team or something.”

  “I never said that,” I said. “And why would an NFL team be looking into Aaron's background? He just started at BC.”

  “I have no clue,” Stewart said. “I just heard they do that kind of thing.”

  “Well, I'm not working for an NFL team. Believe me, if I were, I'd be charging a lot more per day.”

  “What kind of money do you make as a private detective?” Carla said.

  “Are you looking to hire me?” I said.

  “No,” Carla snorted.

  “Then it's none of your business.”

  I looked back at Stewart. He had already finished his burger. Man after my own heart. “Look, Stewart, the mother of one of Aaron's friends hired me to learn what kind of guy he is. She's worried about her daughter dropping out of school and moving away from home.”

  “You're talking about Tina,” Carla said.

  “Let's say that I am. What can you two tell me about Aaron and Tina?”

  “She moved in with him a few days ago,” Stewart said.

  “And?” I said.

  “And, what?” Stewart said. He dipped three fries in ketchup and shoved them into his mouth. They were shoestring fries, which I preferred over thick-cut fries.

  “How long have they been dating? What is their relationship like?” I said. “And don't shrug your shoulders. It's annoying.”

  “Fine,” Stewart said. “They've been dating since last March or April.” He looked at Carla.

  “Yeah, they've been together since last April,” Carla said.

  “Okay,” I said. “How do they get along?”

  “She moved in with him,” Carla said.

  “That's not what I asked,” I said.

  Carla and Stewart glanced at each other. I waited. They were silent.

  “Trouble in paradise already?” I said.

  Stewart let out a sigh and sat back in his chair. He folded his arms and looked past me. After a moment he said, “Aaron didn't want Tina to move in. Truth is, he isn't serious about her.”

  “Aaron isn't serious about any girl,” Carla interjected. “He's always played the field.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So Aaron isn't serious about Tina. But Tina thinks they are serious?”

  “Tina is clueless,” Stewart said. “She thinks Aaron is going to give her some sort of exciting life.”

  “Tina found a bad boy and she liked the sense of danger,” Carla added.

  “You think Aaron is the bad boy type?” I said. “Is he dangerous?”

  “Depends on your definition?” Stewart said.

  “Not exactly a 'no',” I said.

  “Dude, what do you want from us?” Stewart said.

  “A little more definition,” I said. “Listen, I'm not trying to get Aaron, Tina, or you two in any kind of trouble. I just want to find out what Tina is involved in. That is what I have been hired to do. In fact, I'm trying to prevent any serious trouble from going down.”

  “So you're not going to the cops with any of this?” Stewart said.

  “Not unless really serious crimes have been committed. I'm a private investigator, not the police. And I'm not trying to bust anyone. I'm just looking for information.”

  Carla and Stewart looked at each other. After a moment, Carla nodded to Stewart. He nodded back.

  “What can you tell me about the Snake Pit?” I said.

  The two teens shared another quick glance at each other.

  “How do you know about the Snake Pit?” Carla said.

  “Expert detecting.”

  “Okay,” Stewart said. “The four of us like to hang out at the Snake Pit sometimes. We dance, have a few drinks, smoke a little weed. Nothing heavy. Dude, it's not like we are drunks or potheads.”

  “We're just having a little fun,” Carla said. “School is so stressful. We just want to unwind. Blow off some steam.”

  “I assume you have IDs that are not government issued to gain access to the Snake Pit?” I said.

  Carla and Stewart nodded.

  “I'm not your parents –”

  �
�So don't try to be,” Stewart interjected.

  I held up my hands. “I'm not,” I continued. “But all I want to say is that the Snake Pit can be rough. A lot of bad people and bad things are associated with that place.”

  “We don't need a lecture,” Carla said.

  “Not a lecture,” I said. “Just sharing what I’ve learned from my years of experience dealing with some of the people who frequent places like the Snake Pit.”

  “Got it,” Stewart said dismissively.

  “You are aware that a man was murdered and his body dumped into the Snake Pit's dumpster?” I said.

  “Yeah, I heard something about that,” Stewart said.

  “It doesn't scare you?” I said.

  “Not our business,” Stewart said.

  Carla leaned forward. “They say it was the mob or something,” she said. “Like Stewart said, it has nothing to do with us.”

  “We've never seen any serious trouble there,” Stewart added trying to convince me, or perhaps himself, that the Snake Pit wasn't such a bad place to hang out.

  A bell rang and students began to clear their trays from the lunch tables.

  “Lunch is over,” Stewart said. “We need to get to our next class.”

  “One more thing before you go,” I said. “Do you have Aaron's address?”

  “I don't know, dude,” Stewart said.

  “I'm going to get it. Probably by the end of the day. You can save me some time.”

  Stewart let out a sigh.

  “I did buy you lunch and provide interesting table conversation,” I said.

  “Fine,” Stewart said. He gave me Aaron's address. I wanted to appear as a hip twenty-first century detective, so I typed it into my cell phone.

  “If you think of anything else, call or text me,” I said as I handed them each a business card. I thought they might be impressed with the quality of the card stock, but they just shoved the cards in their pockets. I guess it is harder to impress Hancock Academy students.

  The two got up from the table, dumped their trash, and placed their trays on a counter near the kitchen. I got up more convinced Tina was in a situation that would not end well if she didn't come to her senses. But I'd need proof to help convince her. I also had a sinking suspicion we were headed down a rabbit hole.