by T W Morse
I follow by relaying my entire visit at the Gallant house to Hannah. I even tell her about the cat; she thinks that is funny.
She, in turn, tells me about her situation outside. How she couldn’t wait any longer when she saw O’Leary’s car pull in, sending me several texts. But she couldn’t wait around and do nothing, so she proceeded to take the chance of knocking on O’Leary’s door. When she walked up, she could see the figure in back digging, giving her the best opportunity to distract to O’Leary, getting him out of the house so I could hightail it out of there!
“Any ideas who the person dressed in black was? Why dig up O’Leary’s yard? This must mean he’s not a suspect. Right?”
“No, he could’ve still killed Mr. Wright. The digging could be unrelated. It’s probably other students that O’Leary pissed off in the past, and they’re seeking revenge by messing with him.”
We stop our hushed tones and quickly put the framed picture under the table when Mrs. Reyes peeks around the corner. She brings over two enormous sticky buns, gingerly saying, “Thought you two could warm up with these.”
Since I first started dating Hannah, her parents have not stopped feeding me. I’ve hung out a lot at the cafe before and was never fed. At this rate, I’ll be 300 pounds by summer. I don’t know where Hannah puts it all; her metabolism is unmatched.
“Thanks, Mama!”
“Thank you! You’re such a great baker, Mrs. Reyes!”
“Thank you, Ulysses, that’s what we’re here for. So what are you guys up to?” Mrs. Reyes has Hannah’s same stern, inquisitive look.
“Nothing, Mama!” Hannah replies, giving her a get-lost look.
“Okay, okay.”
“Mama, is it okay if I have dinner with Mr. Adair and Ulysses tonight?” Hannah says with a little twinkle in her eyes.
“No problem. You guys have fun.”
“We’ll give her a ride home, Mrs. Reyes,” I say quickly as she slips back to work.
“I finally got a text from Conrad. He said he’s doing okay. He and his mom are making all the arrangements for the wake. He told me we could talk more there,” I say.
“That’s good! Poor Conrad,” Hannah says before whipping out her phone and rapidly typing with her thumbs.
“What you doing?” I mumble with a huge bite of the glazed sticky bun filling my mouth.
She cocks her head at my eating habits, rolling her eyes. “I’m searching for the name Gallant,” she says confidently. “I’ve tried several searches, around Gallant. I’m now trying the address and their name.”
She freezes and her eyes grow wide as her hands start to shake.
“Hannah, what is it? What did you find?”
“Look — at this!” she says, her voice shaking.
I scoot my chair next to Hannah, and she shows me her phone screen. An article from the Somerset Daily News brightly lights our reading nook. The article is titled, “Hurricane Home Invasion!” It is dated 11/6/90. I look at Hannah, shocked. This is only five months after the picture was taken.
“Read it!” she beckons.
I quickly skim the following: “Late Friday night during Hurricane Luis, the city of Somerset was beaten down, causing millions of dollars in property damage. As the hurricane raged, the Gallant family, led by their patriarch, Toby Gallant, were all killed in what looks like a home invasion.
“Sheriff’s deputies report Mr. Gallant; his wife, Samantha; and their twin children, Helena and Hayden, five years old, were all brutally stabbed to death during the peak hours of Hurricane Luis.
“The sheriff’s department has no suspects. The sister of Samantha Gallant, Sally Gibbins, who was also the children’s godmother, is wanted for questioning but cannot be found… Mr. Gallant was a successful corporate attorney with the GG&W law firm and was one of Somerset’s most charitable residents.”
The article continues on about Toby Gallant’s philanthropy work. We continue reading a follow-up article from the newspaper’s archives, which presumes the sister, Sally Gibbins, is dead and no longer a suspect, and it explains the case went cold, with no further investigation.
We look at the picture, pointing at the women.
“Sally was the darker-haired woman. The prettier one must have been Samantha Gallant and the children, Helena and Hayden,” Hannah says, slowly pointing and studying each figure in the picture. “How awful! They never found the murderer?” Hannah says in disgust.
“Why did they stop the investigation? They were such a prominent family!”
“Maybe the hurricane washed away any evidence.”
“It seems like the investigation just stopped! The follow-up article is only a couple weeks after the hurricane. The police just don’t stop an investigation that quickly.”
“Another 1% murder,” Hannah says nonchalantly, as she puts her head on my shoulder.
I sit up straight and her head bounces off me. “They must be linked!”
“What?” Hannah said.
“Mr. Wright’s murder and the Gallant murder must be linked! Both men were corporate lawyers, both wealthy, and both stabbed!”
“Almost thirty years apart — that’s a long time between murders!” Hannah quips.
“I know, but both murders have to be connected. There are too many similarities,” I eagerly say.
“Should we contact the police? Tell them what we found and overheard?” Hannah says, placing her head back on my shoulder.
“Not yet. We need more evidence. They wouldn’t believe two teenagers, especially that tool Detective Brute. I do think we should tell my dad. Mr. O’Leary is somehow involved. Dad will know what to do,” I say confidently.
“Ulysses, we may be in danger. What if the murderer finds out what we know? If it is O’Leary, he may already suspect me or even you!”
“I won’t let anything happen, but we cannot tell anyone. My dad is the only one I want to bring in right now, until we find more evidence.”
I take the picture from the old frame, taking picture of it with my phone. I then find a book to hide it in. I take the dictionary from the Penny University bookshelf behind our table and place the picture inside on the page with the definition of murder.
Just then, I hear something around the corner. Hannah and I look at each other; she looks scared and is staring at me with a blank white face. I quickly whip around the corner trying to surprise any possible eavesdroppers.
Our private nook is in the far corner of Penny University and not many customers come over here in the late afternoon. Nobody is there. I only see the bathroom doors several feet away.
I decide to take the empty frame with me, pretending it is still full, just in case someone saw me take it from the Gallant house. The bookcase obstructed the view of any eavesdroppers as I manipulated the picture, so he or she would not have seen anything then.
I then retreat back to Hannah and the reading nook, breathing heavily, shaking my head back and forth to notify her no one was there. We both look at each other and know what the other is thinking: Someone was there — someone was spying on us!
CHAPTER 22
- LOGAN -
IT'S A TRACKSUIT INTERROGATION
A white BMW convertible pulls into the small parking lot at the Somerset House of Pizza where Bob and I are — not patiently waiting.
Bob is perseverating and I am unfortunately at the receiving end. Bob is asking me every silly question that comes to mind. He can’t calm down. “Logan, how much do Walmart employees make?” Or, “Logan, do you think Dick’s Sporting Goods is hiring?” Even, “Logan, how long can you collect unemployment from the state of Florida?”
“Jesus, Bob! You’re not going to get fired for what these kids did or didn’t do. Relax!” I say, irritated.
“Logan, you’re right. Man, you’re a good friend.”
“It’s okay, man. We'll get to the bottom of this — no worries. Okay?”
“Okay,” he responds, still unsure of the situation.
“Let me do th
e talking with these boys. Okay?” I say, thinking Bob may end up either throttling them or crying on their shoulders — or both.
“Sure thing, boss; no problemo,” Bob says smiling, which doesn’t feel reassuring. He is wearing a new tracksuit; I’d never seen him in this one before. It is bright fluorescent yellow, and in the Florida sun he looks like a big banana. If he thinks we look incognito, think again.
The BMW is nice; it looks new with all the dealer upgrades available. Probably a birthday present from one of their rich parents. In Somerset, I wouldn’t be surprised.
Terry and Jack, two seniors who hover at six feet five inches, get out of the BMW like it is a circus clown car, making them look even taller. Both Bob and I hover at six feet and feel very tiny next to these two young men.
Terry is getting out from behind the wheel. He’s a strong, strapping, seventeen-year-old with dashing good looks right out of a CW melodrama. Jack on the other hand, has red hair and major acne. He’s more of a follower, especially when it comes to Terry. Both come from major money. Terry’s parents, I believe, are in pharmaceuticals and Jack’s parents are living off an extensive trust fund. They look worn down but still move towards us with that Somerset swagger only teens in this town have. We thought that speaking by the cars would help to make it look like we weren’t interfering in a school and police investigation.
Bob greets both of them with an obnoxious fist and elbow bump secret handshake that only Bob could create. I just wave. It takes them a few moments to acknowledge my presence. I once was their teacher, but I definitely take a backseat to their coach.
“What’s up, Coach?” Terry starts. “Can’t believe we lost to Everglades High!”
Bob shakes his head in disgust, “We really needed you guys last night. What’s the dealio?” Bob’s trying to sound twenty years younger, which never helps.
Bob’s already talking and asking questions, going against what we agreed on.
Jack finally speaks up, “Coach, you got to believe us, we're innocent!”
“The school set us up!” Terry adds in disgust.
“Why do you think the school set you up?” I ask, concerned.
“We’re innocent. They found some bags of marijuana in both of our lockers! It wasn’t ours! I swear,” Terry blasts to both of us.
“Calm down; I think we can help, but we need to hear everything,” I add.
“The lab results just came back. My dad has a friend in the county lab and sped up the results. We both tested negative!” Terry proudly confirms.
“But they are continuing on with the suspension, and we have an expulsion hearing this Thursday. They are trying to peg us with possession with the intent to distribute,” Jack says, choking back his nervousness.
“Take me through what happened. Don’t leave out anything,” I instruct.
“Why? Mr. Adair, what is in this for you?” Jack quips.
“Mr. Adair is on our side. He wants to exonerate you guys,” Bob defends.
“I’m getting a feeling your suspensions are connected to Conrad’s father's murder.”
“Damn!” Jack exclaims.
“How? Why?” Terry adds.
“I don’t know. It just is too many incidents and coincidences around that basketball game. I don’t believe in coincidences. Tell me what you know,” I add.
Terry looks at Jack. They both shrug.
Terry starts, “There is not much to it. We both got a call at home on Saturday morning.”
“It was Principal Barron,” Jack adds with a glance back at Terry.
Terry looks irritated at being interrupted and continues on, “He asked for my parents and me to come down to Mangrove High. Explaining they got an anonymous tip we were selling drugs out of our lockers. Which is absurd! I’ve smoked some weed in the past but never would during the season, Coach! You believe me, Coach?”
“I know, man, I know. We believe you,” Bob interjects.
I look at Bob, frowning.
Jack continues the story, “When we both arrived, that new hot assistant principal, Ms. Clifton, and Deputy Diaz both waited for us. We showed them our lockers. Ms. Clifton had us open them.” Jack stops as he gets a little choked up.
“They found several ounces sitting on top of our folders. I don’t know how the hell it got there!” Terry finishes for Jack.
Both boys look nervous and worn down.
“My parents were so pissed! First at me, but then, when I tested negative for drugs, they called their lawyers. We are going to sue Mangrove for all it’s worth!” Jack says in a vicious voice.
I did not think him capable of such malevolence.
“Why would we be dealers? We have a five grand monthly allowance!” Jack adds.
Bob whistles loudly and looks at me with a confused face. My face also looks surprised. Jack’s right. What would be the purpose of dealing? They would have so much to lose and nothing to gain.
“Do you guys have any enemies? Anyone that wants you two to fail?” I ask.
They both shake their heads.
Bob adds, “Everglades High! They may have done this to make sure we lost to them.”
“I doubt anybody there would go to this length to frame your two best players.”
“Did anyone have your locker combinations? Past girlfriends, other players, anyone?” I add.
They take a few moments. “No, only the office,” they both say in unison.
“Are you absolutely sure?”
They both nod after thinking for a few more moments.
“Coach, Mr. Adair, can you help us? We only have until Thursday. Our hearing is set for Thursday; they will decide then if we can graduate this year. We may have to finish our credits at home with a private tutor!” Terry says.
“If anyone can help, it’s my man Adair,” Bob reassures them.
I look surprised. “One last question. After your lockers were searched, what happened next?”
“Deputy Diaz and Ms. Clifton marched us into the office. Deputy Diaz took us into the office to meet with Principal Barron while Ms. Clifton left,” Terry answered.
“It was only the deputy and Principal Barron?”
“Do you think you can help us, Mr. Adair?”
I think for a long moment and look at Bob, who gives me a puppy dog face, making his eyes wide like he wants a treat or a scratch behind his ears. “I’ll try my best. Don’t mention our discussion with anyone! We both can get into trouble investigating this.”
Both boys shake their heads in agreement. They shake my hand vigorously, then they do their secret fist and shoulder bump with Bob again before zooming away in the BMW.
“What are you thinking, Logan? I know you got something brewing!” Bob says, making his huge forehead wrinkle with excitement.
“Nothing yet. I’ve got to investigate more. I’ve got a couple of scenarios in my head, but I cannot prove them yet. We cannot make assumptions without more data!” I add.
“Okay. Where to next?” Bob says as he gets into my Prius.
“Mangrove High. I want to check something out.”
“Won't it be crawling with cops investigating Mr. Wright's murder?” Bob looks at me, continuing his wide-eyed expression. If he keeps this up, his eyes will pop out.
“Why would Terry and Jack sell drugs? That’s the real problem that’s getting hard to swallow,” I say. “Like they said: They get a huge financial allowance. They drive a sports car. Sports scholarships are in their future. It just doesn’t make sense!”
Bob grunts in agreement, “Mmm, hm,” as we zoom over to Mangrove High in my Prius.
CHAPTER 23
- LOGAN -
THE DETECTIVE IS A REAL BRUTE
B ob and I slowly pull into my parking space, 221, at Mangrove High School. We can see a couple of the sheriff’s deputies parked at the other end, near the gymnasium. Hopefully, we go unseen.
“Logan, what do you expect to find here? If we get caught, we could be pulled in for questioning. Dude, we’d be f
ired, guaranteed!”
“Calm it down, Bob!” My Maine accent is starting to come through with my frustration at Bob, so calm sounded more like “Caaalm.” The parking lot is empty except my little silver Prius. I turn to Bob in the car. “I know it sounds crazy, but we need to get into the office today, while nobody is there.”
“Why the office?” Bob asks inquisitively.
“We need to look at the personnel records.” When I say this, Bob only looks more puzzled.
“Logan, why do we need to look at the personnel records? Terry and Jack don’t have any files in there. It sounds like a waste of time.”
“I want to look at Principal Barron’s personnel file. He said he was a business partner with Mr. Wright. Something in his file could provide more information about this.”
“He did? When he say that?” Bob asks, feeling a little out of the loop. I proceed to tell Bob everything from the fight Ulysses overheard to Barron’s conversation with me before the deputies arrived at the mechanical room.
“Say what!” Bob is dumbfounded.
“I also think the frame job of Terry and Jack is linked to the murder last night of Mr. Wright,” I add to Bob’s confusion. His face squinches, visually expressing his confused state, until it looks like it is going to blow from overload. “Call it a hunch, but things haven’t felt right since Friday. Things have been weird. Something in my bones is telling me to look into the files in Mangrove’s office. I don’t know if it’s Barron or something else.”
“Okay, but breaking into the office? We may get caught!” Bob’s voice squeaks. “I don’t want to go to prison, Logan. NOPE! — NOPE! I can’t help you!”
“Come on! You’re the one who got me involved in the first place,” I plead.
“I got you involved to help clear Terry and Jack, so I can win again. I mean, we can win again! I didn’t sign up to break into the office while the damn sheriff’s right there!” Bob says pointedly, while throwing his arms about in convulsions.
“Bob, I think the two incidences are connected. I think Barron played a role, and worst, I think this is about something bigger. I need your keys to get into the school.”
