by T W Morse
“I remember Mr. Wright putting a blue paper into his suit jacket last Friday when he argued with Principal Barron. Does that mean he got it from Barron? Or was showing it to Barron?”
They all shrug.
“I found more information on Guss Leoni,” Hannah says gleefully.
“What is he wanted for?” I ask.
“This report says he’s a crime boss out of New York City, and he’s wanted for smuggling, murder, kidnapping. Wow! You name it, he’s done it,” she says. Her demeanor quickly changes to gloom. “I just read an update. He’s dead. But it does list known associates.”
She starts to list them off her phone while Dad and I type rapidly on our phones. Thankfully, Penny University has good Wifi.
“He has two associates listed. First, Michael Taban.” Dad and I search Google for a picture.
“I found him!” I proclaim. “Will you look at that. Another match. He’s wanted for similar crimes and is also a big crime boss from NYC.” Michael Taban was thick looking man with a cue ball head sitting right next to Toby Gallant in the picture.
“He’s vile,” Hannah expresses. “His other associate listed here is — ”
Before Hannah could finish, Dad pipes in. “Gio Mecoli?”
“Yeah. How did you know?” Hannah says shocked.
“I googled Michael Taban and found a news report of him and Gio being murdered two weeks ago. Michael was also wanted for smuggling and was a crime boss in New Jersey and New York.”
He points to the picture of an older wrinkled man sitting in the booth on the other side of Mr. Wright. As he says this, we all feel dread seep through our bodies.
“Everyone in this picture is — dead?” Mr. Nelson nervously asks.
“No, not everyone. Who is this last man sitting at the end of the booth next to Toby Gallant with the creepy eyes? It’s like they are following you,” Hannah says, shaking off a chill.
“I don’t know, but these men died recently. Leoni died the week before the other two,” I add. “Dad, look! Taban the T, Mecoli the M, and Guss Leoni is the L. The mafia clients of Mr. Wright and his partners Gallant and Gibbins are all dead,” I comment wearily.
“Is someone bumping these mob bosses off? Taking them to the mattresses,” Mr. Nelson says, half-jokingly but then soon realizing the reality of his words and swallowing hard.
“Why would three mob bosses be in the same photo with their three lawyers?” I say flatly.
“Why would the three lawyers be working together? And have their own business card?” Dad adds. I can see Dad is working hard to mentally put all the pieces together. I haven’t seen him in such deep thought for a while. His eyes narrow, wrinkling his forehead.
“How and why is this happening way down here in Somerset?” Hannah says.
“I don’t know. I mean Gallant had a home here in Somerset thirty years ago and now Wright. Or, at least, he did have a home here,” I say, trying to comfort her and trying to connect the dots myself.
“It seems like when we get close to answering a question, two more pop up in its place,” Hannah says dejectedly.
Dad finally breaks from his trance. “No, I think we are making great strides. We just have a few more pieces to fit together and then this case will be solved.”
“What? How? Why don’t we go to the police with what we got then?” Bob asks eagerly.
Dad answers in a confident, but cautious tone, “Not quite yet. Soon though — real soon.”
“I’ll get everyone another cup of joe,” Mr. Nelson says, trying to be helpful. As soon as Mr. Nelson gets up from the table, someone around the corner runs away, bumping into our waitress, sending her tray in the air and crashing on the floor.
We all cringe from the loud bangs and sound of glass breaking. It makes me think of Dad’s story of how he met Mom.
I look around the corner, since I was facing that wall. Dad looks over his shoulder, concerned. We both get up, along with Mr. Nelson. We help the waitress pick up her spilled tray.
“Are you okay? What happened here?” Dad asks the waitress. It was Lisa Nance, one of Dad’s old students.
“Hey, Mr. Adair. Thanks. No, I’m fine.” She sounds a little shaken. “Some woman was creeping around the corner. I think she was trying to eavesdrop on your table, Mr. Adair. All of a sudden, she turned on her heel and ran hard into me. She didn’t even say sorry because she continued on out the door.”
“Did you get a good look at her?” Dad inquires.
“Yeah. I guess. She had really short brownish hair, mid-fifties — I think. She was wearing big black sunglasses,” Lisa says as she finishes cleaning and then leaves us to attend to her other customers.
Dad turns to us with a ghostly white face and nervously says, “I think we may be in danger.”
CHAPTER 31
- LOGAN -
I DIDN’T LIE TO THE SHERIFF. I ONLY LIED TO THE DEPUTY
U lysses looks back at Hannah. They look a little spooked. “Dad, why do you think we’re in danger? Because some woman was listening in on us? Come on!”
“Yo Logan, it was probably a reporter,” Bob adds nervously.
“That was no reporter! Let’s reconvene tomorrow at my house,” I suggest before Bob heads home. Ulysses says his goodbyes to Hannah, and we head home ourselves.
The ride home starts off silent, but quickly changes when Ulysses asks, “Do you think someone is following us? Come on, Dad.”
“I think so. I don’t want you and Hannah looking into this murder anymore. It’s too dangerous. If the killer found out we were investigating him, then who knows what would happen to us. Especially since the mafia could be involved!”
“Why give up? I thought you said we were close,” Ulysses adds dejectedly.
“I know. I know. But I can’t put you guys in any danger. I’m going to bring what we have to Deputy Diaz in the morning. Hopefully Diaz and Detective Brute can make sense of everything and finish the job. Promise me you and Hannah will stop investigating Mr. Wright’s murder.” Ulysses is about to respond, but nods in agreement. We stay silent as we pull into River Creek.
The next morning is pretty uneventful. The carpool is shorter than usual since we don’t have to pick up O’Leary. Bob seems a little rattled. He is probably thinking mob bosses are hiding behind every corner, about to bump him off like in the movies. Sam tries to make small talk, but I’m too lost in thought to join in. I am running through the events of the last few days in my mind.
I can’t believe it’s only Wednesday. It feels like weeks have passed since Mr. Wright’s murder, but it has only been a few days. Terry and Jack have their expulsion hearing tomorrow morning. I know that case is connected to the murder; I just have to prove it. I know I told Ulysses that we would back off this case, but I only meant that he and Hannah should back off, just in case of any danger. We need to get this case solved, and if I hand it over to the police now it would take too much time for them to catch up. I have a couple of scenarios in my mind as to what may have happened, but I have to fill in some of the gaps and verify some facts. That’s the true purpose in wanting to meet with Deputy Diaz.
When I arrive at Mangrove High, I head straight into the office. Ms. Simmons is busily typing on her computer and does not notice me approaching the office counter. Ms. Simmons only started here last summer, but she has become a fixture here at Mangrove, always so helpful to the teachers. I don’t know why Ulysses can’t stand the sight of her. Yes, she is old and frail, but as I explained to him, the elderly just get set in their ways.
Ms. Simmons looks up, startled. She rips her bifocals off, so she can see me better with her large green eyes.
“Ah. Mr. Adair,” she says in a frail voice, making me feel a little guilty that she has to do all the duties in the office since Mrs. Lafayette has been out sick with the flu. “What can I do for you?” Ms. Simmons asks.
“I’m here to see Deputy Diaz. Is he in?”
“Oh yes. I hope it isn’t urgent! We have had enou
gh drama around here,” she comments, making a clicking sound with her tongue.
“Where is the administration?” I notice their doors are open and the rooms are empty.
“Mr. Barron is home sick,” she says with the side of her mouth slightly twitching. “Ms. Clifton out on school business,” Ms. Simmons finishes, smiling at me, exposing her mouthful of dentures.
I thank Ms. Simmons and walk behind the office counter to Deputy Diaz’s office. I knock first, hear him say “Come in,” and close the door behind me.
Jose Diaz, a mid-thirties dark skinned Venezuelan, sits in his dark green sheriff's deputy uniform behind a small desk. Files are laid upon his desk in every direction, and more are stacked in the corner by his file cabinet. His office is stuffy, but pictures of his children and his wife personalize the space.
“Logan! How goes it my man!” Deputy Diaz greets energetically, but he quickly remembers the previous day’s events, and the black cloud currently around the school, and continues more soberly. “Hey, how you holding up?” he asks, getting up now and shaking my hand.
“Fine,” I reply.
“How about Ulysses? Finding a murdered body is something that will stay with you.” When he says this, he looks out into a corner of his office and zones out for a minute.
I break his reflective moment. “Jose. I have information about Donald Wright’s murder,” I say in a hushed tone.
Deputy Diaz shifts in his seat. “Si?”
“I’ve been looking into his murder.”
“What!” Deputy Diaz exclaims, sitting bolt upright.
I put my finger over my lips giving him the universal sign to stay quiet. “I think Principal Barron is somehow involved in Donald Wright’s murder.”
“How do you know this?”
I explain what Conrad told Ulysses and Hannah, while adding how we found the picture on the wall with the three mob bosses and their lawyers. I also reluctantly add the connection to O’Leary’s house and how he was now living in the Gallants’ home. I also add the detail about the holes being dug by a person in a black mask.
Deputy Diaz takes in what I say, nodding and making notes in his pad. “So why do you think Principal Barron is involved? Nothing you have told me links Barron to Wright.”
I am hesitant to share that I got a copy of his personnel file, listing the GG&W law firm as his reference. I only let Deputy Diaz know what he had admitted to me on the night of the murder. He and Donald Wright were once business partners. I know I should share everything, but if Deputy Diaz knew I broke into the office and made copies of our principal’s personnel file, I’d be fired for sure.
He frowns at me and starts to breathe through his nose more than his mouth, creating a loud, uncomfortable atmosphere. “I have to report this to the sheriff and Detective Brute,” he says reluctantly. “You think this was a mob hit?”
“Maybe. It’s definitely mob related,” I add.
“Wow,” Diaz says, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair.
“Question: Did you, by chance, go to the Wright mansion?” I ask.
“Ah — yes. Detective Brute said I should go since I knew Conrad from school. Why?”
“I think you could get a promotion if you do what I say.”
“I’m listening,” Deputy Diaz says, leaning forward against his desk.
“You could start with the picture hanging in Wright’s beach house. You could say you remembered seeing a familiar face in that photograph. You could say you remember one of the men from the picture on the FBI’s most wanted page.”
“We thought Wright was dealing with shady characters, and when we interviewed Conrad, he did mention the blue letter you just mentioned. What jewels?”
“I don’t know.” Yet, I add to myself. “If you put this all together, and report your findings to Detective Brute, they’d promote you in a heartbeat.” I also show him Wright’s business card. “There are more of these hidden in his desk.”
“We did find these and followed up on them. We aren’t complete idiots,” Deputy Diaz says, smiling.
“What were your findings?” I eagerly ask.
“Less than you found. We didn’t find out anything about the initials on the card, but we did trace the connection of Wright to the Gallant family murders. Detective Brute is licking his chops. He thinks if he uncovers Wright’s murderer, he may also solve the Gallant murders.”
“What did you find out about Gibbins on the card?” I add anxiously.
“We only found out about this woman named Sally Gibbins. She was presumed to have been murdered with the Gallants. Oh, and she was Mrs. Gallant’s sister and the children’s godmother. Do you think she was also a lawyer to these mob bosses?”
“I don’t know, I thought you guys would know. Anything more?” I say.
“No. Nothing. Logan, you know I can’t share information from an ongoing police investigation.”
“It’s not a ‘I scratch your back, you scratch my back’ kind of thing,” I say smiling.
“Ah — no! No more amateur investigating! If Detective Brute found out, he’d lock you up for obstruction of justice. Not to mention your teaching career would be in the toilet.”
“I know. No more. I promise. Can you do one more thing for me?”
“Yeah, sure, as long as it doesn’t break any laws,” Deputy Diaz says, half-jokingly.
“When you investigate these mob bosses, and dig deeper into the Gallant connection, can you please cross-reference with the people at school? Start with Barron, but it may be deeper than that. I think you should check others that work at Mangrove: O’Leary, Clifton.” And I tell him about the lockers of Terry and Jack and how Ms. Clifton is the only other person with the combination.
“Logan, I know some teachers often don’t get along with their administrators, but man, you're taking this to a whole new level. I also don’t see how you can jump so easily from the drug charge of two students to the murder in the mechanical room of our gymnasium,” Deputy Diaz says chuckling.
“Just promise me,” I plead.
“Sure, sure, I’m going right now. Don’t worry; let the real police take care of this.”
CHAPTER 32
- ULYSSES -
PROMISES CAN BE BROKEN — A LITTLE
“M
y dad said we shouldn’t investigate the murder anymore,” I say to Hannah, feeling dejected. We have just sat down to lunch and she has inquired as to what my dad believes our next steps should be. “Dad’s worried about the mob connections and thinks we should stop and let the police do the investigating.”
“I understand that. He’s just looking out for us,” Hannah responds.
We sit in silence as I pick at my mac and cheese. Mangrove’s lunches aren’t the most appealing. I guess school lunches across the country are all about the same. School today was a lot like the last few days — blah. Mr. O’Leary was non-confrontational, students are slowly forgetting about the murder and gossiping about me and Hannah finding the body less and less. Things are slowly getting back to normal.
“Your dad didn’t say we couldn’t investigate Terry’s and Jack’s drug charges,” Hannah says, breaking the silence.
“I guess. Yeah, you’re right. That wouldn’t break Dad’s trust, and maybe we could find the connection to the murder,” I add.
“So, where should we start?” Hannah asks.
“Well, it seems like if Terry and Jack are in fact telling the truth, then we should start with Ms. Clifton. She’s the only other person with the locker combinations. I’ve got an idea!”
We both get up from the table and throw our lunches away. We are too excited to eat anyway.
“Where are we going?” Hannah asks as I take her hand.
“The office. I want to ask Ms. Clifton some questions.”
We both head into the office, holding hands. Ms. Simmons sees us immediately and chides, “No PDA!” in her frail elderly voice.
“We’re just holding hands, Ms. Simmons,” I expla
in.
She narrows her wrinkling face at us and stares at us with her wide, green, beady eyes. This causes me to immediately drop Hannah’s hand.
“How can I help you two?” she asks.
“We were wondering if we could have a chat with Ms. Clifton,” I tell her.
“You two are out of luck. Ms. Clifton is away on school business,” Ms. Simmons proudly explains.
“What school business?” Hannah asks.
“None of your business, Ms. Reyes,” Ms. Simmons retorts in a rude tone, her eyes growing wider. We both leave the office no better off than when we entered.
“Well, that got us nowhere!” Hannah comments. She then whispers, “Hey, your dad took those pictures of Principal Barron’s personnel file. He also took pictures of Clifton’s. Didn’t he send them to your phone?”
“Yeah. He forwarded them to me,” I reply, smiling with confidence at Hannah.
We find a bench near my dad’s classroom. His room looks empty; he’s probably eating lunch with Mr. Nelson.
I open my phone to the pictures Dad took and find Ms. Clifton’s personnel file. Hannah puts her head on my shoulder as we scroll through Ms. Clifton’s resume and references. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” I say to Hannah.
We read that she attended a small college in Georgia. She was a P.E. teacher for eight years before getting her master’s degree at the same Georgia college and she interned at the same school. “Peach City High. We should give them a call.”
“Why?” Hannah asks.
“To see what they know.” A number is listed and I quickly try it, but I get a “beep, beep, beep — this number is not a working number, please hang up and dial again.”
“It doesn’t work.” I try again with the same result. “That’s weird,” I say as Hannah furiously searches on her phone for Peach City High.
“Maybe they changed their number. I’m going to try this number.” She finds the school and clicks on the contact us icon. It is ringing.
