#5 Dead Silence (Mike & Riel Mysteries)

by Norah McClintock

  I turned my back to them and got the stuff I needed out of my locker. Rebecca kissed me on the cheek, and we split up. I went to homeroom. I listened to the announcements. It was just like Riel had said—there were people at school that we could talk to if we wanted to. People who helped people deal with situations like this—or so they said.

  Everywhere I went that day, people were talking about what had happened. Lots of kids, especially girls who were all teary-eyed, said what a great guy Sal was. They were right about that. Sal was quiet and polite. He worked hard at keeping his grades up, even with all the hours he was putting in at his job. All of his teachers respected him for that—and for tutoring those special ed kids. When he told me he had signed up for that, I asked him if he was crazy.

  “You hardly have any time to hang out as it is,” I said.

  He just shrugged. “I like to help people, Mike,” he’d said. “It makes me feel good.”

  Me—I liked to hang out and relax, preferably with Rebecca. That made me feel good.

  Sal got along great at work, too. They liked him so much that over the summer he had been promoted to shift manager. He never got into trouble anymore and, to be honest, when we were younger and the three of us used to hang out together—Vin and Sal and me—he never got into half the trouble that Vin and I did. He was a good guy. He was nice to everyone.

  My stomach clenched up when I got to math class. Sal sat beside me in math. But for the first time this year, his desk was empty. Mr. Tran, who was my math teacher for the second year in a row, avoided looking at it. I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

  After math I had French. I sat behind a couple of girls who spent the time before the bell talking about the awful thing that had happened and what a nice guy they thought Sal was. One of them said maybe Sal was too nice and that he should have known better than to defend someone who was as trashy as Staci. Didn’t he know what everyone was saying about her, didn’t he know what Teddy could be like?

  I tapped her on the shoulder. “You say he was a nice guy and then you dump on him for acting nice,” I said.

  The girl—her name was Melissa—glared at me for eavesdropping. Then she said, “If you’re going to go up against Teddy, you should at least do it over something that matters.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. I guess my voice was pretty loud because the buzz in the classroom—you know, all the kids talking before the teacher walks in—all of a sudden stopped. “You didn’t even know him,” I said.

  As I was saying that, Monsieur Tétrault walked in. He glanced around the room and then focused in on the two girls and me.

  “Est-ce qu’il y a un problème?” he said.

  The two girls faced front. I shook my head, looked down at my desk, and didn’t say another word, not even when Monsieur Tétrault asked me a question. Who even cared about French, especially when someone you knew had just died? Especially when …

  I shouldn’t have bailed on Sal. I should have met him like I’d promised. I should have gone downtown with him. I should have just dealt with it.

  I caught up with Rebecca in the cafeteria at lunch-time, like always—well, except that Sal wasn’t there, too. We sat near the back, at one of the smaller tables. Kim and Luci came over and looked like they were going to sit down. But I glowered at Kim, and she hesitated, like she couldn’t decide what to do. Rebecca looked at me and then at Kim. For a minute I thought she was going to tell them to join us, but she didn’t. Kim and Luci went to sit someplace else.

  Rebecca and I just sat there. We didn’t eat, even though Rebecca had brought a lunch and I had bought a slice of pizza. We didn’t talk, either. Rebecca held one of my hands.

  I heard someone laughing at a table close to the one we were sitting at. It was a loud, annoying laugh, like a jackass braying. I glanced over Rebecca’s shoulder. The laughter was coming from Teddy’s table, which was twice the size of the one we were at. All his friends were sitting with him. They were laughing and horsing around and being five times louder than anyone else—as usual. It was like they had to be loud so that everyone would look at them and see what a great time they were having and think how cool they were—at least, that’s what it felt like.

  Then I heard someone at Teddy’s table—I’m not even sure who it was—say Staci’s name. Everyone laughed again, louder this time.

  That did it.

  I stood up.

  Rebecca grabbed my hand.

  “Mike,” she said. Her voice was soft, like she was warning me about something.

  I shook free of her and pushed my way through the chairs to where Teddy and his friends were sitting. I squeezed past people and between tables until I was standing over Teddy, who had curly black hair and sharp black eyes and was laughing harder than anyone at whatever it was that one of his jackass friends had said. I stood so close to him that he had to crane his neck to look at up me.

  “What?” he said, annoyed, like he was trying to get a tan and I was blocking the sun. He sounded pissy and superior all at the same time, and all of a sudden I could imagine how it had happened. I could imagine that smug look on his face as he said something smart-assed about Staci and made fun of the kids she tutored and the way they talked. I could imagine him saying stuff about Staci, too. He always did. I remembered how he had jabbed Sal up at his locker and told him to stay away from Staci or he’d be sorry, and I could imagine the hard time he’d given Sal out there on the street, too, when Sal had waded into the crowd and had taken Staci by the arm. I could see it playing out right in front of my eyes, like a video. And that’s when I did it.

  I grabbed the front of Teddy’s T-shirt with both hands and wrenched him to his feet. I heard his chair legs squeal against the tiled floor. I saw the look of surprise in his eyes as I yanked him toward me. I saw the shock of pain as my fist smashed into his face. Then more chairs shrieked against the tile, and the guys who were sitting around the table jumped up and a couple of them, it felt like, grabbed me from behind and pinned my arms to my sides and Teddy stepped into me, his nose bleeding, his hands curling into fists. Then I saw a flash of coppery hair. Rebecca. She was trying to get between Teddy and me. But someone—I think it was Sara D., but I’m not positive—pushed Rebecca. She lurched backward, tripped over something—I didn’t see what—and crashed to the floor.

  That did it.

  I started thrashing around, trying to wrestle free of Teddy’s buddies so that I could swing at Teddy again. Then I spotted Mr. Gianneris, one of the school’s vice principals, wading through chairs and tables and kids toward us.

  Teddy nodded at the guys who had pinned my arms at my sides, and they let me go. I went over to Rebecca, who was back on her feet and glowering at Sara D. Teddy’s two friends, the ones who had been holding me, retreated before Mr. Gianneris reached us, but Teddy stayed exactly where he was, blood running from his nose down over his chin and dripping onto his shirt. Boy, did that get Mr. Gianneris’s attention.

  “What’s going on here?” he said, looking from Teddy to me and back to Teddy again.

  I was sure Teddy was going to rat me out. Instead, he said, “I tripped. I hit the table on the way down.”

  Mr. Gianneris took a good look at Teddy’s face. He looked at Teddy’s friends. He looked around at all the other kids who might have seen what had happened. Then he zeroed in on Rebecca. Sweet, honest Rebecca.

  “Is that what happened?” Mr. Gianneris asked her.

  Rebecca glanced at me. So did Mr. Gianneris.

  “I asked you, Rebecca. I didn’t ask Mike,” he said.

  I didn’t care whether she told him the truth or not. If you hit another kid, it’s an automatic suspension. Depending on how hard you hit him and how much damage you do, it could even be an expulsion. But so what? The way I was feeling—being here, knowing how many people had seen what had happened, knowing that none of them had done anything—I didn’t care if they threw me out for good and I never saw any of them ever again. Well
, except for Rebecca.

  “It’s like Teddy said,” Rebecca said finally. “He tripped and fell.”

  Mr. Gianneris peered into her eyes. So did I, and was I ever surprised at how convincing she looked. I didn’t know Rebecca was such a good liar.

  Mr. Gianneris turned to Sara D., who glanced at Teddy and said she didn’t know what had happened, she’d been looking the other way. So did everyone else at Teddy’s table. They all lied. They all said exactly what Teddy wanted them to say. I bet they’d lied to the cops, too.

  “Fine,” Mr. Gianneris said, but you could tell that he didn’t think it was fine at all. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to Teddy. “Is it broken?”

  “I don’t think so,” Teddy said. He used the handkerchief to wipe away the blood.

  “Still, you should have it looked at,” he said. “Is anyone home at your house?”

  “My mother. She works nights.”

  “Go to the office,” Mr. Gianneris said. “Have Ms. Loomis call your mother.” Then he turned to me. “Report to my office, Mike. Stay there until I get there.”

  Teddy was sitting on a bench in the office when I got there. Someone—probably Ms. Loomis—had pressed a wad of tissues into his hand. The bleeding didn’t look so bad now. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

  “I’m supposed to wait for Mr. Gianneris in his office,” I told Ms. Loomis. She waved me back behind the counter. I went down the narrow corridor to Mr. Gianneris’s office and sat down on one of the chairs opposite his desk.

  I heard Mr. Gianneris’s voice in the outer office a few minutes later. He asked Teddy how he was. Teddy said the bleeding had stopped and asked if he could go back to the cafeteria. Mr. Gianneris said no, he had to wait for his mother. He told Ms. Loomis to let him know the minute she showed up. Then he came into his office, closed the door, and sat down at his desk. He leaned back in his chair, his fingertips pressed together, and stared at me for a long time before he finally said, “I’m sorry about what happened to Sal. We all are.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “You know we have grief counselors in the school today, don’t you, Mike?” he said. “Did you talk to them?”

  I shook my head.

  “These are people who understand what you’re going through, Mike. A lot of students have seen them today.”

  A lot of students? I wondered who. Who could possibly have felt even close to what I felt about what had happened?

  “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to one of them, Mike?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m sure.” Because, when you got right down to it, what would I say? What could I say?

  Mr. Gianneris studied me for a few moments. “I know what the situation was out there yesterday. I know how close you and Sal were,” he said. “And I know you’re probably thinking about him. So I’m going to let this go—this time. And I’m going to trust that you’ll let the police do their jobs. You hear what I’m saying, Mike?”

  I nodded. I knew he was trying to be nice and that I should be grateful. But I wasn’t. Not at all.

  “Okay,” Mr. Gianneris said. “You’re excused.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Riel didn’t get home until after I had made myself some supper. He parked out front instead of in the driveway and came into the house just long enough to say, “I’m sorry, I got tied up at work. Come on, let’s go and see Sal’s parents.”

  “Is there anything new?” I said as I followed him out of the house. “Did they find out anything yet?”

  “They did the autopsy this morning,” Riel said. “But that’s all I know so far.”

  The autopsy. I felt sick just thinking about it. I’d seen autopsies on TV. I didn’t want to think about Sal lying on a stainless steel table in some pathologist’s lab with Dave Jones watching while the pathologist cut Sal open and examined him. I didn’t want to think about the two of them talking about him—the pathologist telling Dave how it had happened and Dave asking questions that might help him with the case. Doing their jobs, the two of them. Doing it with Sal lying there.

  “Can’t you ask Dave what’s going on?”

  “I did, Mike.”

  “Can’t you help him? You used to be in Homicide. Everyone said you were good. And you know the school. You know most of the kids. Why can’t you do something?”

  “It’s not my job, Mike.”

  Right. He was tied up with other more important stuff, like local robberies and break-and-enters. Since he’d gone back to being a cop, he was always grumbling about how the city was going downhill, how drug addicts were stealing bikes and selling them for five or ten bucks and how so-called reputable bike stores were reselling the bikes as used for a hundred dollars or more. Or he was grousing about youth crime, like purse snatching and shoplifting, which was the main kind of crime he was looking into these days. Or vandalism and graffiti at construction sites around town, like that one down where the racetrack used to be, where kids like Teddy like to hang out. One night during the summer, Riel had even asked Susan what the world was coming to. It turned out someone had stolen some trees and flowers that some homeowner had just planted on his property. Riel got assigned to look into that.

  “The funeral is going to be on Monday,” Riel said. “Sal’s parents want to give some of their relatives a chance to get here.” Sal’s parents were from Guatemala. Sal still had relatives there. He also had relatives in the United States and in a few other countries. “Come on, we’d better get going. I know Sal’s parents will want to see you. I know it’ll mean a lot to them.”

  I’d been thinking about Sal’s parents on and off all day. I didn’t know how I could face them. It just kept eating at me and eating at me how it never would have happened if I hadn’t bailed on Sal at lunchtime. But I knew that going over there was the right thing to do, no matter what.

  The drive to Sal’s place didn’t take long—maybe ten minutes. We were quiet on the way. Maybe Riel wasn’t in the mood to talk. Or maybe he sensed that I wasn’t. Either way, I was grateful.

  Sal’s parents lived in an apartment in a low-rise building with one of Sal’s aunts. They used to have their own house, but they had to give that up when Sal’s father got sick and Sal’s mother’s job went from being fulltime to being part-time. But a couple of months ago, Sal’s mother had found another job—a really good one. Sal had told me they were going to stay with his aunt until his mother had put in six months and they were all sure her new job was going to work out. Then they were going to get their own place again, and Sal was going to go back to working part-time instead of nearly full-time. He’d been excited about that.

  My stomach was doing backflips as we approached the apartment building. Riel pressed the buzzer on the panel next to the main door. When someone answered—I’m pretty sure it was Sal’s aunt—he identified himself and said that I was with him. We were buzzed through.

  Sal’s aunt answered the apartment door when Riel knocked. Riel said something to her in Spanish. He spoke the language pretty well, but I didn’t understand a word of what he said to her. When Sal’s aunt stepped aside to let us in, I saw that there were a lot of people crammed into the living room and dining room. There were people in the kitchen, too, mostly women, almost all of them speaking Spanish. Riel nudged me into the living room, where Sal’s parents were sitting side by side on the sofa. Sal’s mother got up when she saw us. She spoke to Riel in Spanish. Then she threw her arms around me and hugged me tightly and told me how glad she was to see me. When I told her how sorry I was about what had happened, she started to cry. She hung onto me for another few moments. Sal’s dad didn’t look at me. He didn’t look at anyone. He just sat there on the couch with a blank look on his face, like maybe he didn’t even realize what was going on. He’d had some kind of mental breakdown. He’d been really sick, and it didn’t look like he had gotten better yet.

  After Sal’s mother let me go, I looked around to see who else had come. Mostly they were peo
ple I didn’t know, friends of Sal’s parents, I guess. But I spotted a couple of teachers and, oh boy, coming out of the kitchen with a tray of cups and saucers, Imogen. She had gone out with Sal last winter and spring. She’d been going out with him when Sal had seen three guys run out of a convenience store where the owner and his wife had just been shot. Imogen had made plenty of trouble for me over that. I guess she knew how I felt about her being there, because when she saw me, she almost dropped the tray she was carrying. But she recovered and made it to the dining room table. She looked at me again as she started taking cups and saucers off the tray and setting them onto the table, only now she didn’t look startled. Now she looked like she wished I would get lost. Then a teacher went to the table to get some coffee, and he said something to Imogen, and she nodded and handed him a cup. She didn’t look at me again the rest of the time I was there. She didn’t come over to talk to me, either, which was fine with me.

  Riel and I stayed for about half an hour. Before we left, Riel went over to Sal’s mother again and spoke to her again in Spanish. Then I heard him say, “Mike would be honored, wouldn’t you, Mike?”

  I gave him a blank look. Honored about what?

  “Maria wants you to be one of the pallbearers at the funeral,” Riel said.

  I turned to Sal’s mother. There were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling at me anyway. She said, “It would mean a lot to his father and to me.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Sure, okay.” Inside I was thinking about what it would be like to be right there beside the casket, knowing that Sal was inside.

  “I also asked Vincent,” his mother said.

  “You asked Vin?” I said.

  Sal’s mother nodded.

  Now I was confused. As far as I knew, Sal and Vin hadn’t talked to each other in nearly a year, ever since Robbie Ducharme had died and Vin had been charged in the case. And then there was that thing with the convenience store. Maybe Sal’s mother didn’t know how Sal felt about Vin.