"Of course," I said.
He smiled again.
"So, how may I be of help?" he said.
"I'd like to hang around the school for a time," I said. "Talk with kids in their free periods, in the library, that sort of thing."
"Really?"
I nodded.
"What would you be chatting about?"
"Last spring's shooting," I said.
"We are trying to put that behind us, Mr. Spenser."
"Don't blame you, especially when you're trying to raise money."
"That is an issue, certainly," Garner said. "But it is the well-being of the students that we are most concerned about. We cannot prepare them for college and a productive life with this terrible tragedy hanging ever over them."
"I understand," I said. "It is, however, an unresolved tragedy. I'm trying to resolve it."
"Unresolved?" Garner said. "How so?"
"We don't in fact know for certain what happened."
"We know that good people, many of them still children, were killed by two individuals who are in custody."
"We don't know why."
"And you think my students will know why?"
"Ever hopeful," I said.
President Garner wet his plump lips. He put his fingertips together in front of his chin.
"I'm afraid school policy will not permit it," he said. "I'm truly sorry."
"Who's in charge of school policy?" I said.
"Myself and, of course, the board."
"Of course," I said. "I bet that board is a collection of tigers."
He smiled.
"They are dedicated people," he said. "They care about the Dowling School."
"Isn't that ducky," I said.
"No need to be offensive."
"The hell there isn't," I said. "Everybody wants this to go away-you, the cops, even the parents of the alleged shooters."
"I believe they are more than alleged," Garner said.
"They are alleged until they are convicted," I said. "And that hasn't happened yet."
"That is something of an equivocation," Garner said.
"Normally, when everyone wants something to go away, it's because if it doesn't, it will cause them discomfort. Maybe you'll be revealed as a bad educator, or the cops will be revealed as bad lawmen, or the parents will be revealed as bad parents. And that will discomfort you all."
"I think that's about enough, Mr. Spenser."
"Almost," I said. "But I do want you to know that I am a carrier of discomfort. I am deeply committed to it, and I'm going to find out what happened."
"They killed people," Garner said. "Isn't that enough?"
"No," I said. "It's not."
"I'm ordering you to leave school property," Garner said. "If you return, I'll have you arrested."
I thought about saying "I shall return," decided it had been used before, and settled for walking out without a word and not closing the door.
Chapter 20
IT TOOK ME a couple of days of hanging around outside the Dowling School, feeling like a pederast, to find where the kids congregated after class. It was a place called Coffee Nut, where they could sit in booths and drink coffee and eat doughnuts and smoke and impress one another. The owners of Coffee Nut had obviously written off the adult market they might have originally planned on, and decided to commit themselves to adolescence. There was music I didn't recognize playing loudly when I came in. The place was half full, and everyone turned to look at me, as if I had violated a segregation law. Except that I was, of course, poised and debonair. Otherwise, I might have felt ill at ease.
There were booths along one side and in the back. A counter ran along the other side. I sat at the counter next to a couple of schoolgirls who were giggling and whispering, maybe about me. Oh, Spenser, you dashing rogue, you've still got it. The girls were wearing what I would eventually discover most Dowling schoolgirls wore: short, pleated skirts and sleeveless tops. One was blonde with a pink top. One was brunette with a white top. I ordered coffee, which took a while, because I had to reject a half a dozen special coffee drinks, which I also didn't recognize. There were two highschool girls in tan uniforms working the counter and an older guy wearing a tan overseas cap that said COFFEE NUT on it, who was making the coffee.
I turned and leaned my back against the counter. "You girls go to Dowling School?" I said.
"Yeah," Pink Top said and giggled. "You?"
"Couldn't pass the entrance exam," I said. "Everybody in here from Dowling?"
"Sure," Pink Top said. "'Cept them."
She nodded at the people working the counter. "You here last year when the shooting happened?"
"I guess so," the girl said.
They had thought it sort of fun to get into conversation with a large older man, especially because they were surrounded by friends. But now they were uncomfortable.
"My name's Spenser," I said.
White Top poked Pink Top with her elbow. "See," she said. "I told you it was him."
Pink Top said, "We had an assembly about you."
"Hot dog," I said.
"Mr. Garner said we weren't supposed to talk with you."
"Why not?" I said.
"Mr. Garner said you were trying to ruin the Dowling School's reputation, and if you succeeded, we'd never get into a good college."
"Do you believe Mr. Garner?" I said.
They giggled again.
"Royce the Voice," White Top said. "The People's Choice."
"May I take that as a `no, we don't believe him'?" I said.
"Royce is gross," Pink Top said.
"Or Groyce," White Top said, and they both giggled some more.
"What would happen," I said, "if he were right, and you didn't get into a good college?"
"My mother would kill herself," Pink Top said.
"My mother would call me a slut," White Top said.
"For not getting into a good school?" I said.
"She calls me a slut whenever she's mad," White Top said.
"You are a slut," Pink Top said.
"Takes one to know one," White Top said.
They both giggled some more.
"Did either of you know the guys involved."
"You know, casually. Say hi in the hall."
"Any thoughts on why they did what they did?"
The girls looked at each other for a moment. They were being asked to think.
"You know," White Top said, "what's amazing is it doesn't happen more often. You know? I mean, do you remember school?"
"I do," I said.
"Did you like school?"
"No."
"Good. It's all bullshit, you know. It's all the official pious crap."
"That's my memory of it," I said.
"So I don't know why they did it. But everyone's walking around, barely able to stand it, and"- she shrugged-"these guys went kaboom, I guess."
"Anything set them off?"
"I don't know," White Top said.
"You, Janey."
"No clue," Pink Top said.
"Anyone in here knew them well?"
"Guys at that table played football with Dell," White Shirt said.
"Grant," I said.
"Yeah."
Pink Top swung her stool all the way around, which, given the shortness of her skirt, was pretty daring, and said, "Hey, Carly."
She was too young to interest me, but she got Carly's attention.
"This is the guy old man Garner warned us about."
"No shit," Carly said.
She was not too young for him. He admired her legs visibly as he walked over.
"This is Carly Simon," Pink Top said. "This here is ... I forgot your name."
"Spenser," I said.
I took some cards from my top pocket and gave one to each of them.
"Name's Carl Simone," he said. "Everybody calls me Carly."
Carly was a prototype prep-school football player. He might even play small college ball, but would never b
eyond that. He was short and muscular with a thick neck. He probably weighed 160 pounds.
"Carly's the football captain," Pink Top said.
"Running back?" I said.
"Yeah. Deep back out of a pro set. We went seven and two last year."
"And Wendell Grant was an offensive lineman," I said.
"Left tackle."
"Know him well?"
"On the field," Carly said.
"And off?"
"Off," Carly said, "he was a creepy fucker."
He said fucker sort of aggressively, to see if I would react. I maintained my composure.
"How so," I said.
"He hung with all townies," Carly said.
"Dowling's a day school, isn't it?" I said. "Aren't you all townies?"
"We're all from around here. But there's the kids go to Dowling. And the kids go to the Regional."
"Which is?" I said.
"High Meadow Regional," White Top said. "It's in Mclwood."
"And you don't mix?" I said.
"Not much," Carly said.
"How about Jared Clark?" I said.
"Nobody knew him," Carly said. "That I know."
"He wasn't an asshole," Pink Top said. "He was just, like, not there, you know?"
"He didn't seem interested in anything the rest of us were interested in," White Top said.
"Anyone know him better?"
"Nobody I know," Carly said.
He looked at the two girls. They shook their heads.
"So where do the townies hang out?" I said.
"Place called the Rocks," Carly said. "Down back of the park, by the lake. They go over there, smoke some weed, drink beer."
"You ever been over there?" Pink Top said.
"Yeah, couple times. Bunch of assholes."
"Weren't you scared?"
"I go where I want to," Carly said.
"Did you witness the shootings?" I said.
All three shook their heads.
"We were on the second floor," White Top said, "Janey and me. They never got there."
"I Was in American history," Curly said. "We jammed the teacher's chair under the door handle to the classroom and everybody got down. They never came in."
"Thanks for your help," I said.
"Pleasure," Pink Top said. "Dork Garner isn't going to tell me who I can talk to."
"Me either," White Top said.
"I'm glad he tried," I said. "Worked out well for me."
"Bet your ass," Carly said. "We were so ready to talk to you if we got the chance."
"Okay, let's really sock it to him," I said. "Ask around. Anybody knows anything, you have my card."
"You're an actual private eye," Pink Top said.
"I've begun to have doubts," I said.
"You must be," Pink Top said. "Says so right on the card."
"Oh, thank God," I said.
Chapter 21
TWO DOWLING COPS were leaning on a squad car outside the coffee shop. One of them stepped in front of me on the sidewalk.
"Chief wants to see you," he said.
"Everybody does," I said.
There was a black Chevy sedan with tinted windows parked on the curb behind the squad car. A cop in plainclothes got out of the front seat and opened the back door.
"In here," he said.
I looked into the backseat. Cromwell was there. I slid in beside him, and the plainclothes cop closed the back door and opened the driver's door to get in.
"Wait outside the car," Cromwell said.
The cop closed the door and went and leaned with the two uniforms on the squad car in front of us.
"This mean you like me?" I said.
Cromwell was wearing his big, terrifying pearl-handled revolver. I felt honored. Cromwell ignored my question. Probably felt it was frivolous. He looked at me with his eyes half closed. It was supposed to make my blood freeze.
"Optics are amazing, aren't they?" I said. "We can see out fine through the tint, but people outside can't really see us much."
"Shut up," Cromwell said.
The eyes behind the rimless glasses narrowed some more. I squinted back at him.
"Hard to see, isn't it," I said, "with your eyes three quarters shut."
"This is your last chance," Cromwell said finally.
"It is?"
"After this, it gets very rough."
"Oh," I said. "That's when."
The front windshield wasn't tinted. Through it, the three cops leaning on the squad car could look in at us.
"You might get hurt bad," Cromwell said, "resisting arrest."
"Gee," I said, "maybe this doesn't mean you like me."
"Do I make myself clear?" Cromwell said.
"Actually," I said, "I'm a little murky on some things. Like when your guys arrived, why did they secure the perimeter and stay there while the shooters inside kept shooting?"
"It was a hostage situation. Anybody knows anything about policework knows you don't go charging into a hostage situation."
"But it wasn't a hostage situation. It was serial murder in progress."
"We had no way to know that," Cromwell said.
"The sound of gunshots inside didn't suggest anything?" I said.
"Besides, it might have been booby-trapped."
"But it wasn't," I said.
"We had no way to know that, either."
"So you didn't go in."
"We weren't going in until we had proper intelligence and appropriate backup."
"You're telling me," I said, "you didn't go in because it might not be safe?"
"Goddamn it, that's not what I said."
"It is what you said; it's just not what you wanted me to hear."
Cromwell's voice had gotten hoarse as we talked.
"We contained it," he rasped. "Goddamn it, we contained it."
"You were scared," I said. "And you didn't know what to do. And there are some kids dead who would be walking around today if you'd gone in there sooner."
"You sonovabitch," Cromwell croaked.
He took his big pearl-handled revolver and started to point it at me. I took hold of the barrel before he leveled it and bent it back so the gun was pointing at the roof of the car. He struggled to level it. But I held it there. So we sat, sort of frozen in place. The three cops out front glancing through the windshield couldn't see much in the backseat, and whatever they saw didn't look like trouble. They stayed where they were.
"Let go," Cromwell said, "or I'll shoot."
"You're a small-town police department. You never saw anything like this before. You had no hands-on experience. You were scared. So you hunkered down and waited for the Staties."
"Let go," Cromwell said.
His voice was so thick, he seemed to be having trouble squeezing his words out.
"Okay, it was a fuck-up," I said. "And it cost lives. But it was sort of an understandable fuck-up, unless it was one of your kids got killed."
"Let go."
"It's the coverup that's going to kill you," I said.
Cromwell didn't speak. He had taken hold of his gun with both hands and was trying to force it down enough to point it at me. He couldn't. Then he tried to pry my fingers off the gun barrel. He couldn't.
Through the front windshield, I saw the three cops at the squad car turn their heads to stare at the coffee shop. I looked out the back in the same direction. The kids had come out of the coffee shop to see what was up. They stood in a ragged row on the sidewalk, watching.
I was holding his gun barrel with my left hand. I shifted slightly in the seat and, with my right hand, punched him in the crotch. He gasped and doubled over and I took the gun away. While he gasped against the pain, on the seat next to me, I snapped open the cylinder, took out the big .45 slugs, closed the cylinder, and put the empty gun back in his holster.
"You been hit in the balls before," I said. "You know the pain will pass. While it's passing, let me hold forth for a moment. I am going to find out what happened and why
and where they got the guns, and how they learned to shoot, and then we'll see. I am going to share my concerns with the State Police Homicide Commander in Boston, guy named Healy. If he doesn't hear from me every day he'll be out here looking for me, and he'll know who to ask."
Beside me, Cromwell, still bent over, had started taking deep breaths.
"That aside," I said, "I got no reason to embarrass you. I will leave you out of anything I can, as much as I can, unless you're guilty as hell ... or unless you annoy me."
Cromwell slowly straightened. His shoulders were still hunched, and he kept his hands over his groin, but he was sitting more or less upright.
"Where's my bullets," he said.
I handed the six big bullets to him. He took them and made no move to reload.
"I don't want trouble with you," I said. He didn't look at me.
"But remember one thing," I said. "YOU don't want trouble with me, either. It might work out well if we gave each other a good leaving alone."
Cromwell still wouldn't look at me. I waited a moment. He didn't say anything. So I got out of the car. The three cops looked at me carefully. Several of the kids started to clap, and most of them joined in. I gave them a V -for-Victory sign. Cromwell never moved from the backseat.
Pink Top said, "You go, Big Daddy."
"I do," I said.
And did.
As I strolled off down the street toward my car, with the plaudits of the crowd still ringing in my ears, I had a sort of tense, targety feeling between my shoulder blades.
I'd had it before.
Chapter 22
I HAD A DATE for a drink with Rita Fiore in the late afternoon at the Ritz Bar on Arlington Street. It was raining again, and the cars on Boylston Street had their headlights on early as I walked down from my office with my raincoat collar turned up and my Pittsburgh Pirates cap tugged down over my forehead. People were leaving work, and the sidewalk was a moving jumble of umbrellas. With my natural agility, however, I was able to avoid injury. Rita was at a window table when I got there.
"Why are you wearing a black hat with a P on it," she said.
"Pittsburgh Pirates," I said. "Goes with my raincoat."
Rita was drinking a martini. She had already ordered me a scotch and soda, which sat waiting. I took off my hat and coat and put them on the floor and sat down in front of the scotch.
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