The Codebook Murders

by Leslie Nagel

  “The entire cheer squad was questioned when Regan went missing, and again after her body was found.” Charley touched the photo. “If any of them had known anything, surely they’d have told the police. We could ask Kendall, but that would mean revealing that we’ve decoded some of the journal. I’d rather keep that under wraps, at least for now.”

  “Do we think it’s important?” Heddy asked.

  Frankie frowned. “That’s just it. When we’re on a case, it’s not always obvious what’s important and what’s just random noise.”

  “One thing’s for sure.” Vanessa riffled the pages of the yearbook she was holding. “No way would these things make suitable keys for a book cipher. There are hardly any words on most of the pages.” She slotted it onto the shelf. “This was a waste of time. Let’s go find Mr. Hard Knocks and see what he knows.”

  Frankie fished her buzzing cellphone out of her pocket. “It’s Afiya. Hey, girl. I’m putting you on speaker.”

  “Hello, my friends.” Afiya’s low, melodic voice filled the room. “I have the information you requested, Charley. Like all the others present in the cafeteria that day, Harding Knox claims he did not know what the argument between Regan and Merritt Vance was about. Unfortunately, there is little else in his official statement aside from very general personal data.”

  “You don’t say.” Charley glanced at the others. “Harding never mentioned that he was dating the victim?”

  “He was?” Afiya’s voice rose in excitement as pages rustled. “Charley, this important fact is not included here. Does this mean Harding Knox lied to the police?”

  “Sure sounds like it to me.” Charley felt a tingle, the adrenaline rush that came when she had a solid lead to follow. “Great job, Fee. We’ll see you soon.”

  Frankie ended the call. “Okay, before we get too excited, bear in mind that people lie to the cops for all sorts of reasons. Just because Harding kept mum about dating Regan, it doesn’t necessarily mean he killed her.”

  “He might have simply wanted to avoid attracting attention to himself,” Heddy suggested.

  “Or suspicion,” Vanessa added darkly.

  “Whatever his motive, we now have two good reasons to chat with Harding Knox,” Charley decided. “Mystery Club, let’s go question our newest suspect.”

  Chapter 12

  After replacing the yearbooks and making certain the office door locked behind them, the four women descended to the first floor and headed toward the science hall. They retraced their route along the deserted corridors of the hundred-year-old building, the only sound the squeak of Frankie’s sneakers on polished tile.

  They came to the proper turning, but just as she was about to follow the others around the corner, a movement caught Charley’s eye. Through the glass exit doors at the end of the corridor, she caught a glimpse of Merritt Vance climbing into a dark blue SUV with the gold logo of the Oakwood Schools on the door. He revved the engine and roared off down Schantz.

  “Someone’s in a hurry,” she commented. “I wonder what that old buzzard is up to.”

  All the science classrooms were dark and closed except one. Halfway along the shadowy corridor, light streamed into the hallway, and as they approached, faint sounds of running water and clinking glassware could be heard.

  “Hello?” Charley knocked lightly on the door frame and stepped inside. “Mr. Gleason?”

  She was immediately assailed with the pungent aromas of bleach and formaldehyde. The heady mix conjured vivid memories of her time in this biology lab, with its slate-topped worktables, the row of fish tanks gurgling and bubbling along the back wall, the glass-fronted cabinets filled with gleaming equipment. New additions included an enormous projection screen mounted in the front of the room and a rolling rack of silver Chromebooks in one corner.

  Frankie pointed to a table in the front. “That’s where we sat, Carpo.” She slid out one of the tall wooden stools. “Oh, my God, my initials are still here!”

  “That’s a week’s detention, Miss Cartolano.”

  They turned to see a short, stocky man emerge from a doorway at the far end of the room, a large glass beaker in each hand. His thick mane of hair and full beard were as white as the baggy lab coat he wore over a dress shirt and khaki slacks. Despite the heat, his blue and gold tie was carefully knotted. Lively hazel eyes twinkled behind thick glasses with clear plastic frames.

  He chuckled at Frankie’s stricken expression. “I expect the statute of limitations has expired on that bit of sabotage, young lady.” He turned to Charley. “Miss Carpenter. I’ve read about your exploits in the papers. Very impressive.” He looked inquiringly at Heddy and Vanessa, and Charley made the introductions.

  Robert Gleason placed the beakers carefully on a cabinet shelf, then shut and locked the door. He paced to the front of the room in the deliberate way Charley remembered and began methodically washing his hands. “I assume you’re here about Regan Fletcher.”

  They all gaped. “How did you know?” Charley managed, wondering if the entire city knew what they were doing.

  He turned off the water and began drying his hands. “Trying to keep today’s students off their cellular phones is like trying to stop the sun from rising. Besides, it’s summer school.” He winked. “I pick my battles.”

  “PJ—Priyesh Konduru—told you about Regan’s journal,” she guessed.

  “Not directly.” Gleason wadded the paper towel and dropped it into the trash. “Mr. Konduru is a bright young man, very promising. He completed today’s lab in half the allotted time, then asked for permission to use one of those laptops. I reminded him about the district policy against surfing the Internet, but he didn’t want to go online. He merely hooked his cellphone to it and began viewing a series of images. I checked to be certain there wasn’t any objectionable content, which was when he told me they were pages from a journal you’d found in the service tunnel under Schantz Avenue.”

  “You know about the tunnel?” Vanessa interrupted.

  Gleason’s thick white brows rose. “It’s not a secret, young lady. As I was saying, the pages were written in a numeric code, and the boy stated that you’d tasked him with deciphering it. After about fifteen minutes, he became quite animated and shouted, ‘It’s a book cipher!’ ” The teacher smiled. “Quite an Archimedes moment. Maybe someday he’ll have one about his actual coursework.”

  Charley returned his smile. “He told us about his discovery.”

  “If you already know what he found, why are you here?”

  “We were actually looking for Harding Knox,” Frankie clarified. “Ms. Magellan said he might be working with you today.”

  Gleason’s eyes widened. “Really? If you want Harding, then I assume he’s also connected to this Fletcher matter in some way. And if that’s true, it throws an interesting new light on his behavior.”

  “What did he do?” Heddy asked.

  Gleason slid his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. “Harding was indeed assisting me—checking on students’ work, answering questions, making sure no one sliced off a finger. Dissection labs require a great deal of direct supervision, and since the elementary schools don’t have a summer term, he’s helped me often over the years. Naturally, he’d also observed Mr. Konduru’s little project. Harding stood staring over the boy’s shoulder for so long, in fact, that I had to prompt him to return to his duties. He kept wandering back over, however, and when Mr. Konduru made his pronouncement, Harding’s reaction was strong—he dropped a student binder, causing pages to spill everywhere. He helped the student to reassemble it, but I could see how agitated he’d become. A few minutes later, he mumbled some excuse and disappeared, leaving me with a roomful of students and all the cleaning up.”

  Charley turned to the others. “At the risk of jumping to conclusions, I can think of one excellent reason he’d rabbit out of here. He’s got
that box of stuff for Regan’s memorial, and he thinks the book key is in there. If there’s something incriminating about him in Regan’s journal—”

  Frankie interrupted her. “He could be destroying the book key right now!”

  Gleason was regarding the four of them with concern. “The murder happened my second year on staff here. What a terrible thing, the most horrific event in all my time at Oakwood.”

  With a start, Charley realized that this man was another witness to those long-ago events. “Were you there that night? At the Homecoming game against Valley View?”

  “Of course. I never miss a Lumberjacks game. Sometimes I work the players’ bench, helping with injuries or just providing another adult presence. However, I’d broken my leg the week before, so they parked me up in the booth. I spent the evening helping to announce the game and track players’ stats.”

  “Did you have a cast?” Vanessa asked pointedly.

  “A big, heavy plaster one.” Gleason smirked. “So, no, Ms. St. James, I didn’t leave the stadium, rush to Smith Gardens, and kill Regan Fletcher.”

  Undaunted and unapologetic, Vanessa answered his smirk with her fiercest grin. This old geezer wasn’t her former teacher.

  As Charley pictured the announcer’s booth, she was struck with an idea. “You had a real bird’s- eye view of the action. Did you see Regan leave the game early, or whether anyone followed her out of the stadium?”

  “I’m afraid not. As I told the police at the time, the stats keeper must watch the game very closely. But after that final kick split the uprights…” He sighed. “What I remember most is the singing.”

  “Singing?”

  Gleason’s gaze became distant. “When the crowd swarmed onto the field, the band went along, too. Nevertheless, they managed to play ‘Stand Up and Cheer’ two or three times. Everyone screamed and sang and hugged one another. Then they started playing the alma mater. With the first few notes, a nearly total, almost reverent silence fell. Car horns had been honking, but somehow, they knew to stop. There wasn’t a sound to be heard for blocks around except for that music. Then everyone—and there were hundreds of voices, you understand—everyone began to sing. We sang every word. It still chokes me up to think about it. Oakwood has never had another night like that one. Especially after…well.”

  He blinked and returned to the present. “Harding Knox was a diligent, if slightly irritating, student. He was lab partners with Regan, lucky for her. He did all the work, and she took half the credit.”

  “That might explain why she went out with him,” Frankie murmured, “when she was supposedly still in love with Carter.”

  Gleason turned to her in surprise. “Regan and Harding dated? If I’d had any indication they were a couple, I would never have permitted them to partner in my class. Not only were their interactions during lab strictly business, but the idea of the two of them is just so unlikely.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Well, Harding was…” He hesitated. “To be frank, the kid was a nerd, chubby and awkward and annoying. Regan was the quintessential high school princess. Beauty and the beast, you might say. Still, if what you say is true, it goes a way toward explaining what happened to him. After her death, Harding exhibited many of the signs of an incipient nervous breakdown: he lost weight, became easily agitated, showed a new hypersensitivity to loud noises or to being touched. He was openly hostile toward other students, reacting almost violently to my attempt to assign him another lab partner.”

  Gleason’s expression became somber. “I felt at the time his grief was extreme, even given the circumstances. I understand better now. It was difficult to watch, knowing I couldn’t help him.”

  “Was Kendall one of your students?” Charley asked.

  He nodded. “She was in an afternoon section. After her brother’s arrest, she took a leave of absence. When she returned, she was a walking ghost, even more shaken than Harding. The school counselor met with Kendall and then advised the faculty on how we could best support the girl. Apparently she worshipped Carter. His imprisonment was almost too much to bear, yet somehow she managed to come back, complete her senior year, and graduate with her class. It’s been good to see her doing well. Now two of my former students are colleagues. Isn’t life strange?” Gleason’s smile faded. “Harding is responsible for fourth-graders. Ten-year-old children. Is he involved in Regan’s death somehow?”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out.” Charley hesitated. “We don’t have proof of anything, nothing to take to the police, but—we need to get inside his house, and we need to do it quickly.”

  “We’re breaking in?” Vanessa cracked her knuckles. “I’m ready.”

  “We are not breaking in,” Charley said flatly. She turned back to Gleason. “You have an idea of what’s at stake. Will you help? We’re only going to get one shot at this. Can you tell us anything about him that would help us convince him to invite us in?”

  “Invite us?” Heddy looked confused. “Why do we want him to do that?”

  “If he asks us to come in,” Charley explained, “it’s not technically a home invasion.”

  Vanessa laughed. “Now who’s thinking like a criminal?”

  Gleason thought a moment, then walked to the rear of the lab. The last in the line of aquariums was covered with a towel. He removed it, revealing three white rats scurrying around in a bed of wood shavings.

  “Harding suffers from suriphobia.” At their blank expressions, he explained. “Suriphobia, also known as musophobia, is a pathological fear of mice and rats. I have to cover these little guys whenever he’s working in here.”

  After a beat of silence, Charley turned to her friends. “Rats live in sewers, right? Storm drains? Drains that carry rainwater from big, scary storms?”

  Frankie’s eyes danced. “Oh, that is evil.”

  “What’s evil?” Heddy asked, still clearly at sea. “What are we doing?”

  “He’ll be begging us to come in.” Vanessa sounded gleeful.

  “He will, if I can come up with a way to sell it.” Charley glanced at her watch. “And that takes time. We’ve got to get moving. Frankie?”

  Frankie had been tapping at her cellphone. “On it. Okay, he lives on Ivanhoe, right behind the Community Center. House, not an apartment.”

  Gleason had been observing their exchange in silence. Now he smiled broadly. “Always nice to reconnect with former students. Stop in anytime.”

  As they turned to go, Charley spied a row of plastic bins lining the rear shelves. Several were labeled SAFETY EQUIPMENT. She stared, a plan taking shape in her mind, one so improbable that it just might work.

  “Mr. Gleason? Could I ask one more favor?”

  Chapter 13

  The knocking came again, a loud banging that rattled the front windows of his house. Harding Knox nearly jumped out of his skin at the unwelcome noise. Cursing under his breath, he wiped sweat from his face and up into his receding hairline, plastering the brown strands to his skull. Damn this power outage, he thought angrily. What was the city doing about it? Without AC he’d never be able to sleep up here tonight.

  More banging. With a final, despairing glance at the items he’d been examining, he made certain the door to the back bedroom was securely closed, then hurried down the stairs toward the front door, which was now shivering under repeated blows.

  “Just a second!” Harding peered through the sidelight, but he could see only an arm and a leg dressed in unadorned white. Some sort of uniform? He fumbled with the lock as the banging continued. He yanked the door open. “What the hell is so—”

  He stopped, gaping at the sight that confronted him. Three figures—two slender, one short and potbellied—stood shoulder to shoulder. They each wore white coveralls and opaque hair coverings that looked like pale green shower caps. Their faces were almost completely obscured by green pla
stic safety goggles, remarkably similar to the ones they used up at the high school. Two of the white-suited figures had plastic tanks strapped to their backs. Plastic tubing led to long copper wands topped with a spray nozzle. They gripped these in rubber gloved hands, wands held across their chests like rifles at the ready. The central figure, the tallest of the three, cradled something against his—her?—chest that remained partially hidden by those bulky rubber gloves.

  Just as he was about to slam the door in their faces, a fourth figure stepped forward, an older woman with a pleasant, kindly face. Her silvery hair had those repulsive purple streaks the kids were so crazy about these days, but she’d pulled it into a conservative bun. She wore a white lab coat over a black blouse and flowing black skirt. In her hands were a clipboard and pen, and it was these familiar, everyday items, badges of bureaucratic authority, coupled with her serene, reassuring smile, that caused Harding to hesitate.

  “Mr. Knox?” she inquired politely. “Thank heaven we’re in time.”

  Harding blinked. “In time for what?”

  “Why, to save your home from certain destruction. May we come in?”

  Her statement was so outlandish and unexpected, he could only stammer, “What…who…how…?”

  Rather than answering, she stepped aside, and the taller white suit stepped forward, revealing what had been concealed by those gloves. It was a small cage. Inside the cage was a tiny, foul creature, white with sharp scrabbling claws and beady red eyes, eyes that stared at him with malevolent intent.

  Harding recoiled in horror. “Get that away from me!” He tried to close the door, but the cage bearer blocked it with a shoulder, that dreadful cage now held up and out at eye level.

  “The heavy rains have flooded the storm drains all over town, Mr. Knox.” The older woman tapped her pen against the clipboard. “Rats and mice, sir. Millions of them. They’re coming up through the plumbing! Invading people’s homes! We’ve had to evacuate three families on this street already. Your foundation sits a good two feet below either of your neighbors’, making it an ideal egress for—”