by Cynthia Raye
“I heard someone’s been murdered,” another person said.
“I’m sure of it,” someone answered.
“Maybe it was an accident. Maybe Mr. Hostetler had a heart attack or something.”
“Who was it?” someone asked.
Solomon pulled a small tablet from his shirt pocket and opened it. He read from the page. “The name is Sylvia Hawkins.”
There were more screams. Ronni noticed it was the sycophants. This time their shock was not exaggerated. They looked at each other and began to sob.
“That’s impossible,” one of the girls said. “We just saw her yesterday. She was fine.”
“Nevertheless…” Solomon said.
“What happened?” one of the students asked.
“Due to the circumstances, we are going to have to speak to each of you—students, faculty and staff—individually, to see if any of you can shed light on the… on the girl’s death.” He glanced from face to face. “So we are asking everyone to gather in the auditorium. We’ll call you to one of the conference rooms or classrooms to ask some questions.” He sighed. “It’s going to be a long day. Now, if for any reason, bathroom break or whatever, you have to leave the auditorium, you will be escorted wherever it is you’re going. And you’ll then be taken back to the auditorium. Understood?”
A boy Ronni didn’t know raised his hand. “What about lunch? I’m diabetic and can’t afford to skip any meals.”
Solomon looked to Hostetler. “What do you think? Can we arrange to have the students eat in shifts?”
“Certainly,” Hostetler replied. He singled out a woman standing near the back of the crowed. “Do you see any problem with that, Jeanette?” he asked.
The woman he addressed, Janette Johnson, was manager of the cafeteria. “Like you said, no different than any other day.”
“All right then,” Solomon said. “I’ve called the station, and anyone who’s free—any other officer—will take part in the interviews. Hopefully, that will speed up the process a bit.” Again, he glanced at different faces in the crowd. “Any questions?” he asked.
“That means there are no classes today?” a girl asked.
“No classes,” Kolonich answered. “When we’re finished with the interviews, you’re free to leave. Perhaps you will want to notify your parents that that’s the case.”
Devonte raised his hand.
“Yes, son?” Solomon said.
“So each of us can leave when you finish interviewing us?”
Hostetler spoke again. “I think it’s better if everyone leaves at the same time. That will cause less confusion, I think.”
“Good idea,” Solomon said. “That way if we want to follow up with anyone, they’ll still be here.”
The door to the front entrance opened, and several policemen came through.
“That all of you?” Kolonich asked one of them.
“There are a few others. They should be here very soon.”
“Okay, then. Everyone to the auditorium, and we’ll get things moving along.” He glanced toward Ronni, Hostetler, and Emma. “Now you three. I’d like to continue our conversation. If you’d be so good as to show me to one of the classrooms, we can continue.”
Ronni led them to the classroom she usually used.
Kolonich strode to the front of the room and sat on the edge of the desk facing the others. “Miss Miller.” He spoke to Emma.
“Yes?”
Ronni noticed Emma was still pale and her hands were still trembling. Poor girl. Even though things hadn’t been as great between her and Sylvia, they were friends. It had to be a terrible shock for her. Not that it wasn’t a shock to everyone… but especially to Emma.
“I’d like you to go over again the events of the morning up until you discovered your friend lying on the floor. I know you told us some of this earlier, but going over it again may help you remember details you hadn’t thought of earlier. When someone is highly affected emotionally—such as being shocked, as you were—that can easily happen. You aren’t able to think straight at first. Only later.”
“Well, Sylvia…” She started to sob.
“Take it slow and easy,” the detective said as he gave her a sympathetic smile.”
Emma tried to smile but couldn’t quite pull it off. “I’ll try.” She took a deep breath. “There was a big psychology exam coming up today. Covering a unit we just finished. Sylvia and are both in the class.” She looked toward Ronni. “Just like we’re both is Ms. Adams’ acting class.”
Ronni gave her an encouraging smile.
“Anyhow, we sometimes meet at my house to study.” She looked into the detective’s face. “Mornings before an exam. We decided against it because my little brother and sister were making a lot of noise—yelling and playing around more than usual.”
“Yes,” the detective encouraged.
“So I called and asked her about meeting at the school instead. The security guard usually opens the school a half hour or so before classes start. It’s just so kids can get together and study before an exam, or teachers can come in early if they want to make any preparations.” She hesitated, her breathing hard and uneven, what she was saying disjointed. “A lot of kids put off studying till the last minute. Not that Sylvia did that, or me either.” She stopped. “I… don’t know if I can do this,” she said. “It’s so awful.”
“Take you time. As long as you like.”
Emma looked at the detective for a moment and then nodded. “Anyhow, I called her and asked her about coming here. She said… She said that was fine. But we took different transportation. Sylvia took a taxi, while I rode the bus. She often does that because she says… I mean because she said she didn’t like to be all crushed together in the bus…” Her voice trailed off. “And she goes by herself because she says sometimes she just wants to be alone, doesn’t want anyone with her.”
“I see,” Kolonich answered.
“Because she took a taxi, she got here earlier than I did. But at the time I didn’t know that for sure, though I assumed she would.” Tears ran down her face as she struggled to go on. “The guard let me in, and I started to cross to the stairs. That’s when… That’s when I saw her. Lying on the floor. Not moving. I hurried toward her and called her name. She didn’t answer. I bent down and touched her shoulder. She didn’t— Oh, God, she didn’t move. That’s when I started to scream. That’s when Ms. Adams showed up.”
“I’m sorry,” Kolonich said. “If you like, we can finish later. I know you’re very upset.”
Emma shook her head. “No!” she said. “No! Let’s get this over with.”
“I have to ask you some questions.”
“What are they?” Emma asked.
“First, you didn’t see anyone else around when you saw your friend on the floor?”
“No, no one. We were alone. I guess Mr. Hostetler was in his office. He usually comes in early. But that’s all.”
“And you didn’t hear any unusual noises.”
Emma shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“All right. One final question for now… Do you have any idea who might have done this? Anyone who had a grudge against her? Anyone who was angry at her for any reason?”
Emma didn’t answer. She simply stared at the detective.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I can’t say. I just can’t tell you.”
“I don’t understand,” Kolonich said, his voice holding an edge of irritation.
“It’s because of the things she’s done to other kids, isn’t it?” Ronni asked. She turned back to Kolonich. “I believe Emma knows that Sylvia had a lot of enemies, or at least a lot of people who disliked her.”
Emma nodded. Her voice sounded weak. “I was… I was her only real friend.”
“Real friend? What do you mean by that?” Kolonich asked.
“It’s… I don’t want to say this. I don’t
…”
“But you know you have to tell me everything. Everything relevant.”
“Most of the kids disliked her. I guess she and I hung around together because we’ve always known each other. Our moms are best friends. We’ve been neighbors all our lives.” She started once more to sob. “All our lives. That’s awful. She’s dead. I can’t believe it.”
“Again,” Kolonich said, “we can postpone this until later.”
“I want to get it over with. I just want this to end.” Ronni handed Emma a tissue, and she dried her eyes.
“There are these other girls…”
“What girls?” Kolonich asked, “and what about them?”
“Okay.” She took a deep breath and told him about the group of girls who imitated Sylvia, who treated her with such deference. But they weren’t real friends. It was like…I don’t know…like some supreme being or something.”
“You don’t think any of them—”
“Murdered her?” Emma asked.
“Yes.”
“Why would they? She was like their goddess or something.”
“Nevertheless, I’d like you to give me their names.”
“I feel like a… a snitch or tattletale. But I guess I can.”
“We’ll get back to that later. But now do you suspect anyone in particular? Anyone who really had it against her.”
“A lot of people. The boy she pushed down the stairs, the kids she mocked. The name calling.”
“I see.”
Emma’s eyes took on a pleading look. “You don’t know how awful it makes me feel to say these things. Like I’m a traitor to her memory. Like she was such a totally horrible person.”
“You were close then?” the detective asked.
“We spent a lot of time together.”
“But emotionally.”
“She was my friend. That’s all I can say.”
Chapter 10
After Kolonich finished questioning Emma, he sent her to the auditorium with the understanding that they would talk later both about Sylvia’s pseudo friends and the students who might have a grudge against her.
Next he questioned Hostetler who seemed to know nothing about how Sylvia treated others.
Kolonich told Hostetler he was free to leave the classroom and could go to the auditorium or his office. Now it was Ronni’s turn.
“Okay, Ms. Adams,” Kolonich said and smiled. “This shouldn’t take too long.”
Ronni shrugged. “Good.”
“So can you tell me again about your meeting yesterday morning with Mr. Hostetler?
Ronni nodded.
“As I said, I overheard the kids in my acting class talking about Sylvia Hawkins—how she pushed a boy named Justin Sears down the steps. This was near the beginning of the school year. Anyhow, he just returned to campus yesterday—on crutches. He had a broken arm and a fractured pelvis.”
“And Sylvia Hawkins did this deliberately, you say?”
“Well, it’s not exactly what I said. I just heard this. I would assume it’s true, but it is second-hand.”
“Seems to me this boy might be a likely suspect. He must have been carrying a great deal of anger over the incident… if, as you say, it’s true.”
“But do remember that he’s temporarily disabled.” She frowned. “With the injuries he had, I wonder if he could even pick up the statute, let alone swing it at someone. Especially with the broken arm. And come to think of it, the pain it might cause in the pelvic area to swing the statue.”
“Sounds reasonable,” the detective agreed. “But still, of course, we’re going to have to question him.”
“Of course,” Ronni answered.
“And the others.”
“The only one I know about for certain is Millie Petrosky, also a member of my acting class. As Millie was coming down off the stage, Sylvia turned in her seat, her feet sticking out in the aisle, and tripped Millie, who stumbled but fortunately didn’t fall. Sylvia apologized profusely, and I assumed it was an accident till I heard the group of kids talking afterward. Then at the end of the school day, I found Millie huddled in a corner sobbing. I finally had her admit that Sylvia had been mocking her…calling her Piggy and saying,’oink, oink’.”
“I take it the girl’s overweight,” the detective said.
Ronni nodded. “She is… but I certainly wouldn’t call her fat. However, she is very sensitive about the extra pounds. This kind of treatment obviously humiliates her.”
“So you’re implying that she could be the murderer?”
“I don’t mean to imply that at all. I’m just telling you what happened.”
“All right. Anything else?”
“Nothing concrete,” Ronni admitted. “Just that this kind of behavior seemed to be a pattern of Sylvia’s. She found a weak spot in others—at any rate, according to what I overheard—and then homed in on it.”
“In other words, she was mean.”
“From what I hear, I guess you could say that.”
The detective shook his head. “Okay, that’s all for now.”
Ronni hurried back to her office. She wanted to call Peter, tell him what had happened. Quickly, she sat behind her desk and dialed.
“Ronni, is that you?”
“Yes.” She sounded breathless, even to herself.
“Is something wrong?” His voice was filled with concern.
“A horrible thing happened.”
“To you? Are you okay? I can be there right away. I have no more clients the rest of the morning.”
“I’m fine, Peter. It’s Sylvia Hawkins.”
“Did she do something else? Hurt someone or something?”
“Peter, I hate to tell you this. Sylvia is dead.” She felt a sob coming that she couldn’t stop.
“Dead! My Lord, how can that be?”
“Someone killed her./” Ronni was sniffing and reached for a tissue on her desk.
“An accident then?”
“No, Peter, it wasn’t an accident,” Ronni told him. “She was murdered.”
“You’re sure? I can’t believe it.”
“Yes, I’m sure. I got to school this morning and heard someone scream. It was Emma Miller.”
“Emma Miller? Who is that?”
“Sylvia’s friend, so to speak.”
“What do you mean? Did she do it?”
“No, no, no! That’s not what I mean. She was Sylvia’s friend, ever since they were toddlers, I guess. But it was more to please Emma’s mom than anything else. She and Sylvia’s mom are best friends.”
“The main thing is, are you all right?”
