He shrugged, hefted the firearm. “Not much weight to it.”
“It can do damage—”
“That it can.” He spoke more to himself than to her, examining the gun as he talked. “Bullets go in but don’t always come out. Especially when you’re talking about head shots, the ammo entering dense, solid bone like the cranium. Mostly…they bounce around, turning the brain to hamburger with each pass.”
Cindy said, “You’re making me nervous.”
Joachim looked at her as if he had suddenly become aware of her presence. He lowered the gun, stuffed it back into her purse, and threw the purse on the bed.
It took all of Cindy’s strength not to make a quick grab for her bag. But she managed to resist the urge.
Joachim said, “You like guns, let me show you some real weapons.”
He removed a movie poster. Behind it was a safe. A few quick spins of the dial and the door popped open. He pulled out a revolver.
“You want real protection, you should be carrying something like this. Know what it is?”
“A Smith and Wesson thirty-two caliber Saturday night special. Snub-nosed front. Easy to pack, easy to carry—”
“I’m impressed—”
“Put it away, Joachim—”
“My parents…” He cleared his throat, stared at the gun. “Like I said, they’re weird people. They’re not white. supremacists, but they do subscribe to a certain…pioneer mentality. The each-man-for-himself kind of thing. Their idea of fun is playing survivalist. I spent many a summer in arid, isolated mountains, hundred-degree heat, munching on roadkill and squeezing water from cacti with cracked hands.”
“That’s awful.”
“Yeah, it was pretty bad. Still, I preferred the summers to the freezing winters in the Great Divide. While my classmates went skiing, I pitched a tent on snowpacked ground in twenty below.” He paused. “Oh, we had heat…little sterno things that prevented frostbite. But as far as being like…warm…or even just cold…”
His face was expressionless.
“I don’t know. Made me strong, I guess. Sure as hell made me a crack shot.” Joachim stared at the revolver. “One thing I like about these suckers…they never jam.” He put it back in the safe, then pulled out another weapon.
“Unlike this. Bet you know what this is.”
“A Beretta semi-automatic. Eleven rounds.”
His eyes locked with hers. “Preferred weapon of policemen…people like Peter Decker.”
Cindy felt her stomach drop. She said nothing.
“Suppose you’re wondering why I brought that up.”
“I’m a bit curious.”
Joachim said, “Our phones are hooked up to a central computer. Any one of our ten terminals can give me an instant list of outgoing calls made from this number. When you made your phone call, I checked it against the computer’s backward directory. I suppose you know what that is.”
“How’d you get hold of one?”
“Survivalists have their ways.” Joachim paused. “Of course, the directory only told me the name. Peter Decker. It didn’t tell me he was a cop. But I read papers, Cindy. Mass murders in this area aren’t everyday occurrences. Lieutenant Decker was quoted a lot. I’m a top-ranked Scrabble player. Remembering words, even proper names, is something I do naturally.”
Cindy’s eyes traveled to her bag. Joachim caught it. “Go ahead. Pick up your purse. Pick up your gun. I won’t stop you.”
“You have a Beretta in your hands. That stops me.”
Joachim put the gun back in storage. Eyes boring into her face. He said, “You’ve been after me since the beginning of the tournament. From the moment you looked at me, I knew something was up. Because girls don’t look at me that way. Especially older…attractive girls who are college graduates. You think you were being subtle, but you weren’t. Still, I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Because I enjoyed talking to you—”
“Joachim—”
“Just save it, okay?”
Cindy became quiet.
The teen said, “You’re using a floppy bag purse. You hook it over your shoulder. I can’t quite make out the outline, but I can see it’s weighted down by something heavy and inflexible. That, combined with the phone call to Lieutenant Decker…I just knew it was a gun.”
He sat down on the bed, averted his eyes.
“You’re obviously a cop. What I can’t figure out is why you’re spying on me. This can’t be a police matter ’cause I haven’t done anything.” He stared at her. “Maybe you’re moonlighting. Did Krieg send you? Is he paying you to do this to me?”
Cindy tapped her foot while stalling for time. Trying to come up with something. “Paying me to do what, Joachim?”
“To torture me! Because I refused to take the SAT for him. Idiot doesn’t realize they have proctors checking out things. I should screw up my entire future to get the asshole into the Ivies?”
Think of something quick, you jerk! She blurted out, “But you’ve taken the SAT for other people—”
“That’s an outright lie!” Joachim’s face had turned beet red. “Who told you that? Where are you getting your information? I’ve never taken any standardized tests for anyone. Think I’m crazy?”
And then the lightbulb went on.
Sometimes it pays to be smart.
His racket! Sam had told her about an envelope passed through the open window of his car. Cindy said, “How about for Sean Amos? You took the SAT for him—”
“Never—”
Cindy fired out, “But you’ve been writing essays for him, haven’t you? For him and Krieg and all the others. We know this for a fact, Joachim. So there’s no sense denying it!”
The boy had turned ashen. He whispered, “Who’s…we?”
Cindy balled her hands in fists, eyes glued on the boy’s face. She lied, “Joachim, I’ve been hired by your school to root out cheaters—”
“Oh, God!” Joachim moaned out.
“They’ve hired me to get to the bottom of all this deception. It’s been a black mark on the school—”
“I’m gonna be sick!” He beelined for the bathroom.
Cindy felt her own stomach rock. It was now obvious how Joachim had kept the rich boys off his back and earned bread. Money for tutoring, money for homework. And money for term papers and essays. The big question was…did he do other more heinous things for cash as well? Cindy wasn’t ready to write him off as completely innocent. Not just yet.
The boy came out a moment later, his complexion gray, eyes and nose leaking water. “Sorry about that.” He smiled weakly. “Not too good for a survivalist, huh?”
Cindy handed him a can of Coke. “Drink.”
“I’m not—”
“Drink!”
Joachim took a tiny sip. “Did the school hire you as part of a general crackdown? Or was this specifically against me—”
“Let me ask the questions.” Cindy tried to appear official. “If you hope to get out of this, I’d better have some cooperation—”
“Whatever you want.”
“Let’s start at the beginning. Tell me about Sean Amos.”
“What about him…specifically?”
“How long have you been doing his work?”
Joachim’s voice was a whisper. “Maybe four years ago.”
“Four years ago?”
“Yes. For him, for Krieg, for Denny, for all of them. How do you think I got the assholes to leave me alone?”
“And you charged them money to do…what?”
“Homework, essays, science projects, you name it.” Joachim looked at her. “And yes, I charged them money.”
Cindy asked, “How much?”
Joachim said, “Depends. Everything was negotiated.”
“Is that why you were talking to Sean Amos in the parking lot of the school about a month ago? An envelope was given to you by Sean Amos. Were you negotiating a price for something?”
“A month ago?” Joachim sighed. “
I haven’t the faintest idea what I was doing a month ago.”
“It was on a Tuesday. You talked to Sean…rather, Sean talked to you. Then you left, put notices in the local bookstore about the Scrabble tournament—”
“God, you people are thorough.” He paused. “Who exactly do you work for?”
“Just answer the question, Joachim!” Cindy barked. “Why were you talking to Sean Amos?”
Joachim said, “A month ago…honestly, I don’t remember. I could look up the date in my daily planner—”
“Go ahead. Do that!”
Joachim took a leather pouch from his desk drawer. From it he removed a small electronic device. Turned it on and began pushing keys. “A month ago, Tuesday…”
He paused.
“Here we go. Yeah, we had an English assignment. A three-page paper on comparing and contrasting the English versus the American Transcendentalists. Could be I was talking to Sean…about it…offering to help him out—”
“Cut the crap.”
Joachim stiffened. “Look, Cynthia Cohen, or whatever your name really is, all I do is write a damn paper. And then I show it to him. If he chooses to put his name on it, is that my problem?”
“It’s called plagiarism—”
“Is it any different from looking up the information in an encyclopedia?”
Cindy said, “And when you talk to Yale’s Office of Admissions, you can tell them just that—”
“What do you want from me!” Joachim cried out. “Please. I swear I’ll never do it again. Please, please, please. My whole life depends on this. Just give me another chance—”
“What else do you do for Amos?”
Joachim’s eyes darted in their sockets. “What do you mean?”
Cindy picked up her bag. “He ever hire you to help him out in other ways?”
“What other ways? What else would I do for him? I hate the son of a bitch! I hate them all. Fucker bastards. Fucking users.” He laughed bitterly. “Literally, as well as figuratively.”
Cindy’s brain started racing. Computer users? No, jerk, the other kind. Users as in drugs. David Garrison’s OD. “They indulge, do they?”
“Boy, do they—”
“You ever buy Sean’s drugs for him?”
Joachim’s eyes got big. “If he told you that, he’s lying! Guy’s a fucking liar!”
“Just answer the question—”
“No!” Joachim said. “No, no, no. I’ve never bought drugs for Sean or anyone. I don’t do drugs. I have nothing to do with drugs or Sean or any of them. Especially Mal. I tutored him a couple of times. That guy is psycho! I avoid him like the plague.”
The mind sped into overdrive. She improvised. “You’re referring to Mal Miller?”
“Who’s Mal Miller?”
Cindy looked at him pointedly. “Which Mal are you talking about?”
“Malcolm Carey.”
“Ah, yes…” Cindy nodded, knowingly. “Who does he sell to besides Sean and Krieg and the others?”
“Anyone who asks. But I don’t really know. I told you, I don’t go near him. Please. You’ve got to believe me.”
Kid was pale, sweaty. Cindy’s heart went out to him. She backed off. “You’re willing to swear to that in a court of law?”
“Yes, of course!” The teen’s face was a study in confusion. “Can you please, please tell me what’s going on?”
“In a minute.” Cindy steadied herself. Now or never. She took a calculated risk. “Let me see your planner.”
Joachim’s eyes went to his pocket computer. He handed it to her, but she didn’t take it.
“Turn it on,” she said.
The teenager did as told.
She said, “If I scanned through that planner, I wouldn’t find any appointments between Malcolm Carey and you, would I?”
“Not a one. I swear—”
“So if I looked up some…random dates…I’d find nothing incriminating?”
Joachim looked ill. “Nothing I could go to jail for.”
“But I might find something like…essay for Sean is due?”
The kid wiped perspiration off his brow, nodded.
She said, “You don’t have to let me look at it, Joachim. Legally, I can’t force you without a warrant—”
“It’s okay.” Again, he offered her the planner. His hands were shaking. “Just…I don’t know. It’s okay.”
“I’m going to pick out some random dates,” she said. “You look them up for me, show them to me. Got it?”
The teen nodded.
“Then show me your schedule for…a week ago Tuesday.”
Quickly, he brought the date onto the small screen. “Here. Take a look.”
She did. A couple of school tests, a doctor’s appointment, nothing for the evening. And nothing of significance.
“How about two weeks ago Saturday?”
Joachim punched keys, offered her the monitor.
Nothing.
Heart drumming in her chest, Cindy gave him the date of the Estelle’s executions. Without a pause, Joachim brought up the date on his planner and showed it to her. She looked at the demarcated hours, scanning the time until she hit eight P.M.
At the time Estelle’s was being riddled with bullets from a madman, Joachim was at a Scrabble tournament at the local YMCA. Cindy pointed to the appointment. “Did you actually attend this event?”
Joachim looked at the tip of her finger. He thought a moment. “Uh…I’ve got to think. The YMCA match? Yeah…yeah, I was there, too. Why?”
“Let me ask the questions.”
“Sure. Whatever you want.”
“Your presence at this tournament…it can be verified by witnesses?”
“Of course. Why?”
Cindy waved her hand. “That’s all for now.”
Joachim stood frozen. “What do you mean, that’s all? What are you going to do?”
Cindy said, “Nothing for the time being.”
Joachim paused. “Nothing?”
“If you promise never to write another essay for anyone else but yourself…I suppose I could let the matter drop.”
“I swear, I’ll never do it again. Let the bastards drown for all I care.”
“Okay. I won’t report you. But you’re not entirely off the hook. I’ve got a couple more questions.”
Joachim slumped, looked visibly relieved. “Sure. What?”
“I want to talk about Malcolm Carey. Where does he operate from? Where does he peddle his merchandise?”
Questioning eyes went to Cindy’s face. Joachim said, “Are you a narc—”
“Answer the question, Joachim.”
“I don’t know where Mal gets his shit. But I could find out if you want—”
“Joachim, I don’t want you going around asking questions. Is that understood?”
“Sure—”
“Because Malcolm Carey is trouble. These questions are just between you and me.”
“Whatever you want, Cindy…can I call you Cindy?”
She held back a smile. “What does Sean buy from him?”
“I imagine everything. Uppers, downers, coke, roofies, scag—”
“Sean buys heroin from Malcolm?” Cindy interrupted.
“I suppose.”
“But you’re not sure.”
“I know Sean occasionally smokes the shit. Where else would he get it from? I mean Malcolm owns Westbridge.”
“How do you know that Sean uses heroin?”
“Everybody knows. Sean brags about it, among other things. Guy has a big mouth.”
Cindy paused. “What else does he talk about?”
“What doesn’t Sean talk about? What drugs he’s taking, which girls he’s screwing—”
“He talk about…” Cindy swallowed. “Sean talk about that older woman at all?”
“Jeanine Garrison?” Joachim nodded. “Yeah. All the time. He keeps telling people not to tell anybody. In the meantime, everyone knows they’re screwing. At least that’s wha
t he says.”
Cindy nodded. “Tell me more about Sean and Jeanine.”
He paused. “You mean the rumors?”
Cindy felt her chest pound. She played along. “Yes, I mean the rumors. How valid are they?”
“Who knows?” Joachim paused. “God, you know everything—”
“I have my inside information,” Cindy lied. “But right now I’m talking to you. So give me your take on the rumors.”
Joachim said, “I think they got started because Sean’s been acting so weird lately. Especially after Estelle’s. You know about Jeanine Garrison’s parents?”
“Shot dead at Estelle’s. Go on.”
“Okay…then…when Jeanine’s brother OD’d…you know about that?”
“David Garrison. Found dead of an OD in his apartment. Continue.”
Joachim looked grave. “I mean, the woman loses her parents…well, no one thought too much about that. Because we all thought it was just a lunatic doing target practice. But after her brother bought it…”
Joachim kneaded his hands.
“See, she came into lots of money after her parents were murdered. Sean was saying that Jeanine was resentful about sharing her inheritance, especially since her brother was a hype.”
Cindy nodded. “Go on.”
Joachim sighed. “Rumor was that Sean…paid Mal to stick a needle into David Garrison’s vein. To make it look like an accident.”
“Sean hired Malcolm to off David Garrison?”
“That was the scuttlebutt. And, you know, that Mal’s psycho enough to do it.” A pause. “It’s probably just bullshit. But you know, once things get said out loud—they take on a larger-than-life scale. All of it…made Sean look like a real badass.”
Cindy sat down on the bed. She said, “Joachim, it is of the utmost importance that you don’t repeat this conversation to anyone. All of this, it’s just between you and me. You can’t breathe a word of it. For your own safety.”
Joachim stared at her. “You’re not really from the school. You’re a narc, aren’t you?”
Cindy didn’t answer. Instead she said, “Now I want you to repeat what you just told me about Sean Amos and Jeanine Garrison and Malcolm Carey. Talk about the rumors and Sean being a user and Malcolm being a pusher and a bad guy. I want you to repeat all of it.”
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