A Question of Judgment: A Michael Bishop Mystery

by Anthony J. Pucci

  A Question of Judgment

  A Michael Bishop Mystery

  by

  Anthony J. Pucci

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Anthony J. Pucci

  All rights reserved.

  Epigraph

  “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil

  is for good men to do nothing.”

  Edmund Burke

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  As Michael Bishop walked into the faculty lunchroom, he heard one of his colleagues complain, “That kid gets away with murder!”

  His hopes for a quiet lunch dashed and with no other seat available, he pulled out the chair next to Kim Anderson, the source of that complaint. Kim, who was in her mid-thirties, taught physical education at Holy Trinity High School. A whistle on a lanyard rested against her pale blue sweatsuit.

  “Hello, everyone,” Bishop said as he placed his bagged lunch on the table, hoping that his greeting might prompt a change in the topic of conversation.

  “I bet you know who I’m talking about,” she said as she made room for him at the table.

  “Me?” he suggested tentatively.

  She smiled, revealing her uneven front teeth. “No … a student!” She wasn’t about to give up until she had fully vented her frustration. “Well, he’s actually not much of a student, but he is quite an athlete.”

  “Nick Borelli?”

  “Bingo! I can’t tell you how many gym classes that kid has missed. Wait. I can tell you.” She reached for her grade book that was on a shelf behind her, flipped a few pages, and began counting to herself.

  “Eleven! That young man has missed eleven gym classes, and he didn’t even start the year here.” She slammed her grade book shut, tossed it back on the shelf, and picked up her sandwich. “I put a big red ‘F’ on his last progress report, but that obviously didn’t matter.” She took an angry bite out of her grilled cheese.

  Bishop didn’t have Nick in class, but it would have been impossible not to know who he was. Nick had transferred into Trinity back in November. Whereas many in that situation might have struggled with the transition, he flourished. Within a few weeks, his rugged good looks, his self-confidence, and his outgoing personality had made him one of the most popular kids in the school. His athleticism had won him a place on the basketball team as a starting point guard. The baseball coach had already tabbed him as his opening day starter. As evidenced by Kim’s comments, his teachers were less impressed. Despite the fact that Nick had attended the prestigious Dunhill Academy, his interest in and aptitude for academics seemed marginal at best.

  Charlie Mitchell, one of Bishop’s colleagues in the English department, took advantage of a pause in the conversation to pose a question to all those seated at the table. Before speaking, he quickly glanced around the room to see who was and was not there. “What do you think of Sister Ann’s last-minute decision to schedule a pep rally for this afternoon?”

  Mary Nickerson blurted out, “I thought it was great!” She laughed loudly. “I didn’t think that I was going to get much teaching done during the last period on a Friday anyway.”

  “Well,” said Charlie not finding the situation the least bit funny, “I was going to give a test that period. It would have been nice if the administration had bothered to run that idea by us first. Whoever said that the cream rises to the top?” Most of the faculty had Charlie’s number. He was often quite harsh in his criticism of the administrators in their absence. It was Charlie who first referred to the duo of Sister Ann Cowie, the principal, and Sister Patricia Meehan, one of the two assistant principals, as Mischief and Meany. However, he was unfailingly cooperative, congenial, and supportive in their presence. There was always a chance that his timing would be off, and they would see him a new light. Until then, he was golden.

  Bishop questioned the wisdom of scheduling a test at the end of the day on a Friday, but he kept that to himself. “You have to admit, Charlie, that tonight’s game is rather special. I can’t remember another time when so much was riding on the outcome of one game.”

  The Holy Trinity Knights, led by Nick Borelli, and the Catholic Central Warriors of Westfield, each had finished the regular season with a record of 19 – 1. Each had dealt the other their lone defeat. Tonight’s one game playoff would determine which team would move on to play in the state tournament.

  “Big deal,” Charlie said sarcastically. “Sports. Sports. Sports. Pardon me for thinking that this was an academic institution. My mistake.” Suddenly, everyone at the table was very quiet.

  Mary sought to diffuse the tension. “Come on, Charlie. You know very well that the classroom comes first, but sports and all the other activities we offer are important as well.”

  Charlie scraped the bottom of his container of yogurt, licked his plastic spoon clean, and tossed both back on his tray. He pushed his chair back, grabbed his tray, and announced, “I’m done. See you folks at the pep rally. It’s so important I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  After he left the room, Kim shook her head. “Sheesh! Someone’s in a bad mood.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Bishop suggested. Having finished his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, he wished everyone a good Friday afternoon and headed down to the office of his friend, Ron Jennings, the other assistant principal.

  ***

  Bishop was determined not to let Charlie’s foul mood affect his own. He was more concerned about Kim’s complaint. Why was Nick Borelli allowed to play if he had an F on his report? That was a question that Ron might be able to answer.

  As he walked down the empty hallway, he began to reflect on the current school year. It was March already, and the warm breezes of the last few days were signs of an early spring. In less than eight weeks, his seniors would take their Advanced Placement English exams, then his freshmen their June exams, and another year, closing in on his fiftieth at Holy Trinity, would be in the books. He felt that each year went more quickly than the previous one. Was that a product of his age? After all, he was seventy-one now, although he didn’t feel much differently than he did ten or even twenty years ago. During his last visit with his doctor, he expressed concern over an increasing number of memory lapses that he had experienced in the last year or so. The doctor had assured him that it was quite normal for patients of his age to worry unnecessarily about incidents of forgetfulness and that people of all ages occasionally experienced similar issues. If the problem worsened, he would refer him to a neurologist for evaluation.

  Not only
had the year gone by very quickly, it had also gone by relatively quietly. Sister Pat had continued her assault on the sensibilities of staff and students alike, supported at every turn by her best, and perhaps only friend, the principal, Sister Ann. Yet, none of their antics had caused a reaction that lasted more than a day or two. Today’s decision to have a pep rally fell into that category. For Bishop, it was, as Shakespeare phrased it, “much ado about nothing.”

  As he passed the main office, he noticed a bright blue van in one of the visitors’ parking spots for the second day in a row. Apparently, the school was in need of the services of someone from Security System Solutions. A tall young man wearing a shirt that was the same color as that of the van was explaining something to Sister Pat. From the confused expression on her face, it didn’t appear as though the technician had yet arrived at a solution. In the last couple of years, the security cameras had been upgraded, but that hadn’t prevented them from experiencing recurring glitches. Without the feed from about a dozen cameras placed throughout the building and grounds, Sister Pat was like a drug addict in withdrawal. She spent most of her day in her office where several large screen televisions dominated the tiny room. On the rare occasions when he had been in there, he felt that he was in the control room at NASA. In addition to monitoring the school from multiple vantage points, she apparently watched Fox News, the Food Channel, and the Weather Channel simultaneously throughout the day.

  When Bishop reached the office of the assistant principal, he poked his head in the open doorway. Realizing that Jennings was on the telephone, he waved and was about to turn around and leave when Ron motioned for him to come in and sit down.

  “Listen, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later,” he said softly as he untwisted the coil of the receiver and returned it to the base.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “You did me a favor,” Ron explained. “That was Mary Ellen. She calls two or three times a day,” he said shaking his head. “I’m not sure how to handle it.”

  Ron had been dating Mary Ellen for less than a year. To say that Ron had had some bad luck in his previous relationships would be an understatement. In recent weeks, Mary Ellen had begun to question where their relationship was headed. Ron didn’t want to lose her, but he wasn’t quite ready to make a long-term commitment.

  “Just explain to her that the school discourages the staff from making personal calls or conducting personal business during school hours,” suggested Bishop. “In the days before cell phones, I remember the uproar that erupted when the nuns decided to charge everyone twenty-five cents to use the telephone.” He smiled as he considered how remarkably consistent they had been over the years in their insensitivity to the needs of others. Based on their exploits, he had ample material to write a book for school administrators, How Not to Demoralize Your Staff.

  “I wouldn’t mind if she had something important to say, but mostly, she just wants to chat.” Just then, the telephone rang. They gave each other a look that suggested they were thinking the same thing. Could this be Mary Ellen … again?

  Ron answered with a tentative “This is Mr. Jennings. May I help you?” After a momentary pause, the muscles in his jaw relaxed. “Thanks for getting back to me,” he said as he rummaged through some papers on his desk. Bishop quickly left the office so that Ron could have some privacy. He hadn’t had a chance to ask Ron what he knew about the decision to let Nick Borelli play in tonight’s game despite receiving an F in PE from Kim Anderson. The perception that Nick was being treated differently than any other student because of his importance to the team was troubling. He hoped that he would remember to question Ron about that later.

  On his way back to his own room on the second floor, he stopped by the desk of Terry Mortenson, Trinity’s main office secretary. Her affable personality and penchant for gossip made confiding a secret to her a risky proposition. She took pleasure in fielding most of the incoming calls and sorting the mail, gathering tidbits of information at every turn. Of course, sharing those tidbits with her closest friends added to her enjoyment. It had occasionally proven helpful to Bishop to be a member of her inner circle.

  Her round face grew even rounder as she greeted him with a warm smile. “Are you all psyched for the pep rally, Mr. Bishop?”

  “Can’t you tell?” he deadpanned.

  “Where’s your rally T-shirt?”

  “I’ve got one. Don’t worry. I’ve purchased more T-shirts for various occasions over the years than I care to count,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll slip this one on before I head down to the gym. See you there.”

  ***

  Rather than give a test or just waste the last period before the pep assembly, he brought his class of twenty-three 9th graders down to the computer lab. Bishop had found an online vocabulary game in which each correct answer earned ten grains of rice for the hungry of the world. In the years since the inception of this website, the World Food Programme sponsored by the United Nations has distributed billions of grains of rice. His students had a blast watching their piles of rice grow larger with each correct answer. Forty-five minutes later, they had strengthened their vocabulary skills and gained a better awareness of the one of the critical issues facing their world. Furthermore, they had learned that their actions could make a difference. Collectively, they had earned enough grains of rice to feed three people for a day.

  When Bishop announced that there were only a few minutes of class time left, several of the students audibly groaned. He made sure that all of them recorded their totals before logging out. He urged them to explore the site further on their own, noting that it offered a number of other academic challenges in addition to vocabulary. When the bell rang, they rushed out to join in Trinity’s version of March Madness. Once the halls cleared, Bishop went back to his classroom, grabbed his fifteen-dollar T-shirt, and walked in the direction of the raucous cheering.

  He stood at one of the gym entrances along with some other latecomers. He shook hands with a few recent graduates who had returned for the rally; however, the decibel level emanating from inside precluded any conversation. The cheerleaders were conducting a contest among the classes to determine which group had the most school spirit. As usual, the seniors won.

  Liz Atkins, the captain of the cheerleaders, then introduced the master of ceremonies, Mr. Mitchell, who at lunch only a few hours earlier had ranted against the very idea of the pep rally. Bishop wasn’t at all surprised by the sudden change of heart. He knew that Mitch enjoyed the spotlight as much as he enjoyed earning points with Sister Ann and Sister Pat both of whom were seated above the bleachers monitoring every detail of the proceedings. The corpulent assistant principal must have expended a lot of effort in climbing the many steps to reach that position. She usually waited until most of the crowd dispersed before she began her slow descent.

  It was normal to find those two Sisters of the Holy Rosary seated apart from the others. Even at lunch, they sat at a table by themselves. Yet, this afternoon, they were accompanied by Mary Ellen Webster, Ron’s girlfriend. It wasn’t the first time that Bishop had noticed them together. Since it wasn’t likely that they enjoyed each other’s company, he wondered what might be behind this recent display of chumminess. Mary Ellen was using her cell phone to capture some photos or video of the festivities.

  As Charlie called each member of the basketball team to line up at center court, he recited some of that player’s stats. The crowd thunderously applauded, screamed, and stamped their feet on the wooden bleachers as the players gathered and greeted one another with high fives, fist bumps, and elaborately choreographed handshakes. The last player introduced was the team’s MVP, Nick Borelli, who sprinted onto the court, launched himself into the air, and landed in the arms of several teammates as the adoring crowd roared its approval.

  The master of ceremonies then introduced the coach, Red Wagner. He had coached the boys’ basketball team for the last couple of years without much success. Rumor had it t
hat he had been on the chopping block this season. That all changed with the arrival of Borelli who instantly turned a mediocre team into a powerhouse and who, in all likelihood, saved Wagner’s job. Red must have had red hair at one time, but there was little evidence of that now. He was wearing one of the ubiquitous maroon tees and a pair of charcoal gray sweatpants. As he began his speech, Bishop headed back to his room. After Wagner’s comments, the band would play. The cheerleaders would then perform a few routines, and the students would be dismissed. There was no need for Bishop to remain there in the pandemonium that would follow.

  As he left, the sounds reverberating from the gym slowly faded. When he reached the office area, Annette Dunkirk, the school’s business manager, was trying to lock her office door while clutching several large handbags.

  “Need a hand?”

  Annette nearly jumped out of her shoes. “Oh! You startled me! No, I don’t need any help.” She was about sixty years old and thin as a rail from years of smoking. Her abrupt manner and sour disposition were always on display in her dealings with the faculty.

  “This damn lock! I’ve told Jack to take a look at it, but do you think he has?” she said more to herself than to Bishop. Jack Slater was the head custodian at Trinity. Bishop found him to be a bit of an instigator among the faculty, but a hard worker. Perhaps if Annette had asked Jack, rather than told him, she would have had a better response.

  She pulled her key out of the lock and rattled the doorknob. “There. It’s locked,” she said with a sigh of relief. One of the bags slipped out of her grasp, its contents falling to the floor. She placed the other bags on the floor as she quickly scooped up what had fallen. As she picked up some items, others fell. Finally, she straightened up, and reached in one of the bags for her car keys. “I’ve got to get to the bank,” she said as she rushed off.

  “Wait! You forgot this.” Bishop handed her a thick leather pouch about the size of a manila folder.