Hodge was bringing the call to an end when Bishop interrupted. “Before you go, there’s one more thing I wanted to tell you.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
Bishop then proceeded to recount his conversation with David Cavanaugh in which he admitted passing the note to Nick, but denied that he had written the note or that he knew what the note meant.
“Do you believe him?” That is always the central question in interviewing a suspect in a murder investigation. Is he credible? Does his demeanor suggest that he is lying? Is he withholding some information? Bishop had been teaching for over forty years, and he liked to think that he had developed the ability to tell when someone was lying. He wanted to believe that Dave was telling the truth.
“For now, yes, but I do want to hear Sam Blanchard’s version of events.”
“Keep in touch.”
“Will do.”
***
Before he had a chance to read that last paper, the phone rang again. Normally, if he didn’t recognize the number that came up on the screen, he didn’t answer. Robocalls and telemarketers were such a nuisance. He decided to take this call, and he was glad that he did.
“Hello, Mike. This is Blake. Sorry to bother you at home, but I was wondering if you had a few minutes.”
“Yes, of course. What can I do for you?” He assumed that Blake had had another encounter with Sister Pat, and that Ron had given him his cell phone number.
“I wanted to tell you about a visitor I had after school today.”
Still believing that the visitor was Sister Pat, he simply said, “Go on.”
“I was just about to leave my room, when Liz Atkins came in to ask me a question about her homework.”
“I’m guessing that your conversation ended up going in other directions.”
“Yes, it did. After I clarified the assignment, she actually apologized for Sister Pat’s behavior in my class yesterday. She made a point of assuring me that most of the teachers and staff were really quite nice.” He went on to summarize their fifteen-minute conversation. She shared some of Sister Pat’s classic moments including the time that she decided to give students assigned seats during lunch, and the time that she put the entire student body on detention.
Bishop smiled as he remembered those incidents. She had certainly pulled some doozies over the years. His interest definitely spiked when Blake said that he took the opportunity to ask Liz why she had made those negative comments about Nick Borelli. According to Liz, Nick hadn’t dumped her. That was the version of events that Nick preferred to tell his friends. Actually, she had dumped him.
“Did she explain why?” Bishop was interested in a motive for murder. Liz was a cheerleader, and she was at both the game and the pep rally, giving her the opportunity.
“She said that the more time she spent with him, the less she liked him. He was too self-centered. When he started trashing this girl that he used to date at Dunhill Academy, she broke it off with him.”
“Did she know the girl’s name, by any chance?” Bishop didn’t know why he had asked since it didn’t seem to matter, but he had learned that having too much information was preferably to having too little.
“Her first name was Vicky.”
Chapter Seventeen
That call completed, he graded the last essay of the set. In order to defend her thesis statement, Maggie made reference to the novel, A Separate Peace, by John Knowles. Even though they had discussed that work much earlier in the year, it was one that usually stayed with the students. The two main characters, Gene and Finny, are high school students. Those two young men are the best of friends; however, Gene harbors feelings of jealousy toward Finny who excels in athletics seemingly without effort. In a pivotal moment of the story, both young men are standing high up on a tree limb. Gene suddenly jounces the limb, causing serious injury to Finny. The rest of the story involves Gene coming to terms with the fact that he was, indeed, capable of that momentary outburst of evil. Knowles’ point is that each of us has within us this evil. What troubles many of the students is that in order for Gene to grow in self-knowledge, Finny ultimately falls again, and dies.
Was it possible that Dave was like Gene, lashing out at a friend, but someone to whom he felt inferior? What about Sam? He was also Nick’s teammate, and when taunted by Derek, he had reacted impulsively. Was it possible that he had laced Nick’s drink with a lethal dose of caffeine? Bishop looked forward to having a chance to ask Sam about the note found in Nick’s chemistry notebook. The best case scenario was that he would finally get some answers. The worst case scenario was that Sam would claim that someone else had passed the note to him to pass to Dave who passed it on to Nick.
***
Bishop kept thinking about the words on that piece of paper. “I know what you did!!” If Sam had written the note, what did he know? What had Nick done? Whatever it was, had it gotten him killed? When he had asked Alice Urbanski about the note, she seemed upset. Although she denied it, did she know what it meant? In suggesting that her husband was responsible for her son’s death, was she trying to divert attention from someone else? Was it possible that she herself was involved?
When he checked Sam’s schedule early the next morning, he saw that they didn’t share any free time during the day, so their meeting would have to take place after school. However, Sam had baseball practice, and the coach was very strict about promptness. He found Coach Sullivan writing some math formulas on the board in his classroom on the first floor.
“Hey, Sully. Got a minute?”
Rich had taught math at Trinity for several years, and he had an excellent reputation as a coach. Bishop suspected that it was the latter quality that had been the primary factor in his hiring. He was a short, heavyset man in his early thirties who looked as though he had donned the tools of ignorance in his playing days.
“What can I do for you, Mike?”
“I need a little favor. I’d like to talk with Sam Blanchard after school today just for a few minutes.”
“Is he is in any more trouble? I know that big lummox took a swing at Derek the other day.”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that. I just need to ask him a few questions. He shouldn’t miss much practice.”
“No problem. I’ll have him get dressed, and then I’ll send him up.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Having arranged that, he didn’t anticipate much of anything interesting until he had his talk with Sam. Lunch that day proved him wrong.
When he arrived at the faculty lunchroom, he expected to find the usual crowd, but neither Ron nor Blake was there. Perhaps Ron had invited Blake to join him on one of his quick trips to a nearby fast food joint.
He sat down with Sister Ignatius, one of the Sisters of the Holy Rosary for whom he had great respect. She had been at Trinity years ago, left to do mission work in Chile, and returned to semi-retirement, teaching one theology class. She greeted her old friend with a warm smile.
“Michael, how are you? Please, have a seat. I don’t get to see you that often.”
“I’m doing well, Sister. How about yourself?”
“Very well, thank God.” Even if she wasn’t feeling well, she was unlikely to complain. They spent a few minutes catching up. Sister made quick work of the scoop of goulash and the salad on her tray. Bishop talked between bites of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
The older sisters had a gift for remembering former students and connections between students over the years. He once saw Sister Ignatius walk up to a frightened freshman girl on the first day of school and say, “You must be an O’Malley.”
The girl simply nodded, not knowing what to expect next.
“I taught your mother and your father back in the day. Your mother was a lovely girl, but what she saw in that father of yours I’ll never know.” She laughed as she teased the young girl.
Bishop asked Sister if she knew whether or not any of Dr. Andrew’s family had attended Trinity.
&nb
sp; She picked up her napkin to dab at her mouth as she thought for a moment before answering. “I don’t believe so. Why do you ask?”
He tried to answer honestly without connecting the doctor to Ms. Urbanski. “I heard that he gave a generous amount of money to the school to promote anti-bullying programs, and I was wondering if there was some family connection to Holy Trinity.”
She scrunched her eyes, tilted her head slightly upward and at an angle as if she was having difficulty accessing a data bank in the sky. After a moment’s thought, she announced, “No. I’m quite sure that there’s no family connection. He had one daughter as I recall who went to a prep school in New York City. After college, she married, and never returned here except for vacations.”
“Do you know him quite well?”
She laughed easily. “Not really. When Sister Immaculata slipped on some ice and broke her arm, he did the surgery. My goodness! That was many years ago. Poor Immy has been gone for ten years or more. She was such a kindhearted soul.”
Bishop wanted to steer the conversation back to the doctor.
“Then why would he give money to us?”
“Civic duty, I imagine. He must be aware of the harmful effects of bullying, and as a doctor he probably finds the statistics alarming.” She had finished her lunch and Bishop offered to take her tray back to the cafeteria.
As they were walking out of the dining room, she added, “I see Dr. Andrews at Mass every Sunday, and sometimes during the week as well. He donates quite generously to the church. Since his wife died last year, he has faded rapidly if you ask me. His shoulders are more stooped, and his face darker.”
“That’s too bad,” said Bishop sympathetically. Another thought occurred to him. “Does he attend Mass alone?”
“Most of the time, yes. However, I have seen him with an attractive younger woman on occasion.”
Bishop raised his eyebrows.
“I’m sure it’s nothing like that, Michael,” she said as if to correct any false impression that she might have given. “It’s that boy’s mother … you know … the boy who was murdered. I imagine that she is having a hard time coping, and he must provide her some comfort.”
“Yes, I’m sure that you’re right.”
He had one more question before they went their separate ways. “Have you heard from Sister Pascala?”
“Oh my, yes!” Thinking of her friend of many years brought a smile to her face. “As a matter of fact, she called just this morning. I keep telling her not to worry about her classes. I think that Blake is doing just fine.”
“I’m afraid that Sister Pat would disagree with you.”
Sister just rolled her eyes. She wasn’t about to say anything negative about one of the members of her community even if it was more than warranted.
He had just one more quick question. “How is her sister-in-law doing?”
Sister Ignatius chuckled mostly to herself as she waved off any concern. “She must be doing fine because Sister didn’t even mention her.”
***
About fifteen minutes after the final bell, Sam Blanchard walked into Bishop’s room. He was wearing his complete baseball uniform minus the cleats. Knights, the team name, was embroidered in maroon across his white jersey. He removed his cap with the letters “HT” on it and held it in one hand.
“Coach said that you wanted to see me?”
“Yes. Thanks for coming up. Have a seat. I’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”
Sam could easily pass for a college student. He must have carried over two hundred pounds on his six-foot-plus frame. His thick light brown hair was long on top and shaved close on the sides. His face was rather unremarkable except for a scar along his chin, probably the result of some previous athletic competition.
Bishop pulled up a desk opposite him and decided to cut right to the chase. That would save them both some time.
“I wanted to talk with you today because I have in my possession a note that you apparently passed to Nick Borelli in Chemistry class a few days before his death.”
That unremarkable face took on a distinctly concerned expression. That look convinced Bishop that Dave was telling the truth when he said that he simply passed the note from Sam to Nick. In addition, it was clear that no one else had passed the note to Sam. He had written it himself.
Although Bishop had looked at those words many times, he picked up the piece of paper that he had placed on the desk, opened it and read the words out loud this time, “I know what you did!!”
He felt that he was finally close to getting an answer to at least one of the questions that had perplexed him. “What did you mean, Sam? What had Nick done?”
Sam swallowed hard before answering. “I didn’t mean anything … he didn’t … I mean … it was just a joke.” He was certain that Sam was holding something back, and he needed to know what that was.
“Listen, Sam, I have a lot of respect for you, and I wouldn’t want to think that you aren’t being upfront with me, but the words on that paper seem more like a threat than a joke.”
“You don’t think I had anything to do with Nick’s death, do you?” he blurted out as that sudden realization hit him.
“I don’t want to believe that you did.” He grabbed the note and waved it in the air. “This note may have nothing to do with it at all,” he said trying to remain calm, “but until you tell me what it does mean, I can’t be completely certain.”
Sam started to panic. “Do I need a lawyer?”
Bishop’ heart skipped a beat. Why would he ask a question like that? Was he about to confess? The young man obviously had had access to his teammate’s water bottle if he was intent on doing him harm. It was motivation that was unclear. What did he know about what Nick had done that might have provided that motivation?
“I’m not Lieutenant Hodge, and I don’t think you need a lawyer unless you have something to confess.”
“I don’t,” he stated firmly.
“Then why don’t you explain to me what you meant by that note?”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with his death,” he insisted.
Bishop realized that although Sam might genuinely think that, someone else who knew what the note referred to might have thought differently. “That may or may not be true. And if it is true, then why not tell me?”
“Because it’s trivial now, considering what happened. I’m sorry that I ever sent him that note. I was just giving him a hard time, more than anything else.”
Bishop glanced at the wall clock. “Coach Sullivan will be expecting you back at practice, and I’m sure that you’d rather be out on the field than talking to me.” He had gone too far down this road to be satisfied with anything less than the truth. He tried to think of what he could say to Sam. “I promise that I won’t tell anyone unless I think that it’s absolutely pertinent to the investigation.”
Sam shifted his large frame. His discomfort or embarrassment was obvious. “Well … you know those eligibility forms that athletes have to get signed every week?”
Bishop had filled out hundreds of them over the years. Their purpose was to ensure that athletes understood that academics took precedence over sports. If a student’s report showed any failing grades, the assistant principal had the option of keeping the player off of the team until the grades improved. The theory was that keeping the athlete away from practice and games would provide more time for study. Although he personally didn’t approve of using threats as a motivator, the theory made some sense. In reality, however, how many athletes taken off the team actually used that extra time to study? And if they did, their effort only lasted until they were allowed back onto the team.
“Yes, I’m familiar with those forms.”
“When I wrote him that note, I meant that I had seen what he had done to his form.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” Bishop admitted.
“He was sitting right next to me in homeroom when he did it.”
“Did what
?”
“He had shown me the form just a few minutes before. He had an F in Phys Ed and a 58 in Chemistry. If he turned that in to Mr. Jennings, he wouldn’t have been able to play in the game against Catholic Central.”
At this point, Bishop had a very good idea of what Nick had done, but he wanted Sam to confirm it. “What did you see him do?”
“He borrowed a red pen, and he carefully turned the F into a P and the 58 into a 68. I know it was wrong, and maybe I should have said something, but he was our best player, and I wanted him to play in that game.”
Bishop had a flashback to the scene in the faculty lunchroom on the day of that game. P.E. teacher Kim Anderson was complaining about the fact that nothing had happened to Nick despite her putting an F on his eligibility report. He had meant to ask Ron about it, but he had forgotten. After Nick’s death, it didn’t matter. Sam’s account explained the mystery. Nick wasn’t the first student ever to doctor a record, and he wouldn’t be the last. However, he was most likely the first student to die as a result of such a transgression. How ironic it was that had Nick accepted his failing grades and sat out that game, he would not have died that night!
The veteran teacher reached out to shake the young man’s hand. “Sam, thanks for helping me understand that note. I know I put you on the spot.”
As he put his cap back on, he asked the question on everyone’s mind. “Mr. Bishop, do you think that the killer will be caught?”
“I certainly hope so!” With the possibility of that note eliminated as a clue, it was hard for him to sound very convincing.
Bishop was ready to let Sam get to his practice when the young man said something that caused him to stop in his tracks. “I remember that Nick and his father had an argument that night.”
A Question of Judgment: A Michael Bishop Mystery Page 14
