A Question of Judgment: A Michael Bishop Mystery

by Anthony J. Pucci

  “Your phone makes mine look like a dinosaur,” he commented.

  “This? It’s really not that new. As a matter of fact, I think I’m ready for an upgrade. I should have gotten one with more memory. I need to clear out some space one of these days. Videos take up a lot of space.” By habit, she began scrolling through, and stopped when she found one that interested her. “Here, look at this. I took it during the pep rally on the afternoon of that game against Catholic Central.”

  She hit the play button as she handed the phone to Bishop. He remembered that day so vividly. Mary Ellen was on the landing above the stands, giving her a unique view. The video was clearly the work of an amateur with disjointed segments and odd angles. Parts of the video showed the introduction of the players by Charlie Mitchell. At times, she panned the gym, capturing the excitement of the crowd. He caught a brief glimpse of himself wearing his rally shirt over his dress shirt. There were parts of one of the cheerleaders’ routines, and obvious attempts to catch Ron on camera. He watched the entire clip that ran only a couple of minutes. Something about what he had seen bothered him, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was, and he didn’t want to ask her to replay it for him.

  “Is it possible to email a video from your phone?” he asked hesitantly. He didn’t want to appear totally clueless about technology.

  “Easy,” she assured him.

  “Would you mind sending that clip to me? I may want to look at it again.” He gave her his personal email address, and instead of writing it down, she punched it in and sent it on the spot.

  “Done,” she announced to his surprise.

  He pulled his own trusty flip-phone out of his pocket. “This old friend doesn’t have email or any apps, but it gets the job done.”

  “I don’t even know if you can buy one of those anymore,” she said jokingly.

  “As long as it works, I’m keeping it,” he said proudly. “You probably want to get going. Listen, there’s one more favor I need to ask of you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I think it would be best if you didn’t tell Ron about our conversation.”

  “Why not? He’s your best friend, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, and that’s why I’m asking you. If we told him now, I think it would put him in an awkward position. I need time to decide how to handle this.”

  “Do you really think she took that money? She’s a nun, for goodness sake!”

  “Nuns are people, and people sometimes make mistakes in questions of judgment.”

  ***

  His plan to confront Blake, or whatever his name turned out to be, was less successful. The message he left on his voicemail went unanswered. That was out of character for Blake. Bishop contacted Ron and asked him if he knew the whereabouts of Blake. Ron said that Blake told him that he would be out all day, and that he wouldn’t be returning until late that night.

  “Anything I can help you with?” asked Ron.

  “No, thanks. I just wanted to ask him something. It’ll keep until tomorrow.” He wanted to change the subject so he asked, “Have you guys found any treasures yet?” As soon as he asked that question, he knew that he had slipped up.

  “How did you know what we’re doing?”

  Mary Ellen had told him about their plans to go antiquing when he had spoken with her earlier that morning at the Sunray Café. He obviously didn’t want Ron to know about that meeting. He had to come up with something quickly.

  “She mentioned it last night at dinner. You might have been in the men’s room.”

  Ron laughed. “It was all that beer. I made more than one trip there.”

  “Well, tell Mary Ellen I said that it was good to see her last night.”

  “Will do.”

  Bishop would have to wait another day to talk to Blake. He tried to convince himself that there was nothing to be alarmed about in his failure to find him in his Internet search. He was far from an expert in using search engines.

  Thinking of that morning’s meeting with Mary Ellen reminded him of the video of the pep rally on her phone. Something about it bothered him, but he didn’t know what it was. He tried to replay the video in his mind with its clips of the players, the cheerleaders, and the crowd. It seemed innocent enough, but was it? He had forgotten that a copy of the video would now be available on his computer.

  ***

  He had another restless night as he struggled to come to terms with what Sister Ann had done and what, if anything, he could do about it. She would certainly deny that she had stolen any money. There was no way to prove that that particular fifty-dollar bill had been among the receipts that night. If she had done it as a ruse to force Annette to resign, it was unethical, but probably not illegal as long as the money was still used for the benefit of the school. However, if she was using even some of that money as her personal slush fund, then all bets were off. The problem, again, was proving it. What if she were paying for expensive dinners for herself and Sister Pat with some of that money? What if she planned to use it as spending money while in San Diego? According to Terry, she had appropriated half of Dr. Andrews’ donation to the school to pay for their airfare to San Diego and accommodations at the Hotel del Coronado. That was beyond the realm. Bishop was determined that they not get away with any more of their deceitful behavior.

  Sister Ann’s actions reminded him of those of Hazen Kinch, a character in “They Grind Exceeding Small,” a short story by Ben Ames Williams. Kinch was a wealthy businessman feared by the townspeople for his mean-spirited and evil ways. Ultimately, Kinch steals a dollar from Doan Marshey, one of his tenants, not knowing that the dollar was actually his own, given to Marshey by Kinch’s wife to purchase medicine for his child. As a result of that petty theft, his child dies, and Kinch has to live with the knowledge of what he had done. The narrator of the story suggests that God’s justice had finally been rendered to this hateful man. Was Sister Ann near the point of feeling retribution for her many misdeeds?

  ***

  The notion of retribution for misdeeds brought Bishop back to his focus on Nick Borelli. He recalled the irony that Nick’s decision to alter his academic eligibility report allowed him to play in the game during which he lost his life. What other actions taken by that young man might have led someone to murder him?

  Over his many years at Holy Trinity, Bishop had learned that students who transferred in during the school year often brought some baggage along with them. Of course, some transfers came in after the school year started for very legitimate reasons, and they weren’t trying to escape their past. They generally did just fine. Others simply sought a new start in new surroundings after making an honest mistake, and they were also largely successful. There had been some, however, who could not escape their past and made the same mistakes or worse at their new school. Because of confidentiality laws, it was often impossible to know upon their arrival to which group a particular student might belong.

  Why had Borelli transferred from the prestigious Dunhill Academy? Was it because of his mediocre academic performance? Was the young man merely a pawn in the bitter divorce of his parents? Had he done something … something that wouldn’t appear on his official transcript …that resulted in his being quietly asked to withdraw from the school? Bishop decided that another session of “googling” was in order.

  He woke up the next morning to a damp, drizzly day. After showering and dressing, he took Max on an abbreviated walk, skimmed the newspaper, and took his laptop into the sunroom. Half an hour later, he had developed a stiff neck from staring at the screen, but he hadn’t learned anything of value. He did find a lot of hits on Nick Borelli, the athlete. There were links to accounts of his performances both at Holy Trinity and Dunhill Academy and some of the awards that he had received. There was little doubt that he was a young man who had had a bright future in sports.

  Bishop was just about ready to give up when he decided to focus his search on Nick’s previous school rather than on Nick. The working
assumption was that Nick’s mother had pulled him out of that boarding school as a result of her divorce and her desire to keep Nick close to her and away from her husband. Even if there had been another reason for his abrupt departure from the school, the official record from Dunhill was unlikely to include it. There were laws of confidentiality to follow. That didn’t preclude, however, that some suggestion of the truth had been communicated to the administrator of the new school. Was it possible that Sister Ann knew something about Nick’s past behavior about which she kept silent? Knowing the principal as well as he did, he had to conclude that it was possible. Was it even possible that Nick’s mother or Nick’s grandparents had made a generous donation to the school to help Sister Ann make her decision to overlook his past and accept him? Again, knowing the principal as well as he did, he had to conclude that that was possible as well. But, if that was the case, how could he get her to admit to it?

  Dunhill Academy had a professionally designed website. The venerable institution, established in 1842, had fully understood the importance of embracing modern technology. So much information about the school, its faculty, its facilities, and its programs was available with just a few clicks of a mouse. One feature caught Bishop’s attention. Copies of the school’s newspaper, The Dunhill Ledger, were available as downloadable files. He opened up monthly issues that had come out around the time that Nick left the school. He didn’t know what he expected to find. It was extremely unlikely that any note of his departure would find its way into print. One article, however, did stop Bishop in his tracks.

  ***

  The third page of the November issue included the picture of a beautiful young lady beaming brightly. She was wearing a strapless gown and a tiara. In her arms was a large bouquet of flowers. Bishop suspected that she had just been named queen of a prom or winner of some pageant. The header for the story said it all: Forever in Our Hearts.

  Clearly, she had touched many lives in the Dunhill community. There were quotes from friends and faculty praising her many talents and achievements and mourning her loss. She had been a high honors student, a cheerleader, president of the student council, volunteer at the local food bank, and more. She had already been accepted at Dartmouth College where she planned to pursue a degree in biomedical engineering.

  The article indicated that she had passed away unexpectedly and that she was the only child of Mr. and Mrs. Philip Sloane of Nashua, New Hampshire. When Bishop finished reading, he closed out of the website and closed his laptop. There were two things that Bishop couldn’t erase from his mind: the image of that beautiful young girl and her name … Victoria Sloane.

  ***

  Could this be Vicky, Nick’s former girlfriend that Liz Atkins had mentioned to Blake? There was likely more than one girl named Vicky at Dunhill Academy, but it seemed to be more than a coincidence to Bishop. At least, he wanted it to be the same girl because it might help him to learn more about Nick’s past, and that could lead to finding his killer.

  Liz claimed that Nick had “trashed” that young woman. He must have cared about her at one point. What might have turned him against her? His version of events suggested that he had ended the relationship, but could the opposite be true? Could the end of that relationship have been the reason for his transfer from Dunhill to Trinity rather than his parents’ divorce?

  The newspaper article stated that Vicky had “passed away unexpectedly.” The death of any young person could be described that way. Nick’s death, for example, was unexpected to all except the individual who gave him the fatal dose of caffeine. The wording suggested that she hadn’t died as the result of a lengthy illness. Perhaps she had succumbed to sudden illness or to a previously undetected congenital defect. Perhaps she had died as the result of an accident or a drug overdose that was, unfortunately, an increasingly common cause of death among many age groups. There was another possibility. Bishop well knew that such wording was often used in the case of a suicide. Did the manner of her death matter? He couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t even be certain that this was the same girl to whom Nick had referred.

  Previously, Liz had shared her thoughts with Blake. Bishop decided that he should have a little chat with Liz Atkins. It might not yield any results, but it was worth a try.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Although it was still early, Bishop’s cell phone rang. It was Blake returning his call from the previous day.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you. I knew you wouldn’t call unless it was important, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t get back to you sooner.”

  Bishop would have liked to ask him what he had been doing all day, but he had no right to do so. “Don’t worry about it,” he responded. “I do have something important that I want to discuss. Is Ron nearby by any chance?”

  Blake seemed confused by the question. “No, he’s having brunch with Mary Ellen. What does Ron have to do with this?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted to make sure that you were in a position to talk freely.”

  “Yes, I am. What’s this about, Mike?”

  Unskilled in the art of subterfuge, he got right to the point. “Something’s been bothering me all week. I can’t explain it, but I just have this feeling that you’ve been hiding something from us.”

  Blake tried to make light of the suggestion. “What makes you think that?”

  Bishop thought it interesting that he didn’t immediately try to deny the allegation. His answer implied that he was on the right track.

  “I can’t explain it, really. It just seems odd that you would leave your family for two weeks to take a job subbing knowing that the daily stipend wouldn’t even cover your living expenses.”

  Blake remained silent, waiting for Bishop to continue. “No one, not even Ron, seems to know much about you, and when I’ve asked, you always seem to change the topic.”

  “Well,” in said in a self-deprecating way, “my life’s not that interesting.”

  “I doubt that,” countered Bishop. “I’ve done a little searching on the Internet, and there are a number of Blake Everetts out there, but none of them is you.” He paused for a moment, and then asked, “Can you explain that?”

  “Mike, I should have known that I wouldn’t escape your scrutiny for a full two weeks. I’m sorry that I can’t explain anything to you right now, but you have my word that you will get a full explanation this Friday.”

  “Why wait until Friday?”

  “I can’t explain that either, Mike, but I have scheduled a meeting with Sister Ann and Sister Pat right after school on Friday, and I’d like you to be there.”

  “What about Lieutenant Hodge?”

  “What about him?”

  “May I invite him to this meeting?”

  “You don’t have to. I’ve already done that.”

  As Bishop ended the call, he didn’t know much more than he did before except that there was something that Blake was hiding. What exactly was he going to confess on Friday? Why did he invite Hodge? He had no choice except to wait.

  ***

  Bishop had read a number of mystery novels over the years and thought about writing one of his own after he retired. If this had been fiction, the amateur sleuth would have obtained a set of Blake’s fingerprints by asking to borrow one of his pens. Then he would have given the pen to the veteran detective who was working the case and asked him to run the prints against a database of known felons. Of course, that search would result in a match, and the case would be solved. This, however, was not fiction, and Bishop had no idea when, or even if, the murder of Nick Borelli would be solved.

  The morning drizzle had turned into a steady rain, good for the gardens, but not for his spirits. He gave Max some extra attention in lieu of a long walk. He graded papers. Having run out of ideas of what to search for on the Internet, he flipped through the channels on television. Assuming that it was raining in Queens, he was surprised to find that the Mets were playing. They were on the road in Toronto playing in a domed stadium. The Me
ts were leading 3 – 0 in the sixth inning with Bartolo Colon spinning the shutout and racking up eight strikeouts. Colon was one of Bishop’s favorite players because he was in his early forties, successfully competing against men half his age. Whatever he lost off of his fastball over the years, he made up for with his knowledge of the craft of pitching. Bishop smiled as he momentarily thought of himself as Holy Trinity’s version of Bartolo Colon.

  ***

  For almost all of the students and staff arriving at school on Monday, Friday could not come soon enough. They hadn’t had an extended break since Christmas, and everyone was ready for some rest and relaxation whether they were traveling or simply staying home. Bishop eagerly anticipated the end of the week if for no other reason than it was the day of reckoning with Blake Everett. It was also the day of his self-imposed deadline for determining who had murdered Nick Borelli.

  Sister Pat was not in her customary place at the main entrance, badgering the unlucky chosen ones with her snide remarks. Perhaps she was having some additional dental work done before her trip to San Diego. Just thinking about those two administrators using part of Dr. Andrews’ donation for their boondoggle gave him agita. If only there was a way to prove that they were misusing school funds. As he made his way to the faculty room, he had an idea of how he might be able to do just that.

  Jack Slater greeted him as he walked in to grab his morning cup of tea.

  “How’s Mr. Bishop this morning?”

  “Not bad. How about yourself?”

  “If I was any better, I couldn’t stand it,” he replied with an impish look on his face.

  “What put you in such a good mood?”

  “I found this in my mailbox first thing this morning.” He grabbed a few pieces of paper, waved them in the air, and let them float back to the table. “Straight from the Gestapo,” he added.