A Question of Judgment: A Michael Bishop Mystery

by Anthony J. Pucci

  “What is it?”

  “It’s the list of a gazillion things they want done during the break.”

  “Don’t you get any time off?”

  “Are you kidding? I never get the breaks you guys do. You ought to know that.”

  Jack was right. Bishop did know how unfairly he was treated in that regard. Whenever Jack complained, they suggested that he might want to look for other employment. Jack never took their threat very seriously since he knew how hard it would be for them to replace him at the salary that they were paying him.

  “What will you do?”

  “I’ll do what I can, and if they have a problem with that, I’ll ask them what they got done on their vacation. That ought to keep them quiet,” he added. “They’re off to San Diego, ya know.” Never one to shy away from fanning the flames, he shook his head as he asked, “Did you hear that they’re going first class all the way?”

  “I did hear some rumors, yes.”

  “What’s so important in San Diego?”

  “I don’t have an answer for you, Jack. Maybe you should ask them yourself?” he said jokingly.

  “No thanks. I prefer to keep my head attached to the rest of my body.”

  “Who’s threatening to take your head off? asked Sarah Humphries who had walked in without either of them noticing.

  “Morning, Sarah,” said Jack. He knew as well as everyone else that if he said something to Sarah the Blabber, it would make its way to the wrong people by the end of the day.

  A student stuck her head in the door to inform Jack that someone in the kitchen needed his assistance. Bishop listened for a moment as Sarah told him about her weekend and then hurried up to his homeroom. By the time he opened the door, he realized that there was another Internet search that he wanted to conduct, but it would have to wait until he got home that afternoon. He knew better than to conduct personal business on the school’s network.

  ***

  Despite the proximity of their break, most of the students in his homeroom were their typical sleepy selves, trying to recover from a weekend of partying. As the week progressed, the noise level in the halls and in the cafeteria would noticeably increase. As long as the students in his classes kept their focus, he really didn’t mind. He felt a similar sense of anticipation for the meeting that Blake had arranged for Friday.

  Charlie Mitchell, who spent almost as much time in Bishop’s homeroom as he did in his own, rushed into the room. The students were so accustomed to his visits that they paid little attention.

  “Good morning, Charlie. How was your weekend?”

  “Fine, just fine,” he said hurriedly. Apparently, he was intent on discussing something else. “I guess Gleason has had enough.” Charlie knew something, but he, like some other people he knew, enjoyed prolonging the drama by dispensing the details in a piecemeal fashion.

  Bishop played along. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you know that Gleason offered to help out in the business office for a few days when …” He stopped mid-sentence because he didn’t want to mention Mary Ellen’s name to Bishop. He knew how the department chairman felt about the way she had been treated.

  “Well, Mischief and Meany have made no attempt to find a permanent replacement. They probably figured that as long as they could get Art to do the job for nothing, there was no rush.”

  “I can believe that,” offered Bishop. Those two had no qualms about taking advantage of someone’s kindness.

  “You know what he did?”

  “Quit?”

  “No, nothing like that! He found someone who’s interested in the job, and he brought her in this morning. They’re in Sister Ann’s office right now.”

  That explained Sister’s Pat’s absence from her usual post. Bishop considered the possibility that this interview would give her the opportunity to cause more problems, and he was soon proven correct.

  ***

  Gleason was sitting with Ron and Blake when Bishop arrived at the lunchroom. Ron waved him over. Blake’s greeting was rather chilly. Thoughts of what that man planned to say on Friday raced through his mind. As he sat down and opened his lunch, the fill-in business manager continued his story.

  “I just couldn’t believe what I was hearing,” Art said. He checked the room again to make sure that it was safe to speak. There were several groups of teachers at other tables engaged in their own conversations. Between bites of his burger, Ron explained that Art was referring to that morning’s interview.

  “Christine was telling us about her background in accounting when, out of the blue, Sister Pat blurts out, ‘Are you married?’ I almost fell off my chair.”

  Blake shook his head in disbelief. “Are you kidding? Why would she ask a question like that?”

  “Chris is about seven months pregnant, and our eagle-eye assistant principal must have noticed that she’s not wearing a wedding band.”

  “Doesn’t she realize that the school could get hit with a lawsuit?”

  “I know. Luckily, Christine is a neighbor of mine, so I don’t think she’d pursue it, but her fiancé is a lawyer,” he said as he paused to take a sip of his soda, “and he might think differently if she doesn’t get the job.”

  “Do you think they’ll give her the job?” Ron asked.

  “Do you think she’ll take the job if offered, now that she has an idea of what Sister Pat is like?” Bishop asked.

  “Let’s put it this way. They have several reasons to hire her.” He raised a finger as he added to the list. “One, she’s qualified. Two, she agreed to a low-ball salary offer. Three, I agreed to stay for the rest of the week to help her get started, but beyond that to count me out. Four, I tried to get Annette to come back, but she wants nothing to do with this place, so they don’t have any other viable options. Five, they might avoid an ugly lawsuit.” At the point, Ron couldn’t resist giving Art a high-five.

  They all had a good laugh that prompted quizzical looks from those at the other tables.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  After the dreary weather of the previous day, the afternoon sunshine was particularly inviting. Students weren’t the only ones subject to a bit of spring fever. Bishop decided to head home as soon as he had gathered his books and papers.

  Art Gleason must have had the same notion as they met in the faculty parking lot.

  “Turned out to be a beautiful day,” said Bishop, stating the obvious.

  Gleason took a deep breath of the fresh air. “It’s especially nice because Sister Ann just told me that she’s going to offer Chris the job.”

  “That’s great! Now you’ll be able to get back to your day job.”

  “You’re right about that! My own business has been suffering a little bit,” he admitted. “Chris should do a great job, and since she’s having her baby in the summer when things are slow around here, I’ll stop in a few days a week, and everything should work out fine.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting her.” He knew that her first name was Christine, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember her last name. He hated to admit it, but these lapses in memory were becoming more of an issue. He was forced to ask, “What did you say her last name was again?”

  “Webster.”

  “I don’t know why I didn’t remember that,” he admitted.

  “I don’t believe that I mentioned it at lunch.”

  Bishop wasn’t sure if Gleason said that simply to be kind or if that was actually true, but it did make him feel somewhat better. “Before I let you go, I have another question for you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “This is a rather delicate topic so I’d hope that we can keep this between us for now.”

  Gleason seemed hesitant, but agreed.

  “I’ve heard some rumors … don’t ask me from whom … that Sister Ann and Sister Pat are spending what seems like an unusually large amount of money on a trip they’re taking to San Diego.”

  “Oh, that,” he said somewhat relieved that
Bishop’s concern wasn’t an entirely new issue. “I’ve heard that, too.”

  Bishop waited for Gleason to offer his take on it as president of the school’s board of trustees.

  “Their accommodations do seem a bit extravagant, but if that’s where the conference is, I guess there’s not much choice.”

  “Do you know which conference it is?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Was a registration fee included in their expenses?”

  “Not that I recall.” Bishop could tell by the way he answered that he hadn’t considered the possibility that they weren’t actually planning to attend a conference. He decided not to mention … at least, not yet … the other rumor that the funds used for the trip were part of Dr. Andrews’ donation for an anti-bullying program.

  “Well, thanks for your time, Art. Enjoy the rest of this glorious afternoon.”

  Gleason jumped into his Jeep Cherokee, rolled all the windows down, and started the engine. As he began to back out of his parking place, Bishop signaled for him to wait.

  “I just had one more quick question.” Bishop would have been very annoyed with himself had he forgotten to ask.

  “Okay,” said Gleason as he listened over the noise of the engine and the rattle of a loose tail pipe.

  “How much money is in petty cash?”

  “I’m not really sure,” Gleason admitted. “Do you need some cash right now?”

  “No, no. I just was curious as to how much is usually kept for that sort of thing.”

  Gleason thought for a moment, and then responded. “I would say a couple hundred, at most. Anything over that would be taken to the bank at the end of the day.”

  “Right. Well, thanks again,” Bishop said as he waved goodbye.

  ***

  As Bishop walked back to his Toyota Corolla, he caught a glimpse of someone walking through the faculty parking lot. Students regularly took that shortcut to get to their parking lot. This girl had tied her uniform sweater around her waist. A heavy backpack slung over her left shoulder made her lean to the right as she walked towards him. With her right hand, she pushed back her long blond hair. Bishop couldn’t believe his luck. It was Liz Atkins.

  “Hi, Liz. Beautiful afternoon, isn’t it?” He couldn’t see her eyes through the reflective lenses of her oversized sunglasses, but he could see that she wasn’t smiling.

  “Yeah, I guess.” The heavy bag had slipped a bit, so she grabbed the strap and hoisted the bag into a more comfortable position.

  Bishop sensed that her thoughts were elsewhere.

  “Is anything wrong?”

  “Let me tell you. There’s one thing I won’t miss about HT.”

  Bishop hadn’t expected her response. Liz was one of the standouts of the senior class who had earned a hefty scholarship to Wellesley. He wanted to believe that Holy Trinity graduates left with an appreciation for the education that they had received.

  “What won’t you miss?”

  “Sister Pat. I think she stays up nights thinking of ways to make people miserable.”

  Bishop had had the same thought on more than one occasion, but that was not something that he could share with a student. He tried to be diplomatic.

  “I think she means well.”

  “I think she’s just mean.”

  Bishop inwardly smiled at the way she had turned his use of a verb into an adjective that was often used to describe the assistant principal.

  “What makes you say that?” He decided that letting her vent might make her more willing to answer a few questions about Nick that he hoped to ask.

  “This is my second trip out to my car. When I went out the first time, I found a note on my windshield. I couldn’t imagine who might have left that for me. Anyone who wanted to leave me a message would just text.”

  “Was it from Sister Pat?”

  “Yup.”

  “What was the message, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “She fined me five dollars for not parking between the lines!” Just saying it out loud made her angry. “I was so upset I just grabbed the note and marched back into school. I didn’t even think to leave this stupid bag in the car.” She had already dropped the heavy bag to the pavement.

  “Did you plead your case?”

  “I found her in the hall, collecting money from Rick Morgan. He must have gotten a note as well. When he left, I started to question her right to do this, but she didn’t give me a chance. She just said that if I didn’t pay, the fine would double each day until I did pay.”

  Bishop cringed inwardly as he wondered if Sister Pat was using this ploy to pocket some extra spending money for her trip to San Diego.

  “I’m sorry,” he said in all sincerity. Incidents like this often stayed with students for a long time. Sister Pat was alienating the very students who should be singing the praises of the school and who one day might be in a position to help the school financially.

  “The one funny thing was that when I gave her the money, she grabbed it, tried to stuff it in her pocket, and dropped it. I pretended that I hadn’t noticed and walked away. I saw her reflection in the glass doors as she tried to bend down to pick up that bill. That was worth five dollars,” she concluded with a laugh.

  “Well, thanks for listening,” she said as she picked up her bag.

  “Liz, before you go, would you mind if I asked you a question?”

  “Is it about Nick?”

  Her astute question took him by surprise. “Well, yes, it is, how did you know?”

  She dropped her bag to the ground again. “Everybody knows that you’re trying to help the police in the investigation, and I figured that what I said in class the other day would get back to you sooner or later.”

  “You’re a very smart young lady,” he offered with a smile. “I did hear about that, and I was just wondering what Nick might have done to make you feel that way. I thought Nick was well-regarded by his classmates.”

  “He was … I mean … I thought he was pretty awesome myself until I got to know him better.”

  “What made you change your mind?”

  She thought for a moment before answering. “It was a combination of things, I guess. Sometimes, he’d say something about somebody, and I’d think, What kind of person would say that? You know what I mean?”

  “I guess so,” he said, hoping that she would add some details without being asked.

  Liz did just that. “He told me that when Coach Wagner wasn’t around, he used to humiliate Bobby in front of the other guys. I mean the kid’s only twelve years old or something.”

  Bishop shook his head disapprovingly, and hoped that she would continue.

  “Nick also used to trash his ex at Dunhill. He even joked that she almost ‘pulled an Ophelia’ on him.”

  “What?” gasped Bishop, confused by the reference to Hamlet, one of William Shakespeare’s most famous plays. Ophelia was the young woman in love with Hamlet who is convinced that Hamlet has gone mad when he mistreats her and kills her own father. Grief stricken, she loses her own grip on reality and commits suicide, although some critics suggest that her death was accidental.

  “Was Nick suggesting that his ex-girlfriend attempted suicide?”

  “That’s how I took it. It was like a joke to him. I was ready to drop him at that point, but I hesitated because I started to think about what he might say about me to his friends.”

  “You don’t have to answer, but I’m wondering what made you change your mind?”

  “You won’t spread this around, will you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “He insisted that I send him some photos,” she said softly.

  Bishop gave her a look that indicated that he didn’t get what she was talking about.

  “Photos of me!” She didn’t need to say any more. Bishop had heard about revenge porn. Once guys had those photos, they could threaten to post them if they didn’t get what they wanted, and after the relationship ended, they posted them on
line to harass and humiliate their former girlfriends.

  “I’m so sorry, Liz. You did the right thing.” His words seemed inadequate. He admonished himself for thinking it possible that she might have been involved in Nick’s murder when, in fact, she was a victim herself.

  Her phone rang to a tune that he didn’t recognize. She pulled the phone out of the side pocket of her slacks, glanced at the screen, and said, “Well, I guess I better get going. I hope you find who did that to Nick. He may have been an arrogant jerk, but he didn’t deserve that.”

  “You’ve been very helpful. I really appreciate it.”

  As she headed off to her car, Bishop got into his. The drive home gave him a chance to sort through what Liz had just shared with him. Considering the way Nick treated certain people, it was not surprising that someone wanted him dead. The question remained: Who had the opportunity and the motive? Bobby apparently had both, but Bishop thought it highly unlikely that a boy his age could plot and execute such a crime. However, Red Wagner was another story. He clearly had the opportunity, and if he had learned how Nick was treating Bobby, he might have felt that he had the motive as well. Bishop thought of that night at Christy’s, and the love that Luigi proudly displayed for his granddaughter, Maria. Might the strength of such a bond cause an otherwise reasonable person to make a mistake in judgment?

  He mulled over something else that Liz said. Nick had made a reference to Ophelia when discussing his girlfriend at Dunhill. Liz had told Blake that the girl’s name was Vicky. It now appeared to Bishop that Vicky was indeed the Victoria Sloane whose tribute he had found on the school’s website. It certainly seemed more plausible now that the cause of her unexpected death might have been suicide, and that Nick’s behavior might have been a contributing factor. Had Nick asked Vicky for some photos? Had she actually sent them? Had Nick used them to threaten her? Had he posted them online? Might this have motivated someone to seek, not justice, but revenge?

  Chapter Twenty-Three