A Question of Judgment: A Michael Bishop Mystery

by Anthony J. Pucci

  ***

  Terry was able to confirm for Bishop that Sister Ann had agreed to meet with Fitzgerald after school. Sister Pat would undoubtedly be present, taking up a sizable portion of the office space. So far, so good.

  Bishop normally had little difficulty separating himself from whatever was going on outside of the classroom. This day that proved more of a challenge as thoughts of what might transpire that afternoon kept vying for attention like a swarm of pesky gnats. He chose to have his lunch at his desk rather than the faculty lunchroom. He didn’t feel up to the light banter that he usually engaged in with his colleagues.

  When the final bell of the day rang, he quickly packed his briefcase and closed his room. He went directly to Blake’s room where he was in the process of doing the same thing. Together, they walked into Ron’s office, avoiding interruptions along the way.

  “Ready?” asked a determined Bishop.

  “Ready as I’m going to be,” he replied as he got up from his desk and put his sport coat on. He joined the other two as they made the short walk to the principal’s office. The door was open. Sister Ann was seated behind her desk with Sister Pat ensconced in a leather armchair. When she saw them approach the door, Sister Ann quickly folded something and placed it underneath a stack of manila folders. Could that have been a brochure featuring tourist attractions in San Diego?

  “What can I do for you, gentlemen?” Sister Ann asked rather mechanically.

  “Sister, I’d like to have our meeting now,” Blake stated firmly.

  She brushed off his suggestion. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. I have an important meeting with Mayor Fitzgerald.” She made a show of checking the daily planner on her desk. “I believe that you requested a meeting for tomorrow afternoon,” she said as if that settled the matter. Sister Pat sat there with a smug look of satisfaction on her face. She knew that by the time that Blake showed up for his Friday meeting, they would be checking into the Desmond Hotel in Albany. Who cared what Blake wanted to say? Friday was his last day at Holy Trinity. They didn’t need to worry about him.

  “I’m afraid that I must insist,” Blake said firmly. Before Sister Ann could respond, her intercom rang. She made the mistake of using the speakerphone instead of picking up. “Yes?”

  The voice was Terry’s. “Sister, I just had a call from the mayor.” The three gentlemen stood quietly as Bishop’s plan worked to perfection. “He said he’s very sorry, but something came up, and he has to postpone today’s meeting.”

  Sister Pat’s smug look faded quickly. Sister Ann tried not to look flustered. “Well, gentlemen, sit down. I guess that I can spare a few minutes.”

  “I’ll grab another chair,” said Ron as there were only two straight-backed wooden chairs available. He returned quickly and placed his chair so that Blake was sitting between himself and Bishop, all of them off to the right side of the room, with Sister Pat off to the left.

  Sister Ann folded her hands on her desk and sat very rigidly, not quite knowing what to expect. She looked directly at Blake, and without any expression of warmth in her tone, asked, “What is it that you want to talk about? Your time here is just about over, isn’t it?”

  Sister Pat, who had a pad of paper resting on her lap and a pen in her hand, smiled at the prospect of Blake’s last day. Bishop wondered whether her readiness to take notes suggested an openness to what might transpire during the meeting or if it were a way to conceal the fact that they were secretly recording every word.

  Blake displayed no nervousness as he began. “I have to say that these last two weeks have been quite a revelation. The kids here are great, but I don’t believe that you or Sister Pat should take much credit for that. In fact, I’d say that this school does remarkably well in spite of the two of you.”

  Ron sat quietly, probably thinking that Blake had just said what he would have said if he didn’t fear losing his job on the spot. Blake had no such fear. Bishop looked to the other two administrators to gauge their reaction. Sister Pat’s jaw dropped in disbelief. Sister Ann’s eyes narrowed as she prepared to fire back.

  “Just who do you think you are, coming in here and making a comment like that?”

  “I’m glad you asked that question. For starters, my name isn’t Blake Everett. Mr. Bishop was the only one to figure that out, but fortunately, he had the good sense to trust me to explain at this meeting.”

  Sister Ann, Ron, and Bishop all seemed to inch towards the edge of their seats in anticipation. Sister Pat was already at the edge of her seat at the same time that she was as far back in the seat as possible.

  “My name is Blake Driscoll,” he said as he pulled his license from his wallet and placed it on the principal’s desk. I was recently hired as Assistant Director of Secondary Education for the Northeast Region by Sister Estelle Molloy, who, as you very well know, is the Superior General of the Sisters of the Holy Rosary. Over the last year or so, she has received a number of complaints regarding both you and Sister Pat. She discussed these with each of you on several occasions, but regrettably the complaints continued, and in fact, some of the charges seemed quite serious. When I came on board, she decided to send me down here on an undercover mission to find out just what was going on.”

  Ron gave Bishop a look that revealed his confusion. He had shared his apartment with a spy. Bishop gave him a reassuring wink. Sister Pat let the pad of paper and her pen drop to the floor. Sister Ann sat stoically as Blake continued. “It didn’t take me long to draw some conclusions. Frankly, I have been appalled at the examples of poor judgment, insensitivity to the needs of others, and unethical if not outright criminal behavior you have displayed.”

  “We’re not criminals!” shouted Sister Pat indignantly. She turned to Sister Ann and advised, “I think that you should throw them all out of here right now!”

  “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” cautioned Blake. “I have been in frequent contact with Sister Estelle during my time here, and I have her full support in what I am doing today. You may call her right now if you have any doubts about that.”

  Rather than make that call, Sister Ann took the offensive. “I suppose that you’ve been listening to Mr. Bishop. He’s really the problem. He constantly challenges whatever ever we do.” If she was looking for sympathy, she failed miserably.

  “As I understand it, Mr. Bishop is one of the few around here willing to speak up, and I admire him for that. But to answer your concern, most of the information that I have gathered has been from other faculty, staff, and even students. Remember, no one thought that I was anything more than a sub in Chemistry for two weeks. They had no reason to lie to me, but they did see me as someone to whom they could vent their frustrations and concerns.”

  While Sister Pat took out a large handkerchief to wipe the perspiration from her forehead, Sister Ann remained defiant. “I haven’t heard you make a single specific accusation, Mr. … Driscoll.”

  Blake opened a folder that he had brought in with him and was about to speak. Before he had a chance to begin what was certainly a long list, Bishop stood up. He reached into his wallet, pulled out a bill, and placed it directly in front of the principal. Blake had no idea why Bishop would interrupt.

  “Sister, do you recognize this bill?”

  She instinctively flinched as if the object on her desk might spring to life and attack her. “It’s a fifty-dollar bill, of course. Mr. Bishop, just what kind of game are you playing?”

  “I assure you that this is not a game. If you will allow me, I’d like to bring in two important people.” Sister Pat started to object, but without waiting for approval, he went to the door, opened it, saw Lieutenant Hodge and Art Gleason waiting at a distance as planned, and motioned for them to come in.

  As they walked into the office, Ron said, “I’ll grab a couple more chairs.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” said Hodge. “This shouldn’t take too long.”

  Sister Ann ignored Gleason and directed her growing anxiety to the li
eutenant.

  “What are you doing here? This isn’t a murder investigation.”

  “I’m a detective, Sister. I investigate different types of crimes,’ he said, sounding to Bishop like the actor, Jack Webb, from the ‘60s television series, Dragnet. Both men were old enough to remember the sobering voice of Detective Joe Friday.

  “Sister, let me ask you again. Please take a good look at the bill. Have you ever seen it before?”

  She picked it up and briefly looked at the front and back. “It’s a fifty-dollar bill. I’ve seen hundreds of them.” Sister Pat smiled. Bishop wasn’t sure that the pun was intended, and if it was, this was no time for humor.

  “If you look again, you will see that the words Who’s buried in Grant’s tomb? are written in red on the front of the bill. They are hard to miss.”

  “Someone defaced the bill. I don’t see what difference that makes.” Bishop didn’t know if she was pretending to be innocent, or if she really hadn’t noticed what was written on the bill when it had been in her possession previously.

  “This particular bill has an interesting history. It was in my possession on the night of the game with Catholic Central when passes for faculty and staff were not accepted for the game.”

  Sister Pat smiled at the reference to her moneymaking scheme.

  “I reached the ticket counter at the same time as Terry and Sarah, and I paid for three adult tickets at ten dollars a piece with this fifty-dollar bill. They will vouch for that fact. That bill must have been turned over to the business office as part of the game’s receipts.”

  Sister Ann fidgeted with a letter opener on her desk as she began to understand where Bishop was going with this. Perhaps the thought of using the letter opener as a weapon to stop Bishop occurred to her, but there were other people in the room.

  “The next morning you accused Annette Dunkirk of stealing several thousand dollars and offered her the option of resigning instead of pressing charges against her.” He looked directly at her as he said, “Sister, I believe you faked that robbery so that you could replace Annette with Mary Ellen whom you knew would work for much less.”

  “What’s wrong with saving the school some money, huh?” Sister Pat asked defiantly.

  “For starters,” responded Hodge, “there is the matter of faking a robbery.” After a short pause, he added, “And then there’s the question of what happened to that money.”

  Sister Ann said nothing.

  “Well, Lieutenant,” said Bishop, “that’s where this gets interesting. That fifty dollar bill that was supposedly stolen ended up being given to Mary Ellen to reimburse her for some expenses.”

  “How do you know that?” asked Sister Ann quickly.

  This time Ron answered. “Because several of us were with her when she used that same bill that’s on your desk to pay for dinner. Michael recognized the bill and went back to the restaurant to obtain it. Luigi Catania is willing to testify to that.”

  Sister Ann tried to spin this sequence of events in her favor.

  “I’m sorry, but I fail to see what’s wrong with using school funds to pay for school expenses. I am the principal of this school, and I have the right to use school funds as I see fit,” she said defiantly.

  Sister Pat nodded in approval. Perhaps her friend had gotten the better of them.

  Art Gleason responded this time. “The school’s money belongs to the school, not to you. Faking a theft is unethical at the very least.” He looked to Hodge for support.

  “And we have a term for using school funds to pay for personal expenses … embezzlement.”

  Instead of denying the charge, the principal issued a challenge. “You can’t prove that I spent a penny of that money on anything other than school business.”

  Gleason spoke up again. “I’m afraid that we can. If you used that money as petty cash, there is no way that more than one or two hundred dollars would be missing from what was taken from Annette’s desk that night. Where is the rest of that money?”

  Sister Ann forced herself not to look at the drawer where she kept the envelope, but Mary Ellen had already told Bishop where it was.

  “Sister, would you please take the brown envelope out of the drawer on the left side of your desk so that we can count its contents?”

  “I certainly will not! How dare you!”

  Bishop didn’t expect her to cooperate without some persuasion.

  Hodge said, “If you want me to contact a judge right now to obtain a search warrant, I’ll do that, but I would recommend that we avoid involving the court system at this point.”

  “There’s also the matter of Dr. Andrew’s donation to the school,” Gleason added to keep the pressure on her.

  “What about his donation?” she asked innocently.

  “I’ve looked at the books, and his donation was recorded at half of its value. As president of the board, I’d like to know what happened to the rest of that money.” Ron glanced at Bishop. He had never heard that tone of voice from Gleason previously.

  “That’s just a bookkeeping error … probably Mary Ellen messed it up,” said Sister Pat, trying to help out her beleaguered friend.

  Ron was indignant at the very suggestion. “For your information, Sister, that transaction took place before Mary Ellen was hired. I think you’ve done her enough harm already.”

  Hodge jumped in. “Let’s get back to the issue at hand. Sister, will you place that cash envelope on your desk voluntarily?”

  Sister Ann looked to Sister Pat who was signaling her to resist. The room was very quiet as she reluctantly opened the drawer and tossed the envelope on her desk. Gleason picked it up and pulled out the contents. He scanned the bills quickly and said in disbelief, “There’s only about two hundred dollars here. Where’s the rest of it?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “There should be several thousand dollars in this envelope. What did you do with the rest of the money?”

  Bishop answered before Sister had a chance to come up with another lie. “I think that that money as well as a good portion of Dr. Andrew’s donation are funding a trip to San Diego.”

  Sister Ann shot back. “That’s school business. How else should we pay for it?” She had stepped on thin ice, and Bishop was about to let her sink.

  “School business?” he asked in disbelief. “I’ve done a thorough check of conventions in San Diego. There isn’t a single convention that is remotely connected to education taking place next week, and even if there was, a first-class flight and a stay at the Hotel del Coronado hardly seem appropriate choices.”

  “She didn’t mean any harm,” said Sister Pat in a weak voice.

  “Tell that to Annette or Dr. Andrews,” Ron snapped back.

  Blake had been following the discussion intently, even jotting a few points in his folder. “I’ve heard enough ... ” he said firmly …“more than enough. This is nothing short of embezzlement.”

  Sister Pat’s eyes began to fill with tears, and her lips quavered.

  Blake continued, “Frankly, just what I’ve heard this afternoon is enough to warrant action.” He lifted the folder in his hands. “I don’t think I need to go through this entire list of offenses with you. Frankly, I can’t believe that nothing was done when you placed the safety of the students in jeopardy when you hired Mr. Zappala or when you tried to cook the books in a scheme with your nephew.”

  Sister Ann seemed to shrink as some of what she thought were secret dealings had come to light.

  “And to think that you planned to skip out before our scheduled meeting for tomorrow,” he said with a grin. “Sister Ann, Sister Estelle expects you to be at her office at 10:00 a.m. sharp tomorrow morning.”

  Through her tears, Sister Pat spoke up. “She can’t do that! We’ll be on our way to Albany!”

  He looked at her with a mixture of pity and disgust. “Sister Pat, you won’t be going to Albany or to San Diego. I do hope that you purchased trip cancellation insurance. In any e
vent, you are to report to the Sister Hannah Marie in St. Johnsbury, Vermont tomorrow.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Near the Canadian border.”

  “Why on earth would I want to go there?”

  “A Franciscan priest is conducting a retreat there next week. Sister Estelle wants you to take that time to reevaluate your vocation as a Sister of the Holy Rosary.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” she whined.

  Knowing that his use of Latin phrases always befuddled her, he thought that this was one she would understand. “You might try mea culpa,” he suggested.

  She scrunched her eyes as she tried to make sense of his remark. “Why me?”

  Bishop thought that her response, although incorrect, was perfectly in character.

  “This is insane!” said Sister Ann.

  “If you doubt me, you may call Sister Estelle yourself. I know that she is anxious to talk with both of you.”

  Sister Ann made no move to pick up the telephone.

  Blake concluded, “As of this moment, you are both suspended from your duties here at Holy Trinity until further notice. Ron will serve as interim principal.”

  Bishop looked to Ron who looked completely at a loss for words.

  Hodge told Gleason, “I’ll be in touch,” as he made his way to the door.

  Gleason had one request for the sisters. “Please leave your office keys with me before you leave the building today. I will explain what has transpired here to the board. I’m sure that they will have a significant role to play in where we go from here after consulting with Sister Estelle.”

  The gentlemen left the office somberly. Bishop was the last one out, and as he closed the door, he looked back at the two sisters, both weeping and trying to console each other. He wondered if he would ever see them again.

  Chapter Twenty-Five