A Question of Judgment: A Michael Bishop Mystery

by Anthony J. Pucci

  On occasion a student caught doing something would wonder whether or not Bishop had eyes in the back of his head. He did admit to having excellent peripheral vision. He was quite sure that he caught a glimpse of Terry rushing to get back to her desk as the meeting ended.

  He turned to Blake and shook his hand vigorously.

  “You certainly had me guessing. For a while, I thought you might be a murderer or something,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh at his own miscalculation. “All of us here at Holy Family owe you a huge debt of gratitude.”

  “That’s for sure,” said Ron as he shook Blake’s hand.

  “All I really did was listen. I’m sorry that it took the powers-that-be so long to respond. Sister Estelle is a good person, and she wanted to be absolutely convinced before she took any action.”

  “What do you think will happen to them?” Ron asked.

  “That’s not for me to speculate,” he replied. “I’m sure that you’ll do a fine job in the interim.”

  “I wish I was as sure of that as you are,” Ron replied honestly.

  “He’s right,” Bishop said. “You’ve got the temperament and the skills for the job. Congratulations!”

  “I may need your help,” he admitted.

  “I doubt that, but if you do, I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

  Ron turned to Art. “Would you like to step into my office for a few minutes? We need to discuss a strategy as to how we are going to handle this tomorrow.”

  Bishop quickly excused himself as he noticed Lieutenant Hodge getting ready to leave the building.

  “Lieutenant, wait up! I need to talk with you.”

  ***

  As they left the school in Hodge’s black, unmarked car, Bishop explained his theory. Hodge had his doubts, but agreed that it was worth a try. Occasionally, there was chatter over his car radio, but Hodge ignored it. The two men were mostly silent at they proceeded to their destination. For Bishop, the reason was threefold: Blake Driscoll’s revelation of his purpose in coming to Holy Trinity, the uncertainty surrounding the ultimate fate of the two sisters, and the unpleasant task that awaited him on their arrival.

  “Turn left at the next light,” Bishop said matter-of-factly.

  “That’s West Avenue,” Hodge said as he slowed down. “Red Wagner lives down that way,” he added with some tension in his voice.

  “I know that, but it’s a shortcut I figured out using Google maps.”

  Hodge chuckled. “For a guy that says he doesn’t know too much about computers, I’d say that you’re a quick learner.”

  “Some of it is just luck,” admitted the veteran teacher.

  “And some of it is plain old good detective work.”

  “Take a right on Parkline Drive. It’s number 8.”

  When they arrived, Hodge pulled into the driveway. The house was a large white colonial with red shutters. All of the windows were closed, either because there was no one home or because the A/C was running. Both men got out of the car, proceeded down the brick walkway, and arrived at the impressive double front door.

  “Here goes,” Bishop said as he pressed the doorbell. They stood there hoping to hear some sign of activity inside. After waiting a few moments, he pressed the buzzer again. Still no response. He looked at Hodge who shrugged his shoulders. As they turned to walk back to the car, the door slowly opened. Bishop was stunned at the changes that had taken place in the individual now standing before him. He looked as if he had aged ten years in a matter of days. He held a wooden cane in his right hand. His head and shoulders were bent forward to such a degree that Bishop thought he might tip over without that extra support. The skin on his face was pallid. Only the black-rimmed eyeglasses were unchanged.

  “Dr. Andrews, my name is Michael Bishop from Holy Trinity High School. We met recently outside of the library.”

  “Yes, I remember.” He spoke slowly and deliberately.

  “And this is Lieutenant Hodge of the Groveland Police.”

  He nodded, but did not extend his hand to either man.

  “Would it be possible to ask you a few questions?” asked Bishop.

  “Questions about what?” the doctor wanted to know.

  “I’m investigating the death of Nick Borelli,” Hodge replied without hesitation.

  “Never actually met him,” the doctor said dismissively.

  Rather than responding to that comment, Hodge simply asked, “May we come in?”

  “All right.” Dr. Andrews turned slowly as if he moved at only one speed. “We can talk in the library,” as he led the way.

  He ushered them into a fairly large elegant room that had floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases on either side of a pair of windows overlooking the backyard. Beneath the windows was a cushioned window seat. There was an oriental rug covering a large portion of the floor space. A long narrow coffee table with a number of books and magazines on its top separated a leather sofa on one side and two large upholstered armchairs on the other. One wall contained a number of framed diplomas and certificates and some family photos. He gestured to his guests to take their seats as he lowered himself onto the sofa and set his cane on the floor behind his feet.

  The effort of answering the door seemed to have exhausted him. Bishop found it hard to believe that this was the same man who had rushed down the stands when he learned of the crisis in the locker room only weeks earlier.

  “You said that you never actually met Nick Borelli,” Bishop began.

  “That’s right. As you know, by the time I arrived at the scene that night, I knew that he was gone.” He spoke with a strange calm. Perhaps that was the product of his years of training and of practice as a physician.

  “Did you administer CPR?” asked Hodge.

  “No. The coach told me that he had attempted that to no avail. When I checked the young man’s signs, I knew he was gone.”

  “What did you assume to be the cause of death?” inquired Bishop.

  “It’s not my place to assume, anything. That is up to the medical examiner to determine.” He paused for a moment as he was overtaken by a fit of coughing. When he had that under control, he asked, “Why are you asking me all of these questions?”

  “The murder investigation is ongoing,” Hodge replied.

  “I know that Alice strongly believes that her ex-husband is responsible. And she told me that he was apparently here that night in violation of the order of protection against him. Why don’t you talk to him?”

  Hodge answered, “Of course, I’m well aware of how Ms. Urbanski feels. It’s possible that bitterness caused by the divorce might have affected her judgment. We have talked with Victor several times, and we are fairly confident that he had nothing to do with his son’s death.”

  “Dr. Andrews, do you know why Nick’s parents divorced?” Bishop asked.

  “It’s not really any of my business, and I suspect it’s not any of yours either,” he managed to say before the urge to cough overcame him again.

  “Normally, I would agree with you, but in this case, I believe that it might be very pertinent.”

  The doctor looked at Bishop but made no reply.

  “Ms. Urbanski wants us to believe that she pulled Nick out of Dunhill Academy because she feared what her husband might do, but he offers another, and frankly more credible, perspective.” The doctor adjusted his black-rimmed glasses, and remained silent.

  Lieutenant Hodge picked up the story. “Victor told me that she pulled Nick out of Dunhill and transferred him to Holy Trinity as a result of something that happened between her son and a girl at the school. Victor wanted his son to take some responsibility for his actions, whatever they were, but she refused.”

  Dr. Andrews became more interested in this line of discussion. “What exactly happened between the boy and this girl?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” Bishop said, “but I did talk with a girl at Trinity who briefly dated Nick.” He had no intention of discussing the nude photos, so he proceede
d delicately. “She described the relationship as increasingly abusive until she broke it off with him. She was also disturbed by negative comments he made about his previous girlfriend.”

  “What negative comments?” he asked.

  “I promised this young lady that I wouldn’t go into specifics, and I won’t.” Instead, he made a connection to another telling moment in the investigation. “The other day, you were with Ms. Urbanski at the library when I mentioned to her that a note that I had found in one of Nick’s notebooks proved to be unrelated to his death.”

  The doctor seemed confused by this shift in the conversation. “What’s your point?”

  “Well, in that note, a student wrote that he knew what Nick had done. When I found the note, I asked Ms. Urbanski if she knew what it meant. She said that she didn’t, but she seemed upset. When I told her at the library that the note had nothing to do with Nick’s death, I recall you saying that Victoria had nothing to do with it. That surprised me.”

  “Why should it? Alice had made mention to me of Nick’s girlfriend at Dunhill.”

  “I’m sure that she did. However, everyone I’ve talked to has referred to her as Vicky. Everyone except you, doctor. You called her ‘Victoria.’”

  He shifted a bit as he shot back, “What of it?”

  “I’m not criticizing you. I understand the custom. My mother always called me ‘Michael’ and never ‘Mike.’ As your only granddaughter, you always called her ‘Victoria’ didn’t you?”

  He didn’t need to answer the question. The doctor painstakingly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and dabbed at his eyes.

  Hodge was on the edge of his seat in anticipation of what would happen next.

  “I am so sorry for your loss,” Bishop said with genuine compassion.

  “How did you know?” he asked.

  “I read her obituary. She must have been a very special young lady.”

  “She was my world,” he replied as he dabbed at his eyes again.

  Hodge had clearly decided to let Bishop continue the questioning.

  “I know that this must be difficult for you, doctor, but did you know that she was dating Nick Borelli?”

  “Yes, but she never mentioned any problems. She wouldn’t have wanted me to worry. I didn’t find out until after her death what he had done, and I had to press my daughter to tell me the truth.”

  “And what did you learn?”

  “You probably have a good idea about that from your discussion with the girl he dated at Trinity. At least, she was lucky enough and strong enough to escape his harassment. Victoria wasn’t so fortunate.” He paused as if deciding whether or not to continue. “Victoria had struggled with depression for the last few years, and she didn’t always take her medication.” He stopped again, perhaps recalling those painful memories. “No one knows for sure if it was an accidental overdose … or … not.”

  Although this was a very difficult conversation, Bishop needed to press on. “You must have been incensed when you found out that Nick was attending school in Groveland.”

  “I was shocked.” He added in a more passionate tone, “That monster should have been held responsible! And his mother had been his enabler!”

  “Is that when you decided to take action?”

  ***

  Hodge held his breath as he waited for a response.

  “I donated money to the school to combat harassment and bullying in person and through social media.”

  “That isn’t the action I meant,” Bishop persisted.

  “Are you suggesting that I had something to do with his death?

  “I’m afraid that I am.”

  He dismissed the suggestion with something that resembled a laugh. “That’s ridiculous. I was actually sitting in the stands with Alice when the call came from the locker room.”

  “I know that,” admitted Bishop, “but I also know that you slipped the caffeine into Nick’s water bottle hours before the game.”

  “Exactly how would you know that?”

  “Someone at the pep rally shot some video of the festivities. When I first saw it, something bothered me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I looked at it again, and it was clear as day. You were there, doctor. That’s what had bothered me. You were standing in the doorway, not too far away from me actually, looking at the players as they were introduced. You were either on your way to the locker room that was empty at the time, or on your way back. The water bottles had been prepared, and that was your chance to act.”

  Before he could respond, he suffered another coughing attack. Some of the sounds that he made were frightening.

  “Would like you me to get you a glass of water?” Hodge asked.

  When he had regained control, he said, “Where are my manners? Would you gentlemen like some lemonade?”

  Bishop looked at Hodge to see if he had a similar reaction to the unexpected question. Did he really want to serve lemonade, or was he looking for a way out? If he tried to run, they could easily stop him in his weakened condition.

  Not waiting for an answer, the doctor reached for his cane, and got to his feet.

  “Need any help?”

  “No. I’ll be back on a minute.”

  Hodge and Bishop exchanged concerned glances as the minutes ticked away. They really had no choice except to wait. It sounded as if he briefly went into another room and then returned to the kitchen.

  The doctor returned moments later, managing a tray with three small glasses of lemonade with his left arm and leaning on the cane in his right hand. When he reached the coffee table, he dropped his cane by the sofa and carefully put the tray down. He placed each glass on a napkin. Just then the doorbell rang. “Excuse me,” he said, “I’ll have to see who that is. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Please help yourself to the lemonade.”

  Bishop and Hodge listened as Andrews signed for a package from FedEx. Hodge whispered to Bishop, “I wouldn’t drink that.” Bishop returned a look of surprise at the advice. Was that his training as a detective or simply unnecessary caution? Bishop had an idea. It was more of a gesture to placate his companion. While the doctor was still engaged with the deliveryman, Bishop switched glasses with the doctor.

  When he returned, Dr. Andrews was carrying a small tray of cookies that he placed on the coffee table. He apologized for the interruption. He looked at both gentlemen, and asked, “Now, where were we?”

  Was he playing coy, or had he truly forgotten that Bishop had accused him of having the motive to kill Nick Borelli, and that he had a video clip that placed him in the area at the time the crime must have been committed? Admittedly, it probably wasn’t enough for a conviction, but it certainly raised some serious questions.

  As Bishop picked up his glass of lemonade, he looked for any change in Dr. Andrews’ expression. There was none, so Bishop raised the glass to his lips. The doctor looked down at his glass and moving more quickly than he had been, grabbed his cane.

  The next thing Bishop remembered was that Dr. Andrews shouted “No!” and lunged at Bishop as he swung his cane. The glass Bishop held crashed to the floor, its contents spilling on the rug and the hardwood floor beyond that. The doctor lost his balance and fell on the coffee table that tipped over dumping the other glasses, the cookies, and a host of magazines in a heap. Hodge jumped to his feet to assist the doctor who had started to sob. It took Hodge several minutes to settle the doctor on the couch.

  Bishop was still stunned by the unexpected blow. He felt his hand beginning to swell, but he was more shaken by the fact that Hodge had been correct in his caution about the drinks. That was until the doctor spoke.

  “Why did you switch the glasses? That one was intended for me!” he lamented in a pained voice.

  “How did you know that I had done that?” asked a confused Bishop.

  “From the rings of moisture on the napkin under my glass, I knew that my glass had been moved, and likely switched. Did you really think that I would try to kill you?”

 
In the meantime, Hodge had called in for backup and for an ambulance.

  He spoke softly to the doctor explaining what would happen next. He placed him under arrest and read him his rights.

  The doctor listened as he stared blankly at the books and diplomas on the wall. None of that could help him now.

  Bishop moved over to the couch and knelt at the doctor’s side. He wanted to say something, but what would be appropriate? “I’m sorry” was all he said.

  The doctor roused himself to speak. “I had to do it, don’t you see? That young man took my granddaughter from me, and it was my judgment that he should pay for that. I didn’t want him to hurt anyone else, and I wanted to watch his mother … suffer … for thinking that he should escape any responsibility.” He swallowed hard before he continued. “I thought I would enjoy watching her suffer, but I hurt myself as well. I couldn’t deal with the enormity of what I had done.”

  Bishop sensed that Andrews felt some relief in being able to verbalize his grief. “Just let me die,” he pleaded. “Just let me die.” He broke down again which led to another coughing spell.

  In a few moments, the medical team arrived. Hodge directed them to take Dr. Andrews to the hospital for evaluation. He whispered to one of the attendants that the doctor should be watched 24/7. As they wheeled him out on a stretcher, Hodge explained to the other officers what had happened.

  Hodge then turned to Bishop. “Other than the fact that you almost accidentally poisoned yourself, you did a good job. I don’t think that I would have gotten him without your help. In fact, I know that.” As they left, Hodge added, “I’m taking you to the ER to check out that hand.”

  Bishop didn’t know what to say. This scene hadn’t played out the way he had imagined it, but he was relieved that the search had ended. As they drove away, Bishop couldn’t erase the image of how the doctor, in seeking to address a wrong, had destroyed himself in the process. It reminded him of The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne. In that novel, Roger Chillingworth, also a doctor, is wronged by the Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale, and who, in his unrelenting torture of that man, ultimately destroys himself as well.