by Sean Black
The real question now for Lock was what to do about it. From what he’d been told less than an hour ago, Broken Ridge was less a place of safety than one of danger. Having counseled Don Price to hold tight, and let them gather intelligence, now Lock wasn’t so sure. If it was his daughter, he’d want her out. But that still wouldn’t get around the legal issues. It would still be just a stopgap.
Everything hinged on Don’s ex-wife. If they could win her over, she could withdraw Ruth with no comeback. She would probably lose most of the money she had already spent – Broken Ridge’s policy was to take most of their fees upfront – but her daughter would be safe.
The problem, as Lock saw it, was that she was hardly likely to listen seriously either to her former husband or, for that matter, to someone he’d hired. Lock needed someone to speak with her. Someone who could present the information they had gathered but appear as a broadly neutral third party.
He had someone in mind. He slowed his car, and pulled off the road so that he could make the call.
They answered almost immediately. Lock introduced himself. The person at the other end of the line asked how they could help him. Lock explained that it was more a matter of how he could help them.
“I have a story for you.”
48
Ty knew that someone had been in his room as soon as he walked in. They hadn’t taken much trouble to conceal the fact. Or, if they had, they were incredibly sloppy. Or he’d interrupted them, and they’d gotten out without him seeing them, which seemed unlikely. It wasn’t exactly ransacked, but his bag had been moved, and the zip was still open.
Kneeling down, he unzipped it the rest of the way and dug his hand in, past the clothes lying on top, feeling for the secure carrying case for his SIG Sauer.
Nothing. He peeled away the clothes, laying them on the floor.
Still no sign of it.
Finally, he stood back up, grabbed the bag, turned it over and tipped out the contents.
No sign of the case. His gun was gone.
Although he already knew someone had come in and taken it, he did a sweep of the room, then headed out.
Aidan Lewis was walking down the corridor. Ty stopped him. “Hey, Aidan, have you seen anyone going into my room?”
Aidan looked terrified by the very question. Ty knew that staff quarters were strictly off limits to the kids. Not that that would stop your average teenager.
“No, sir,” said Aidan.
“Where is everyone?”
“In class. Working.”
“Come with me,” Ty told him.
Aidan followed him down the corridor and into the classroom. The rest of the boys were sitting, heads down, in silence, dutifully going through their workbooks.
Ty clapped his hands together. “Okay, stop what you’re doing and listen up.”
They all turned to stare at him. They looked as scared as Aidan had.
“Okay, someone was in my room, and took something from my bag,” said Ty. He was looking for some kind of reaction from one of them. A snigger. A flushed face. Some kind of a tell. “If it’s returned to me right now, I won’t take any further action, and the whole thing will be forgotten.”
Now he really did feel like some lame-ass old schoolteacher. But he wasn’t sure what else he could do. All he wanted was the gun back. No one would be able to open the case to get at it, but that wasn’t the point. “Anyone know anything about this?”
Blank expressions. No one snuck a look at anyone else. Nothing.
“Like I said, if you tell me now that’ll be an end to it. This doesn’t have to be a big deal.”
It must have sounded strange to a group of kids who were punished if they walked two steps rather than three behind the person in front of them. This was a place where the most minor infraction was made into a big deal. So maybe they didn’t believe him.
“Okay, everybody up,” Ty said.
The boys all stood. Now they really were scared. One of the younger boys was literally trembling, hands down by his sides, fingers drumming against his legs. That was too bad. Ty needed to find that gun case, and fast.
“Follow me.”
They went out of the classroom, down the corridor, and into the dorm room. “Okay, I want everyone to stand by the bed of the person who’s to their immediate right and look under their bed, then check their locker.”
They shuffled into position and began to search. Ty stood in the doorway and watched.
“We’re looking for a hard black plastic carry-case about this tall and this wide,” he said, showing them the broad dimensions with his hands.
Gretchen’s voice came from behind him. “Is everything okay here, Mr. Cross?”
49
As Lock turned into the motel parking lot, he noticed a Sheriff’s Department cruiser parked outside the office. Sheriff Dwyer was walking out. He waved at Lock, flagging him down. Lock pulled alongside the cruiser and got out.
“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” said the sheriff, with a smile.
Lock returned it. “Just taking my time with everything. I’m very thorough.”
The sheriff tugged at the brim of his hat. “Good to know. Well, you have a safe journey home.”
“Thanks,” said Lock, getting back into the Explorer as the sheriff got behind the wheel of his own vehicle.
Lock watched him reverse out of the bay, pull a U-turn in the parking lot, and head back onto the road. The manager was by the window of his office, watching the sheriff leave. When he saw Lock looking at him, he ducked out of sight.
* * *
Parking in back, Lock headed to his room. He opened the door and stepped inside. A quick check confirmed his suspicion that someone had been there since he had left. Not that there was anything incriminating for them to find. Lock had made sure to take his gun, and laptop computer, with him.
Nothing was missing. Nothing was damaged. But the message was clear. Both from this and what the sheriff had said. They would prefer it if Lock packed up and got out of town.
Sadly for them, they were going to be disappointed. He thought about talking to the manager, but there would be no point. If he had let the sheriff into Lock’s room, which was the most likely scenario, he wasn’t going to admit it. If Lock challenged him directly, he’d only get himself kicked out. It was best left alone.
Lock headed back out. As he drove past the manager’s office, he gave him a friendly wave. The manager nervously returned the favor, the look on his face all but confirming Lock’s suspicions.
The sheriff turning up to search his room told Lock that someone was concerned. Which meant they had something to hide. Or something to lose. Very probably both.
So, he was not going to leave anytime soon: he was going to poke the hornet’s nest a few more times, see what reaction he got.
50
To Ruth’s relief, Mary seemed to have rallied. Whatever catatonic state she’d plunged into had lifted as quickly as it had descended. Where there had been dark, brooding storm clouds, there seemed now to be blue skies. Not only was Mary talking, she had helped Ruth sweep the barn with an old broom they had found at the back of the hayloft. They’d also found a pack of playing cards at the bottom of the bag the new member of staff had brought to them. That was an inspired gift. Now that they had gotten past the shock of being locked in there, Ruth had realized that the great enemy they faced was boredom.
They spent the afternoon playing endless games of Crazy Eights and Hearts. The time passed much quicker. Mary’s mood seemed to improve with every game.
For once, they were free to talk without fear of anyone reporting what they said to Gretchen or another member of staff. Mary wanted to talk about the injustice of it all. Ruth tried to steer the conversation toward what they would do when they left. Whenever that was.
“You’re not scared about leaving?” Mary asked her.
Ruth studied the cards she was holding. “Scared? What do you mean?”
“I get scared t
hat I won’t be able to cope.”
“You will. You’re a lot stronger than you think,” Ruth said, trying to reassure her. Although she wouldn’t admit it, she knew what Mary was getting at. Here, everything was decided for you. From the time you got up until the time you went to bed, every waking moment was scheduled. You didn’t have to make any decisions.
The outside world was different. It was full of decisions. Punishment wasn’t just being locked in this old barn. It was the removal of all that structure.
But they had coped. It had been rocky, but they had come through.
Mary shook her head at the suggestion. “No, you’re strong, Ruth. I’m not. I’m really not.”
“You are! Look how you were when we were put in here, and look at you now.”
The sadness flickered across Mary’s face again. She started to tear up. Ruth’s heart sank. She put her arms around her friend and hugged her tight. “This will all be over soon. I promise you.”
Mary pulled away. She tried to smile. “I know.”
They both turned toward the barn door as the padlock rattled. A second later a wedge of late-afternoon sunshine splashed across the floor. Rachel walked in, laden with another bag.
Ruth and Mary got to their feet. Rachel came over, put the bag down on the ground and gave them both a hug. “How are you doing?” she asked.
“Okay. Thanks for the cards,” Ruth said.
“No problem. I can’t stay too long. Everyone’s going nuts up there. Apparently someone went into that new guy’s room, and stole something. Gretchen’s out for blood.”
“At least we can’t get the blame for that,” said Mary.
Rachel looked at her. “You’re feeling better.”
Mary brightened again, the mini meltdown of a few moments ago forgotten again. “Yeah.”
“Okay. Well, look, I’ll come back in the morning. There’s enough to get you through until then.”
Ruth handed Rachel the bag they’d been brought at lunchtime. “Hey, what got stolen? Does anyone know?” she asked.
“No idea. But they’re losing their minds over it. I know this place isn’t great, but right now it’s better than being up there.”
Rachel headed back out. The door closed. The padlock clicked back into place.
“I’m going to take a nap,” said Ruth. “Then we can have something to eat, and play more cards.”
“Great.”
Ruth walked over to the mattress in the corner and lay down. She’d found sleeping hard while Mary was still so on edge. She hadn’t trusted her not to do something stupid.
A few minutes after closing her eyes, she had dozed off.
* * *
Mary waited until she was sure Ruth was asleep. Quietly she opened the bag that Rachel had brought them, and began to search through it.
She found what she was looking for at the very bottom. She pulled it out, handle first.
She ran the pad of her thumb along the blade. It wasn’t very sharp. She pressed down harder until she pierced the skin. She squeezed her thumb against the side of her index finger until blood blossomed in a thin line. She closed her eyes. Her thumb pulsed with pain. She smiled to herself. It wasn’t a good feeling, but somehow it was comforting. She wiped the smear of blood away, and looked around for somewhere she could hide the knife.
51
It was a small enough town so it hadn’t taken Lock too much time to find out where the little old lady who had scolded Ty lived. He parked one street over, and walked to the house. He climbed three wooden stairs to the porch, and knocked on the front door.
He heard the lady inside before he saw her. She was muttering about having been woken from a nap. It wasn’t a great start.
The front door opened and she peered at him through the screen. “I’m not buying anything.”
“That’s good because I’m not selling anything. I wanted to ask you a few questions about Broken Ridge.”
The door slammed shut. He tapped on the frame again. “Ma'am.”
“Go away or I’ll call the police.”
He was fairly sure she was still standing behind the door. He was also fairly certain that she wasn’t about to call the police just yet.
Lock put a hand up to the side of the door, and leaned forward so that she would be able to hear him through the door without him having to shout. “Ma'am, my friend’s daughter is at Broken Ridge, and he’s very concerned for her safety. She was placed there by his ex-wife, and if we’re going to get her out of that place, I need any information I can get.”
There was no answer from behind the door.
“If you can’t, or won’t help me, I’ll leave and I won’t bother you again,” he continued. “But I know you have some strong opinions about the place.” He gave it a few seconds, turned and started back down the steps. His foot had barely fallen onto the last when he heard the door open again.
“You’d better come on in,” she said, holding open the screen door.
Lock walked back up the steps and inside. He followed her into a small but neat-as-a-pin kitchen.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Water would be great.”
She opened the refrigerator and brought out a jug, took two glasses from a cabinet and poured them each a glass. They sat down at the small Formica-topped kitchen table. A grey and white cat scooted out from under it, rubbing itself against Lock’s legs before it disappeared through a cat flap.
“So how did you know to ask me about Broken Ridge?” the lady, whom he’d learned was called Miriam Toms, asked him.
“I’ve been asking around,” Lock told her.
She rolled her eyes. “About the school? Bet that’s made you real popular.”
“Not especially,” said Lock. “But I’ve always thought that popularity was kind of overrated.”
Miriam Toms laughed. “You and me both.”
Most people he’d asked about Broken Ridge had either gone quiet or feigned ignorance. The vibe he’d gotten was that it wasn’t a subject that local people felt comfortable discussing, which was almost always a reliable indication of problems. A well-run school that brought money into an area was usually a source of civic pride rather than secrecy.
“Do you mind if I ask how you came to be so concerned about Broken Ridge?”
She laughed again, this time with an edge. “You don’t know?”
Lock shook his head.
“I worked there. As a counselor.”
It all made sense now to Lock. But it also concerned him slightly. If she was a disgruntled former employee she might have an axe to grind. Her objectivity could be called into question. “How long were you there for?”
“Three years, which, believe me, was more than long enough. I only stayed as long as I did because I liked the kids. And I thought that if I was there then perhaps I could be a moderating influence on that crazy bitch Gretchen Applewhite. Pardon my language.”
The apology wasn’t needed, but she didn’t seem to him the kind of woman who wouldn’t used such a word without there being some pretty strong emotion behind it. He wanted to ask her about Jennifer, whether she’d been there for that incident or, if not, whether she’d heard anything. But that could wait. He didn’t want to spook her.
Instead, he asked, “What did you see that concerned you?”
She got up from the kitchen table and headed toward the living room. “We need a drink. If you don’t then I definitely do.”
* * *
Miriam Toms spent an hour giving him a run-down of what she had experienced at Broken Ridge. Most of it Lock had heard before, if not in relation to Broken Ridge then to one of the other thousand or so private schools of its type.
What surprised him was that so much bad practice could be concentrated in one place. If these schools could be dysfunctional then Broken Ridge would be the poster child. From punishments that would be ruled illegal in a county, state or federal prison to all kinds of abuse by staff members that should hav
e seen them in court, to straight-up psychological manipulation and brain-washing that might not have been illegal but was certainly unethical, Miriam Toms related it all. With the kind of detail that made her highly credible.
Most alarming of all, it was clear from what she described that all of this was allowed to go on because of the school’s leadership. There was also a dark undercurrent to it. A line that could be drawn from Gretchen Applewhite’s domineering father, who had established the school in the first place, to her and, in turn, to the staff who implemented her philosophy and policies.
“Did you know Gretchen’s father?” Lock asked Miriam.
“Not really. Only by reputation.”
“Which was?”
“Well, no one round here spent any time with him unless they had to, or there was money to be made.”
“Not a pleasant guy?’
“He was pretty aloof, and he had a temper. And he thought, because he ran the school people paid so much money to send their kids to, he was above everyone else.”
“And Gretchen?”
“She looked at her father the way most people look at God. I think that was a big part of the problem. Especially after he passed.”
“You mean, she’s trying to prove a point to herself?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. A lot of the stuff that Albert did would be considered cruel but there was some kind of method behind it. Gretchen does stuff because she wants to show just how tough she can be. That’s when it gets dangerous there. Anyone even hints at challenging her authority, and she gets rid of them.”
“And that’s what you did?”
Miriam moved her glass around the tabletop in small circles. For a moment she seemed lost in her past. “Yes, I did. But way too late. I made the mistake of thinking that if I stayed around I could somehow put the brakes on the worst stuff.”
