A Function of Murder (7 page)

“We were talking about how you’ve had interactions with the mayor on a personal level
in the past,” Virgil said.

A big leap. This was Virgil in action as an interrogator, never minding the fact that
his interviewee this time was a woman who provided a comfortable den for him to hang
out with his buddy, and all the pizza they could eat.

“I wouldn’t call our interactions personal. You know I volunteer at the Zeeman Academy,
a charter school that seems to be a focus of his lately. His son, Cody, was a student
there through the eighth grade. He’ll be a high school senior in the fall.”

“But the mayor is still involved in the Zeeman school?”

I nodded. “Whether as the mayor, or as an alumni parent, I don’t know. He’s dropped
by my class a few times. But it’s always ‘Professor Knowles’ or ‘Dr. Knowles’ and
‘Mayor Graves.’ We’re not on a first-name basis.”

“When was the last time you saw him at that school?”

An easy one. “Friday. I guess that was just yesterday.” I blew out a breath, as if
it were my first in a while. “It was the last day for the eighth graders. The school
is K through eight. We had a little send-off with cake and punch and kind of crafty
diplomas, even though there’s still one more week of school for the other grades.
I personally don’t like it when kids have five graduations on the way to college,
but”—I stopped—“why am I telling you that?”

“No problem,” Virgil said, taking a stretch break himself, giving me time. “The mayor
was at the party?”

“He’d been at the school and he was on his way out, I think, and stepped into the
lounge for a minute.”

“He have any cake? Say anything to you?”

I thought a few seconds. “He had cake, said hello to me. He shook my hand, the way
politicians do, and said
something like ‘good job,’ nothing specific. He never called me ‘Sophie.’ He left
within seven minutes.”

Virgil smiled, though I wasn’t sure why.

An emergency worker called Virgil away and I was left with my thoughts. I became aware
of many more uniformed officers now, spread over the campus, speaking to the students
and some parents. As ugly as the temporary stage had been, I’d have given anything
to have it in my view now, rather than the unmistakable lights, vehicle rumbles, and
chatter that signaled calamity.

Unlike me, most faculty and administrators had called it a day hours ago. Except for
whoever had been working on the ground floor of Admin while Bruce and I ate our ice
cream. I wondered now if whoever it was had seen anything useful. That person would
have had a good vantage point. I made a note to mention it to Virgil, though I figured
that one of the swarm of officers would make the discovery as they continued to interview
everyone.

A news crew had also arrived, with enough lights to give the area around the fountain
a garish look. I wondered if they knew more than I did about the incident, and how
they would spin it.

“Zeeman Academy is way over on the west side of town, right?”

I started, unaware that Virgil was back.

“On Brier Road, yes. It’s a new facility, whereas the other two charters in the county
took over older buildings. They were traditional schools that either closed from a
decline in population or were converted by a bona fide charter.”

“Again, do you know what his interest was in that particular school?”

I shrugged. “Maybe because his son had been a student there, but, as I said, Cody
left Zeeman three years ago.”

“How often would you say the mayor comes around now?”

I strained to remember the occasions when the mayor
had shown up at Zeeman on days that I was present. “Almost every week lately. He spent
most of the time looking over papers, I’m not sure what kind, in the principal’s office.”

“Who’s the principal there?”

“His name is Douglas Richardson.”

“You like him?”

I paused. “I guess so, yes. He’s kind of mid-career, ambitious. I know he’s grateful
for a college presence at the school. Joan Bradley from Henley’s English Department
has set up a program there, also. She got the kids interested in putting out a newsletter.”

An enormous wave of tiredness came over me. I pinched my eyelids and took a deep breath
to help me wake up.

“We’re almost done,” Virgil said. “It’s important for me to get all this down as soon
as possible.”

“I understand.”

“The papers you mentioned the mayor was looking at, were they like ledgers? Bank statements?
Was the mayor tracking some financial problem?”

“I don’t think so. From what I overheard in the lunchroom, he was checking the records
for applications to the school, acceptances, test scores, that kind of thing.”

“Any idea why?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t pay that much attention. I’m not sure exactly, but with special
schools like Zeeman Academy, there are always issues around numbers. They need a certain
number of applications and acceptances to stay in business. And their test scores
are always scrutinized. Some schools inflate grades to look better on paper. I’m not
saying that happens at Zeeman, just that it’s a general problem throughout the system
and in any city.”

“But it could be happening at Zeeman?”

“Sure. It’s possible but I really can’t say.”

I felt a chill and stuck my hands in the pockets of my sweatshirt. I doubted the temperature
had changed.
Another wave of exhaustion came over me. It seemed I’d been sitting on the bench,
struggling to remember things, to answer Virgil’s questions, for hours. Never mind
that probably less than fifteen minutes had passed.

“And Mayor Graves would be on which side of that?”

“Of what?”

“Would it be to his advantage to inflate the grades or not inflate the grades?”

I shrugged and shook my head. “Hard to say. It would depend on the rest of his agenda
for education.” I gave Virgil a pleading look. “Do you think we could continue this
tomorrow?”

“I know you’re tired and this is tough.” He patted my hand. “Just a little bit more,
Sophie, I promise. Can you give me your impression of where the mayor stood on this
issue of inflating the grades?”

I took a deep breath, trying for a second wind. “Not really. I try to stay out of
school politics when I’m not actually on the faculty.”

“I suppose there’s enough of that here.” Virgil swept his arm in a large arc, taking
in the Administration Building in front of us. “A lot of politics?”

“You said it,” I replied, thinking of the debate over whether we should have invited
the mayor to speak at commencement in the first place.

A flash of panic shot through me. “No, it couldn’t be.”

“You think of something?”

I regretted my outburst, but there was no going back. I had to tell Virgil about the
mayor’s being at the center of conflicting opinions among the faculty. I gave as casual
a description as I could, but Virgil wanted names.

“You seriously think someone on the Henley faculty would stab the mayor because he
or she didn’t get to choose who would be the graduation speaker?” I asked.

“You’d be surprised at the motives I’ve come across.”

“But he’s already given the speech, so what would be the point?” I asked, fully awake
now.

“As I said, you’d be surprised. I have to cover all bases, rule people out, Sophie.
You know that.”

“If we attacked someone every time we lost a vote at faculty senate meetings, you’d
be setting up camp here full-time.” Now I was heating up, defending my colleagues.

“You were on the losing side of that vote?”

I thought Virgil might be joking. Then I saw his serious expression in the light from
the floods on the Administration Building in front of us.

After a few stuttering sounds, I admitted, “I lost, yes, but it was no big deal.”

“Why didn’t you want the mayor to speak?”

“It wasn’t so much that I didn’t want the mayor to speak. I wanted someone else to
speak. Some of us thought that an academic or a researcher would have been a more
appropriate keynoter at a baccalaureate ceremony.”

“Who was the other candidate?”

“It wasn’t that kind of vote, with one guy against another. Our speaker cancelled.
They’re scheduled way in advance. In fact, we’ll already be looking at candidates
for next year at our summer faculty meeting.”

If I’d been in a joking mood, I’d have asked Virgil if he wanted his name on the short
list of potential candidates.

“Who was the scheduled speaker?” he asked.

“Dr. Muriel James from Harvard Med was supposed to give the address, but she had to
have surgery last week, so we needed a replacement.”

“Besides you, who else was against the mayor?” Virgil flipped his notebook to a new
page and held his pen over the clean sheet. I imagined many a guilty person being
intimidated by the gesture. So was I. I cleared my throat.

“No one was
against
the mayor.” I thought I’d made that
clear, but apparently not. Was my friend Virgil taking advantage of my weakened state?

Virgil tapped his pen. “Who voted ‘no’ then?”

“Is this legal? Don’t you need a warrant for this?” I asked, about 75 percent kidding
and the rest serious.

Virgil was 100 percent serious. “Names, Sophie.”

As uncomfortable as I was exposing colleagues, I saw no other choice. I did my best
to remember the faculty members, besides me, who’d argued for a different speaker.

Henley was less than an hour away from more than a hundred colleges, universities,
art schools, law schools, med schools, and divinity schools in the greater Boston
area. There was no question that among the Henley faculty, we had enough contacts
to talk a professor at one of them into collecting a fee for a fifteen-minute commencement
address.

In a way, we were all against the mayor. The aye votes were really votes to cooperate
with our president and deans who saw money coming to the school in the form of a new
building.

I gave Virgil ten names from the losing side, as he wanted to put it. Four representing
science and mathematics—Fran’s and mine included—and six from assorted humanities
departments.

“Anyone stand out as more determined than the others?”

“More determined to do what? All these questions, Virgil. Has the mayor died? Was
he…murdered?”

Virgil slapped his notebook lightly against the palm of his hand. “Anyone react more
strongly than others at the meeting? Make threats. Anything like that?”

I took a deep breath. The kind just before you might lie to the police.

I thought of Chris Sizemore, who’d stormed out of the meeting after the vote to invite
the mayor. She’d thrown the paper with the single-item agenda into the trash and said
something like, “This is a big mistake.” I never figured out
why Chris’s reaction was over-the-top, but she was quick-tempered at the best of times.
She was also young and idealistic, which accounted for a lot in my book.

I analyzed Virgil’s questions.
Did anyone react strongly?
he’d asked. Now that I thought about it, Chris may have simply
rushed
out of the room, which was different from
storming
out. Maybe she was late for another meeting. Or maybe she had a bathroom emergency.

Virgil had also asked if anyone had made threats. I wouldn’t have called
This is a big mistake
a threat, just an opinion. It wasn’t as if Chris had wielded a gun while she said
it. Or a letter opener.

In any case, Chris’s name was on the list I’d already rattled off to Virgil. If there
was anything more to her outburst, he’d rout it out.

Hadn’t I heard that the wife was always a prime suspect? Nora Graves had probably
had to put up with a lot as Henley’s First Lady, while her husband had his eyes on
a senate seat, and perhaps an eye where it shouldn’t be. I tried to imagine the beautifully
put-together Nora Graves coming down on her husband’s back with enough force to kill
him. I couldn’t see it, especially when I inserted their teenager, Cody, into the
picture. I wondered if the Henley PD ruled out wives with children.

While I was thinking of names I should give to Virgil, Kira Gilmore came to mind,
but Virgil was asking about volatile behavior against the mayor, not in defense of
him. No need to bring her into this right now. I was sure Virgil and his team would
interview all the students present, if they hadn’t already. Kira was the last person
I could think of who’d be able to hurt someone.

“Sophie?” Virgil asked. “Anyone stand out?”

“No,” I told him. “No one in particular.” I took a breath. “Do you think I could go
home now?”

This time he nodded, but he gave me a look that said he’d be back with that question
and more.

I felt I’d done my duty, or close enough, by Virgil. Maybe he would return the favor.

“What do the doctors say? Can you tell me anything about the mayor’s condition?”

“Not at the moment.”

“You can’t tell me at the moment or you don’t know?”

Virgil smiled. “Anything else I can do for you?”

I shook my head. I knew when to call it quits. For now.

I looked toward the crowd, still milling around the fountain, just outside the crime
scene tape. The news crew hadn’t packed it in yet. A stiff young man was being recorded
for his fifteen minutes of fame. How much more could there be to say about the incident?
Enough to fill a whole news hour, I supposed.

I didn’t want to walk close to the gathering by myself, especially since I’d spotted
a few students I knew. I was in no mood to chat, and even less inclined to be interviewed
by a woman with so much hair spray the breezes were redirected when they hit her “do.”

“Would you walk me to Bruce’s car?” I asked Virgil.

Virgil rose and extended his arm. I guessed I looked like I needed help.