An Absence of Principal (12 page)

“Ben.”

“Ben? Who’s Ben?”

“My boss. The principal at the school.”

“Tell me more, Tony.”

“I saw him in Odessa the night of the shooting,” Tony said. “Or I saw somebody I thought was him, I don’t know. That’s what has me all confused. I had seen him the night before in a bad part of Midland and then I heard him tell his wife on the phone that he had an errand to run. So I followed him. Well, I mean, I caught up with him. I didn’t spot him until I got into Odessa that night, and when I did I followed him for a few blocks and saw him pull over at the gas station where the shooting happened. Except that I never really saw him. Just a man that looked like him. Driving a car that looked just like his. I don’t know for sure if it was him or not. That’s why I haven’t said anything and why I shouldn’t be saying anything now. It’s not right!”

Garrison gave Alex a quick glance. She seemed to have a heightened interest in Tony’s story. Alex knew from hearing it from Tony himself that he didn’t like to talk himself up or tear others down. For him to go in this direction, he must have had some good reason to mention Ben.

“What’s going on with Ben?” Garrison asked.

“I don’t know. Something’s not right with him, but I can’t say what. He’s been irritable. Ever since the last week of school. Even before that. I’ve seen him hanging out with Shanna a lot, his secretary. He laughs a lot and smiles when he’s with her. But he seems angry when he’s just at school working, without her.”

“Any problems at home for Ben?” Alex asked.

“Couldn’t tell you. Don’t know anything about his personal life,” Tony said. “I just know when I saw him – or when I thought I saw him — that night on the southside of Midland, it was in a place I would never expect he’d be. Dope town, big time. A friend who also ministers on the street said they saw him talking to someone inside a car. He was standing outside the car. He looked mad. They traded something, I’m not sure what. I don’t even want to think that way. Mr. Doggett’s been good to me. Except for lately when he’s been, I don’t know, meaner, I guess.”

Garrison stood and thanked Tony for his time and told him he had another appointment he had to tend to.

“I’ll be in touch, Tony. We’ll figure this out.”

Tony left Garrison’s office feeling even worse about the situation. He took no joy in implicating someone else. Even mentioning his name in the conversation hurt him.

Garrison waited until the door swung shut all the way, then looked at Alex.

“Find out all you can about Ben Doggett. Home life. Extracurriculars. Who he talked to in South Midland.”

By the time the conversation in Trask’s office had shifted to Ben Doggett, about who he was and the suspicions he had raised, Doggett himself was long gone, lost inside East Central Tulsa, where he had grown up. He blended in well, especially now. That part of Tulsa had become increasingly African American in recent years, reclaiming some of the areas they had been forced from in the 1937 Wall Street race riots that killed scores. Returning home was like blending the new and the old for Doggett — he remembered well what it was like growing up as a kid. Coming back was comforting. He didn’t know how long it would feel this way, but for now he felt the security he once had as a kid.

Ben knew if he was good with his money for the next six or seven months, he just might be able to live off the cash he had pulled out of a bank account that not even Angela knew about. When Ben’s grandma died several years ago, she had left each of her grandchildren what remained in her bank account. She had been successful at playing the stock market, but she played it in the 1930s when Wall Street wasn’t at its healthiest. Still, each of her grandkids had a nice $10,000 rainy-day nest egg. And for Ben, it wasn’t just raining. It was pouring. Good thing he had all that stolen drug money to tie him over a bit longer.

Ben figured he could doctor some images of himself, fake an ID and find some work as a substitute teacher, a commodity in an urban school area like East Central Tulsa. People wouldn’t look too long or hard at his ID. Substitute teachers were hard to come by and Doggett was a nice looking man who was well educated and came across as intelligent. He could b.s. his way through conversations with the wealthiest and most educated, so talking his way into a substitute teacher’s job under an assumed name, his new name, would be a walk in the park.

Alex had to knock twice on the front door. It was obvious the woman on the other side was not happy about the intrusion.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked.

“I’m Alex Wallace, an investigator for a local attorney. We’re looking for Ben Doggett. Is he home?”

“You’ll have to find out where home is before you can determine that,” Angela said.

“I guess I don’t understand?” Alex said.

“I haven’t seen Ben in a couple of weeks now. Don’t know where he is. You might check the woman he decided to leave me for after twenty years of marriage. Shanna something. Don’t know her last name. Lives over at the Arbor Vista apartments up in North Midland, off the loop.”

“How long ago did he move out, Mrs. Doggett?”

Angela thought for a moment. Tears formed in her eyes.

“I’ve kinda lost track of time. I’ve really told you all I know. It’s all I have.”

Alex thanked Angela and made her way back to the car. She set her GPS and called Garrison.

“Not sure how much luck we’re going to have finding Ben Doggett. He no longer lives at home. Apparently he split the family up pretty well. Talked with his wife but saw two teenage kids lurking behind her, sort of protective like. Doggett’s wife gave me the location of an apartment complex where she thinks he might be. On my way there now.”

“Let me know when you have something,” he told her.

Alex drove around the Arbor Vista complex hoping to stumble over some sort of hint about where she might find this mystery woman named Shanna, not exactly a unique name these days. She checked the community mailboxes hoping for a name, but, no surprise, no name.

Alex finally asked a woman who was walking her dog if she knew anyone by that name.

“I think she might be the woman who lives a couple of doors down from me.

Young, black woman,” she said. “Looked like some kinda beauty queen until about a week ago. Saw her running out of her apartment crying, like she’d been beat up or something. Every other time I’ve seen her, though, she was always very attractive and well kept.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Alex offered.

Alex found the apartment the woman had pointed out and knocked on the door.

No answer.

Alex tried a second time. The door opened a crack before a taut security chain stopped it. Through the door Alex could see a small-framed woman peering out. She said nothing.

“Hello, ma’am. I’m Alex Wallace. I’m an investigator with Garrison Trask, an attorney in town. Can I ask you a few questions?”

“Questions about what?” said the woman, who Alex would later come to learn was Shanna, the infamous elementary principal’s former lover.

“Ma’am, do you know a Ben Doggett?” Alex asked.

It only took a moment, but when Shanna heard the name she closed the door quickly. Whether out of fear, disgust, both, or something else entirely.
Maybe Doggett was even in the apartment with her?
Alex wondered. Whatever, it was clear Shanna had nothing to say about the matter.

“Ma’am,” Alex asked through the door, knocking and hoping the woman would rethink giving her some time. “Ma’am, it’s quite important that I ask you a few questions. There’s been a very serious crime and — ”

“Go away!” Shanna shouted through the door.

“But ma’am, your information could be valuable to the investigation. We just need to know if you’ve seen Mr. Doggett. Maybe if you could tell us where we could — ”

“Leave. Please. Before I call the police.
Please
,” Shanna said through tears. Twice Shanna had to threaten to call the police on someone. Something she had never done before in her life until Doggett had entered the picture.

Alex slipped her business card onto the clip hanging on the doorframe. She walked back to her car and called Garrison again.

“There’s definitely something up. Not sure what,” Alex said. “Don’t know if he’s in the house or what, but the woman at the address his wife gave me quite obviously wants nothing to do with the man anymore.”

“You did what you could,” Garrison said. “Come on back and we’ll figure it all out.”

But Alex had a late thought. Instead of settling for nothing – which is exactly what she had – she thought maybe she’d visit Doggett’s employer. If his wife didn’t know anything and his girlfriend wouldn’t talk, the only person left was the person responsible for hiring him.

“Ma’am, you know I can’t tell you anything. It violates all sorts of laws to discuss personnel,” Beau Martin told Alex before she could even get out her first question.

“I understand your position, Mr. Martin. Can you tell me about his demeanor at work? Did he have anything he was struggling with?”

“Ms. Wallace, look,” Martin said. “All I can tell you is what I told the newspaper man. Ben Doggett has been a valued employee of Midland Independent School District for fifteen years. He fast-tracked through the system and he has always possessed a high level of intelligence and an above-average capacity for decision-making. He is widely admired by his coworkers, teachers, peers and administrators. And the children love him.”

“Can you tell me if you were investigating any occurrence of wrongdoing at his office? Anything that might have been amiss in his office?”

Alex learned the technique from an old journalist friend. While administrators would never talk personnel, they were sometimes more open to discussing property and places where crimes might have occurred. It didn’t violate privacy laws and revealing such information was not a violation of most district policies.

“We are looking into misuse of one of our computers at an elementary school, but it’s early. We’ve determined nothing yet, and frankly it hasn’t even been turned over to authorities.”

“What kind of misuse?”

“Really, Ms. Wallace, that’s all I can tell you and I really shouldn’t tell you that much.”

“When is the last time you saw Mr. Doggett?” Alex pushed.

“It’s been awhile,” Martin said.

“Weeks? Days?”

“It’s been a few days, Ms. Wallace. Really, I need to go,” Martin said.

“Any idea if he’s still in Midland?”

“No clue.”

She turned and left when it was obvious she had rubbed his last nerve. When she drove out of the parking lot, her cell phone rang.

“I haven’t seen him in two weeks,” the young female voice said. It was Shanna. “He started drinking. He never drank before a couple of weeks ago. He got drunk, slapped me and left. His mama lives somewhere in Oklahoma. She’s probably the only one left that’ll even talk to him. That’s all I’ve got for you, ma’am. Please don’t bother me again.”

CHAPTER 9
 

T
he old woman moved cautiously, negotiating her steps by finding the running lights on either side of the aisle. She moved with an unsteady gait, using a cane that gave her a slight bit of certainty. She smelled of lilac and wore a sweater she had knitted herself. When she was close enough to see her grandson onstage, she found a seat, and it was home for the next two hours.

It was the annual mid-summer Tulsa Junior Symphony Concert and Velma Doggett’s grandbaby, Frankie, Jr., filled her heart with pride. One needn’t know Mrs. Doggett to notice her puffed up chest at the sight of her Frankie sitting as concert master. When he rose to deliver a perfect Hayden Violin Concerto No. 2, tears filled her eyes.

The Doggett family was one of Tulsa’s finest. It had turned out musicians, athletes, engineers, lawyers and educators. Velma’s oldest granddaughter was at the University of Oklahoma studying to be a neurosurgeon, and her oldest grandson was enrolled at Conception Seminary in Missouri with two years remaining before his ordination to the priesthood. But it was only her youngest grandson, Frankie, who could summon the tears to her eyes like this. Velma’s heart filled with emotion when she heard the classics. She had been a musical prodigy of sorts herself when she was in high school, but never pursued her dream of being a concert pianist after graduation. Her late husband would tell most everyone that it was a regret Velma would live with forever. Or at least until Frankie got up on a hot and humid summer evening on the stage at East Central auditorium where he nailed the Hayden piece and proved himself every bit the prodigy as any Julliard-trained classical violinist anywhere. And it was during that moment, when Velma beamed with pride for her Frankie, that she also let go of the disappointment at her own failure for not pursuing her dream.