School Days (8 page)

I
T WAS AFTER
Labor Day and instruction was under way when I walked into the Dowling School. Sue Biegler brought me into the president's office, introduced me, and departed.

The president was a middle-sized man with thinning hair, so that close up, he was balder than you first realized. He wasn't fat, but he was soft-looking. His soft face had one of those perpetual blue shadows that no amount of shaving would eliminate. Nature is not fair. Too little hair, too much whisker. His name was Dr. Royce Garner.

“First,” he said, “let me say that every one of us here at the
Dowling School are heavy at heart of last spring's tragedy. And we stand ready to help you in any way we can.”

“That's swell,” I said.

“We do, of course, hope,” he went on, “that we can put it behind us as quickly as we can, and get back to what we do best.”

“Educating the young,” I said.

“Exactly.”

He leaned back a little, with his fingertips pressed together, delighted with himself.

“What is your doctorate in?” I said.

“Divinity,” he said. “I am an ordained minister.”

“How come you're a president,” I said. “I thought prep schools had headmasters.”

He smiled indulgently at my lay confusion.

“We are planning to expand into a junior college as soon as our fundraising for the venture is complete,” he said. “It seemed appropriate to assume the title in our quest to give credibility to our capital campaign.”

“Of course,” I said.

He smiled again.

“So, how may I be of help?” he said.

“I'd like to hang around the school for a time,” I said. “Talk with kids in their free periods, in the library, that sort of thing.”

“Really?”

I nodded.

“What would you be chatting about?”

“Last spring's shooting,” I said.

“We are trying to put that behind us, Mr. Spenser.”

“Don't blame you, especially when you're trying to raise money.”

“That is an issue, certainly,” Garner said. “But it is the well-being of the students that we are most concerned about. We cannot prepare them for college and a productive life with this terrible tragedy hanging ever over them.”

“I understand,” I said. “It is, however, an unresolved tragedy. I'm trying to resolve it.”

“Unresolved?” Garner said. “How so?”

“We don't in fact know for certain what happened.”

“We know that good people, many of them still children, were killed by two individuals who are in custody.”

“We don't know why.”

“And you think my students will know why?”

“Ever hopeful,” I said.

President Garner wet his plump lips. He put his fingertips together in front of his chin.

“I'm afraid school policy will not permit it,” he said. “I'm truly sorry.”

“Who's in charge of school policy?” I said.

“Myself and, of course, the board.”

“Of course,” I said. “I bet that board is a collection of tigers.”

He smiled.

“They are dedicated people,” he said. “They care about the Dowling School.”

“Isn't that ducky,” I said.

“No need to be offensive.”

“The hell there isn't,” I said. “Everybody wants this to go away—you, the cops, even the parents of the alleged shooters.”

“I believe they are more than alleged,” Garner said.

“They are alleged until they are convicted,” I said. “And that hasn't happened yet.”

“That is something of an equivocation,” Garner said.

“Normally, when everyone wants something to go away, it's because if it doesn't, it will cause them discomfort. Maybe you'll be revealed as a bad educator, or the cops will be revealed as bad lawmen, or the parents will be revealed as bad parents. And that will discomfort you all.”

“I think that's about enough, Mr. Spenser.”

“Almost,” I said. “But I do want you to know that I am a carrier of discomfort. I am deeply committed to it, and I'm going to find out what happened.”

“They killed people,” Garner said. “Isn't that enough?”

“No,” I said. “It's not.”

“I'm ordering you to leave school property,” Garner said. “If you return, I'll have you arrested.”

I thought about saying “I shall return,” decided it had been used before, and settled for walking out without a word and not closing the door.

I
T TOOK ME
a couple of days of hanging around outside the Dowling School, feeling like a pederast, to find where the kids congregated after class. It was a place called Coffee Nut, where they could sit in booths and drink coffee and eat doughnuts and smoke and impress one another. The owners of Coffee Nut had obviously written off the adult market they might have originally planned on, and decided to commit themselves to adolescence. There was music I didn't recognize playing loudly when I came in. The place was half full, and everyone turned to look at me, as if I had violated a
segregation law. Except that I was, of course, poised and debonair. Otherwise, I might have felt ill at ease.

There were booths along one side and in the back. A counter ran along the other side. I sat at the counter next to a couple of schoolgirls who were giggling and whispering, maybe about me.
Oh, Spenser, you dashing rogue, you've still got it.
The girls were wearing what I would eventually discover most Dowling schoolgirls wore: short, pleated skirts and sleeveless tops. One was blonde with a pink top. One was brunette with a white top. I ordered coffee, which took a while, because I had to reject a half a dozen special coffee drinks, which I also didn't recognize. There were two high-school girls in tan uniforms working the counter and an older guy wearing a tan overseas cap that said
COFFEE NUT
on it, who was making the coffee.

I turned and leaned my back against the counter.

“You girls go to Dowling School?” I said.

“Yeah,” Pink Top said and giggled. “You?”

“Couldn't pass the entrance exam,” I said. “Everybody in here from Dowling?”

“Sure,” Pink Top said. “ 'Cept them.”

She nodded at the people working the counter.

“You here last year when the shooting happened?”

“I guess so,” the girl said.

They had thought it sort of fun to get into conversation with a large older man, especially because they were surrounded by friends. But now they were uncomfortable.

“My name's Spenser,” I said.

White Top poked Pink Top with her elbow.

“See,” she said. “I told you it was him.”

Pink Top said, “We had an assembly about you.”

“Hot dog,” I said.

“Mr. Garner said we weren't supposed to talk with you.”

“Why not?” I said.

“Mr. Garner said you were trying to ruin the Dowling School's reputation, and if you succeeded, we'd never get into a good college.”

“Do you believe Mr. Garner?” I said.

They giggled again.

“Royce the Voice,” White Top said. “The People's Choice.”

“May I take that as a ‘no, we don't believe him'?” I said.

“Royce is gross,” Pink Top said.

“Or Groyce,” White Top said, and they both giggled some more.

“What would happen,” I said, “if he were right, and you didn't get into a good college?”

“My mother would kill herself,” Pink Top said.

“My mother would call me a slut,” White Top said.

“For not getting into a good school?” I said.

“She calls me a slut whenever she's mad,” White Top said.

“You are a slut,” Pink Top said.

“Takes one to know one,” White Top said.

They both giggled some more.

“Did either of you know the guys involved.”

“You know, casually. Say hi in the hall.”

“Any thoughts on why they did what they did?”

The girls looked at each other for a moment. They were being asked to think.

“You know,” White Top said, “what's amazing is it doesn't happen more often. You know? I mean, do you remember school?”

“I do,” I said.

“Did you like school?”

“No.”

“Good. It's all bullshit, you know. It's all the official pious crap.”

“That's my memory of it,” I said.

“So I don't know why they did it. But everyone's walking around, barely able to stand it, and”—she shrugged—“these guys went kaboom, I guess.”

“Anything set them off?”

“I don't know,” White Top said. “You, Janey.”

“No clue,” Pink Top said.

“Anyone in here knew them well?”

“Guys at that table played football with Dell,” White Shirt said.

“Grant,” I said.

“Yeah.”

Pink Top swung her stool all the way around, which, given the shortness of her skirt, was pretty daring, and said, “Hey, Carly.”

She was too young to interest me, but she got Carly's attention.

“This is the guy old man Garner warned us about.”

“No shit,” Carly said.

She was not too young for him. He admired her legs visibly as he walked over.

“This is Carly Simon,” Pink Top said. “This here is . . . I forgot your name.”

“Spenser,” I said.

I took some cards from my top pocket and gave one to each of them.

“Name's Carl Simone,” he said. “Everybody calls me Carly.”

Carly was a prototype prep-school football player. He might even play small college ball, but would never beyond that. He was short and muscular with a thick neck. He probably weighed 160 pounds.

“Carly's the football captain,” Pink Top said.

“Running back?” I said.

“Yeah. Deep back out of a pro set. We went seven and two last year.”

“And Wendell Grant was an offensive lineman,” I said.

“Left tackle.”

“Know him well?”

“On the field,” Carly said.

“And off?”

“Off,” Carly said, “he was a creepy fucker.”

He said fucker sort of aggressively, to see if I would react. I maintained my composure.

“How so,” I said.

“He hung with all townies,” Carly said.

“Dowling's a day school, isn't it?” I said. “Aren't you all townies?”

“We're all from around here. But there's the kids go to Dowling. And the kids go to the Regional.”

“Which is?” I said.

“High Meadow Regional,” White Top said. “It's in Melwood.”

“And you don't mix?” I said.

“Not much,” Carly said.

“How about Jared Clark?” I said.

“Nobody knew him,” Carly said. “That I know.”

“He wasn't an asshole,” Pink Top said. “He was just, like, not there, you know?”

“He didn't seem interested in anything the rest of us were interested in,” White Top said.

“Anyone know him better?”

“Nobody I know,” Carly said.

He looked at the two girls. They shook their heads.

“So where do the townies hang out?” I said.

“Place called the Rocks,” Carly said. “Down back of the park, by the lake. They go over there, smoke some weed, drink beer.”

“You ever been over there?” Pink Top said.

“Yeah, couple times. Bunch of assholes.”

“Weren't you scared?”

“I go where I want to,” Carly said.

“Did you witness the shootings?” I said.

All three shook their heads.

“We were on the second floor,” White Top said, “Janey and me. They never got there.”

“I was in American history,” Carly said. “We jammed the
teacher's chair under the door handle to the classroom and everybody got down. They never came in.”

“Thanks for your help,” I said.

“Pleasure,” Pink Top said. “Dork Garner isn't going to tell me who I can talk to.”

“Me either,” White Top said.

“I'm glad he tried,” I said. “Worked out well for me.”

“Bet your ass,” Carly said. “We were so ready to talk to you if we got the chance.”

“Okay, let's really sock it to him,” I said. “Ask around. Anybody knows anything, you have my card.”

“You're an actual private eye,” Pink Top said.

“I've begun to have doubts,” I said.

“You must be,” Pink Top said. “Says so right on the card.”

“Oh, thank God,” I said.