Schooled in Murder (37 page)

Much later Scott and I were having breakfast at his place. He was making banana pancakes from scratch.

After we were settled, he said, “You have triumphed.”

“It doesn’t feel quite like that.”

“The suckup faction is out. The bad guys have been arrested. Some of the bad guys are even dead. How often does that happen?”

“For the moment, things are calm. I like calm.”

“Why do all that lying about you, especially in this day and age?” Scott asked.

I said, “I think the key was that they perceived me as being in their way. Their homophobia fueled their hatred and their irrationality.”

Scott said, “People keep saying they were sick or nuts. I’m not sure that sums it up. This was a pretty dysfunctional crowd.”

“Despite progress for gay people, it still happens. You and I both know it. I think Bochka was the heart of it. Spandrel was kind of the new Nazi on the block. Their personalities meshed. They thought they could commit mayhem and get
the gay guy. Unfortunately, such things happen to gay people. Still. Today. It’s better than it was, but the world is not perfect. And remember, we’re still the only country since the Nazi’s in 1930’s Germany where a major political party wants to legislate second-class citizenship for an entire group of people. That kind of thing enables those who hate.”

Scott said, “It was a rough year.”

“I’m going to be happy to not be head of the department.”

He smiled. “Did they get used to no meetings?” “Most of them.’

“How did those ninnies expect to get away with all this? The conspiracy was too big.”

“Remember, they were amateurs, and a lot of the planning was relatively spontaneous. And their silence was monolithic for quite some time. The grade fixing was reasonably minor. Picking on teachers, unfortunately, was normal. Gambling limited to a few. Double dipping among the coaches barely affected the English department. Their social lives were complex but not necessarily felonious, but when things started to unravel, they got desperate.”

“They were fools,” Scott said.

“That too. And remember, only two of them knew who committed the murders: the planner, Bochka, and the killer, Frecking. Graniento’s death wasn’t planned. Spandrel might get off with a charge of manslaughter. The murders also offered a convenient chance to get me–it was sort of icing on the cake. Having to plan on the spur of the moment helped them screw it up.”

Scott asked, “If Spandrel and Eberson were having a lesbian affair, how come they were so determined to discriminate against you?”

“I’m not sure I’d call them lesbians. I think it was more that they were having a good time with each other and Peter.

Remember, they were both married to men, and they had children. It might have been one of those ´I’m doing what I want and no one can stop me’ moments. It felt good. They did it. They might have been having fun, but I don’t think it means they were gay or any less prejudiced.”

Scott said, “I still find it hard to believe Eberson and Higden were going to break ranks and tell.”

“I’m not sure if they actually were,” I said. “Bochka feared their threats as much as anything. She didn’t trust them. She had a lot to lose. Or the web of lies and plots just got to be too much. Maybe one or both was getting a conscience. For Higden, it seems like he was angry at his poker buddies and once the dam was cracked, the rest of it was going to come out.”

“As it kept getting more and more convoluted, why didn’t they just stop?” Scott asked.

“Bochka and Frecking had murders to cover up. If Frecking hadn’t been so worried about being outed, Bochka might never have been so bold.” I quoted Sherlock Holmes: they “had not that supreme gift of the artist, the knowledge of when to stop.”

Scott said, “Accusing them of any kind of artistic ability is a stretch. My concern is for you.”

I leaned against the kitchen counter. I said, “I swing between lots of emotions. I’m still really angry. I’m ecstatic the good guys won and that the bad guys are going to pay.” I hesitated. He waited. Those wonderful eyes gazed into mine. I whispered, “Sometimes I’m happy that some awful things happened to some awful homophobes.”

He said, “A couple homophobic pigs died, others suffered.”

I nodded. “I try not to do a dance of joy about that. It feels wrong. It’s not seemly. But still, I’m glad awful things happened to them. I’m torn.”

“That sounds really human to me. It’s going to take time. They were as vicious as they could be to a gay person, and you survived.”

“I’m not sure I could have done it without you.”

He pulled me close and hugged me.

54

That night Scott and I were in front of his fifty-four-inch flat screen television. We cuddled together on the couch. His arm draped around me. I could feel his black cotton boxers against my briefs. We were watching the extended version of
The Return of the King
for the umpteenth time. The horns of Rohan were blowing, and the Rohirrim had begun their charge. I still get chills every time I watch that scene, and, frankly, I still get the same chills when I reread the scene in the book. Scott’s hand caressed my arm casually. He leaned down and kissed me. When the battle had been won, I pressed pause.

I said, “I have something for you.”

I’d sent away for it. I’d been planning on giving it to him for Christmas. He already had two pewter
Lord of the Rings
chess sets. Each set was completely different. I’d found a third set, again altogether different.

I brought in the box. I said, “I wanted to say thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You’re safe. That’s all I care about.”