The Principal Cause of Death (10 page)
Read The Principal Cause of Death Online
Authors: Mark Richard Zubro
“Let me go,” Younger squawked.
I held onto him tightly, easily fending off his feeble attempts to free himself.
I had a sudden thought. “Jones caught you,” I said. “He was competent. He checked over everything. He watched where every nickel went. He devised the new ordering system. Something put him on to you.”
His corpselike pallor returned. “He did no such thing,” Younger said.
Still gripping his shirtfront, I gave him a shake. I heard his teeth rattle. Younger struggled briefly again. Saw it was futile.
I eased my grip on him.
Younger shrugged his shoulders so that his corduroy sport coat with leather patches at the elbow settled correctly onto his frame. He straightened his tie and tried to regain his dignity.
I said, “I want to hear the whole story, or we go to Carolyn Blackburn tonight.”
“Shit,” he said.
We waited.
Finally he said, “All right. Fine. I guess it was too much to hope that it would die with him.”
The room had five rows of chairs facing the front, where a casket would be placed. Younger sat in one of the chairs in the last row. We turned two others to face him.
Younger loosened his tie, cracked his knuckles, and then told us the story. It started six years ago when he first began teaching. He'd been put in charge of the theater and with no experience except several college courses, he'd ordered far more material than was necessary. To his surprise, no one said a word. It turned out that most of the theater-department ordering went through a separate budget category, was seldom checked up on, and was often done in cash.
Such anomalies in accounting often cropped up in a
school district as large and old as River's Edge; besides, we'd had a series of incredibly incompetent administrators. With Carolyn Blackburn and Jones things had begun to change.
school district as large and old as River's Edge; besides, we'd had a series of incredibly incompetent administrators. With Carolyn Blackburn and Jones things had begun to change.
In the past no one checked the amount of money Younger took out of the account. No one ever asked for receipts, and quite often, he found by looking at past records, teachers had simply written the cost of an item on a piece of paper and added it to the budget file. They'd had to computerize the system two years ago, but that still hadn't been a problem. All Younger had to do was put inflated prices in the right spots in the computer. “My problem came when I got lazy. I let the kids enter the figures. I never thought the administration would check. They never had before. I was stupid to let Sheila do it this year after the kid last year caught on. How was I to know they'd both stumble on the same thing? I thought I had the program well guarded. These goddamn kids who are so computer literate make me sick.”
When Sheila found the discrepancies, she'd told Younger. He'd gotten angry, which was a mistake, but at least she didn't turn him in. I'd been right, however, in guessing that Jones had caught on.
“He came by the theater office one day near the end of summer vacation,” Younger said. “I was in doing some extra work. If I'd stayed home, maybe this wouldn't have happened. Jones said that as part of the new system of ordering, they'd put all the departmental and special orders on a new computer program that the office would manage. I told him that wasn't necessary. I would have told him that the program was at home, but the computer with all the discs was right there. I had to give it to him.”
Jones had gone through the system and found all the discrepancies. He'd confronted Younger a week ago, saying that if the entire amount was paid back, the police wouldn't be called. Younger had until the end of the school year to replace the money. Jones said he would take the final payment along with Younger's resignation.
“Jones said if I didn't pay back the money, he'd take the matter to the school board and everything would be made public. I couldn't take my reputation being ruined. I've helped a lot of these kids. They look up to me. A lot of parents respect me for what I've done. I'd have to move. I'd probably never get a decent job teaching theater again.”
He cracked his knuckles for the fifteenth time during the conversation. I wanted to break his hands.
“I didn't know what I was going to do. I begged and pleaded with Jones to give me a second chance. The guy had no mercy. Jones was implacable.”
“So you killed him,” I said.
“No, I swear! I was nowhere near the office that night after school. I admit I was in school at the time, but it wasn't me.”
“How much money do you owe?” Scott asked.
“Over six thousand,” Younger said.
“How could it be that much?” I asked.
“We have the largest high-school drama department in the state. One of the largest in the country. We've won all kinds of awards locally and nationwide. We've got clout. I took a little over a thousand a year. I couldn't possibly raise the money to pay him back. I had a meeting set up with him next week to discuss it.”
“I wonder if he told Carolyn,” I said.
“I don't know,” Younger said.
“Did you see anybody else in the school that night?” I asked.
“No, I stayed in the theater department the whole time.” He cleared his throat. “You know I'm not the only one who was threatened by Jones. There were other people on the faculty.”
“Who?” I asked.
He cracked his knuckles again. “I really shouldn't say.”
“You've gone this far,” I said. “We don't want to cause you any trouble. I'm trying to find out who killed him to help clear my own name. Anything you can tell us would
probably help. And you'll be clearing your name, too. You had a reason to kill him.”
probably help. And you'll be clearing your name, too. You had a reason to kill him.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He sighed. “All right. I'm not sure about this.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I heard that Dan Bluefield is having sex with one of the faculty members and that Jones found out about it.”
He smiled with satisfaction.
Sex between kids and teachers was something I could never fathom. I know guys I've talked to, both straight and gay, who said they had sex with teachers when they were in high school. They were happy they did it, and felt no trauma because of it. They were probably the lucky ones. Far too many are unlucky, abused, and hurt by the incidents.
I asked the obvious question. “Who's the teacher?”
He hesitated. “I don't want to ruin another person's reputation if it isn't true.”
“We can at least check it,” I said. “We need all the help we can get.”
He said, “Not a teacher. Donna Dalrymple.”
I spent the remainder of the few minutes we talked together being fairly flabbergasted. I barely heard as Scott tried to find out where Younger had heard the rumor. He couldn't remember specifically, but vaguely recalled that it had been talked about in the teachers' lounge.
He left.
I said to Scott, “Sex with kids?”
“It would explain her attitude toward the boy,” Scott said.
A few minutes later we left the room. I saw Meg just coming in the funeral-home door, and motioned her over. We reentered the empty viewing room. I told her all we'd learned.
She said, “I can't believe I didn't know some of these things. I know these past couple years I've been learning less, but ⦔ She shrugged. “Anyway, I didn't know. I did find out a tidbit about Denise Flowers. She was born in Buenos Aires. An American archeologist for a father, and
an Argentinian mother. Supposedly a romantic beauty. It's probably not much help, but it's all I found out this evening. Want me to see what else I can find out?”
an Argentinian mother. Supposedly a romantic beauty. It's probably not much help, but it's all I found out this evening. Want me to see what else I can find out?”
“Yes,” I said. I thought a minute. “I wonder if Donna showed up tonight?”
“I'll check,” Meg said.
She left the room but was back in less than a minute. “She just walked out.”
Scott and I hurried to catch up with her.
Outside, a quick glance around showed no one in the parking lot. I listened for a car engine starting but heard nothing.
“Missed her,” Scott said.
I leaned down to look through the windshields of the parked cars. I grabbed his arm. In the far corner of the parking lot, nearly hidden by the dangling limbs of a willow tree, I'd seen the dome light inside a car flash on and off. “It's Donna,” I whispered. In the brief illumination, I'd caught a glimpse of her.
I listened for the start of the car. I debated dashing after her now or running to our car and chasing after her. Minutes of silence passed. I said, “Odd. I thought she'd start the car.”
A car swung into the parking lot. I pulled Scott and myself into a shadow of the funeral parlor. I said, “Let's pay her a little visit.”
Scott nodded. Crouching down, we skulked between cars until we stopped behind a gray station wagon, ten feet from Donna's car.
I inched my head up to get a glimpse into Donna's car. “She isn't alone,” I said.
Scott raised his head. He nodded in confirmation. “You recognize who it is?”
I looked again. Their heads were close together in earnest conversation. They weren't interested in us. I glanced at the entrance to the funeral parlor. We were well hidden. Only the owner of the station wagon would see us if he or she came to get the car.
On hands and knees I crawled to my left. I felt the cool asphalt and tiny stones on my palms and through my pants. I hoped I wouldn't rip them. Next to the front tire, I paused and lifted my head. The passenger door of Donna's BMW opened. The two heads leaned together. I watched a lingering passionate kiss. They separated. An arm and a leg, quickly followed by a slender torso topped with permed hair: Bluefield. They whispered good nights. Bluefield fled into the darkness. I hurried forward, yanked open the passenger door, and jumped in.
Donna said, “What the hell?”
I looked back. Scott hurried forward. I unlocked the back door. He joined us.
Dalrymple stared at us angrily.
I said, “You're having sexual relations with Dan Bluefield?”
In a swift motion, she grabbed her purse and swung it at me. Before it slammed into the side of my head, I caught it and held it tight.
“I just saw that with Bluefield,” I said. “It wasn't an innocent kiss. You've been bullheaded and unreasonable about Bluefield, and we're getting to the bottom of this whole problem. You should be supporting your fellow teachers and helping them out, not screwing some sixteen-year-old .”
“He's eighteen,” she said.
I eased my grip on her purse. “You
have
been having sex with him.”
have
been having sex with him.”
“I didn't say that,” Dalrymple said.
“You didn't have to,” I said. I stared directly into her eyes. “Tell me no, lie to me if you dare. We have other sources that confirm it, besides the obvious we've seen here.”
She reached in her purse, came out with a pack of Virginia Slims, rolled down her window, lit a cigarette, and blew a long plume of smoke into the night air. “What is this, the Inquisition?” she said. “You have no right to interrogate me.”
“How did Jones find out?” I asked.
Dalrymple looked stubborn and uncooperative.
I said, “If you don't talk, I'm going right to Carolyn Blackburn with this. And don't think we won't get the truth. If some kid's had sex with an adult, he's bragged to his friends. Some teenager will blab.”
Dalrymple's shoulder slumped. She exhaled another stream of cigarette smoke. “I'm not sure how Jones found out. I think Dan may have told one of his friends who got in trouble. Dan swore he hadn't told anyone, but I think one of his buddies traded the information for leniency from Jones. Whatever way he found out, he came to me with the information early last week.”
“Why have sex with a kid?” Scott asked.
“Because ⦠because ⦔ She snuffed the cigarette out in the ashtray. “Because he was kind and warm and my husband ignores me. It made Dan feel good, and me, too. On the days we had sex he would always calm down. He'd be better, more cooperative. I enjoyed it,” she finished defiantly.
“How long's this been going on?” I asked.
“Is it important? I'm not going to give you dates, times, and his cock size. I'm going to have to quit anyway. Jones was actually fairly calm about it. I've been expecting Carolyn Blackburn to visit me anytime. Maybe Jones was true to his word and didn't tell anybody. He'd be the first administrator I know who was.”
“He threatened to tell?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. To bring me up in front of the school board and everything. I couldn't take the public humiliation. My husband would divorce me. I probably wouldn't go to jail. Society in its infinite hypocrisy doesn't frown quite so hard on women who seduce eighteen-year-olds.”
We sat in silence. She had smoked half of another cigarette before I said, “I don't want to bring harm to you. I just want to find out who killed Jones. You've got a motive. Do you know of anybody else?”
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