When One Man Dies (17 page)

“I apologize for the attitude. It’s been a rough few days. Teachers don’t usually die on us, never mind get murdered. I was finally able to chase the press out of here this morning. The kids are taking it hard. The rest of the staff is taking it hard.”

“I’m sorry for that,” I said. “I lost a friend in the past week as well.”

“It’s been a busy week in New Jersey, hasn’t it?”

“You referred to Ms. Peterson as a teacher. I was under the impression she was a substitute.”

“She was, but she was good. She was working on getting her master’s degree and her teaching degree, but she came here every day and subbed. When a teacher was going to be absent long-term, we trusted Ms. Peterson to come in and take over. We considered her a member of the faculty.”

“What about the students? Did they like her?”

“Most of them loved her. She knew their names, said hi to them. She came to the school play. She would stay late and help the students if they asked. She was dedicated. As soon as she got her certification, I was going to hire her.”

“Did she have any enemies? Any teachers dislike her? Students threaten her?”

Halburg took some air in audibly. Closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed his temples. “If a student had threatened her, I’m sure she would have reported it to one of our vice-principals. As for the teachers, I try to stay out of that. The teachers sometimes need time to vent, so I don’t know all that goes on in the faculty rooms. No one has ever brought any problems of that kind to my attention.”

Perfect teacher, I thought. Just the kind that could slide under the radar, dealing drugs in the parking lot, finding moments to sneak marijuana or cocaine or crystal meth to a student when no one was looking. Giving assignments and guidance when everyone was watching. Still, kids talk, and someone must have known something.

“I appreciate your time, Dr. Halburg, but I have one more favor to ask.”

“What’s that?”

“I was hoping to get your permission to talk to some of your faculty.”

Halburg shook his head. “I don’t know.”

I had to be careful, play it just right. “It might help with the case.”

“Are you trying to solve her murder?” He rubbed his eyes. “Jesus, who would murder Diane?”

“My case might coincide with the murder. I’m not trying to solve it, but if I somehow cross wires with the actual murder investigation, I will turn the information over to the right authorities.”

Halburg leaned across the desk and smiled. This was a genuine smile. ‘You’re good. Let me show you where our faculty cafeteria is.”

***

The faculty cafeteria was small, adjacent to the students’ cafeteria. Halburg knocked on the frosted window of the wooden door. Behind him the cafeteria was quiet, another janitor lifting plastic chairs on top of tables. There were scraps of leftover lunch, spilled milk cartons, and a few empty trays on the floor. The janitor had a mop next to him.

“Knocking?” I asked.

Halburg nodded. “I don’t usually come in here. Sometimes teachers need to vent. This is the place for that. I have an office.”

I nodded as a small woman in a short skirt and tight white sweater opened the door. She was probably in her thirties, and her eyes opened wide looking at Halburg.

“Yes, Dr. Halburg?”

“Ah, Reggie, this is Mr. Donne. He’s an investigator looking into the case of Diane’s murder.”

“Oh, um . . .” She trailed off.

“Mr. Donne is going to ask some questions, if you don’t mind.” He peeked his head into the room. “That okay with you guys?”

I heard a mumbling of “Okay”s. Halburg turned to me, said, “They’re all yours.”

He turned around and walked away. I found a seat at a round plastic table in the middle of the room. It was quiet, as if I’d just walked in on a bunch of people talking about me behind my back.

I looked around the room, eyeing each of the five teachers: one guy grading papers, not making eye contact; two women sitting at another round table, legs crossed, eyeing me up and down; Reggie, still standing by the door; and another man leaning on the arm of a couch. I tried to look intimidating.

“So,” I said. “Who wants to start?”

No one answered. Blank faces trained their gazes on me, and two teachers looked down at notebooks. This was going to be fun. Part of me wanted to say, “I know one of you is the killer, and I’ve gathered you all here to share that.” But I didn’t. I wanted to wait them out, but if the bell rang and they had to move on, I’d be out of luck.

“All right, listen, I know most of you knew Ms. Peterson, so why don’t you help me out. Tell me a little about her.”

Nothing. Then one of the crossed-legged women, a younger lady with auburn hair, black pants, and a blue button-down blouse, said, “Jesus Christ. They can’t fix the clocks, but they can get someone in here to keep us from doing our job? Shouldn’t you be out trying to solve her murder?”

“Excuse me?” I looked up at the clock hanging over a bulletin board, saw that it was an hour off.

“Shut up, Nancy,” the teacher across from her said. She had blonde hair, with dark roots, and wore a yellow pullover and a khaki skirt. “I’m sorry, Mr.—what did you say your name was?”

“Donne.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Donne. We’re all a little stressed.” I nodded.

Nancy said, “Yeah. I’m sorry. It’s been a rough time. And I’m flipping out about little things.”

“Did you know her?” I asked. “Yeah. She was nice.”

“Nice?”

“She—I don’t know—she was tough to explain. She was always smiling, always positive about the kids. Didn’t seem to get down if she had a bad day.”

“Yeah,” the guy doing the grading said. “So fucking positive.”

“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?” I asked.

“I don’t know. She didn’t want to be a teacher. She came in every day and subbed, talked about how great the kids were, like she knew everything about teaching, but it wasn’t like she ever talked about being a teacher.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “What’s your name?”

“Charlie Phillips.”

I made a note of it. “Dr. Halberg said she was going to school to get her teacher’s degree.”

“I think she just told him that to keep him happy.”

“How do you think she’d have been as a teacher?”

Keep asking questions, I told myself. Try to get a flow for this conversation. I didn’t want to ask tough questions too early, and I didn’t want to send people running from the room. If I could get them talking to each other as well as me, I might be able to get to something deeper. When people get comfortable and start a real conversation, they’re more willing to let things slip.

“I never saw her in the classroom,” Phillips said, “but the kids always said hi to her in the halls, slapped her five. But if she had to discipline them they’d listen. They liked her, they respected her. But I don’t know how she actually taught. Couldn’t say if she’d make a good teacher.”

Reggie stepped away from the door. Showed me she was getting a little more comfortable. “I think she would have made a good teacher.”

“Why do you say that?” Nancy asked.

“She was an aide in my class a few times. You know, when Janet took one of her many sick days.” Reggie made quote marks with her fingers. “And she was always willing to work with the kids, help them, but not give them the answers. She really knew how to guide the kids. Let them build their own knowledge.”

“Ah, those buzzwords,” Phillips said.

Reggie glanced at him, giving him half a smile. The kind of glance that told me there was more going on between them than just kidding around.

I, however, was more curious about the one man who wasn’t talking, the guy leaning on the couch. He was stoic. His face didn’t change, he just stared at me. Didn’t even appear to be listening. I wondered if he resented my being here.

“Did anyone ever talk to her privately? Like in here?” I asked. There were a few murmurs. Each teacher looked at the others, waiting for someone to speak.

Finally Reggie said, “She never came in here.”

“What do you mean?”

Nancy jumped in. “She didn’t like to. She liked to keep to herself. She didn’t take a prep period, they would always find a place for her to cover. And at lunchtime, she’d go out. By herself, as far as I could tell.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna agree on that one. I have hall duty sixth period. One of the lunch periods, and I’d see her leaving by herself,” Phillips said. “She’d always say good-bye to me, though.”

“She was a recluse,” Reggie said, chuckling. Then, as if remembering Peterson was dead, she stopped. “She, uh, didn’t talk to anyone unless she had to. What time is it?”

I looked at my watch. “One-forty.”

“Shit,” Nancy and Phillips said. They started gathering up their stuff.

“I hope we helped,” Reggie said.

All but one cleared their stuff and moved out. The intercom buzzed, which I assumed was the bell. I sat there for a few moments. The guy on the edge of the couch stood up and walked over to my table.

“Why do you care about Diane?”

I looked him over. Not a big guy. Not intimidating. His face was pale and flaccid.

“It’s my job.” I sat back in the chair, put my hands behind my head. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Because I didn’t want to talk about Diane in front of the rest of them.”

I nodded. “And you are?”

“Paul Rockford. I teach freshman math.”

“You sound like you spoke with Diane.”

“A little. She kept to herself.”

“So they said. What did you talk about?”

“Oh, where she lived, what she wanted to do with her life.”

“What was that?”

“She said she wanted to do nothing. She wanted to be a nobody. To disappear.”

There it was again, that idea of a “nobody girl.”

“She say why?”

“Nope.”

I took a breath. Thought for a second. “You know anything else about her?”

Rockford tapped his fingers on the table. Smiled. “I know what kind of car she drove.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. A black Beamer. Stylish. The kids loved it. They always came up to her window to slap her five or shake her hand at the end of the day or early in the morning. Take a few minutes to talk to her about it, I guess.” He looked at his watch. “Listen. I just don’t like talking about people in front of others. Feels wrong. Even though she’s—well—even though she’s dead, it feels like we’re talking behind her back. Enough gossip goes on in this place, we don’t need that. I have to get to class. Good luck.”

I shook his hand. Probably not the same kind of handshake that Diane gave the students when they came to see her Beamer. I didn’t pass anything to Rockford. I figured that’s how Diane was dealing drugs. I wanted to talk to the students about it, but I didn’t know which ones.

Rockford was opening the door to leave. “Mr. Rockford?” I asked.

“Yeah?” he said, stopping.

“What time does the day end here?”

He checked his watch again. “Two-thirty. After this period.”

“Thanks.”

The door clicked shut, and I sat in the empty teachers’ room, listening to the sounds of student footsteps and conversation in the hallway.

Chapter 29

The bell for dismissal must have rung, because suddenly students were streaming out of the doors like ants escaping a smashed anthill. I was across the street, sitting in my car trying not to doze off.

I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for. Some sort of exchange between students and someone inside a car, a high five between a kid and an adult, anything remotely suspicious. It felt like I was getting somewhere with this case, had some sort of lead and didn’t want to lose it. Unfortunately, with Diane Peterson being dead, I wasn’t sure that a new dealer had taken over this spot yet. But I didn’t have anywhere else to be.

I watched the crowds ebb and flow, come together in different groups. All the kids dressed the same, but each group had its own stereotypical attitude: jocks, nerds, and stoners. The stoners, the ones I was trying to keep an eye on, circles under their eyes, hunched over, slouched against the school wall, smoking cigarettes and looking like they were trying to disappear.

My cell phone vibrated in my pocket. The caller ID read: Tracy. “Hey.” She sounded tired.

“How’d it go this morning?”

“Well,” she started, “it was a funeral, so it wasn’t fun. But it was a good send-off for him. There were some people there that didn’t come to the wake. The priest gave a nice sermon. Talked about his acting. Mentioned Korea. It was nice.”

“Did you guys go to the tavern for lunch?”

“Sort of.”

“What do you mean?”

A car pulled up. It was a silver Mercedes, and it was wrong. This neighborhood, the Mercedes would be shiny, clean, but down to earth. The one that pulled up to the curb had fancy hubcaps, the kind that spin the opposite way of the wheel. The windows were tinted and the music was loud.