UnCatholic Conduct Page 5

  “Go inside,” Jil said to Jess. “Call the girl’s parents.”

  Jess’s limbs were slack. “I can’t believe this. She was just in the office yesterday—waiting to speak to me. I’d been running late from a meeting with the VPs. By the time I finished, she’d left. I wonder if she would have told me something important. If she was going to confide her plan…”

  “C’mon.” Jil led her into the school by the side door. They had a few moments in suspended time—not in the crime scene, not in the school, just alone in the little alcove by the door where no one could see.

  Jess took a few deep breaths, her iron grip on Jil’s wrists almost painful.

  Jil squeezed back tightly, trying to physically help Jess reel in her emotions. “They’re all watching you.”

  Jess breathed out and squeezed Jil’s hands again. There it was—that electric heat sending a jolt down Jil’s entire body.

  Jess seemed to feel it too, because she took her hands away and smoothed down her pants. “Thank you, Ms. Kinness.”

  Jil just smiled, drawing back a little. Had she crossed the line? How could she tell? She didn’t even know where the line was.

  Jess turned the corner, leading the way into the main atrium.

  “Business as usual,” Jess muttered, shooting Jil a look as she headed toward the front office where a line of people waited for her to arrive. Jil watched her go, trying very hard to swallow normally.

  “Hold everything,” Jess told her administrative assistant. “I have a phone call to make.”

  *

  In the parking lot sat a long white van, its driver slowly going around to the back to unload a gurney.

  Jil stood in the atrium, waiting for the young officer at the door to give her a signal. She didn’t have to wait long. The side door opened, and the officer beckoned her back outside.

  “See anything?” asked the officer, her old school friend, Aidan Morgan.

  She shook her head. “Got here just as the kids were coming in. We cleared the scene pretty quickly.”

  “You on assignment here?” Morgan asked in a low voice. As a professional courtesy, he would never ask her exactly what she was doing.

  “Unrelated,” she confirmed.

  Morgan took out a notepad. “We’re waiting on Forensics. And backup. There’s only four of us here, and that’s not enough to hold thirteen hundred kids.”

  “Well, most of them are in class now anyway,” Jil said. “I wouldn’t worry about it. The teachers can help you out.”

  “What about the principal?” Morgan asked. “Will we have her cooperation?”

  “I can pretty much guarantee it. She’ll want this done and over with. Which way are you leaning?”

  “Well, with the dramatic pose, the location, I’d say suicide. We’ll have to do some interviews, wait for a tox screen, and the path report, but…”

  Jil exhaled loudly.

  “What?” Morgan asked.

  Jil hesitated, then relented. “Just something the principal said. It’s probably nothing.” This wasn’t the first death that had occurred on school grounds.

  “If it’s bothering you, it’s probably something.”

  Jil winked. “What are you up to anyway?”

  Morgan smiled. “I’ve been upgrading at night school. Taking cyber forensics classes, hoping to make detective soon.”

  Jil gave him a tiny high five. “Computer genius.”

  “Don’t say it too loud. Everyone will want a piece of me.”

  “Keep me in the loop.”

  Jil excused herself as the coroner trundled up the path, carting a gurney. She leaned down and examined Alyssa carefully.

  “I’m pronouncing.”

  Morgan leaned down. “When would you say was the time of death?”

  “At least five hours ago. I’ll be taking her to the lab for further tests, and then I’ll let you know. Have the Forensics guys been here yet?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, tell them to hurry the hell up. I don’t want to sit around here all day while they fart around with their photographs.”

  Jil hid a smile and exchanged a look with Morgan.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he said politely.

  Inside, the final bell rang for the start of period one.

  “Would all staff and students please report to the senior cafeteria for an assembly? Students on spare are required to report. All staff and students, please report to the senior cafeteria at this time. Thank you.”

  Even though she didn’t have a first period class, Jil proceeded to the senior caf. Three of her students were waiting outside the doors. Two more were coming down the hall. Three of the girls had tears in their eyes; the boys were sober, looking at the ground. One of the younger girls latched on to her, and Jil hugged her back, awkwardly, whispering soothing words into her bleached-blond hair.

  An eerie silence fell as the students filed into the cafeteria and found spots on the floor. Jil took up a position near the wall, where she could see the crowd. They cried and held each other, passed tissues, and exchanged looks. In less than five minutes, all the students had assembled, and Jessica took the stage.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, as you have no doubt heard, we have had a tragic event here at St. Marguerite’s. One of our students, Alyssa Marco, died this morning. We recognize that this is a great loss for you as it is for her parents and the teachers. We are all mourning together as a community today, asking ourselves questions and grieving.” She paused to look at the crowd, seeming to decide what to say.

  “The police are still investigating the cause of Alyssa’s death, and ask that any staff member or student who has any information come forward and ask to speak to one of the officers. There will be police on our campus today and for the rest of the week, if you think of anything that might help their investigation.

  “There will also be grief counselors coming to the school starting tomorrow, for any of you who may wish to speak to someone. This might bring up some questions for some of you, or some feelings that overwhelm you. Don’t be afraid to see the counselors. They will be setting up shop in the Student Services office, so just make an appointment and head on down there if you need to.

  “Your teachers and the administration are also available, and we’ll be doing everything we can to help everybody get through this difficult time. We ask that you try, as much as possible, to go about your daily routine. Go to classes, talk to your teachers, focus on your success as students. We know that this is going to be a very hard road for a few of you—particularly those who were close to Alyssa. But we must stand together as a school community now. Perhaps there is something we can learn here. Something to be gained. We should all try to see God’s will in a situation like this. The strength of the church stands behind us now. We can all pray for Alyssa.

  “Let us bow our heads as Ms. Reitman leads us in prayer.”

  A fifty-ish woman with long, white hair bound in a loose braid, replaced Ms. Blake on the stage. Jil stared at her for a brief second, confused. Women couldn’t be priests, but apparently they could be chaplains…?

  Jil ducked out just as the Hail Mary began. She walked quietly past the entrance to the chapel and up the stairs to her office, wanting to make as much of her time as possible before she had to begin teaching second period. As she unlocked her office door, she wondered how the police investigation was going. Sometimes, she wished she’d gone that route instead of private investigating. Catching the bad guys, making arrests. But then something like this happened, and she remembered why she didn’t like to be around death like that.

  Homicide, Forensics, beat copping. Forget it. She’d decided against it the year she graduated from the Academy. Basic training was all Padraig had asked of her. Get through school. Get a certificate. Get in shape. Make sure that you’re not just doing PI work because it’s easy and it’s what you know. Get yourself some options, Kidd, then see me if you still want to do this old shit.

  She did
.

  So he’d put her to use in assignments she was good at. Assignments where the landscape of the job changed from day to day, and she was always moving with it. Didn’t leave a whole lot of time for sticky things like relationships or holidays, but she never had to worry about putting down too many roots. Offending someone if she couldn’t make it home for Christmas.

  Just the way she liked it.

  What she didn’t like was death. Especially deaths of young people. And the fact that one of her students had wound up dead on the doorstep of the place she had to come to work every day creeped her out. Now she would have to worry about the rest of her students too—how they were coping, how they were feeling. All of which would impede her investigation even more, and delay the time when she could leave.

  As she passed by the window of the Student Services office, she saw Buck Weekly sitting at a table, pounding his fists emphatically on the surface as he talked to a student. The student stared at his feet, not looking up.

  Slowly, he turned his shaggy head toward her, his steel blue eyes holding her to the spot. She felt herself temporarily slow—almost freeze—and she forced herself to look away and continue down the hall.

  *

  Blessedly, Buck would not be shadowing her class anymore, which made her free to give her students the time they needed to talk.

  A sea of blank faces greeted her. She mentally counted absences. Bex hadn’t shown up. Neither had Theo.

  “Seriously, Miss?” said the bleach-blond named Joey, her red eyes pooling again. “Do you think she, like, killed herself?”

  “I don’t know,” Jil replied honestly. She sat on top of her desk, cross-legged.

  “Yo, I don’t understand why people pull that shit.” Kyle scuffed his toe against the flecked linoleum floor, his purple suede shoes making an odd shuffling sound. “I mean, yeah, bad shit happens, and it’s hard, but it always gets better.” He ran a hand through his spiky hair and shook his head.

  A few of the kids doodled in their notebooks, heads down, trying not to look at the empty desk in the back of the room.

  “Did you guys all know Alyssa well?”

  Joey erupted in a shaking sob. The rest of the class ducked their heads, embarrassed, except for Samantha, who sat beside Joey. She jumped up too and took Joey by the hand.

  “Why don’t you go down to the guidance office?” Jil whispered.

  Joey gulped, tears streaming down her face and pooling her mascara in dark puddles under her eyes. Samantha’s face drained stark white, and her hands shook as she gripped Joey by the arm, and led her out the door.

  Yasmine followed.

  A few minutes later, Jordan got up quietly and left.

  Jil exhaled a long breath and turned to face her remaining students.

  “What are you guys thinking about?”

  They spent most of second period talking—about how guilty they all felt for not paying more attention to Alyssa and what they could have done to prevent it. Wanting to know what Jil had seen when the coroner got there—questions which she evaded expertly. Jil privately wished they’d all go down to Student Services and talk with the counselors there.

  Not soon enough, the bell rang for the end of the period. When all her students had left, she took her class list and blacked a line through the fifth name up from the bottom.

  *

  At lunch, the school emptied, and Jil let herself be carried to the parking lot with the surge. As she hopped into her SUV, she watched Jess Blake and Mark Genovese walk the perimeters of the fields, walkie-talkies in hand. A third woman, slight and small, stood at the entrance to the outdoor education center, watching students smoking. That must be the VP of the juniors, Jil thought. Cynthia.

  She turned on the truck and waited for the voice command system to kick in.

  “Call Padraig.”

  “Calling Padraig.”

  “Hey, Kidd, what’s up?” Padraig answered on the first ring.

  “Isn’t it all over the news?” Jil said.

  “What?”

  “One of my students died this morning on school grounds.”

  Padraig let out a low whistle that sounded a bit eerie over the speakers. “I’ll be damned.”

  “She was lying in front of the student entrance this morning when Jess and I got there.”

  “Who’s Jess?”

  “Jessica Blake. The principal.”

  “First-name basis already, huh?”

  Jil’s heart sped up. “Oh, shut it. Honestly, Padraig. Could we focus on the important things here?”

  “Sure. Did the police come?”

  “The police, the coroner. The whole shebang. We’re waiting on the police report, but it looks like a suicide.”

  Padraig was quiet for a moment. “You want me to pull you out of there?”

  “Why? I’m just getting started.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t know,” Padraig muttered. “I just wonder if it wasn’t poor judgment on my part—keeping you away as a teenager, then throwing you to the wolves now…”

  Chapter Five

  The next morning, while using the staff washroom, Jil overheard two teachers whispering. She kept silent in the stall, hoping they wouldn’t notice her. They didn’t.

  “They came this morning,” one woman said. She sounded like she was crying.

  “Well, it’s not like you weren’t expecting them,” the other woman said gently.

  Jil held her breath over the sound of muffled sobs. “I just know he’s hurrying it up because he wants to marry that stupid Cindy,” the crier mumbled. “I have a good mind not to sign them.”

  “Come on, Ivana. You don’t want to drag this out, do you? If it’s over, it’s over. Trust me. Divorce is messy enough when people cooperate. It’s hell when they don’t.”

  Ivana sniffed. “Whatever. If he doesn’t want me, fine. But if he thinks that little slut is going to be half as good as me, he’s in for a big surprise.”

  The door opened and shut. Jil smiled to herself and made a mental note. She’d just saved herself a stakeout. And she could cross Ivana Ostarak off her list. That made three entries from this week alone.

  I.O.—Divorce.

  Y.K.—Living in sin.

  M.M.—Single mother (Divorce?).

  Later, Jil remembered her mailbox. She made her way to the alcove that held all the staff mailboxes. Her little cubby overflowed with two weeks’ worth of morning announcements, flyers for bake sales, ticket draws, events—little notes welcoming her to school. She tossed all the flyers and announcements into the recycling bin—conveniently placed along the wall of the alcove for just such a time as this—and scanned each welcome note before tossing it into the blue box.

  At the back sat a plain white envelope with her name on it. Instinct told her to wait until she got to her office before opening it. She made her way back to her cramped office and shut the door. She examined the handwriting on the envelope. No one’s she recognized.

  She slit the top neatly with a letter opener that Ms. Barnes had left her and pulled out a piece of paper. On it were printed ten names—on plain A4 paper, Times New Roman font. Laser printer too—harder to trace. She scanned the names quickly, memorized them, then took the paper over to the shredder to get rid of the evidence. Giovanni must have sent this. Would e-mail not have been easier?

  She couldn’t help the slight feeling of disappointment as she fed the list through the metallic teeth. The name at the top—presumably the number one priority—was someone she was hoping to avoid for a while. If not forever. Now it seemed she had no choice.

  Jess Blake was her prime target.

  *

  At home that night, Jil locked herself back in her office and went online again. She’d already determined that Jess wasn’t active on any social media sites. Now, she had to dig deeper.

  She took out one of a stack of pre-paid credit cards that Padraig had given her for just such circumstanc
es as this—untraceable. The agency had memberships to a lot of paid investigative sites, but plain old government records had to be paid for separately.

  She started with moveable property, paid the fee, and found out exactly how much Jessica Blake had paid for her gorgeous Jeep. That didn’t help, of course, because the loan was in her name only, which didn’t prove a thing. It didn’t disprove that she lived with anyone—only that she kept her finances to herself.

  On to marriage records next. Another site, another fee, another hit. Jessica Blake (née McIntyre) had married Mitchell Blake ten years ago. So…if she was married, why was she called Ms. Blake?

  *

  On Wednesday morning, a memo came down from Mark Genovese, instructing teachers to conduct “business as usual” at St. Marguerite’s—the students were there to be educated, and educational activities must still be taking place. Jil tried to elicit a conversation about Buddhism, but the conversation soon wound back to suicide.

  Thursday, she was supposed to give a test. She postponed it. No one even cheered. By Friday, word in the staff room said the police report had come in. Officer Morgan was in a meeting with Jess Blake. Jil already knew what they’d found; Morgan had called her that morning.

  She watched Morgan leave. He tipped his head subtly in her direction as he strode across the atrium and through the double doors.

  Jess’s eyes met hers through the crush of students on lunch break. She beckoned Jil inside with a slight movement of her head, and Jil followed her into her office.

  Jil noted that the secretaries watched from the corners of their eyes as the door closed. “What did he say?”

  “Suicide.” Jess sank slowly into her office chair.

  Jil perched on the side of her big oak desk. Close. Almost too close. Jess’s hand could have brushed her knee if she hadn’t carefully placed it in her lap.