It was snowing again. Any more of this, Greg thought, and it would turn into a proper winter. NPR murmured soothingly out of the Mini Cooper’s retro-looking radio. The sanitation strike was over, apparently. There was a short sound clip of the mayor describing the outcome as a ‘victory for common sense’, before they cut back to the announcer, who informed her audience that pickups would resume on a normal schedule, which Greg took to mean that the trash trucks would be picking up two weeks’ worth of garbage in one go. Road conditions distracted him from the story. He kept a careful grip on the steering wheel as he rode out a fishtail. While he knew for a fact that the city of Pittsburgh had snowplows – he’d seen them on the road from time to time – he’d never seen one actually plowing. And wherever the city’s snowplows did their business, it wasn’t on Joseph Avenue. The Mini Cooper made it a little unsteadily to the top of the hill and slid down the other side, slipping into the last available free parking space. A mother with a minivan full of kids gave him a baleful look as she drove past.
‘Morning, Stacey.’
‘Morning, Mr Abimbola.’ Greg walked briskly past the front desk and trotted up the stairs to the second floor, hanging his winter coat on the back of his classroom door. More or less ready for the day, he strolled over to the admin suite.
‘Good morning, Emily,’ he said cheerfully, leaning over her cubicle. Emily’s computer monitors were bevel-to-bevel with spreadsheets. ‘Are we still on for tonight? Forecast says it’ll have stopped snowing by then.’
Emily, who had probably been at her desk since before seven, beamed up at him.
‘Of course we are. Looking forward to it!’ A sudden look of concern. ‘Unless something’s come up?’
‘Absolutely not! I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
‘Then all’s good.’ Emily took a sip from her cup of coffee.
‘I didn’t know you had a kid at Stayard.’
‘What?’
‘Your mug,’ Greg observed. ‘It says “Stayard Mom”.’
‘Oh, right. Yeah, my son’s a senior there.’
‘Congratulations! You must be very proud.’
Emily smiled fondly.
‘I am. He’s majoring in Art History. Absolutely loves it.’
‘Good for him. Maybe next time he’s home he can help me with my interior design. Between you and me, I have terrible taste.’
Emily giggled at that.
‘You’re too funny.’
‘I wish. Though, on a more serious note, I’d like to have a quick word about Andrea Velasquez.’
Emily’s expression became businesslike.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. She’s suspended until further notice. Can’t have a murderer walking the halls, you know? Not a good look.’
Greg made a deprecating gesture.
‘Oh … I don’t think she’s a murderer, Emily.’
‘Really? Then you’re in a minority of one.’
‘I don’t think so. The police have been tracking Lindsay Delcade’s movements. Apparently, Lindsay got here almost ten minutes after Andrea left the building. Andrea was already on her way home by the time Ms Delcade got murdered, so I don’t think she’s a good fit for our particular little scandal.’
‘Where, in God’s name, did you hear that?’ Emily asked, wide-eyed.
‘Oh, people talk, you know how it is. You can’t keep stuff like that quiet for long. Anyway, I think suspending her until this is cleared up is absolutely the right thing to do. I’m just hoping we’re not planning on firing her.’
Emily pursed her lips.
‘How good is this information of yours?’
‘Well, it’s third-hand information, if you know what I mean. But it’s not the sort of thing anyone would say unless it was true.’
‘Hmmm. Well, we can keep her suspended for a while, I guess. Normally, in a situation like this, we’d have to let her go. We’re in damage control right now and the parents will expect nothing less. I’ll talk to Principal Ellis, but we certainly don’t want her fired if she turns out to be innocent. We can certainly wait a few days until everything becomes clearer.’
‘You are justice personified, Ms Pasquarelli.’
‘Why, thank you, Mr Abimbola.’
Greg left the admin suite, slightly alarmed that Andrea had been right after all. He’d still not adjusted to American employment practices. Calderhill Academy had been all set to throw Andrea to the wolves.
Heading toward his classroom, he ran into Principal Ellis taking quick steps in the opposite direction. The steel tips of her heels clacked on the hardwood floor.
‘Ah, there you are, Greg. A word please.’
Thrown off his stride, he followed her into her office. As ever, Ellis’s cluttered domain made him feel slightly ill-at-ease. What had he done this time, he wondered? There were a number of bad answers to that question, so he decided not to dwell on it. He took a seat instead, separated from the principal by the cluttered width of her desk. Unstable towers of paper, each held in place by the usual collection of heavy objects, covered the wood and leather surface.
‘The last time I sat here,’ he said, trying to gauge Ellis’s mood, ‘I was being interviewed by a homicide detective.’
Ellis grimaced.
‘What an awful, awful business. All those questions. As if one of us could possibly have done it.’
‘Someone must have. Or we wouldn’t have had a dead body in the basement.’
‘Of course, of course. But to think it was one of the faculty . . . . absurd, just absurd. As I told that overbearing detective … what was his name?’
‘Cassidy.’
‘Oh yes. Sat in this very seat and made me feel like a visitor in my own office. Practically accused me of murder. Said I’d been arguing with Lindsay the day before and wanted to know if I had an alibi, for god’s sake.’
‘And did you?’
‘Thankfully, yes. Or I think he’d have arrested me rather than Maybelline. As it happens, I had a very pleasant, very public dinner with an old friend of mine, Johnathan Lorde. He’s the dean of the faculty of Arts and Sciences at Stayard. Technically, he was in town to fly the flag for the college and discuss admissions policy, but it was really an excuse to catch up.’ A sudden smile brightened her face. ‘I couldn’t have had a more respectable witness.’
‘It pays to have friends in high places,’ Greg joked. Somewhat to his surprise, it fell flat. Ellis’s expression turned serious.
‘I wanted to speak to you earlier, but you know how crazy it gets around here. I just wanted to say how sorry we are about this Chandler Delcade business. What the boy did was unforgiveable.’
So you’ll be expelling him, then? Greg held himself expressionless, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
‘Of course, with what happened to his mother, he’s probably been punished enough, don’t you think? Such a terrible, terrible thing. No one should lose a parent like that.’
‘A tragedy,’ Greg said, his voice carefully neutral. ‘But the boy’s going to start detention later today. What he did can’t go unpunished.’
‘Oh, of course not. Of course not. Absolutely right. I just wanted to know if you considered this the end of the matter? Obviously, if you choose to take it further … the school will back you a hundred percent.’ There was a tense pursing of lips.
‘I don’t think that will be necessary, Principal Ellis. But I appreciate the show of support.’
The relieved slump of Ellis’s shoulders spoke volumes.
‘That’s very gracious of you, Greg. Very gracious. Hopefully, once this is over, the boy will have learned his lesson.’
‘From your mouth to God’s ears.’ Greg knew his smile was tighter than he would have liked. ‘Is there anything else?’ He made to rise from his chair.
‘I don’t believe so. Oh … wait. I completely forgot. Can you take French IV on Thursday? Claire has a doctor’s appointment.’
‘Of course.’ Greg stood up, impatient to be free of Ellis’s office and its oppressive untidiness. As he did so, however, one of the principal’s makeshift paperweights caught his eye.
‘Isn’t that the key to the metal door in the custodian’s room?’
Ellis looked surprised.
‘Yes it is. How’d you know?’
‘I don’t think there’s another lock in the school big enough for a key like that.’
Ellis chuckled.
‘I guess not.’
‘Aren’t you afraid you’ll lose it?’
‘This? I never let it out of my sight. It’s far too useful for holding down papers.’
Greg grinned at that and headed out into the corridor. As he did so, the cellphone in his jacket pocket started to vibrate.
‘Hello?’
‘Mr Abimbola, it’s Detective Lev. I’m returning the voicemail you left me Saturday? I believe you have something to give me.’