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Shandra went straight to Nancy’s office when she reached the school. The woman wasn’t there.
Backtracking to the administration office, she found Rachel sitting at her desk with a less than hospitable expression on her face.
“Something wrong?” Shandra asked.
The secretary jumped, then shot Shandra a smile. “Oh, numbers. Some months everything lines up perfectly and others...” Rachel hit several keys and asked, “What did you need?”
“I’m looking for Nancy. She’s not in her office.” Shandra leaned on the counter, hoping for a chance to see what the woman had been working on.
“She has a doctor’s appointment this morning and wasn’t coming in until noon.” Rachel turned the monitor away from Shandra. “What did you need?”
“Who else on the faculty would know the most about Travis Lange?”
“You could try John Early, his English teacher.”
“Thank you.” Shandra sauntered away from the office with the uneasy feeling Rachel’s gaze was drilling a hole in her back.
She continued down the English and Social Studies departments hallway. The names of the teachers were prominently displayed above the doors. She found Mr. Early’s door and knocked. He was a teacher she hadn’t met.
“Come in,” a deep mature voice called out.
She opened the door and stepped into a room bursting with color. She’d expected words and writings on the walls, not posters of works of art through the ages. “I like your artwork,” she said by way of an introduction.
“I’m impressed with your artwork as well, Ms. Higheagle.” A man with a shock of white hair, a square face, and compact, average height body held out his hand.
“Thank you, Mr. Early. I hadn’t expected to see this in an English room.” She shook hands and wandered along the walls taking in the prints.
“I believe even for writing, one must have a palette from which to gather words. By giving my students these iconic images with every color in the world, they can fuel their thoughts with ideas for stories.” He remained standing by his desk as she wandered.
“Then you teach creative writing?”
“Along with the more structured practices of grammar and sentence diagraming. What brings you to my room?”
She ended her tour at his desk. “I need to know who are Travis Lange’s friends and who are the people who ridicule him.”
Mr. Early waved his hand to the table in front of his desk as he sat in his chair.
Shandra sat on the table, waiting.
“Why do you need to know this about Travis?” Mr. Early dug through a pile of folders on his desk.
“Because someone is trying to make the police believe he killed Mr. Huntley.” She’d decided there wasn’t any time to take things anyway but straight on.
The teacher brought his gaze from the folders to her. “Why would anyone do that? Travis is a good kid. He has some learning disadvantages, but he is very poetic.” He held up a folder. “Here, this is the work he has done in my class.”
Shandra walked up to the desk and took the folder. She returned to her seat. “Do you know about the trouble he had with Mr. Huntley?”
“He wrote about it in there. He wrote about everything. Who was nice to him, who wasn’t. If you want I can make copies for you.”
“That would be great. I could give them to the investigating detective.” Shandra read the page on top. It was a poem titled, She Likes Me to My Face. It was a poem about a girl who liked him when they were together, but he heard her talking mean about him to others. It saddened Shandra’s heart and spoke to his forgiveness that at the end, he said she was still a friend because she needed one.
“Are all of his writings like this?” Shandra could see a book of his poems with his illustrations.
“Yes. Open and full of the forgiveness and unharnessed feelings of a child. There’s a couple that made me cry. That hasn’t happened much over the years.” Mr. Early rose, came around the desk, and reached for the folder. “I have a copier here in my room. That way I don’t have to walk all the way to the office to make copies. I prefer staying in my department and teaching kids. Hate all the bureaucracy that has seeped into schools.” At the copier in the corner, he started the papers and leaned his backside against the machine. “I’m interested in knowing what makes you think someone is throwing Travis to the cops?”
Shandra told him about the trouble the day of Mr. Huntley’s death, the clay head she’d found the day before, and her visit with the Langes. The whir and clunk of the copier stopped.
“That does sound incriminating. But I know he would never hurt anyone. Not intentionally.” He put the originals in the folder and picked up the copies, carrying them over to her.
“Hopefully, reading these I can discover who might be the person.” Shandra took the papers. “Do you have anyone in mind? You’ve read his poems.”
“I don’t like to point fingers at students. There are a couple of girls who like Boyd and think his interest in his ‘dumb’ brother is wrong and want to get his attention. They mentioned if Travis was out of the way, they’d have a chance. There are a handful of boys, who I think feel threatened by Travis. He’s an autistic student who excels at certain things and they can’t even excel at one thing. Mostly due to their lack of trying, but they don’t see it that way. They say mean things and knock him around when classes change. It’s like a gang just to hate Travis.”
Shandra shook her head. “Do other teachers know this?”
“We have discussed it in the break room. That’s why Nancy has started meeting Travis and walking him to classes.” Mr. Early glanced at the door. “Class is about to start. You should talk to Nancy. She should have some ideas as well.”
“Thank you, I will. And thanks for these.” She held up the papers and headed to the door. It had been years since she’d had to swim through students flowing in the halls hurrying to class. She didn’t want to get caught in the rapids.
~*~
Ryan went to the pottery class and found the room empty. Unsure where to look for Shandra, he pulled out his phone and dialed her number.
It went to voicemail.
He’d go find Jennifer Sabo in the kitchen and hope Shandra was in her room for third period. Thinking he’d go out the back door, he walked down the hall and stopped. A class was in Mr. Huntley’s room. Ms. Tierney was conducting the class. He’d finished processing the room and there wasn’t any reason they couldn’t conduct classes there.
Strains of classical music came from the dance studio. He peeked through the window in the door and watched the class work on ballet moves. Was the media room just as busy? He crossed the hall and listened. No voices or sounds. Was there a class?
Ryan raised his hand to knock and decided to just open the door, after all it was a public place. With one motion, he opened the door and stepped in. He’d never seen such a variety of electronic equipment in one place. One corner looked like a sound booth, another a filming set. There were banks of computers, printers, and monitors.
He turned to leave and spotted someone hunched over a computer in a corner. It wasn’t the teacher. Ryan took two steps in that direction.
“Detective, are you looking for me?” Ms. Miller asked from behind him.
The person on the computer heard her and quickly made the screen go blank.
He spun toward the door. “Yes, I am. I’ve noticed that between classes there is very little activity in the hallway and no one seems to keep an eye on things. Are there any surveillance cameras set up?”
“Yes. We do have surveillance cameras. But only inside the building, nothing is installed out back of the building.” She moved by him and over to her desk.
“I’d like to see the footage from Wednesday.” He followed her to the desk, hoping for a better look at the student who was using the computer. But the person had disappeared.
She stared at him. “Now?”
“I can look at it now or you can give it to me and I’ll look at it at the station.” He wasn’t going to budge now. He wanted the feed and he wanted to know who was hiding.
“I have a class coming in soon.” She didn’t rise from the chair.
“All you have to do is bring it up and I’ll watch it, or give me a copy.” He knew it would only take a few minutes for her to do either.
She sighed and stood. “Which do you prefer?”
“A copy. I have another person to question.” Ryan followed her to the computers and monitors in a small room the size of a closet. There was a monitor with the hallway showing at that moment. Dance students were slowly leaving the studio. It appeared the camera was above the back door.
He’d positioned himself to keep an eye on the door to the media room. The person he’d been waiting on slipped out the door. Ryan stared at the monitor. A tall, thin person walked to the back door and disappeared. What had they been doing in here alone? And why had the person remained hidden?