Gardena High was located just across the road from the famous Roosevelt Memorial Park, on West 182nd Street. With almost fifteen hundred students, a full-sized football field, and over twenty buildings in its complex, the school grounds were enormous, covering almost two entire city blocks.
At the gates, Hunter got directions to the middle-school principal’s office from one of the security guards. A quick two-minute walk from the entrance, the office itself was spacious, with the walls decorated by a variety of framed achievements and awards, a few student pictures, and a large photo of the current US President. Two secretaries sat at different desks, both typing fiercely on their keyboards. On a bench, pushed up against the east wall, a male student sat with a gloomy look on his face.
As Hunter entered the office, the secretary at the desk closest to the door, a middle-aged African American woman with cornrows in her hair, looked up at him.
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ she said, giving Hunter a warm smile. ‘How can I help you today?’ Her voice was high-pitched.
Hunter approached her desk, showed her his credentials, and in hushed voice explained that he needed to see the principal.
‘She’s on a phone call at the moment,’ the secretary explained. The smile on her lips vanished, replaced by an overall look of concern. ‘But she shouldn’t be long. If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll let her know that you’re here.’
As Hunter sat at the bench, next to the gloomy-faced student, the secretary wrote something down on a Post-it note before entering the principal’s main office. Two seconds after that, Hunter’s cellphone rang in his pocket. The call was from Garcia.
‘Carlos,’ Hunter took the call. ‘Where are you?’
‘El Monte,’ Garcia replied. ‘Just outside Sofia Elliot’s place and about to make my way to Pomona to go see Detective Lee.’
‘That was quick,’ Hunter said. ‘What happened with Sofia Elliot? Did you talk to her?’
‘Nope. That’s why I’m calling. Big update.’
Hunter readjusted himself on the bench.
‘Sofia Elliot and her husband, Lucas, flew to Italy two days ago. It’s her grandfather’s eighty-fifth birthday.’
Hunter paused for a moment. ‘How did you find that out so quickly?’
‘Her neighbor. I got here, rang the bell then knocked – no answer. As I was trying to look in through the window, the next-door neighbor came out. After I explained who I was – and that took some talking – she told me that they had left for Italy a couple of days ago. The neighbor is cat-sitting for them.
‘As far as she’s aware, Sofia’s whole family flew out with her. That means her father and mother too. So don’t bother trying to drop by their place after you leave Gardena High.’
Hunter thought about that for a moment. ‘That could be a good thing.’
‘That’s exactly what I thought,’ Garcia agreed. ‘No loved one left behind for the Mentor to go after.’
‘When are Mrs. Elliot and her husband back? If the neighbor is cat-sitting for them, she must have an idea.’
‘She does. The husband is due back in three days’ time, on Saturday morning. Sofia should be staying a few more days, but she’s not one hundred percent certain.’
‘We’ll need to put an undercover tail on him the second he lands at LAX,’ Hunter said.
‘Yep, I was thinking the same. If the Mentor is going for a loved one, the husband is the best bet. It perfectly fits his MO, down to the victim being alone at home while the other party is away.’
‘Did you ask the neighbor if anybody else came looking for either Sofia or her husband in the past couple of days?’
‘Oh, damn!’ Garcia said, trying his best to keep his tone serious. ‘No, I forgot. Shall I go back?’ He paused for effect. ‘This isn’t my first rodeo, Robert. Of course I asked her and no, she hasn’t seen anyone else at their door, or around their house. I’ve also checked door locks and windows. Nothing seems to have been tampered with.’
‘Not yet,’ Hunter said back.
‘You’re thinking the same as I am, aren’t you? We should put the whole house under surveillance.’
‘Absolutely,’ Hunter agreed, as he saw the external-line light on the intercom on the secretary’s desk go off. ‘I’m about to go into the Gardena Junior High principal’s office. You said you’re on your way to Pomona, right?’
‘Just getting into my car now.’
‘OK, so could you give Captain Blake a call?’ Hunter asked. ‘Give her Sofia Elliot’s address and ask her to organize a surveillance team ASAP. This needs to be in place before the end of the day today.’
‘On it. I’ll talk to you later.’
Less than ten seconds after they disconnected, the door to the principal’s office was pulled open by an average height woman with a plain, round face. Her hair color fell into that indistinct category between blonde and brunette, the strands of which were pulled back into a neat chignon.
‘Mr. Hunter,’ she said, clearly deciding not to address Hunter as ‘Detective’ in front of any students.
Hunter stood up to shake her hand.
‘I’m Principal Martinez,’ she said, as she gestured. ‘Please, come into my office.’
Before following Hunter inside, Principal Martinez looked down at the boy sitting at the bench. ‘Mr. Goodwood. Why am I not surprised?’
‘I ain’t done nothing, Mrs. Martinez,’ the boy replied, shaking his head at the principal.
‘So you keep telling me. Your teachers, though, seem to always disagree with you.’
The boy didn’t meet her stare.
‘Just sit tight, Mr. Goodwood. I’ll be with you in a moment.’
The boy sulked, as Principal Martinez returned to her office and closed the door behind her.
Inside, the conversation between Hunter and the principal didn’t last long. Mrs. Martinez had taken over the middle school principal’s position eight years ago, after the retirement of Joseph Greer, who had been Gardena’s middle school principal for nearly twenty years. That meant that Mrs. Martinez had never met Melissa, Troy, Josie, or anyone else from the class of 2009. Hunter did enquire about Principal Greer, but Mrs. Martinez informed him that unfortunately, he had passed away from cancer three years ago.
‘Any of your teachers or staff members who are still here from 2009?’ Hunter pushed. ‘Or even earlier?’
‘I think I might have a couple,’ Principal Martinez replied, as she scrolled down on her computer screen. ‘I’m just checking that now.’
In anticipation, Hunter reached into his jacket pocket for his notepad.
‘Being a schoolteacher has become harder and harder over the years, Detective,’ Principal Martinez explained, as she continued searching. ‘I’m sure you can imagine. The yearly curriculum demands a lot from everyone… the students demand a lot from everyone… the parents demand a lot from everyone… and the educational board demands a lot from everyone. Tough hours, with a lot of work to take home and not enough pay.’ She gave Hunter a shrug. ‘In my experience, most middle-school teachers either burn out within eight to ten years, or they find something else that’s less demanding and better paid. Career teachers aren’t as easy to find anymore.’ She paused and nodded at her screen. ‘But yes, I was right. Mr. Hartley, the eight-grade homeroom and history teacher, and Mrs. Anderson – eighth-grade English – were both here in 2009. Though at the moment, Mrs. Anderson is on leave for medical reasons. She had surgery less than a week ago.’
Hunter noted both names down. ‘But Mr. Hartley is on campus today, right?’
‘Yes, he is.’
It took Principal Martinez another five minutes to find out about staff members, but it turned out that only a handful of them had been with the school for over thirteen years – the head janitor, two of the security guards, three people who worked at the school canteen, and one of the school gardeners.
‘I’d like to speak with all of them today, if that’s alright,’ Hunter said. ‘Particularly with Mr. Hartley.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Principal Martinez replied, as she consulted her watch. ‘The problem is, I have no one to take over Mr. Hartley’s class at the moment. If you don’t mind waiting, I’m sure he’ll be glad to speak with you as soon as he gets a break, but that might not be until the final bell.’
‘I can wait,’ Hunter replied. ‘It’s not a problem.’
Principal Martinez reached for a pen. ‘OK, let me get you the names of all the staff members I just mentioned.’ She quickly wrote the seven names down. ‘I don’t have their work schedule for the day, but I can ask Brenda to radio them and ask each one to come meet you here, in the office.’ She gestured toward the door, indicating the anteroom with the two secretaries.
‘Thank you,’ Hunter said, getting to his feet. ‘But I’d like to have a look at the 2009 junior-high yearbook first, if I could. Photographs work much better than names when it comes to remembering people.’
‘Sure, that won’t be a problem,’ the principal said, handing Hunter the piece of paper with all the names. ‘You’ll find a copy of the yearbook in our library.’ She paused, as she thought better of her suggestion. ‘Actually, maybe it would be best if I send them to meet you in the library. You should have more privacy there than here in the office.’
‘That works for me,’ Hunter agreed. ‘Before I go, could I ask you for one more favor?’
‘Of course.’
‘Is there a way that you can find out if any of these five students –’ he handed Principal Martinez a piece of paper with the five names ‘– from the junior-high class of 2009 flunked any of their classes during that school year?’
The principal took the paper from Hunter’s hand and silently read through the five names.
‘Sure.’ She sat back down behind her desk. ‘Give me a minute and I’ll pull their records.’
It didn’t take long for Principal Martinez to find out about their grades.
‘Umm… no. It doesn’t look like any of them flunked any of their classes. Some below par grades, for sure – a couple of “D”s here and there, but they all passed.’
‘Those records wouldn’t happen to show any teacher annotations against any of their names, would they?’ Hunter tried. ‘Any sort of complaints… fights… incidents… anything?’
Principal Martinez shook her head. ‘No. Nothing like that. We’re talking kids here, Detective – thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds. For something to be noted onto their junior-high record, it would have to have been something substantial, like being expelled or something. We don’t keep a record of reprimands. If we did, in a school with fifteen hundred students, we could fill a library every year.’
Back in the anteroom, Principal Martinez instructed the same secretary who had greeted Hunter to give him directions to the library building and, when he was ready, to radio the seven staff members whose names were on the list she’d given him.
As the secretary retrieved a school-grounds map from one of her drawers, Principal Martinez kept the door to her office open, placed her hands on her hips and looked back at the student who was still sitting at the bench.
‘Mr. Goodwood.’ Her head angled in the direction of her office. ‘Shall we?’