A Question of Judgment: A Michael Bishop Mystery Page 15

  He had troubled getting the words out quickly enough. “They did?”

  “That’s what Nick told me. He said his dad had approached him in the parking lot as he arrived for the game. He pleaded with Nick not to believe everything that his mom said about him, but Nick told him to get lost.”

  “Did you actually see his father that night?”

  “No.” After hesitating for a moment, he asked, “You don’t think that his father did it, do you?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think, Sam. I’m sure that Lieutenant Hodge is investigating all possibilities very carefully.”

  As Sam left, Bishop asked him to keep their conversation confidential. He saw Larry, the night custodian, making his way towards his room. To avoid having Larry walk on him while he was on the phone, he told him that his room didn’t need a cleaning tonight and that he would empty the trash before he left. Larry gave him an appreciative nod as he entered another room.

  He locked his classroom door, turned off the lights, and sat down at a desk in the back of the room. His hands shook slightly as he placed his call. The phone rang several times before Hodge picked up.

  “Lieutenant, we may just have gotten the break we were looking for.”

  “I’m listening,” replied Hodge without betraying any emotion.

  Bishop proceeded to convey what he had learned from Sam regarding the whereabouts of Vincent Borelli on the night of the murder.

  “Let me make sure I’ve got this straight. Sam didn’t actually see Nick arguing with his father that night.”

  “That’s true, but Nick would have no reason to lie to Sam about it. Perhaps someone else did see them together.”

  “Unlikely,” Hodge responded abruptly. “How many people around here would even know what Mr. Borelli looks like?”

  “That’s true as well, but it certainly casts doubt on Borelli’s alibi. I thought it was rather odd that he just happened to locate a fax that made it seem impossible that he was here at the time of the murder.”

  “The problem is that the only person who could testify that he was here is dead,” said Hodge. “I can’t have someone arrested for murder without solid evidence, but I will look into the matter of that fax.”

  Talking to himself as much as to the Lieutenant, Bishop remarked, “I guess I just don’t want to accept the fact that one of the kids did it.”

  “I understand where you’re coming from, but in this business, you have to go where the facts lead you, however unpleasant that may be.”

  “I suppose even if we could prove that Nick’s father was here, that doesn’t mean that he killed his son,” Bishop admitted reluctantly.

  “That’s right.”

  “In fact, the only person who seems convinced that the father did it is the mother. Maybe she did it,” Bishop mused.

  Hodge laughed. “I’d like to eliminate some suspects, not add more to the list! What makes you think she did it?”

  Bishop thought for a moment. “Well, we have to take her word for it that her husband had threatened to ruin her life. Since the father and son didn’t get along, it would be easy for her to cast suspicion on him.”

  “And why do you think she would want to kill her own son?” the Lieutenant asked, playing along with his friend’s theory.

  Knowing that the love of money is a powerful motivator, Bishop speculated, “Maybe she had a multi-million dollar life insurance policy on the kid.”

  Suddenly, Hodge wasn’t laughing any more.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Some teachers complained that the school day often dragged. Bishop did not find that to be the case. In fact, for him, the opposite seemed to be true. There was never enough time to accomplish all of the goals that he set for each class. Not only did the days go by quickly, the weeks and months did also. As he approached his seventy-second birthday, he felt that even the years went by more quickly. How long could he continue to teach? As long as he had his health, mental acuity, and passion for his work, he planned on staying in the classroom. After all, he had been in school either as a student or as a teacher since he was five years old.

  He was looking forward to having dinner at Christy’s on Friday night. It would be good to see Mary Ellen again. His two-week stint as Sister Pascala’s substitute would be half over. Although Bishop liked Blake, he still had the feeling that there was something about him that just didn’t add up. That concern, however, was the least of his worries. In another week, everyone would be on spring break, and it would become increasingly unlikely that the mystery surrounding Nick’s death would ever be solved.

  Over the past few days, he had talked with Nick’s mother, Alice Urbanski, Coach Wagner’s grandson, Bobby, as well as two of Nick’s teammates, Dave Cavanaugh and Sam Blanchard. He had intended on talking with Liz Atkins, but Blake had done that for him. Who else was there to interview? Lieutenant Hodge planned on checking in with Nick’s father, Vincent Borelli, again now that it appeared that he had lied about his whereabouts on the night of the murder.

  Opportunity? Hundreds of people had the opportunity to slip into the Knights’ locker room when it was unattended and add the fatal dose of pure caffeine to the water bottle with Nick’s name on it. That could have been done any time between the pep assembly early that afternoon and game time that night. Red Wagner, Bobby, Dave, Sam, and Liz all were there. Nick’s mother and Dr. Andrews were in the stands, and if Sam was telling the truth, Nick’s father was there as well.

  Motive? According to the mother, Nick’s father had threatened to ruin her life, and taking the life of her son was a most heinous way to do that, but was the mother’s accusation credible? Dave Cavanaugh might have been jealous of Nick for taking the limelight from him or for taking his girlfriend, but was either a motive for murder? Liz found Nick arrogant, and was disgusted by the way he badmouthed his ex-girlfriend at Dunhill Academy, but was that a motive for murder? What about Blake Everett? He didn’t appear to have motive or opportunity, but Bishop was certain that there was more to his story.

  Bishop couldn’t escape the feeling that the key to solving this mystery was to be found in Nick’s past. Whatever it was, it had been his prologue to murder.

  ***

  Most school days had their element of drama, and Thursday was no different. After picking up his morning cup of tea in the faculty room and trying to convince Jack Slater that there was no cause for concern in the Mets’ four-game losing streak, he stopped by the main office.

  Terry Mortenson was at her desk, fielding phone calls, responding to questions from students and teachers, and checking her email, all with her usual efficiency. She smiled when she saw Bishop and signaled that she wanted to talk with him. He motioned in the direction of the copy room. After checking his mailbox, he stopped opposite Terry’s desk. The rush had dissipated for the moment.

  She motioned for him to move in closer. He could tell from the look in her eye that she had a juicy piece of gossip to share.

  “Guess where Ann and Pat are spending their spring break this year?”

  “No idea.” Over the years, those two had traveled quite frequently. They often claimed to be attending an educational conference of some sort although they rarely brought back any new ideas or information to share with the faculty. On other occasions, they claimed that they were visiting relatives who had so kindly offered to pay their expenses. Bishop really didn’t care where they went or what they did on their vacations.

  “I’ll give you a hint,” she said mischievously. “It’s the home of the Padres and the Chargers.”

  “San Diego?”

  “You didn’t hear that from me,” she said laughing.

  Bishop just shrugged.

  “Sister Ann doesn’t know that I know,” she cackled, obviously pleased with herself.

  Curious as to her tactics, he asked, “How did you find out?”

  “Ann asked Pat to make all the arrangements, which was her first mistake. Pat barely knows how to send an email let alone book
a flight and a hotel online, so she asked me to help. They’re flying first class.”

  “Really?” Bishop had only flown first class once, and that was the result of being bumped from a previous flight.

  “Those tickets were over a thousand bucks a piece. Pat said that she has such a hard time fitting into an airline seat, she told Ann that she wouldn’t go on such a long fight unless they bought seats in first class.” While Bishop struggled to dismiss the mental image that conjured up, Terry added that she had booked their room at the Hotel del Coronado for the week. Bishop rubbed his thumb and fingers together, indicating that their choice of hotel was quite pricey. He and his late wife, Grace, had visited the area many years ago. Although they couldn’t afford to stay there, he remembered that Victorian beachfront resort. As they admired the impressive building, Grace told him that it was once listed among the top ten resorts in the world.

  “They’re paying over $400 a night, and that’s before taxes.”

  Bishop just shook his head in disbelief. “That’s not the best part,” she said as the phone rang.

  Hooked by that statement, Bishop waited as she took the call. When she was done, she looked up at him and said, “Now, where was I?”

  “You were going to tell me ‘the best part.’”

  “Right! The school is picking up the tab.”

  “I think I’ll ask the principal if I can attend a conference in Maui,” he said facetiously. Then he remembered something that disturbed him. “Didn’t they stay there for a conference just last summer?”

  “You bet they did, but this time they’re not even attending a conference. Pat, who never knows when to keep her mouth shut, said that they owe it all to Dr. Andrews.”

  “What does he have to do with it?”

  “That was my question exactly,” Terry replied. “She said that when Andrews donated ten thousand to the school for anti-bullying programs, Sister Ann put half of it in general funds.”

  The office area was starting to get busy again. Bishop left wondering how Dr. Andrews would react if he knew that he had just funded a luxury vacation for Sister Ann and her friend, Sister Pat, who was literally the biggest bully in the school. He began to wonder if they actually attended a conference last summer as they had claimed. Were they about to pull a similar stunt? Even though those two had been involved in so many shady dealings in the last few years, it was hard for him to contain his sense of outrage at their casual breach of ethics.

  ***

  Teaching on a Friday afternoon was, by definition, a bit of a challenge. Add to that the fact that the students were one week away from one of the longest breaks of the year. Add to that the fact that it was a perfectly sunny April day when opening the classroom windows did little to dispel the urge to escape the confines of the classroom.

  Over the years, Bishop had tried different teaching strategies for such occasions, some more successful than others. By far, the most popular had been his decision to hold class under the shade of a giant red maple tree behind the building. Although he lost a few minutes of class time getting out there and then coming back in on time for the changing of classes, the class discussions were often very productive, the students perhaps inspired by their new environment. That strategy had abruptly come to an end with an email from Sister Pat to the entire faculty stating that teachers were not “aloud (sic) to hold classes outside due to the fact that students would not hear instructions in the event of a fire.”

  Teachers occasionally brought up that email when they needed a good laugh. Some wondered if Sister’s directive meant that the gym teachers would no longer be allowed to take their classes out to the fields or the tennis courts. Others wondered aloud why Sister was allowed to make careless errors when she railed against others who made similar mistakes. Bishop wondered why his students would need to hear the instructions in the event of a fire since they would already be safely out of the building.

  Everyone breathed a sigh of relief with the sound of the last bell of the day. Before he met his friends for dinner, he had the rest of the afternoon to enjoy. After dropping some books off at the library and picking up some new titles, he looked forward to getting home and taking Max out for a long walk. He didn’t want to think about school or about the investigation into Nick’s death or much of anything else for that matter. His afternoon, however, didn’t go quite as planned.

  ***

  He had no trouble finding a space in the parking lot of the Groveland Public Library. He pulled in near a silver Lexus and grabbed the books that he had to return from the back seat. Something about that car was familiar to him, but he couldn’t immediately come up with what it was. As he made his way down the uneven concrete sidewalk, he had his head down. The last thing he needed was to trip and take a spill. At his age, falls could be especially troublesome.

  “Hello, Mr. Bishop!” Often, he was greeted by students, parents, colleagues, or former students when he least expected it. It was the result of teaching for over forty years at the same school. The female voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. It was so frustrating that his mind didn’t always instantly come up with the information he was seeking, and he couldn’t ask Siri or Alexa to look up the answer for him.

  When he looked up, he saw two people. The voice belonged to Alice Urbanski. He hadn’t heard her voice enough to recognize it. Her companion was Dr. Andrews, the owner of the Lexus. He should have remembered that since he had been struck by the sight of his car in her driveway only a few days earlier.

  “Ms. Urbanski, how nice to see you!” She disengaged her arm from the man with the dark-rimmed glasses.

  “Do you know Dr. Andrews?”

  “I’ve seen you around a few times, but I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Michael Bishop. Nice to meet you, doctor.” His handshake was unexpectedly weak. He seemed noticeably more frail than he had the night of Nick’s death. Bishop realized that Ms. Urbanski had probably been holding his arm more as a precaution against his falling than as a sign of affection.

  He had to resist the temptation of informing the good doctor that a sizable chunk of his generous donation to Holy Trinity was being used to fund a luxurious vacation for two of the administrators. Even though Terry’s information was likely one hundred percent accurate, it was, nevertheless, unsubstantiated. And even if he knew it for an absolute fact, it wasn’t his business to inform the benefactor of the abuse.

  “Have they arrested her ex-husband yet for that heinous crime?” he asked with a voice as weak as his handshake. The effort of asking the question initiated a fit of coughing. He quickly pulled out his handkerchief.

  “Are you all right, Tom?”

  As the coughing spell subsided, he indicated that he was waiting for Bishop’s answer.

  “I do know that Lieutenant Hodge plans on talking with him again as there is a possibility that he was in Groveland on the night of the murder.”

  “He was?” She seemed genuinely shocked to learn of that possibility. Her response puzzled Bishop. Since she was so adamant in her belief that Victor had killed his own son in order to ruin her life, why would she be so surprised that he was there that night?

  “I can’t say that with certainty, but Hodge is a good man, and I’m sure that he will have a definitive answer soon.”

  Neither Dr. Andrews nor Ms. Urbanski responded. She took the doctor’s arm again in preparation for walking the rest of the way to his car. Before they could leave, Bishop thought of one other matter that he could share with Nick’s mother that might provide some solace.

  “By the way, Ms. Urbanski, do you remember that note I found in Nick’s chemistry notebook?”

  She glared at him warily. “Yes. What about it?” she snapped.

  “I just wanted to assure you that it had nothing to do with Nick’s death. It was sort of an inside joke between friends.” There was no point in telling her that her son had altered some of the grades on his eligibility report.

  The doctor smiled for the firs
t time as he said, “Alice, I told you that Victoria had nothing to do with it.”

  After their goodbyes, Bishop went into the library, dropped off his books at the desk, and headed upstairs to the shelves containing mystery novels. As he began his search, he pulled out his list of authors and titles that he had already read. He resorted to making a list after he found himself reading a mystery that he had read previously. Unlike great works of literature that he could read over and over, even the best mysteries rarely deserve a second reading. The irony was not lost on him as he picked out another mystery to read, that a real-life mystery was yet to be solved. In the novels that he read, the wily detective patiently follows all of the clues until he discovers the one clue that brings the killer to light and resolution to the story. There were no guarantees that Nick Borelli’s case would end in a similar fashion, but he was determined to do whatever he could to make that happen.

  He saw a title by Donna Leon that was not on his list and eagerly pulled it from the shelf. As he flipped open the front cover, the doctor’s last comment echoed in his mind. I told you that Victoria had nothing to do with it. Could the doctor have been referring to the girl that Liz Atkins had mentioned to Blake as Nick’s ex-girlfriend at Dunhill Academy? Could she and Vicky be one and the same?

  Chapter Nineteen

  The last time Bishop had seen Mary Ellen she looked frustrated and overwhelmed. Now, as he walked into Christy’s, she was laughing heartily. Ron, seated at her side, and Blake, seated opposite her, were caught up in the merriment. They didn’t notice the veteran teacher until he approached the booth.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  “You’re not late,” Ron said with a big smile, “we’re early.” That sent the three of them into hysterics. Bishop noticed that the pitcher of beer in front of them was nearly empty. He had to assume that that was their first, but based on their high spirits, he couldn’t be sure.

  As he sat down, Ron asked, “What are you drinking?”