A Question of Judgment: A Michael Bishop Mystery Read online

  Without hesitation, he replied with a straight face, “I’ve been thinking a lot about the Borelli case.”

  All three became very quiet. Ron looked at Mary Ellen as if this confirmed his fear that his elderly colleague was, indeed, losing his hearing.

  Before Ron had a chance to clear up the confusion, Bishop added, “And as far as drinking is concerned, I think a glass of beer would hit the spot.” As he spoke, he laughed. Bishop had played this trick on Ron a number of times previously, and he fell for it every single time.

  Ron signaled for the waitress. Since the place was fairly crowded, Bishop thought that Maria might be helping out her grandfather, but another young girl came over. Ron asked for another glass, and ordered another plate of fried calamari. By the time she returned, they were ready to place their order.

  “Don’t forget, guys. I’m picking up the tab tonight,” Mary Ellen stated over their objections. She had recently quit her job at the bank because she wanted to be closer to Ron, and she had lost her job at school because the nuns basically forced her out. Given those circumstances, Bishop wondered how she could afford to be so generous. He did remember Ron telling him that Mary Ellen wasn’t worried about her financial situation. He decided that he shouldn’t worry about it either.

  Bishop was pleased that Ron and Mary Ellen were back together despite the difficult circumstances of her departure from Trinity. During the next hour or so, the four of them managed to polish off the calamari, two large pizzas, and another pitcher of beer. Even though they had known Blake Everett for only a week, they all felt very comfortable sharing stories with him. Most of those dealt with the various battle scars that each of them had acquired in confrontations with the two sisters running the school. Bishop kept the worst of their offenses to himself.

  He did share one story that had happened a few years earlier. “Judge Taylor had been selected as the featured speaker for the graduation ceremony. The day before the event, Sister Pat interrupted him while he was practicing his speech in the empty auditorium. ‘Keep it short, will ya? No one will be listening to you anyway.’”

  “Oh, my God! You’ve got to be kidding,” said Mary Ellen.

  Bishop gave her a look that suggested that he wasn’t, and continued his story. “The judge said nothing, and immediately left the stage. Apparently, he went right in to Sister Ann’s office, explained to her what had just occurred, and informed her that he would not be giving his speech the following night.”

  Ron obviously remembered the incident, but for Mary Ellen and Blake, this was a new chapter in the book of Sister Pat’s inexplicable gaffes.

  Bishop went on to explain how things worked out. “The programs were already printed, and it was obviously too late to find another speaker. To no one’s surprise, Sister Pat refused to apologize. It took several calls from some members of the board to convince Taylor to give his speech as scheduled. He later told me that the only reason he changed his mind was the realization that his refusal to deliver his speech would spoil the night for the graduating seniors.”

  “That’s the key, right there,” said Ron with sadness in his voice. “They never seem to ask themselves what’s best for the students.”

  “Even though he ended up giving his speech, I know for a fact that he hasn’t donated a single dime to the school since then.”

  “And that ultimately hurts the students as well,” Blake added.

  They talked a bit more about their plans for the rest of the weekend. Everyone had some clear ideas except Bishop. He had some grading to do and maybe some yard work. That was about it.

  When the waitress returned with the check, Mary Ellen reached out in front of Ron and said with satisfaction, “I’ll take that!” Despite the repeated offers from the three gentlemen to pay their share, she insisted. Bishop did convince her to let him leave the tip. As Mary Ellen dug into her large floppy handbag, Bishop glanced at the check that came to $58.28. He put fifteen dollars on the table. He expected that she would use a credit card, but she pulled two bills, a fifty and a ten, and placed them on the check with Bishop’s tip. “All set,” she said, “we don’t need change.”

  There was something about the fifty-dollar bill that she had placed on the table that struck Bishop. He asked her if he could take a look at it.

  “Think it’s counterfeit?” she asked lightly.

  “Oh, no. Nothing like that. I just don’t see that many fifties.” On the front of the bill, someone had written, Who’s buried in Grant’s tomb? in red pen. He flipped to the reverse side, glanced at it, and then flipped it back, and placed it on the table. His facial expression gave no indication that he was troubled, but he was. He was positive that that bill was the same one that he had used to pay the admission to the basketball game for Terry, Sarah, and himself on the night of Nick’s death. He remembered making a comment to the two ladies that he didn’t often have such a large bill, and that he was glad to be able to use it. He had noted at the time the silly question that was written on the bill. The likelihood of there being two fifty-dollar bills that had been defaced in exactly the same manner was extremely small. The bill that he had used must have ended up in the business manager’s receipts.

  How did Mary Ellen end up with that bill? Sister Ann accused Annette Dunkirk of stealing money from her own office and forced her to resign. However, Annette had proclaimed her innocence, and Bishop believed her. Mary Ellen was clearly angling for that job. Was it possible that Mary Ellen had stolen that money? She had told Ron that she didn’t have to worry about money for a while. Is that the reason why she didn’t appear too concerned about losing her job?

  After they all had headed home, Bishop circled back to the restaurant. He had a small favor to ask of Luigi.

  ***

  Bishop usually didn’t have a problem getting a good night’s sleep, but that night was an exception. He kept thinking about that fifty-dollar bill. The likelihood that the police would be able to pull a useful fingerprint from it was nil. Too many people had touched it since it had been stolen. The harder he tried to concentrate on falling asleep, the more awake he became. He finally decided to get up. He put on his slippers, grabbed his robe, and headed for the kitchen. Max greeted him at the bottom of the stairs, confused and curious about the change in his owner’s routine.

  Bishop made his way to the kitchen as Max followed closely. He found some graham crackers, made himself a cup of hot chocolate, and gave the dog a small treat. He turned on a lamp in the sunroom, started Richard Wagner’s “Prelude to Tristan und Isolde” playing softly, and sat in his favorite chair. Max jumped up on the ottoman, and promptly fell asleep.

  How could he possibly tell Ron that he suspected Mary Ellen of stealing from the school? Bishop decided that there was no way that he would mention this to Ron. Mary Ellen was the one with whom he needed to talk. She might have a perfectly reasonable explanation of how that fifty-dollar bill came into her possession, although he couldn’t possibly imagine what that might be. Had she simply found the bill somewhere on the ground near the school? If Annette hadn’t taken the money, and he was willing to bet on that, then whoever did take it might have dropped some of the bills leaving the building in a rush.

  When the music stopped, he got up and grabbed his phone, but it was 1:30 a.m. He couldn’t call her now. As he thought about it, he realized that this was a conversation that he needed to have in person. He wanted to be able to observe her reaction when he questioned her about how she came to possess that bill.

  As he looked at his phone, there was a voice mail that he hadn’t noticed earlier. When Max heard the voice of Lieutenant Hodge, he woke up expecting to see the owner of that voice in the room.

  Mike, I thought you’d want to know that I drove up to Freemont and had a long talk with Victor Borelli. When I put it to him that we were aware that he was in Groveland on the night of Nick’s death, he admitted that he had been at the school. He claimed that he simply wanted to talk with his son because he knew that the
mother was feeding Nick lies about him. You were right about the fax, incidentally. He had a friend send it. When I pointed out that that made him look guilty as hell, he explained that he created that alibi because there is a restraining order preventing him from being anywhere near his ex-wife. I have to say I believe the guy.

  As much as he wanted to believe that Victor did it, Bishop had to admit that his explanation did make sense. On the other hand, if he lied about the fax, he could just as easily be lying about his concern over the restraining order. And if not Victor, then who? He remained reluctant to think that Dave Cavanaugh, Liz Atkins, Sam Pritchard, or any other student could have done it. And yet that reluctance was based entirely on his own inability to admit that one so young could conceive of and carry out such a sinister deed. Hadn’t Steinbeck’s portrayal of Cathy as a monster convinced him? With Nick out of the way, Dave could reclaim his place as the team leader. In addition, he was now dating Ashley Barrington, the girl that Nick had been dating. Could his interest in her have led him to such a nefarious act? What about Liz? She hadn’t bothered to hide her bitterness towards Nick. She claimed that she had broken up with Nick, but what if it were the other way around? Seeing her best friend dating him might have been too much for her to accept.

  Who else might it be? Coach Red Wagner? He did originally lie about who prepared the water bottles. But what possible motive could he have? Could Nick have done something or said something to his grandson that was so odious that Red felt he had to take action? The love that Red had for Bobby was obvious. It reminded him of the close bond between Luigi and his granddaughter, Maria. Would Luigi go so far as to murder someone who harmed her? He couldn’t be sure.

  And what about Bobby? As with the students, that was a possibility that he didn’t want to entertain, but that he couldn’t completely dismiss. There were two other individuals that came to mind. Each concerned him for a different reason. Blake Everett was one. Bishop liked Blake, but he couldn’t escape the feeling that the Chemistry substitute was hiding something. He just didn’t know what or why. Nevertheless, Blake hadn’t even arrived at Holy Trinity until several weeks after Nick’s death. Was that reason enough to eliminate him? He knew that he would have to confront him with his concerns, and he would have to do it soon.

  Something about Dr. Andrews also bothered Bishop. Maybe it was Ron’s suggestion that the doctor hadn’t done enough to try to save Nick’s life. Maybe it was the strange relationship between the doctor and Nick’s mother. But the doctor himself seemed quite ill, and what possible motive could he have? In addition, he was in the stands sitting with Ms. Urbanski before the game started that night.

  Then he considered another possibility. As each day passed, it became more likely that the perpetrator wasn’t even on the list of suspects. He recalled something that Jack Slater suggested at the beginning of the investigation. In addition to Dave Cavanaugh, Jack thought that Dave’s father might have been so frustrated with the idea that Nick was stealing playing time, and ultimately a chance for an athletic scholarship, from his son that he might do something in desperation. If that provided motive, he certainly would have had the opportunity as well. Who else might they have overlooked?

  ***

  He woke up the next morning to the sound of Max jumping from the ottoman to the floor. It was light out, but the sun had not yet risen. He had fallen asleep on the recliner many times, but this was the first time that he had spent the entire night there. He fed Max and took him out for his morning walk. That gave him some time to figure out how to arrange for a one-on-one meeting with Mary Ellen.

  He decided to wait until ten o’clock to call her. After he showered, dressed, and had breakfast, he picked up around the house and did a load of laundry. Back in his recliner, he paid a few bills online. He still had about thirty minutes to wait. Just as he was about to close his laptop, he decided to google a few names. He remembered sharing with his students some years ago the fact that the word “google” had been added as a verb to the Oxford English Dictionary. It was proof that language was alive and constantly evolving. Now, he hoped that googling would provide him some of the answers that he needed.

  One of his searches was for “Blake Everett” which yielded over twelve thousand hits. The strength of a search engine often turned out to be its weakness as well. Among those with that name, the two most prominent were a young comedian and an actor well past middle age. His attempts to refine the search proved ineffective. Ron had told him Blake’s wife’s name. Was it Linda? Bridget? He should have written it down. Brenda … that was it. That search likewise yielded nothing. None of the images of Blake Everett matched the man that he had had dinner with the previous night. Was Blake Everett really the name of Ron’s houseguest and the man who had been subbing at the school for a week? If it wasn’t his real name, who was he and what was he hiding? He knew that he had to get some answers from him as well.

  Finally, it was time to call Mary Ellen. She sounded very happy as she answered the phone.

  “I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”

  “Not at all. Ron and I are going antiquing this afternoon.”

  “That’s sounds good. I didn’t know that Ron was into antiques.”

  “He’s not, really, but I pointed out that there are some good restaurants out that way,” she said with a laugh.

  It was time to make his pitch. “Mary Ellen, I was wondering if you would do me a big favor?”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  He hated to deceive her, but he didn’t see another way. “I want to send my niece a watch for her birthday. I’m having trouble deciding which one to buy, and I was wondering if I could get your opinion. She’s about your age. I’m at the Lenox Hill Mall. Could you meet me at the Sunray Café on the first floor in about half an hour?”

  “Okay. I don’t know if I’ll be much help, but I’ll give you an honest answer.”

  That was exactly what he was counting on.

  ***

  He arrived at the café moments before she did. She gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek as she settled into the booth. A young man quickly approached.

  “My name is Tyler. I’ll be waiting on you today. Can I start you off with coffee?”

  “I’ll have hot tea, please,” Bishop said.

  “And for you, ma’am?”

  Mary Ellen asked for the same.

  When Tyler left, she gave Bishop a confused look. “I thought we were going to look at watches for your niece.”

  “I know that’s what I said. I’m afraid I misled you about that.”

  “What are you talking about?” This was a man that she trusted, and she had no idea what was going on. She looked around nervously.

  “I needed to find some way to speak with you in person.”

  “It’s about Ron, isn’t it?” She started to panic. “Is he all right?”

  “Yes, he’s fine.”

  Other fears surfaced. “Then I suppose you’re going to tell me that he’s married or that he’s going to break up with me.” She looked on the verge of tears.

  “Relax. This doesn’t have anything to do with Ron.”

  As Tyler set the cups and teapots on the table, neither of them spoke.

  “I must apologize for upsetting you and for my ruse in getting you here. I need to talk with you about this.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out the fifty-dollar bill, and placed it in the middle of the counter.

  It was obvious that she recognized the bill as the one she had used to pay for dinner at Christy’s. “How did you get this?”

  “After we left, I went back to the restaurant and asked Luigi if I could give him a check in exchange for it.”

  “Why would you do that? You could go to any bank and get a fifty.”

  “That’s true, but this bill is different as you know. Someone wrote on it, Who’s buried in Grant’s tomb?”

  “So what?” she asked struggling to figure out where Bishop was going with this.

  B
ishop looked directly into Mary Ellen’s blue eyes. “I want you to tell me the truth. Where did you get this bill?”

  He held his breath as he waited for her response. Would she admit that she had taken the money from the business manager’s office that night? Would she say that she found it on the street somewhere? Would she say that she had no idea where she got it? He wanted the truth, but in a way, he didn’t want to hear her admit that she had stolen it.

  “I don’t see many fifties. I know exactly who gave it to me.”

  He said nothing as he waited for her answer. He took a sip of his tea.

  “Sister Ann gave it to me,” she stated matter-of-factly.

  Chapter Twenty

  He managed to swallow without choking. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. In my previous job, I saw lots of Grants and Franklins, but I never had too many of my own. As you said yourself, this one is very distinctive with that writing in red ink.”

  Bishop was still unclear on one point. “Why would she have given this bill to you?”

  “Sister Pat sent me out to buy some office supplies. I guess she thought that I was set up as an authorized buyer, but no one had thought to do that, of course, so I put the charge on my own credit card. When I asked Sister Pat for reimbursement, she told me to see Sister Ann. ‘She’s the one with the cash around here,’ she said.”

  Bishop had been listening carefully. Was it possible that Sister Ann had stolen the cash receipts from the business office that night? That would explain why she didn’t report the theft to the police or try to recoup the school’s losses from the insurance company. How else would she have acquired that bill?

  “Do you recall where Sister Ann kept the money?”

  Mary Ellen paused for a moment. “I do. She didn’t even have to get up from her chair. She took the receipt that I had given her, and she pulled out a thick manila envelope from one of the drawers on the left side of her desk.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  “Well, she didn’t thank me,” she said with a laugh, “if that’s what you mean. She said something about getting my name on the list of authorized buyers, but of course, I was out of there before that ever happened.” The cell phone in her handbag buzzed. She pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and said, “It’s Ron. I’ll call him back.”