A Question of Judgment: A Michael Bishop Mystery Read online

  When he arrived at his Pleasant Hill home, Max greeted him with his usual exuberance. He agreed to take care of Max when his previous owner was no longer in a position to do so. That wasn’t so long ago, but Bishop was finding it hard to remember what it was like to come home to an empty house as he had done in the years after Grace passed away.

  After a quick change of clothes and munching on a handful of almonds for a snack, he took Max out for an inspection of the yard. The forsythia blooms were already fading, and the lilacs buds were getting larger. As Max sniffed for evidence of unknown intruders, Bishop caught a glimpse of two bluebirds at one of the feeders. When he tried to get closer, they flew off into the tall pines. He hoped that they would stay for the season, but they usually moved on rather quickly.

  It occurred to him that the same was true of the mysterious Blake Everett. In four more days, he would be leaving Holy Trinity, probably never to return. Yet, the meeting he had arranged for Friday promised to be an interesting one. He just didn’t have any idea what Blake might be planning to say or do. He felt a bit more reassured knowing that Lieutenant Hodge would be there.

  He hadn’t taken his cell phone with him on his walk, and when he got back inside, he saw that he had a message from Hodge asking him to return his call when he had a chance. Curious as to what the lieutenant might have learned, he called back immediately.

  Hodge answered and asked if he could put him on hold while he finished a call on another line. A few moments later, Hodge asked, “Mike, are you there?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Sorry I had to put you on hold.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Have you learned anything new?”

  “Not much,” he admitted. “Nick’s mother called and wanted me to impress upon her ex-husband the seriousness of violating the protection order she has against him.”

  “In addition to violating that order, he is admitting that he was here on the night of Nick’s death.”

  “That’s the way Ms. Urbanski sees it, for sure,” admitted Hodge, “but in talking with this guy, I still don’t buy it.”

  “Why not?” Bishop respected Hodge’s years of experience as a detective, but he was curious as to the reason for his assessment.

  “Well, that’s really why I called. He filled in a few details that had been missing.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as why they got divorced.”

  “I guess I never really knew why,” admitted Bishop. “I know they argued frequently, and sometimes things must have gotten out of hand.”

  “I don’t think either one of them would deny that. There are bitter feelings on both sides, but Victor told me that many of the arguments were about Nick.”

  “How so?”

  “Apparently, Nick’s behavior was the problem. He didn’t go into details, but it was clear that the mother always made excuses for her son, and the father wanted to hold Nick more accountable.”

  Bishop then shared with the lieutenant what he had just learned from Liz Atkins as well as what he had found in the school’s newspaper about Victoria Sloane.

  “That might explain why the mother pulled him out of Dunhill Academy. Rather than the divorce, she might have been trying to protect him.”

  Bishop agreed. “And that might explain why she has been so insistent that her husband was involved in Nick’s death.”

  “Do you think she knows who did it?” asked Hodge.

  “I doubt it. She might have some idea of why, but if she did know, she wouldn’t be trying to protect that person by blaming the father.”

  “You’re probably right about that.”

  “Of course, all of this speculation is contingent on one thing,” cautioned Bishop.

  “What’s that?”

  “That Victor Borelli was telling the truth about the reason for the divorce.”

  Hodge remained silent as Bishop went on to share with him what he had learned from Liz about Nick’s treatment of the coach’s grandson, Bobby.

  “I don’t believe that Red had anything to do with this.” His abrupt comment reflected an instinctive reaction in defense of his long-time friend.

  “You have to admit that he was one of the most likely suspects from the beginning. Even Red knew that. I’m merely suggesting that we shouldn’t dismiss the possibility.”

  The call ended on a less confrontational note as they both promised to keep each other informed of any new developments. Bishop felt that the likelihood of new information faded with each passing day.

  ***

  After looking through the day’s mail and tossing most of it out, he settled in the sunroom, opened all of the windows, and placed a CD of Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No. 5 in the player. Having decided to do some additional searching on the Internet, he promised himself that he would quit when the music finished playing in seventy-two minutes even if he had found nothing in that amount of time.

  He didn’t know exactly what he expected to find. Earlier he had searched for something on Blake Everett and came up empty. He hoped that that mystery would resolve itself at Friday’s meeting in the principal’s office. He typed some other names in the search box. He didn’t know what Red Wagner’s first name was, so he went with what he had. A number of links came up to stories involving Red as coach of the Holy Trinity Knights. Bishop ignored those. A few hits referred to Pemberton Oaks where Red had coached briefly in the late 1990s. Nothing of interest there.

  He moved on to Victor Borelli. This yielded more results since a number of people shared that name. However, it was almost impossible to zero in on stories related to Nick’s father. He thought it odd that he couldn’t even find a link to Borelli’s insurance business. What business didn’t have a presence on the web these days? Some of the links led Bishop to sites that charged a fairly hefty fee in order to gain access to more information about an individual, but since he wasn’t sure that he was looking at the right Borelli, he passed.

  His search for Alice Borelli yielded some links to some social media accounts, some genealogical references, and even a few obituaries.

  Concentrating on the music, he recognized the funeral march that begins the Rondo-Finale, the fifth and final movement of the symphony. He thought that the mood of the piece was a fitting conclusion to his fruitless endeavor. In the few remaining moments that he had allotted himself, he decided to search for something completely different. He looked for conventions taking place in San Diego in the upcoming week. He found a comprehensive listing. One of the groups was Amway Achievers. Bishop was fairly certain that Sister Ann and Sister Pat didn’t have secret careers as Amway representatives. The American College of Physicians was holding its convention, but again, that wouldn’t draw two Sisters of the Holy Rosary unless Sister Pat had been invited to regale them with the story of her gallbladder surgery. The only other convention that he could find was the San Diego Comic-Con. Was it possible that these two religious women in their fifties were closet comic book fans? He couldn’t remember an occasion when Sister Pat mentioned reading a book. Was it possible?

  Could they actually have planned their trip to San Diego to indulge a hobby? Could they in good conscience use school funds for such a purpose? Sometimes he wondered if they had a conscience. He also wondered if he might be able to locate a list of those registered to attend. Even if he could, he assumed that they were wily enough not to use their real names. One thing was clear as Mahler’s symphony came to an end. The purpose of their trip had nothing to do with education.

  ***

  The next two days passed uneventfully. The students quickly figured out that Sister Meany was on the prowl for cars that hadn’t parked between the lines so they were extra careful. Students walking by even helped less experienced drivers by using hand signals as if they were directing an 18-wheeler backing up a narrow driveway. If Sister Pat’s scowl was a bit more pronounced, it was likely due to the demise of her latest little scam. On the other hand, Sister Ann seemed buoyed by thoughts of San Di
ego.

  Lieutenant Hodge hadn’t called which meant that there was nothing new on the Borelli case. Most of the talk in the halls and at lunch revolved around the imminent spring break. That was true of the students as well as the faculty. For Bishop, however, Friday did not simply signal the beginning of a long break. It was the day of the meeting that Blake had arranged with the administration. He had also invited Hodge for reasons unknown. He wouldn’t have to depend on Jack or Terry attempting to pick up bits and pieces from the closed-door meeting since he would be there himself.

  Blake seemed rather quiet, but Bishop didn’t speculate on the reason. Sister Pat had backed off her attack mode on his classroom management after the ensuing confrontation with the parents of Chris Fitzgerald. Sister had refused to apologize to Chris for embarrassing him in front of Mr. Everett’s class, but she did send a one-sentence letter of apology. Bishop speculated that in order to prevent the mayor from withdrawing his child, Sister Ann had typed the letter and signed Sister Pat’s name.

  Ron was in a particularly good mood. More than once, Bishop heard him humming Willie Nelson’s On the Road Again as he walked the halls. Perhaps he and Mary Ellen were planning a getaway. That was certainly none of Bishop’s business.

  Art Gleason was still in the building, helping Christine Webster make a smooth transition in the business office. The last thing that anyone wanted was a repeat of the treatment that Mary Ellen had suffered.

  Thoughts of the fifty-dollar bill with the words Who’s buried in Grant’s tomb? written on it flooded his mind once again. That bill had made its way from his pocket to Annette Dunkirk’s office, then mysteriously appeared in an envelope in Sister Ann’s desk, which she then gave to Mary Ellen as reimbursement for a purchase, who then used it to pay the bill at Christy’s, which Bishop then retrieved from Luigi, and was once again in his pocket. The veteran teacher hadn’t decided how to approach the principal about that ubiquitous bill. The possibility that Sister Ann had faked the robbery of the business manager’s office so that she could fire Annette or force her to quit troubled him, but Friday’s meeting didn’t seem the time to raise that question.

  The relative calm of the last few days was shattered when Bishop casually stopped by Terry’s desk during his prep period.

  ***

  “What are your plans for vacation?”

  Terry’s face lit up with excitement. “We’re headed to Myrtle.”

  “That’s wonderful! You certainly deserve a chance to soak up some sunshine.” Personally, Bishop couldn’t understand why so many faculty and students chose Myrtle Beach for their spring destination. Since they spent so much time together during the school year, didn’t it make sense to try to get away from it all for a few days? He remembered flying to Florida with Grace years ago. They ended up sitting close to one of his students and her family. He was initially pleased that the young lady was reading the novel that he had assigned over break, and was soon depressed when she fell asleep after ten minutes in the air, letting her book fall to the floor. He was happy for Terry. It couldn’t be easy for her as a single parent with two children trying to get by on her Holy Trinity salary.

  “What about you? Why don’t you come down to Myrtle? Sarah and her family are going in together with us on a rental. It should be fun,” she with conviction.

  Bishop appreciated her concern, but shook his head. “Thanks, but I think my days of bodysurfing and beach volleyball are behind me,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh.

  Terry checked the office to see who was within earshot. Since most people were in class, it was fairly quiet. “When Sister Ann was at lunch, I put a folder on her desk that she wanted. Guess what I just happened to see on her notepad?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest,” he said honestly.

  “She had written Desmond Hotel along with a confirmation number and Friday’s date.”

  “I don’t get it. I thought you said that they were staying at the Hotel del Coronado?”

  “They are, but this is for Friday. They’re flying out of Albany on Saturday, and they must have decided to leave early.”

  Bishop should have known that they might pull a stunt like this. They were very strict about denying any requests from the faculty to take a personal day on the last day before a break or the first day back from one. Of course, those rules didn’t apply to them. They probably planned to make a brief appearance at school on Friday, as if the school couldn’t function very well without them, and then take off for Albany. That also meant that they had no intention of meeting with Blake on Friday afternoon. Bishop had to make sure that that didn’t happen.

  “C’est la vie,” he said, masking his feelings of distress. He told Terry that he was going to take advantage of the good weather and go for a walk around the building. He needed a few moments to think. He peeked into Ron’s office.

  “Busy?”

  “Not really,” Ron admitted as he closed out of the website he was looking at on his computer.

  “Stock market up today?” Bishop knew his friend well enough to guess that he might have been checking his portfolio.

  He shook his head in frustration. “Nah, it’s down a hundred and fifty.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he advised. “It’ll bounce back.” Changing the subject, he asked, “Have time for a walk around the building? You could check to see if any cars are parked outside of the lines,” he added with a laugh.

  “Why don’t we drive over to get a shake or something?”

  “I think a walk would be better for both of us.”

  “You’re probably right. I’ll tell Terry that I’ll be out for a few minutes.”

  As soon as they started walking, Ron took in a deep breath of air and let it out. “It feels good to get out of there once in a while.”

  They settled into a comfortable pace. After a couple of minutes of silence, Ron asked, “What’s on your mind?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know you wouldn’t have asked me to go for a walk unless you had something you wanted to talk about that you didn’t want anyone else to hear.”

  Bishop smiled. “Right. Are you aware of a meeting scheduled for Friday afternoon?”

  “The one Blake wants?”

  “Yes, I didn’t know if you knew about it or not.”

  “He asked me to be there,” said Ron. They were walking along a field that Jack was mowing. Jack waved, undoubtedly curious about what the two men might be discussing, but unable to pick up a clue because of the noise of the engine.

  “He asked me to be there as well as Lieutenant Hodge.”

  “Hodge? Why would he want Hodge present?”

  “Good question. I couldn’t get him to explain.”

  “I guess we’ll find out on Friday,” said Ron matter-of-factly.

  “That’s the problem,” Bishop replied. “Don’t ask me how I know, but there won’t be a meeting on Friday after school because Ann and Pat will be well on their way to Albany by then.”

  “Are you kidding me?” One look at Bishop convinced him that he wasn’t. “What do you think we should do?”

  “I’ve got an idea.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  By the end of the day on Wednesday, everything was set. He had made the necessary calls, and everyone had agreed to follow his suggestions. The first volley would take place the next morning when Mayor Fitzgerald, having accepted Sister Pat’s apology, would call Sister Ann and request a meeting for that afternoon to discuss a potentially large donation for updated science equipment. She was unlikely to refuse that offer.

  Until then, it was a waiting game. Bishop graded every single paper that he had. He vacuumed rugs that didn’t need vacuuming. He took Max out for an extra walk. He made a list of items that he had to buy at the grocery store. He flipped through the television channels, avoiding commercials, reality shows, talking heads on news channels, and comedies that weren’t funny. He found that the Mets game was in the eighth inning, and the Cubbie
s were throttling them by a score of 14 – 3. With a position player mopping up for the Mets, the outcome was as certain as the outcome of Thursday’s meeting was uncertain.

  ***

  He awoke the next morning having had a recurrence of the dream that he had had a couple of weeks earlier. In that dream, Nick Borelli, wearing a crown of laurel leaves, slowly walked out of the classroom after Bishop had read A. E. Housman’s poem, “To an Athlete Dying Young.” In this dream, however, there is a lovely dark-haired girl crying softly in the back of the room. Bishop can’t recall who she is. He walks down the aisle to comfort her. As she lifts her head, he realizes that the girl is Victoria Sloane whose photo he had seen on Dunhill’s website.

  Two young people were dead. Bishop was quite sure that Nick was in some way responsible for her death, resulting ultimately in his own death. Who was responsible for that?

  Since there was still some time before he had to leave for school, he decided to do another online search. Some of his previous efforts had yielded nothing, but others had been helpful. He had good reason to believe that Blake Everett was not who he claimed to be, and this afternoon he would hopefully find out why. He had found the tribute to Vicky, the girl who shared with Liz Atkins the dubious distinction of having had a relationship with Nick. He decided to enter the name, Victoria Sloane, into the search bar.

  Within the first page of results that came up was a link to the obituary of Victoria Sloane in the Nashua Tribune. Clicking on that link, a photo of the young girl appeared on his screen. It was the same photo that her school’s newspaper had used in their tribute to her. He read through the accompanying story very slowly as if he were trying to memorize every word. When he came to the list of loved ones that she left behind, his heart sank.

  After a few moments of staring at the screen, a memory kicked in. Mary Ellen had sent him that video clip, and he had completely forgotten to open that email. He found the message in his inbox, and had no trouble getting the clip to play. He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for, but he knew it when he saw it the second time. As she had panned the gym with her cell phone camera, she had captured the image that was the final piece of the puzzle. He closed the laptop gently. This day would be one of the longest days of his life.