A Question of Judgment: A Michael Bishop Mystery Read online

  “Oh my goodness!” she said as she snatched the pouch from him and shoved it to the bottom of one of her bags. “There’s about three thousand dollars in there from the sale of those damn T-shirts. If I had lost that money, the nuns would have strung me up by my heels.”

  “Are you coming to the game tonight?” His words hung in the air unanswered as she pushed the door open with her hip and walked briskly to her car. Bishop had always thought that Annette was a member of the administrators’ inner circle, but the tone of her comment suggested that past alliances did not exempt one from becoming a target of their wrath.

  After grabbing his briefcase, he left the building just as the pep rally was ending. He rolled down the windows of his Toyota Corolla and headed for his home on Pleasant Hill Road where Max, the Jack Russell terrier that had come into his life last year, waited to greet him enthusiastically. He flipped on the radio to listen to “Performance Today” hosted by NPR’s Fred Child as he began the twenty-minute drive. He planned on taking Max for a long walk, reading for a while, and having something quick and easy for dinner before heading back for the game.

  He did not realize then that those would be the last carefree hours that he would spend that night.

  Chapter Two

  When Bishop arrived at Holy Trinity a few hours later, he saw that the faculty parking lot was filled to capacity. Even the student lot was packed. Other than for the graduation of a large group of seniors, he couldn’t recall a similar turnout. People had started parking their cars in more-or-less even rows on the grass so he did the same. The bleachers were undoubtedly already full. Even though he didn’t relish the idea of standing for the next couple of hours, if it lived up to the hype, tonight’s game was one that he didn’t want to miss.

  Before he could open the door to get out of his car, a familiar older-model blue minivan pulled in next to him. The driver was Terry, the main office secretary. With her was Sarah Humphries, one of the school’s guidance counselors. They both laughed and waved when they made eye contact with him.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here,” Terry said as she slammed her door a couple of times before it closed properly. A divorced mother of two, Terry was in her mid-forties. She was wearing a sweatshirt with the school logo and faded jeans. Over the years, she had battled weight problems. From the way her clothes fit her, it was likely that she would be starting another fad diet soon.

  “I have to admit that I was tempted to spend a quiet evening at home.”

  “Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” said Sarah. “You can sit with us,” she added, “assuming that we can find seats at all.” She was wearing a cream-colored sweater and jeans. She sported a maroon baseball cap with the letters “HT” embroidered on the front. Although she was about the same age as Terry, she could pass for someone ten or fifteen years younger. Some people just didn’t seem to age. Bishop knew that he wasn’t one of them. He accepted the graying of his thick moustache, a touch of arthritis, and assorted minor ailments as normal for his seventy-one years of age. His theory was that his teaching kept him young, and that explained why he had no intention of retiring just yet.

  As they reached the entrance to the gymnasium, they took their place in the line that had formed in front of the ticket window. When Terry reached the counter, she showed her staff ID card, but instead of waving her through, the parent volunteer behind the window asked her for ten dollars.

  “But I work here,” she said indignantly, as if her ID card had not already made that point clear.

  “I’m sorry, Terry,” the parent said very politely as she delivered the bad news, “but passes are not valid for this game. Adult tickets are ten dollars and five for students.” The poor woman must have explained that a hundred times already.

  “Ten dollars?” Terry’s face flushed as she expressed her displeasure. “Are you kidding me? I don’t have a dime on me. Will you take a credit card?” She began fishing through her bag hoping that she might find a forgotten bill.

  Bishop quickly stepped to the front. “Three adult tickets, please.” He pulled out a fifty-dollar bill.

  “That bill has some writing on it. What does it say?” asked Sarah.

  “Who’s buried in Grant’s tomb?”

  “Really?” she laughed. “There’s a teacher I know who often adds that as a bonus question on tests in order to bump up scores.”

  Bishop put his hands up to his ears. “I don’t want to know who that is,” he cautioned. As he handed the cashier the money, he said with a smile, “I’ve been looking for an opportunity to unload that Mr. Grant. I’m much more familiar with Mr. Hamilton,” he added as he pocketed his change. Terry and Sarah thanked him several times over for taking care of their admission.

  “I wonder whose idea it was to charge for this game,” mused Sarah as they surveyed the crowded bleachers.

  “I’ll give you three guesses, and two don’t count.” The tone of her voice suggested that Terry was clearly still annoyed.

  “Sister Pat?”

  “Without a doubt,” said Terry emphatically.

  Bishop spotted the pep rally’s master of ceremonies, Charlie Mitchell, seated only a couple of rows from the top. He had removed his red scarf and was twirling it above his head as if it were a lasso. Those around him seemed none too pleased as he flipped the scarf back around his neck, stuck his thumb and index finger in his mouth, and let out a piercing whistle that could wake the dead. He gestured that there was room for them up there. Bishop waved an acknowledgement, and the three staff members began climbing the steps, saying hello to some students and parents along the way.

  An older couple scooted over on the hard wooden bench to make some room for the latecomers. Bishop noticed that the principal and assistant principal were in the same seats on the walkway above the last row of bleachers that they had occupied during the pep assembly. He waved in their direction, but neither reciprocated the greeting. They either hadn’t seen him, or they pretended that they hadn’t. Perhaps they were too busy trying to calculate the proceeds from tonight’s ticket sales. Ron’s girlfriend, Mary Ellen, was once again seated with the two sisters. She smiled and blew a kiss in Bishop’s direction. He sat down with Charlie to his left and Terry and then Sarah to his right.

  “Can you believe that our mercenary leaders charged us ten bucks to get in?” Money, or more precisely his lack of it, was one of Charlie’s common refrains.

  Bishop leaned in toward Charlie. “Keep your voice down. Those leaders are seated just above us.”

  A sudden look of panic spread across his face. “You don’t think they heard me, do you?”

  The cheerleaders were warming up the crowd with one of their dazzling dance routines. “Over this blaring music? I don’t think that you have to worry too much, but I still would be careful. One of their spies could be lurking nearby,” he said with a serious expression on his face.

  “Spies?” Charlie looked genuinely troubled.

  “Just kidding, Charlie. Just kidding.”

  ***

  When the Catholic Central Warriors took the court for warm-ups, a majority of the crowd booed vigorously and a smaller contingent of onlookers dressed in their team colors of blue and silver stood and cheered. The boos turned to screams of approval as the Holy Trinity Knights stormed out onto the court. Coach Wagner wearing a tan pullover sweater and dark gray dress pants followed the boys from the locker room where he must have given the most important pep talk of his career. Fr. Mahoney, the school’s chaplain, took his place on the sidelines next to the coach.

  Terry and Sarah were busy studying the crowd. One would occasionally nudge the other and offer a comment to which the other might shake her head in approval or burst out laughing. Given their positions as secretary and counselor, they were privy to a good amount of personal information that they had few qualms about sharing with their closest friends. There was good reason that Sarah was known as Sarah the Blabber. Bishop’s approach was to think carefully before sharing anythi
ng of substance with either one of them. On the other hand, it sometimes served him well to be a very good listener.

  Bishop watched as players from both teams took turns making layups and shooting jumpers. The Knights obviously had the home court advantage, but the Warriors had a height advantage. In one respect, the teams were evenly matched. Standing next to the Warriors’ coach was an older man wearing a black suit and a thick white collar. If the Knights had Fr. Mahoney praying for them, the Warriors had their chaplain praying for them. Bishop entertained himself with the notion that the outcome of the game would be decided by which priest prayed the hardest. In this contest of dueling priests, the assumption was that God was as interested in this game as they were. Bishop had his doubts about that.

  As it turned out, it was fortunate that Fr. Mahoney was in the building that night.

  ***

  A few minutes after the game started, Bishop made some observations. Whereas the Warriors’ height advantage made them a force inside, they were vulnerable to the Knights’ quickness and outside shooting. Even though the game promised to be a good one, a number of students seemed to be more interested in the social aspects of such a large gathering. They left their seats to mill about in small groups, occasionally bursting into laughter, occasionally watching the action on the court, and frequently checking their cell phones.

  He also soon realized that he was seated near an especially obnoxious fan who bellowed at the refs at every call that went against the Knights. “Hey, moron! He got fouled! Why don’t you get your eyes examined?” With each new comment, each one more abusive than the last, more and more fans looked back to catch a glimpse of the source. Those who were not regulars at the games might have wondered why the administrators didn’t say or do something to stop the incessant flow of derogatory remarks. Bishop didn’t have to look back to know the reason. That unmistakable voice belonged to none other than Sister Pat. At least she was dressed in street clothes, so it was possible that some in the audience didn’t realize that the rude fan was a Sister of the Holy Rosary.

  At halftime, the Knights were leading 38 – 35 on the strength of Borelli’s five three-pointers. Was it any surprise that he was playing despite the “F” that Kim Anderson had put on his progress report? The stands quickly emptied as people wanted to stretch, mingle with their friends, or grab a snack at the concession stand. Charlie said that he was going to stay where he was. Terry and Sarah were already half way down the bleachers when they stopped to talk with an attractive, well-dressed woman and an older man with short gray hair and black-rimmed glasses. He sported a bowtie and a suede blazer. Bishop did not know either one. His bladder determined where he was headed. When he encountered a line at the door, he decided to walk through the darkened halls to use the restroom located near the main office.

  On his way there, he noticed that the light was on in Annette’s office. He knocked twice on the door. From the other side came an emphatic, “We’re closed!”

  “Annette? It’s Michael Bishop. Are you all right?”

  “Just a minute,” she shouted with a tone of some annoyance. He heard her as she pushed her chair back, walked a few steps, and unlocked the door. “I’m all right. Why shouldn’t I be?” she muttered as she went back to sit at her desk.

  “I didn’t expect you to be here so late.” He stood at the doorway as she didn’t ask him in which was just as well as he needed to reach his intended destination sooner rather later.

  “I wouldn’t be here if the nuns hadn’t insisted that I count all this and drop it off in the night deposit box at the bank.” She gestured to the stacks of bills and piles of coins spread out on her desk. “Plus, I have a wicked headache.”

  “Well, I hope that you feel better. I’ll let you get back to work. Enjoy the rest of the weekend.”

  “You do the same,” she said mechanically.

  It was easy to understand why Annette was upset. She resented being forced to return to work on a Friday night. Unfortunately, it was typical of the administration to make such demands without even offering a word of appreciation.

  When he returned a few minutes later, he thought it odd that the light was off in the business manager’s office. Perhaps Annette had finished tallying the night’s receipts more quickly than expected. Perhaps she felt too ill to continue and decided to finish up on Monday.

  ***

  By the time Bishop had returned to his place on the bleachers, Terry and Sarah were chatting with Charlie.

  “We were beginning to think that you had cut out on us,” teased Sarah.

  “Not a chance. I think that this game will stay close right to the final buzzer.”

  “If we win this one, I wonder if the brain trust will insist on another pep rally,” said Charlie cautiously as he tilted his head back in their direction.

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, my friend,” replied Bishop. On his way up to his seat, he had glanced in the direction of the two sisters. With a folded newspaper in one hand and a pencil in the other, the principal seemed unaware of her surroundings as she worked a crossword puzzle. She did this often when she was bored. Sister Pat, however, was intently scanning the crowd, looking for any behavior of which she might disapprove. Mary Ellen had apparently just returned from the concession stand. She placed two hot dogs and a drink in front of Sister Pat.

  Intermission stretched from the normal fifteen minutes to more than twenty. Charlie speculated that the school’s desire to increase concession sales was the reason for the delay. Finally, the Catholic Central Warriors returned to the court to a smattering of boos. The stands began to fill up as people anticipated the second half tipoff. The crowd became a little restless waiting for the home team to return from the break. Bishop wondered if the delay was a bit of gamesmanship orchestrated by Coach Wagner.

  A few more minutes passed, and some in the crowd began to stamp their feet. The Trinity cheerleaders jumped up to channel the crowd’s enthusiasm. Bishop noticed that Ron Jennings, who had been standing near the far end of the court talking with a few people, took a brief cell phone call, and then sprinted out of the gym. A few moments later, the person running the public address system apologized to the audience and announced that there would be a slight delay before the game resumed.

  The cheerleaders had returned to their places. People were talking among themselves, speculating on what might be causing the delay. From above the bleachers, Sister Pat bellowed, “Let’s get this show on the road!” She was more than pleased with herself when the crowd cheered her comment. As Bishop looked back in her direction, he noticed that Sister Ann was on her cell phone. He heard her say, “Oh, my God!” as she put the phone in her jacket pocket, said something briefly to Sister Pat and Mary Ellen, and quickly started down the bleacher steps. Bishop made eye contact with Mary Ellen and gestured with his open hands as if to ask what was going on. She shrugged her shoulders and made a similar gesture suggesting that she was in the dark as well.

  As the minutes dragged on, the crowd became increasingly pensive. Something was definitely amiss. Why hadn’t the Knights returned to the court? All sorts of scenarios ran through Bishop’s mind. With all of the stress associated with this game, had Red had a heart attack? Could it be Fr. Mahoney? Could one of the players have taken ill? He tried to dispel all of these negative thoughts by engaging Terry and Sarah in a bit of small talk.

  The well-dressed woman and the man with the bow tie with whom Terry and Sarah had talked earlier suddenly jumped up from their places about ten rows below Bishop. The man raced down the steps taking two at a time, brushed quickly by a group of students in his way, and disappeared out of sight. The woman followed as quickly as she could.

  Knowing that she had just watched the same behavior, he asked, “Terry, who are those people?”

  “That’s Dr. Andrews. It looks like somebody needs medical attention.” The usually smiling Terry now had a look of worry on her face.

  “And who was that woman with him?”

&n
bsp; “Nick Borelli’s mother.”

  The large crowd was eerily quiet. People whispered among themselves, keeping their eyes focused on the doorway through which they hoped that the team would soon enter.

  The shaky voice of the public address announcer startled the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen. Due to unforeseen circumstances, the second half of tonight’s game has been suspended. There is no other information available at this time.”

  The stunned crowd began to disperse. People were confused, worried, and upset. Texts and calls were frantically exchanged as everyone looked for answers. Bishop did his best to reassure his friends and then followed the somber group out of the gym. He decided to walk in the direction of the locker rooms. The boys from the Warriors’ team looked ashen as they silently made their way toward their bus. He caught a glimpse of an ambulance, its lights piercing the night sky, avoiding traffic by cutting across the field. Then he spotted Ron standing at the edge of the parking lot, gazing at the fading lights of the ambulance.

  “Ron, what’s going on?”

  When Ron turned to answer the familiar voice of his friend, Bishop saw the tears in his eyes.

  “There was nothing that we could do,” he said haltingly as Bishop put his arm around the shoulder of the larger man.

  “Who’s in the ambulance?”

  “Red … Fr. Mahoney … and ...” Still dazed by the experience, Ron didn’t or couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “Heart attack?”

  “I guess so. I mean he just stopped breathing.”

  “Red or Father?”

  Ron gave Bishop an odd look as if he didn’t understand why Bishop would ask that question.

  “It’s Nick … Nick Borelli. He’s dead!”

  Chapter Three

  As word began to spread, a large contingent of players and their friends decided to follow the ambulance to the Fillmore Memorial Hospital.