Outline for Murder Read online

  “Michael, are you kidding?”

  “All I’m saying is that we shouldn’t dismiss the possibility that an outsider is responsible.” The phone call that had begun with Ron in such good spirits ended on that sobering note.

  ***

  Bishop had just put some water on for tea, when the phone rang again. “Sorry to bother you, again,” Ron started. “I was thinking about what you just said about Rocco. He then went on to suggest that it might be possible to determine if Rocco had been in town the night of the murder. Since there were only a handful of places offering lodging in Groveland itself, he thought that a few inquiries might yield a big payoff.

  Bishop hadn’t considered that approach but thought that it was worth a shot. He informed Jennings that Lieutenant Hodge did have the authorities in Connecticut checking on his whereabouts around the time of his uncle’s death. With that, he ended his conversation with Ron for the second time and got back to the business of making some tea. As the water boiled, he wondered if Rocco would have been so careless as to use his real name in registering at a motel. Would he have stayed in town, or would he have sought out the relative anonymity of one of the busier chain motels such as the Hampton Inn about 20 miles outside of town? Perhaps he could be tracked by the car he was driving. Bishop had noted a white Ford Taurus with Connecticut license plates parked in front of Andy White’s office on the day the will was read. He hadn’t, however, picked up the plate number. He began to understand in a new way what Sherlock Holmes meant by the necessity of observing details. Attention to detail was always what led him to solving the most baffling case. He had been explaining that to his freshmen just the other day in their discussion of The Hound of the Baskervilles. Holmes certainly didn’t believe in a supernatural hound or in the legend of the curse on the Baskerville family. Concentrating on the details worked. As he placed an Earl Grey teabag to steep in his favorite mug, one with the words, “Keep Calm and Carry On,” in red letters across a tan background, he picked up his phone as well as a telephone directory.

  He struck out with his first call to the Budget Motel; however, he hit a homerun with his second call to the Weary Traveler Inn. To his surprise, the owners, Hank and Marcia Proulx, were the parents of Janice Proulx, Trinity Class of 1986. After some small talk about Janice who was now married with two kids, living in San Diego, and working in real estate, Marcia verified that Mr. Santorini had stayed at her place. “It was such a shame about his uncle,” she said sympathetically, “and having to return just a few days after he left must have been quite a shock for him.” Luckily, she did not question why Bishop would be interested in knowing where Rocco had stayed.

  Bishop could barely contain his interest. “What do you mean ‘his return’?”

  “Well, he had been here for a couple of nights just before, well … you know, just before Mr. Zappala died, and then he came back for the funeral, of course.”

  “Are you sure about the dates?” queried Bishop. He was incredulous that he had just been handed solid evidence for placing Rocco Santorini at the top of the list of suspects.

  “Oh, yes. In fact, he had also been here for a couple of nights about six months ago. At least he had the chance to spend some quality time with his uncle before his tragic death.”

  Quality time, indeed, Bishop thought to himself. He thanked Mrs. Proulx for her time, and asked her to give his best regards to Janice.

  His next phone call was to share this new information with Lieutenant Hodge who told him that he would pass it along to the authorities in Connecticut. He also cautioned him against jumping to conclusions. “Even if he was in town the night of the murder, it doesn’t prove that he did it.” Bishop had to agree, although in his mind, it did make it more plausible.

  Chapter 13

  Just before Bishop’s alarm was about to sound at 5:30 a.m., he reached over and turned it off. As usual, he was already awake. His internal clock never seemed to fail him. He had gotten into the habit of waking up before the alarm so that Grace could catch a little more sleep. Since she had passed away, he had thought of selling their king size bed and replacing it with something smaller. Yet, part of him wanted to keep everything the way it was when she was alive.

  As he shaved and showered, he thought about his plans for each class that he would have that day. Grace had often told him that if he wasn’t thinking so much, he could shave and shower in half the time. She was right about that, but old habits were hard to break. With one class of 9th graders he was discussing a short story, “They Grind Exceeding Small,” by Ben Ames Williams. The other 9th grade class was discussing excerpts of Homer’s The Odyssey. His juniors were studying The Scarlet Letter by Hawthorne while seniors in his Advanced Placement English were starting an examination of Hamlet. He was pleased that all of his classes that day would be focused on literature. At this stage of his teaching career, he had promised himself that he would only teach works of literature that he truly enjoyed himself. Doing that, he felt, gave him a better chance of conveying his passion for literature.

  Some of his colleagues thought that he was insane to try to teach four or sometimes five different works of literature at the same time. They thought that it would be too much work to have so many different preps. On the contrary, Bishop always felt that teaching something different in each class prevented him from getting bored with the material. He disliked the idea of teaching the same material two or three or even four times a day, and since today’s classes were all focused on a discussion, no new essays would be added to the stack he already had. At least for today, he reminded himself.

  ***

  Because he liked to arrive at school early, there were only a handful of teachers in the copy room picking up their mail before heading to their homerooms. They were buzzing about something. As soon as he walked into the small room, Diane Ramos turned to him and asked, “What do you make of this?” with a mixture of anger, confusion, and curiosity in her voice. She waved the half sheet of paper back and forth rapidly as if she could make the words fall off of the page if she tried hard enough.

  The notice apparently had been placed in every teacher’s mailbox. “EFFECTIVE TODAY TEACHERS WILL HAVE ACCESS TO THEIR NAILBOXES ONLY BEFORE HOMEROOM PERIOD AND AFTER SCHOOL. THANK YOU. THE ADMINISTRATION.”

  Bishop laughed as he read it out loud. This was clearly the work of the ever-plotting Sister Pat. The “nailboxes” typo was as good as her signature in identifying the source. She was the one who was constantly harping to others that typographical or grammatical errors were unacceptable. Based on her own writing, Bishop concluded that her desire for error-free messages applied to everyone except herself.

  “Well, Diane, since I don’t have a ‘nailbox,’ I’m not going to worry about it,” as he handed back her copy of the memo, intentionally left his copy of that memo in his mailbox, and walked out of the room. As he did so, he heard Kim Mitchell, one of the gym teachers, offering her opinion, “This is nuts!” Bishop couldn’t argue with her assessment.

  Once in the hall, he passed by Jack Slater, the maintenance man. “Morning, Jack, how are you doing today?”

  “Oh, I’m doing just dandy. Did you see the memo yet,” he asked hoping to stir up some reaction. When Bishop refused the bait and just smiled, Jack said mysteriously, “Oh, it’s gonna be an interesting day,” and kept on walking.

  ***

  After his first period class, Stephanie popped into his classroom. She was dressed in her always professional manner: sweater with a silk scarf draped around her neck, skirt that came just above the knee, and comfortable-looking low-heeled shoes. “Did you hear what they did?”

  Although he assumed that this had something to do with the memo, he still asked, “Who’s they?”

  “Why, the administration, of course!”

  “What did they do?” He was tempted to add “this time” to his last question. The administration had a habit of making arbitrary decisions that usually turned out badly. There was that time when they
decided that all teachers would be required to turn in their lesson plans on Friday afternoon. That didn’t go over too well with teachers who used the weekend to plan their classes for the following week. There was another occasion when they decided that all teachers would be required to attend games, concerts, and drama productions. That didn’t go over too well with teachers who either had small children, a part-time job to supplement their income, or a considerable commute to school each day.

  The source of these impractical ideas was almost always the belligerent Sister Patricia Meehan. She was something of an enigma. Although she spent her entire career in education, her words and actions revealed how little she cared. She often remarked that school is great “as long as the kids aren’t here.” Bishop was sure that whatever idea she had cooked up would soon backfire once again, and Sister Ann would be there to minimize the damage.

  Since some students were already filing in for the next class, Stephanie whispered to Bishop, “They’re attaching a metal grate to the cabinet with the mailboxes. According to Terry, they’re going to put a padlock on the grate.” She needn’t have whispered since, by the grins on their faces, it was clear that most of the students already knew what was going on.

  “That’s brilliant,” whispered Bishop in return, “as if communication around here wasn’t bad enough already.” Then, he added, more seriously, “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. My bet is that by the end of the week, the padlock will be gone.” He didn’t explain whether he thought that the administration would reverse course, or if one of the teachers would simply use some bolt cutters to remove the padlock.

  Conversation in the faculty lunchroom was particularly animated that day. Frank Wilson, one of the younger teachers on the staff, had made the mistake of asking Sister Pat why teachers were being denied access to their mailboxes. Pat didn’t hesitate to lay Frank out in front of some teachers and students. She launched into a fiery tirade over the fact that teachers were using the excuse of checking their mailboxes to congregate in the copy room. In her view, they were simply wasting time and that wasn’t what they were paid to do. Any communication during the day would be done through e-mail, telephone, or voice mail. The scene between Sister Pat and Frank was replayed for other teachers as they came in with their lunch trays. As long as Sister Ann and Sister Pat were not in the room, the teachers were unanimous in expressing their outrage.

  Mark Fletcher, a tall man with a neatly trimmed beard who taught social studies to the 10th graders, spoke for everyone when he said in a dejected tone, “It’s an insult to be treated like a child. As a matter of fact, you wouldn’t even treat a child that way!”

  “Do they seriously think that we are neglecting our responsibilities by spending maybe five minutes in the copy room chatting with a colleague?” asked Sarah Humphries.

  “Who knows what’s next?” asked Roger Willis, who taught theology. “Maybe they’ll put a limit on how often we can use the bathroom or how long we can be in there.”

  “Don’t give them any ideas!” Sarah blurted out, as they all laughed.

  ***

  Bishop decided to finish his lunch quickly and head right down to Sister Ann’s office. If he were lucky, she would be free for a quick conversation. If he were really lucky, Sister Pat would not be involved. Her office door was open, so he peeked in. She was alone, looking at something on her computer. Was she working on the budget? Was she preparing a report for the Board of Trustees? Bishop caught a reflection of her computer screen on the window behind her desk. He didn’t feel guilty about disturbing her when he realized that she was playing solitaire. He knocked on the open door and asked as if he didn’t know the answer, “Sister, do you have a minute?”

  “Yes, I do,” she said somewhat tentatively, perhaps anticipating what Bishop might want to discuss. She hit a key on her computer and her screen saver popped up. “What can I do for you?”

  As Bishop entered the office, he said, “It might be best if I closed the door.” At that point, he was certain that she had not only figured out the topic, but also her response. He sat down in the chair facing her on the other side of the desk. Her chair was an expensive leather swivel rocker. Knowing Sister Ann as well as he did, he assumed that the straight-backed wooden chair he was seated in was chosen with the intent of making the occupant uncomfortable and less likely to linger.

  “I was wondering if I could talk to you about the lock on the mailboxes.”

  “What’s there to talk about?” she said defensively. “Teachers will have access to their mailboxes before and after school. They don’t need to check them twenty times during the day.”

  Bishop wondered whether that was an exaggeration or if someone had actually watched surveillance camera feed and counted the number of visits. “Well even if one or two faculty members are going into the copy room an excessive amount of times, I would think that a private comment made to the offending individuals would suffice. Why punish the entire staff for the actions of a few? If a teacher punished the whole class for the misbehavior of a few, you wouldn’t consider that an effective strategy, would you?” Sister picked up a pen from her desk and studied it as if she had no idea what it was. Since she gave no response, Bishop continued, “What will happen on Friday when many teachers will want to pick up their paycheck from their mailboxes and go to the bank during their lunch time?”

  Sister’s face flushed as he mentioned the paychecks. It had obviously not factored into her decision. He added, “It’s just my opinion, but given all that has happened around here in the last couple of weeks, you might want to reconsider that lock on the mailboxes.” He had said what he wanted to say, so he got up to leave. Sister grudgingly said, “Well, I’ll think about it.” What she probably meant was that she would have to think of a way to break the news to her cohort, Sister Pat, that the mailbox idea wasn’t going to fly. “Just sit back down for a minute. I have a question for you.” Bishop had no idea what might be coming. He looked at the clock in her office and realized that he would have to leave for his next class in a few minutes.

  “Michael, do you know when the school might be receiving Mr. Zappala’s bequest?” she asked in a tone that had turned much more congenial.

  “I don’t know for sure. It depends on the Santorinis to some extent. If they contest the will, it could be quite some time. Andy White doesn’t think that they have much chance of success. Moving the will through probate could take a few months.”

  “Well, we certainly could use those funds around here,” sounding as if she already decided how the money would be spent. “And what about the other four million?”

  “What about it?” he asked, again feeling caught off guard.

  “You are to give that money to a charity of your choosing, is that right?” knowing that it was, in fact, correct.

  “Yes.”

  “Have you decided on a charity?”

  Bishop wanted to ask her what business that was of hers, but he refrained. Instead, he said, “No. There will be time for that. Right now my greatest concern is that the authorities find the killer.”

  Sister straightened in her chair. Perhaps she had forgotten that someone had murdered Zappala, someone who might be associated with the school in some way. “Of course, I hope they find the perpetrator, and quickly. It’s just that I was thinking that Holy Trinity deserves your consideration for the remainder of his bequest.” Judging from his raised eyebrows, she quickly added “or at least of a portion of the remainder.”

  Even with that adjustment, Bishop had to control the impulse to laugh in her face. Zappala had left the school a million bucks, and she has the nerve to ask for more? He decided to give her a taste of her own medicine. “Well, I’ll think about it!” he said as he got up to leave. As he opened the door, another thought occurred to him. He turned around and asked, “Do you remember when we were talking about his financial resources before the funeral?”

  “Yes, now that you mention it, I remember that we were interrupted.�
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  “You knew that Zappala was a very wealthy man, didn’t you?”

  “To some extent, yes. During the summer, he came in to my office and demanded all new helmets, pads, and uniforms for his team. He also wanted big raises for his coaching staff. When I told him that it was out of the question because the budget was tight enough as it was, he stormed out. The next day he came into my office and dropped an envelope containing a generous check on my desk.”

  She tried to mimic the gruff voice of the coach. “‘Here. Buy my kids what they need!’”

  There was a flash of recognition in Bishop’s mind. “That check was for $25,000, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, but how would you know that?” she asked with a look of amazement.

  “I’ve looked through his checkbook and came across that transaction.”

  Sister quickly added, “When I realized how much money he had given me, I wrote him a thank you note and told him that I would be happy to add his name to the list of major donors to the school. He called me when he received the note and asked me to keep his donation confidential, and so I did. I hope that you will do that also.”

  Instead of responding, he just nodded, looked at the clock, and said that he had to get to class. He had just been discussing Hazen Kinch from the short story, “They Grind Exceeding Small” with his students. Hazen was so greedy that he unwittingly caused the death of his only child, and lived the rest of his life with that guilt. If Sister Ann knew that Zappala was a very wealthy man, and if she had shared that knowledge with Sister Pat, what might either one of them, or both of them, been willing to do to acquire a large sum of money for the school? Hadn’t Sister Ann just revealed her interest in the remainder of the bequest? Could she have known that Holy Trinity had been named in his will? Obtaining the cyanide would not have been a problem. Motive? Yes. Opportunity? Yes. Would she have aroused suspicion by being seen on the security cameras? No. Could Sister Pat have talked Sister Ann into it just as she had persuaded her to place the lock on the mailboxes?