A Discount for Death

Chapter Twenty-eight

Estelle walked through the front door of the middle school in time to hear Principal Tessa Dooley’s voice booming over the P.A. system, reminding students that Friday was yearbook picture day and that they should dress appropriately. The woman turned and saw Estelle, hesitated, and then carefully stowed the P.A. microphone back in the cabinet.

“Good morning again,” she said, and her eyes shifted beyond Estelle and down a notch. She beckoned, and Estelle stepped to one side to allow two girls into the office.

“We’re supposed to pick up some tag board for Mrs. Tyler,” one of the students announced. The two girls glanced at Estelle, and one of them smiled shyly.

“Right there,” Dooley said, and pointed a fair collection of rings in the direction of a flat box leaned up against one of the office chairs. “You guys be careful,” she admonished as they struggled with the awkward box so that they could carry it between them. “Child labor,” she said as the two disappeared down the hall. “No school can run without it.” She took a deep breath and exhaled noisily. “What can I do for you? Sorry about the mayhem. My secretary is out today.”

“Mrs. Dooley, I need to speak with Emily Vasquez.”

“That shouldn’t be an impossibility,” the woman said. “And I won’t even ask you why.” She pulled out the right-hand sideboard of her secretary’s desk and ran a finger down the list of faculty. “This is…”-she looked up at the wall clock-“third period.” Her finger found the appropriate column. “Her prep’s fifth period, right after lunch. Right now she’s got a pre-algebra class.”

“Will you point me in the right direction?”

“Better’n that. Let’s take a hike. That way, I miss a couple of phone calls.” She rolled her eyes and lowered her voice. “Damn thing is driving me nuts this morning.”

Despite her short, roly-poly stature, Tessa Dooley set off at a brisk clip, head down and taking her lane out of the exact middle of the hallway. “You guys have been busy, I understand,’ she said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Nasty stuff.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I’m always surprised at the conditions some of our kiddos have to put up with outside of school,” the principal said. “It’s amazing they can function at all.”

Before Estelle had a chance to answer, Tessa abruptly changed course, hitting the door of the girls’ restroom with the heel of her hand. “Two seconds,” she said, disappearing inside. She reemerged and grinned at Estelle. “You just never know what interesting things you can interrupt in a middle-school restroom.” She set off again, motioning toward the end of the hall. “One sixteen is the last room on the left. We’ll see if Mrs. Vasquez can break away for a few minutes. I can sit her class if it comes to that.”

They reached 116 and the principal paused, looking through the door’s narrow glass light. Estelle could see a classroom full of students, a white-board full of mathematics, and a young woman working with a student in the third row toward the back.

Mrs. Dooley opened the door gently, as if the students were a herd of gazelle that might bolt at the slightest disturbance. Emily Vasquez looked up and saw her, nodded, and continued her conversation with the red-haired eighth-grader whose freckled face was screwed up in frustrated anguish. The principal waited patiently until the discussion between student and teacher wound down.

“If you write it out, you’ll see why you have to add the exponents,” Mrs. Vasquez said as she moved away. The student didn’t look convinced. Three other hands instantly shot up, but the teacher ignored them and smiled pleasantly at the principal.

“Do you have a few minutes?” Dooley asked. Her broad body still blocked the doorway, and Estelle stepped back into the hallway.

“Mrs. Vasquez, this is Deputy…” and she hesitated. Estelle reached out a hand.

“Undersheriff Guzman,” she said, and Tessa Dooley grimaced.

“Well, I got that right, didn’t I. Anyway, Emmy, can you talk with the officer for a few minutes?” She glanced over her shoulder. “Jane’s not here today, so you can use her office.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll keep the hoodlums under control,” Dooley said with relish. “I can add and subtract as well as any eighth-grader.” She bustled across the hall, selected a key from the wad, and opened the nurse’s office door. “There you go. Enjoy.”

Estelle followed Emily Vasquez into a small office wallpapered with charts of various parts of the perfect human’s anatomy. As she was closing the door, they heard an explosion of laughter from across the hall.

“She’s a hard act to follow,” Emily said.

“An interesting lady.”

“Just incredible. Anyway,” she said, and sat down with her hands folded in her lap. “What can I do for you?” Another peal of laughter drifted to them, and Emily Vasquez smiled. She had the athletic build of a runner, as trim and fit as her husband was porky.

“Mrs. Vasquez, it’s my understanding that you were sponsor of the yearbook last year. Is that correct?”

She nodded. “Not a yearbook, actually. Two years ago, we decided to try making a year-video kind of thing. It seemed like a good project for mid-schoolers to try. The kids film the various activities during the year and then try and edit the segments down so that each spot is just a minute or two long. It actually works pretty well. This will be our third year.”

“And then you sell the tapes?”

“Yes. The first year, we sold only about fifteen. Then fifty last year. We’ll do even better this year, I think.” She cocked her head warily. “Is there some problem with the tape?”

“None whatsoever. I wonder if I might see the original tape from the student council trip to Mexico.”

“Oh, God.” One hand drifted up to cover the teacher’s mouth. “What happened? What’d we do?”

Estelle shook her head quickly and held up a hand. “Please…don’t misunderstand. We’re investigating an incident that might have involved one of the adults who went on the trip, not the students. There’s a possibility that in filming during the day, the student photographer might have caught something on tape that would be of interest to us.”

“My husband was on that trip.”

“Yes, ma’am.” And I know exactly how you feel, Estelle wanted to add.

“Wait…” Emily Vasquez held out a hand. “Barry said that one of the men from the chamber of commerce who went on both trips is the one who shot himself the other day. Is that true? Is that what this is all about?”

Estelle nodded.

“What could possibly be on that tape?” Emily asked. “The raw tape was almost three hours of a gym full of kids whooping and hollering.”

“May I see it?”

She frowned. “You don’t want to see the year-video version then, the three-minute finished program.”

“Both would be fine.”

Emily put both hands on the arm of the chair and pushed herself halfway up. “One’s easy. You can have a copy of the year video. I don’t know for sure if we still have the raw tape. We’ll see. They’re all in the back closet in my room.”

She led the way back across the hall, and as she opened the door of 116, Estelle could hear Mrs. Dooley’s twang as she explained her own version of exponents to a student.

“I’ll wait out here,” Estelle said. “That would be better.” Emily Vasquez nodded and disappeared into the room. Less than a minute later, she returned with two videotape cassettes in hand.

“This one is the raw footage,” she said. Estelle saw the ACAMBARO, CHRISTMAS 2001 label on the spine. “And this is the year video. You’re welcome to keep that if you like. We’d like the file footage back. Sometimes we use a clip for some other project.”

“I’ll be careful with it,” Estelle said.

Emily reached out and touched her arm. “Did you talk with the student who filmed the trip yet? She’s a freshman this year.”

“Lori Schmidt,” Estelle said.

“Yes. She’s a wonderful girl.” She started to say something and hesitated.

“We’ll do our best not to involve any of the youngsters,” Estelle said. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted to view the tape first, before I talked to her.” She held out her hand. “Mrs. Vasquez, I appreciate your help.”

The teacher grimaced. “I don’t much like it when the outside world comes into this building, Sheriff. I like to be able to pretend that it’s not out there sometimes.”

“I can understand that.”

“And I don’t know what I’m going to tell students when they ask me why I let you have those.”

Estelle held up the tapes. “Mrs. Vasquez, I don’t think that this is one of those First Amendment questions where you’re correct to protect a source. What I’m looking for is something the camera might have seen, perhaps in the background-something that Lori didn’t even realize was there, or was important.”

The teacher nodded.

“I can get a court order, if that makes you feel better.”

“No, no,” Ms. Vasquez said with a quick shake of the head. “That would be a waste of your time. I just want to be sure that the youngsters are protected.”

“That’s my first concern,” Estelle said. “I’ll bring these back as promptly as I can.” She left the building through the side door, hearing a final peal of laughter as Tessa Dooley relinquished her hold on the math class. It was a comforting sound to hear.