Full Tilt

43

Chicago

Kate climbed the front steps of Thornwood High School, a classic three-story redbrick-and-yellow-stone building.

She went to the central office lobby and reported to the security desk, as the admin staffer had advised when she’d called ahead with her request for help to contact a former student.

It had been nearly fifteen minutes since Kate arrived at the counter where she now stood watching Officer Fred Jenkins, according to his nameplate. He’d already called the school official she was to meet, searched her bag and run a metal-detecting wand over her. He was now meticulously entering her driver’s license number into his computer.

As Jenkins slowly double-checked the number, Kate’s attention went to the security rules posted on a board under the flags and portrait photos of the president, governor, mayor and principal, spelled out in plain language for all to see. No guns, no knives, no weapons of any sort, no gang colors, no gang clothing, no fighting, no bullying and so on and so on.

“Here you go, ma’am.” Jenkins passed her a visitor’s pass. “I’ll keep your license, then exchange it for the pass on your way out.”

As she clipped the pass to her blazer pocket the door squeaked open.

“Kate Page?”

A woman in her late forties had entered.

“Yes.”

“I’m Donna Lee with the Alumni Association. Welcome to Thornwood, please come this way.”

They went down a hallway lined with lockers. The air smelled of floor polish, perfume and cologne, with traces of the gymnasium and body odor. They passed glass trophy cases and banners heralding the championships and glory captured over the years by the Thornwood Thunderbolts: basketball, wrestling, swim, track, football and other teams.

“I understand you’re looking for information on a former grad?” Donna asked as they walked.

“Yes, I was hoping the Alumni Association could help me.”

“And you’re a reporter?”

“Yes.” Kate gave her a business card. “I’m doing some biographical research for a story.”

“I see. This way, to the right.”

They proceeded down another hallway.

“We’re fortunate. Not every high school has an Alumni Association on-site. We’re very well supported here,” Donna said. “Thornwood’s enrollment is about seventeen hundred students. Our alumni include two vice presidents, a governor, a Supreme Court justice, a number of actors, writers, professional athletes and successful business people.”

And how many murderers, Kate wondered as Donna continued.

“The school opened in 1927, so we’re talking about the histories of a hundred-and-thirty-thousand dead and living students.”

“You have files on all of them?”

“A while back we digitalized everybody, so we have a pretty comprehensive database. Our listings vary from student to student, and we adhere to a strict privacy policy. Here we are.”

The alumni office had a table with two large desks at the far end of the room. A bank of file cabinets stood against one wall next to shelves with yearbooks going back to the 1920s. A section of one wall was plastered with reunion photos, people with babies and people in landmark locations around the world, as well as cards and notes thanking the association.

A woman at one desk with a sweater draped over her shoulders removed her glasses and stood.

“This is Yolanda White, our director. This is Kate Page from Newslead in New York.”

“Welcome, Kate.” Yolanda extended her hand. “The admin office said that you’re looking for a particular former student?”

“Yes.”

Kate put her bag on the table, took out the death notice for Krasimira Zurrn and tapped the name Sorin.

“I’m trying to locate her son, Sorin. They lived on Craddick Street.”

Yolanda replaced her glasses, studied the notice then sat at the keyboard of her computer.

“And do you have his age?”

Kate used the age police had given for Carl Nelson.

“About forty-five.”

“So, Class of Eighty-Eight.” Yolanda began typing and within a few seconds her computer chimed. “Yes, Sorin Zurrn, graduated in eighty-eight.”

Donna selected a yearbook, flipped through it and showed Kate Sorin Zurrn’s high school photo. Kate’s pulse quickened as she stared at it. For her gut told her this was Carl Nelson, then she thought, no. It was Jerome Fell from Denver. Then she accepted that it could be anybody.

“Is this the man you’re looking for?” Donna pointed to a listing.

“It is. Would you have a contact address for him?”

“I’m afraid that’s private,” Yolanda said.

“Wait,” Donna said. “We have to see if he’s registered first.”

“Registered?”

“If he’s registered to the Alumni Association, we’ll have his current information and we can send him a message to see if he’s okay to release it to you.”

“No,” Kate said. “I need to contact him directly. It’s complicated.”

Yolanda’s keyboard clicked.

“It doesn’t matter, he’s not listed.”

“Do you have any other information on him?” Kate asked.

“That would be it,” Donna said. “I’m sorry.”

“Hold on. We could go to our coordinators,” Yolanda suggested.

“Coordinators?”

“Alumni executives who are knowledgeable for a graduating year.” Yolanda’s keyboard clicked. Then a speakerphone clicked on and a line started ringing. “They usually graduated that year and worked on the yearbook.” The line was answered on the third ring.

“Hello,” a woman answered.

“Hey, Cindy, it’s Yolanda at the association. We got you on speaker.”

“What’s up?”

“Got a reporter here, Kate Page from Newslead in New York. She’s doing research asking about Sorin Zurrn.”

“Sorin Zurrn, Sorin Zurrn. Kind of a nerd, geek kid with a limp?”

“Yes,” Kate said. “Hi, Cindy, Kate Page here. What can you tell me about him?”

“Gosh, he really kept to himself. Quiet, weird guy as I recall. He was in my history class. We had Mr. Deacon. Sorin got picked on a lot. I think his mother had psychological problems.”

“Do you happen to know how we can get a message to him? I mean, do you know in general where he’s living right now?”

“No, sorry. I think he left town. I think his mother died some years ago.”

“Did he have any friends, Cindy?” Kate asked.

“No. He was a pretty sad case. Hold on, I think there was one person, Gwen Garcia, she was an eighty-eight, too. She used to hang with Tonya Plesivsky. They tormented Sorin quite a bit. I think Gwen had a change of heart and tried to be friends with him after the incident. I know Gwen-she’s Gwen Vollick, now lives in Koz Park. Let me give her a call, see if she’ll talk to you.”

Cindy hung up before Kate had a chance to ask her to elaborate on “the incident.” She asked Donna and Yolanda but neither recalled. They had graduated from Thornwood in the early eighties. Yolanda flipped through the yearbook to Tonya Plesivsky’s picture for Kate.

Tonya was pretty and, judging from the long list of clubs and societies she’d belonged to, she must’ve been popular, too. While they waited Kate asked Yolanda to submit the names Carl Nelson, Jerome Fell, Tara Mae-or Tara Dawn Mae-and Vanessa Page into the school data banks. There were quite a few Vanessas, Jeromes, Carls, Taras, Nelsons and Pages but nothing that fit. Then the office phone rang. It was Cindy calling back. Yolanda put her on speaker.

“Hi there. I reached Gwen and she said she really didn’t want to talk about Sorin or Tonya. She said she’d always felt bad about teasing Sorin, but they were just stupid kids. Gwen figured you were writing a story about bullying and didn’t want her name used. She said the whole thing is still sad for her.”

“I understand, Cindy,” Kate said.

“Sorry, wish I could help you.”

“There’s one thing. Can you tell me about the incident and how it led Gwen to change?”

A silence filled the air.

“Tonya was one of Gwen’s best friends and she died.”

“I’m so sorry. What happened?”

“She died when she was fifteen. She was looking for her dog.”