Another Chat

Mike cut in. "She's right. I'm sorry. I really do like you. I just ..."

Rachel looked at Mikie. "Just what?"

Mikie took a deep breath. "I don't want to do ... those kinds of things with you. I don't want to be your boyfriend and I don't want to be her daddy." He stopped, knowing that his parents were looking at him across the table. Rachel ventured a glance at Pat and Mike. They were very quiet.

Rachel finally spoke. "That's OK, I guess. I don't want a boyfriend anyway and I don't need a daddy for her. Not after ..."

Linda cut in. "Who was the guy who ..." waving her hands to indicate the father of Rachel's child.

"Billy Andrews. I heard he beat up another guy who liked me."

"Did you tell him about being pregnant?"

"He said I deserved it, that I should have been on the pill, and I was a lousy lover – that's not the word he used ..."

Say no more. All the adults, including Joe and Erin, had dark expressions on their faces. Joe spoke up.

"Did he ever acknowledge he was the ... father?"

As flat a tone as you can get. "No. But he was."

Joe looked around at the police officers. "The law could require him to take a DNA test and pay child support, but I'll bet he doesn't have a dime of his own and it would be a long, nasty court battle to get money from his family."

Erin chimed in. "So either you put her up for adoption or you try to raise her on your own. Or maybe some people help you."

"How?" Linda asked.

Erin looked at her mother-in-law. "If I get the youth minister job, I have some freedom to set up programs for you and for her."

Sue had been thinking long and hard. "And I have some financial resources."

Rachel looked terrified. "My mom and dad would never let me take handouts. And I don't want them anyway."

Sue shook her head. "Not money slapped in your hand, welfare-mom style. My dad got a big settlement from the county many years ago. Since then, it's been tied up in a trust – the courts were afraid my dad would blow it all. But if the church sets up programs, I can ask the administrators of the trust to help fund those programs."

Erin looked at Sue. "What kinds of programs?"

Sue had run through a list with Linda, Pat and Mike during the afternoon. "Day care and education for tiny tots, for one." Erin nodded approvingly. "Church-sponsored activities for teens, for another." Another nod. "Programs for teenage parents to help them deal with their children. Study-assistance programs, programs for getting into college and getting grants and loans. Job-search programs for working moms and dads."

Erin took over. "Believe me, Rachel, there are more teenage pregnancies than you'd want to try to count. I taught high school for two years and I saw girls with two or three kids. I can't help them all, but I can start with you."

And finally Mikie had his say. "Rachel, I know it's tough, but would you go back into choir? If you do, I promise to help you with your homework."

Rachel actually laughed. "That issuch a pick-up line."

Mike Senior shook his head. "Not in our house it isn't. I studied engineering in the Marines, so I know a lot about geometry, algebra, even calculus. When my kids wanted to be police officers, I told them they might be assigned to S.W.A.T. like me, and they needed to know a lot about angles and trajectories – sharpshooter fire, you know, plus scaling walls and breaking down doors. Mikie spends three extra hours a week learning from me, and I'm sure he can tell you what you need to know."

"P.E. is tougher," Pat chimed in, "but this old man of mine [twinkle in her eyes] went through basic training and later taught it. And Linda taught me enough self-defense moves to take out two or three tough men barehanded. I can take you to the practice fields and work on exercises for you."

"That still leaves health class," Megan said uncertainly.

"All bad things must come to an end," Linda said softly. "My friend Pete Moskow – he's a videographer who helps the department - flunked health class because he really disliked his teacher and she wound up disliking him. But he took it again from another teacher and got an A. I don't know if you're like him or not, but either you can transfer to another health teacher, or the sex-education section will end and you can learn some new things."

Before Rachel could respond, Mikie chimed in with a worried expression.

"Do you know the choir director? Mr. Johnson? I hear he's really tough."

It was true. Steve Johnson was a good man, but a driven one, prone to giving printable but very temperamental lectures to students. In rehearsal, he had once conducted the choir through an entire number while a student he had dismissed for the day apologized, and then screamed, at him. He had also taken some students figuratively behind the woodshed to light into them for being too distracted by other things, particularly if they were really talented. His choirs were well-represented in state competitions, but he had burned himself out of several positions. He was Pete Moskow's friend from his first teaching position, and Pete was the family friend who had encouraged Mikie to audition for the choir. Pat and Mike didn't really know Pete, but he had worked with Linda's investigative unit for years. Pat asked Linda to clarify Pete's position, and to call him and inquire about Johnson.

Linda's cell phone buzzed. Most of the people at the table laughed. Pat continued: "I don't meanright now."

Linda looked at the caller ID, frowned, and excused herself. She signaled Sue to come with her. The two women headed for the ladies' room, with Linda telling the caller to hold until she could put the cell phone on speaker.

"Lieutenant Connors, I have Sergeant Adams with me. Go ahead."

"I'm calling from the emergency room at County General," the voice boomed. "One of our suspects is dead."

"Dead? How? And how do you know he's a suspect?"

"Self-inflicted asphyxiation. He hanged himself. The paramedics found a note in his clothing. It's a confession to throwing the gasoline bombs."

Linda and Sue stopped breathing for a few seconds. Then Linda spoke.

"Sergeant Adams, will you take our party back to their homes? I'll borrow my son's car and drive up to the hospital. E.T.A. fifteen minutes."

*

The sport utility vehicle was big, but notthat big. It took some creative arranging for five grownups, four teenagers and a baby to fit. Finally Sue got the vehicle going, driving it back to Rachel's house two minutes before nine o'clock. Rachel spent more than a minute crawling over boys' legs and getting out the infant carrier before she could go in. There was no chance to say a real goodbye.

"Do you think she'll go for it? Any of it?" Mikie leaned way forward to ask Erin and Sue.

"Can't tell for now," Erin replied. "I had about four girls with babies in my classes, and they all reacted differently. Two resented losing their social lives, one was tired all the time because her baby was sick, and the other one tried but had trouble passing classes."

Mike looked at Erin. "What got you to give up teaching and start preaching?"

Erin grinned. "This old man of mine made a good enough salary that I didn't have to teach," she said, playfully punching Joe's arm. "Beyond that, my mentor teacher quit after my first year – burnout. Everybody complained about the students and how poorly they were brought up. One reason I married Joe was he was such a good listener while I complained; another was he could hug me and reassure me. But still, something was missing.

"At a revival meeting three years ago, I went down and rededicated my life to serving the Lord. Joe asked me how I wanted to do that, we talked from sundown to sunup, and we finally agreed that I loved the kids I taught but not the way they'd learned core values. He said, why not become a youth minister? I said, why not indeed?"

Joe smiled. Then he looked at his watch.

"Sue, did Mom tell you how long she'd be away? I hate to ask 'Mom, can I borrow the car,' but I've got to head for Augusta in the morning to meet with opposing counsel and I really don't want to take a little puddle-jumper flight. I'm still waiting for my bags from the last one."

Sue, who had not told the others about the arson at the abortion clinic, took out her cell phone and punched in Linda's number. Before she hit the send button, she asked the Gibsons if they minded calling in over the next day or two to work out strategies for Rachel. Mikie agreed. Sue smiled.

*

Lieutenant Connors was having a tough time keeping things under control as he talked to Sean Simpson's mom and heard her repeated, emphatic denials that her son was an arsonist-murderer. He clutched Sean's suicide note firmly and refused to let her read it. Mrs. Simpson was threatening to sue the county when Linda Shannon strode into the emergency room. She introduced herself and commiserated with the woman on the loss of her son. Then she asked exactly what had happened.

"Sean was watching the game when we got home from lunch," the tearful mother said. "The postgame show ran way long. He was going to get a video when a news bulletin came on. They had pictures of this burning building and they said a man was dead."

Linda nodded. "I was there when the man got killed. If we hadn't known the building was torched, it would have been a terrible accident."

"Sean watched a minute or two and then ran into his room," Mrs. Simpson continued. "I didn't know anything was wrong. Then, around six, his sister asked if we had seen him. I thought I heard a thump-thump-thump sound like somebody kicking the wall ..." and she broke down in tears.

Connors took Linda aside and finished the grim tale. "Eventually the kicking stopped. Then the lady there went into his room and found him in the closet. He had wrapped his dad's belt around his neck and a clothes rod. His dad got him down and performed C-P-R, and his heart started beating again, but they pronounced him dead shortly before I called you."

Linda bowed her head and was silent for a minute. She looked over at the mother, then back to Connors. "Does she know what's in the note?"

Connors shook his head no. "The paramedics found it in his pockets while they were transporting him. I took it as evidence."

Linda's mouth set in a grim line. "Check it for prints and do a field DNA test, then photocopy it and give her the copy." She looked at the emergency-room clock. "'And topping tonight's News at Eleven, a firefighter and a suspected arsonist are dead after a blaze at a women's clinic today.' I'm surprised the reporters aren't here already, and it won't be long before they show. Sergeant Adams and I have been through that perp's-family hell and this will be that much worse for the family."

"All right," Connors said, "I'll give the family a copy and tell them to go somewhere out of the way, and get the Information Officer over here."

"Good," Linda replied. "Make several photocopies. I want to look at the note myself and see if it implicates anybody else. I may also ask the mother if she sees any hidden meaning in what he said."

"It's hardly a note," Connors replied. "It's twelve handwritten pages front and back. The kid would have gotten about a 30 from his English teacher."

"Stick a sock in it, Lieutenant," Linda replied.

Connors wisely said nothing further. He showed Linda the letter, which she read over until she had memorized the text. Then he sealed it in an evidence bag and went to test it for DNA and prints.

Sue arrived about that time. She and Linda had a conference. After Sue briefly discussed Rachel's status, they got down to police business.

"Sean Simpson admits being one of three juveniles who bombed the Sanger Clinic. The other two, he said, are Chris Williams and Billy Andrews."

"The same?" Sue asked.

"The same," Linda replied. "Andrews appears to be the gang leader, but there's mention of a fourth name, Harry Lovell. I don't know him off the top of my head, but I think he's a leader of some kind of self-styled fundamentalist church. I'll get the FBI to look for a criminal record."

"Be quiet about it," Linda said. "I want the perps' asses on breakfast plates. I need evidence and a lot of it before I interrogate any suspects."

"What about the protest rally in the spring?" Sue asked. "Some of the protestors talked for the news cameras. You won't have to interrogate them; almost nobody will try to brazen out a capital-murder investigation."

"Good thinking, Sergeant," Linda said. "You just assigned yourself to that duty. In the meantime, let's talk to Mrs. Simpson. My motherly instincts are reasserting themselves."

*

As the investigation progressed, Mikie got to know Rachel all over again. He didn't talk to her much in school, but he made sure to smile and say something nice to her every time they met. The guys around him knew better than to make nasty comments about her. Mikie was going to be as big and strong as his dad.

Mikie met Rachel after school several times during the first two weeks. It was among the few times when he was actually glad to have his mom or his dad around, because Rachel's mom wouldn't have let Rachel sit one on one with the Pope, much less a high-school freshman male. Linda and Sue came over sometimes too, to help Rachel with physical training.

Rachel made the cut in health class by half a percentage point, white-knuckled through the final exam. But that was nothing compared to the audition for Mr. Johnson. His amiability in the empty choir room came naturally, but he permitted no one else to sit in. Fortunately, he allowed Rachel to choose her own songs, and she pulled out her junior-high selections and practiced on tone and breath quality. Through some legerdemain from other people, Mikie auditioned immediately after Rachel and heard her through the choir-office door. She looked about ready to collapse when she came out.

Johnson never talked about auditions, but the look on his face when Mikie came in indicated Rachel had done very well indeed. Mikie, who had borrowed some of Rachel's selections for his own audition pieces, tried to have fun singing. Johnson seemed to like it.

After Mikie left the choir room, Johnson got a phone call from Pete Moskow.

"Okay, old boss, how did Rachel and Mike do?"

"Mike's okay as a second tenor. We're thin at that spot and I can use him for the rest of this year. But Rachel – Rachel's a thrush. In twenty-eight years of teaching, I've only had about a dozen second sopranos like her."

"Nice to hear," Pete said. "But what are the school district's ground rules for conducting rehearsals and extra lessons? If they're like they were back in Lubbock, you can't push anybody really hard unless they're on the football team or cheerleaders. And I've seen you get pretty mad at students."

"Yeah," Johnson sighed. "There was the time I took a senior into a back room and just lectured her up and down for trying to do choir and theater at once. If anybody had found out about that ..."

"I know about that incident; she told me many years later," Pete replied. "She gave up both choir and theater and drifted for a long time before becoming a teacher. I know you too well to accuse you of sexual harassment, but you lean too hard on a kid that age and they can break."

"Well, I'll wait until the third quarter before I audition her for Chamber Singers," the competitive choir. "All-State auditions will be over by then and she can get a head start on competitive singing before next year."

"There's one other thing she probably didn't tell you," Pete said. Pause. "She's a mom."

Johnson fell silent. Then he asked: "How do you know?"

"I work for the Sheriff's Department as their video coordinator. They showed one of my programs to her junior-high anti-drug council, and she had lots of good questions for me. Her family is really down on her, and all these extracurricular activities will make her look like a neglectful mom."

Johnson frowned. "I have two ex-wives and four kids. I know a lot about being accused of neglect. But if she's going to learn, she'll have to study."

"And earn a living, sooner or later. Do you know any people at the bookstores or music stores, where she could be a sales girl part-time? Something where she could study between customers, maybe get child care."

Johnson thought, and then named a few places. Then he had questions.

"Do you think her head's on right? Would she get another boyfriend and have another baby, and then drop out? Can she concentrate when she has to and put this out of her mind when she has to do something else? I remember you were pretty obsessive yourself during your junior and senior years, trying to do choir and the paper and a bunch of things at once."

Pete shrugged. "I don't know her at all. My guess is she doesn't know herself. Do you have some non-judgmental kids in choir, people who can accept her as a friend and sing along with her? I don't know what your program is, but maybe for the end-of-year show you could get a group of them together for some of the numbers."

"I can," Johnson said. "From what you've told me about Mike, he's a talented singer too. Any chance of his joining her in Chamber Singers?"

"I'll try," Pete said. "Music isn't his main goal ... he comes from a family of cops and I know he wants to be one himself, but his so-called aunt is a former ballerina and adores all kinds of music, especially the choral etudes from competition. I think she can get him to stay with it until graduation. He's on some athletic teams, but I know you've had dozens of cheerleaders in choir and you know they work harder than the players at singing. The odds are better than 50-50 that they'll both stay."

"Good enough," Johnson said.

Three days later both Rachel and Mikie got notes saying they would be invited to join freshman choir at the start of the next quarter. Mikie asked Linda and Sue to accompany him over to Rachel's house. The skilled police interrogators were skilled persuaders, and Johnson had sweetened the pot by getting Rachel a trainee position at a music store, effective next summer. Rachel joined the competition choir the following February.

*

That left the investigation into the bombing of the arson clinic. Sean Simpson's deathbed confession had named Chris Williams and Billy Andrews as his colleagues in the attack, but hadn't mentioned any other names. Linda and Sue met with Sean's mom several more times. They agreed to keep Sean's name out of the papers and let him be buried with his good name intact, in return for any evidence she could find linking him with Bible-thumping extremists. They also hunted for hard evidence against Williams and Andrews, who had been by Sean's home a few times before that Sunday.

Finally, three weeks later, Linda and Sue got warrants for Williams and Andrews, who were booked into the Juvenile Detention Center. The officers didn't even have to raise their voices to Williams, who signed a full confession. But Williams didn't know who had been the guiding spirit behind the program. Andrews had talked to somebody.

It was time to talk to Billy Andrews, but there was a little spade work to be done. First, Linda spoke with the District Attorney. Then she talked to a lawyer with a well-earned reputation for helping out the indigent. Linda didn't want Andrews off the hook because of an incompetent public defender.

Billy and his attorney met for the first time in the interrogation room. Linda and Sue watched through the glass. They had found out Billy was a smoker, so they provided him with an ashtray and watched as he dragged on cigarettes he had bartered in juvenile detention. The attorney studied him with distaste, as planned.

The attorney knew the cops were going to wait for a long time before they came in. Billy didn't.