Chapter 36. Hero
I half expected to hear something on the news that night, but I was disappointed again. Not only no indictment, but not even a mention of the case. So, back to school again on Tuesday with no news, but at least we had hope.
Another day with Miss Randall and without Mrs. Rock. There had been no official announcement that Rock was being held for questioning, but, when she missed her third consecutive day, the rumor machine started working. It’s possible that one of my friends let something slip – I’m not even going to guess who – because before the morning was out, the whole school seemed to know that Mrs. Rock was not sick at home, but had, in fact, become the main suspect in Miss Delisle’s murder.
The teachers wouldn’t say anything, and I’m not sure how much they knew. I think the police must have told Mr. Camp, the Principal, because Miss Randall started acting like she planned to be there for a while, and that must have come from Mr. Camp.
It made for an interesting day, filled with intrigue and shifting moods, speculation and dramatic rumors. Everyone was excited, and most of the kids were in a good mood, except for the few who were big fans of Mrs. Rock, and those could be counted on one hand. Those of us who had been really friendly with Sally Delisle were anxious to see justice done.
All that Old Ben had to tell me that day was that the interrogation was continuing, and that some additional witnesses were being questioned. He didn’t know who, or what evidence might be forthcoming. So we went home again not knowing, just hoping.
I hadn’t talked about it very much, but everyone in my family knew anyway, and we were all in the living room, in chairs, on the couch, and on the floor, at six o’clock. The news came on, and we could tell right away that this was it – Richard Gallagher had no preliminary, no warmup, just “We go to Essex Junction for a breaking news story” and there was the Chief, standing behind a podium with a big smile on his face in front of the big, round Channel Three microphone.
Chief Mulrooney was apparently waiting for a cue from Channel Three, because he went right into his announcement.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, reporters, and others. I have an important announcement regarding our most significant ongoing case. I am happy to say that we have charged our suspected perpetrator in the murder of Miss Sally Delisle. This afternoon, at approximately two P.M., Mrs. Catherine Rock, of Burlington, a teacher at Prospect Street School, dictated and signed a confession. She has confessed to killing Miss Delisle on the afternoon of December 26th, in the parking lot of the school…”
I jumped off my seat and whooped like an Apache. The rest of the family stared at me like I was crazy, and we all missed the next couple of minutes of the broadcast because I couldn’t stop shouting “We got her! We got her!”
Of course, I was the only one who knew that Rock had become the prime suspect, and I was the only one heavily invested in seeing justice done. My parents were appalled, both at my behavior and at the fact that one of our own, one of our respected local teachers, had been charged with murder when they had thought all along that it was Roger Warren, the outsider, the alleged drug dealer from California. My older brothers and sisters, who had all been taught by Mrs. Rock, knew that she was mean and ugly, but none of them had imagined anything like this.
Well, how could I explain myself? I hadn’t told anyone anything; not my suspicions, not my meetings with Jane, my brain-storming with Kate, my talks with Junior. I was paying the price now for the secrecy, the necessary confidentiality I had maintained ever since the murder. Now I had to explain myself, and I tried, but there was so much going on. The Chief was still talking and we all wanted to hear it, and I wanted to get on the phone as soon as I could.
My Dad, the sensible one, got everybody to quiet down so we could hear what the Chief had to say, and I sat on my hands, thoughts zipping through my brain – I had to call Win, I had to call Kate, I had to call Jane.
“Yes, of course, the charges against Roger Warren have been dropped; the murder charges, that is; he is still in custody, charged with multiple counts of narcotics violations. It was a necessary part of our plan, of our investigative path, that attention be drawn away from our main suspect by focusing everyone’s attention on Roger Warren.”
Huh? I said, silently.
“Our pursuit of essential evidence was greatly facilitated by this temporary diversion, and we were able to zero in on Mrs. Rock, and find the key pieces of evidence against her while all the attention was focused on Mr. Warren.”
Total bullshit.
“We identified and recovered the murder weapon on Saturday, and we verified the final, clinching pieces of evidence over the last two days. As I said, Mrs. Rock broke down and confessed this afternoon when we presented the clinching evidence to her. We now have a very strong case, and we have indicted Mrs. Rock for first degree murder.”
I sat there shaking my head at the incredible gall of this Chief of Police pretending he had been following some grand strategy when, in fact, he had been totally fooled until Ben, Kate, myself, and Junior had pointed him in the right direction. What a Bozo!
“Before I start taking questions, I want to recognize the enormous assistance the Essex Junction Police Department has received from a concerned citizen who has gone far above and beyond expectations to help us in this case. Our own Benjamin Flanders, the janitor at Prospect Street School, known and loved by generations of Essex Junction school children, has volunteered hours of his own time to assist the Police in our investigation, and has, in fact, provided us with one of the most vital clues in bringing this case to an indictment. ‘Old Ben,’ as the kids call him, is a genuine hero, both to the Police Department, and to the whole community.”
The Chief turned as the camera awkwardly backed up to widen the view, and he started to applaud as the camera shot showed Ben sitting in a chair, looking very uncomfortable next to Sergeant Slingerland. Everyone in the picture and those off camera started applauding along with the Chief, to Ben’s great embarrassment. He obviously didn’t want the attention, but Slinger, just as tall and twice as wide, practically lifted Old Ben to his feet, and he was forced to endure it.
So that’s how Ben Flanders, the man for whom they would re-name the school after his retirement, became the hero of the day. It was a great move by Chief Mulrooney; he still got credit for solving the case, but acknowledging Old Ben’s help made him seem magnanimous and statesman-like. I was happy for Ben, and delighted that Sally’s killer had been nailed, but the Chief’s lies and posturing made me want to throw up.
I learned the rest of the story in bits and pieces over the next couple of days. I talked to Ben at school; he just wanted to hide in the basement, totally embarrassed by what the Chief had done. Then Junior came over to the house on Thursday night after supper. I guess he figured he owed me an explanation.
We sat at the dining room table, Junior and I and my parents. There weren’t really any secrets at that point, and I think Junior wanted my parents to get the whole picture. Well, almost. He wasn’t going to come right out and say that the Chief and Slinger hated my guts, although I don’t think that would have surprised them.
“I know you’ve talked to Ben,” he said, “and he’s explained what happened at the school last Saturday after you left. Did you know,” he asked, addressing my parents, “that it was Denny who gave us the clue that led to the murder weapon?”
They didn’t know, so I had to explain all of that, from our speculating – Kate and Jane and I – that it could be a bottle, to my conversation with Sergeant Smithers and my trip to Ben’s house. Then Junior told them what he and Patrolman Kane found in the teachers’ room.
“After I got it tested at the lab, that was enough to convince the Chief to pick up Mrs. Rock again, and we did that Sunday morning. We knew we could charge her with obstruction at any time, so there was no problem in holding her. We hoped the blood on the bottle would be enough to get her to confess, but it wasn’t. She held out and kept insisting it was Warren who did it.
“We had expanded our search and our list of people to interview when we focused on her, and I did several interviews on Monday and more on Tuesday morning while the Chief and Sergeant Slingerland kept working on Mrs. Rock. It was my second interview with Sylvia Couture, the suspect’s sister, that finally struck paydirt. She lives in Burlington, as well, on the other side of the city, and they always get together for Christmas. Sylvia’s daughter, Melissa, goes to school in Michigan, and she was supposed to fly home on Christmas Day. But her flight out of Detroit was cancelled because of the weather. She got another flight on Saturday, but it was diverted because of the snow here. So she didn’t get into Burlington until Sunday.
“We had been over all this before, but this time Sylvia mentioned something else that she didn’t think was important, but she thought she’d tell me anyway. Mrs. Rock always bought a box of Whitman’s chocolates for her niece and wrapped it up nicely for Christmas. But on that Sunday morning, she told her sister that they might as well eat the chocolates themselves, because she had something much nicer to give Melissa for Christmas.” He stopped and smiled at me, waiting for me to figure it out, and it only took me a few seconds.
“It wasn’t, by any chance, a nice leather portfolio case, was it?”
Junior laughed. “When we told Mrs. Rock Tuesday afternoon that the portfolio was on its way back from Michigan to be identified, she knew we had her.”
He explained to my parents about the case that had been missing ever since the murder. They understood now how it all fit together, but, my father, who tried to find the good in everyone, couldn’t fathom how a teacher could do something so evil.
“Why did she do it?” he asked.
“Well,” Junior said, with a sigh, “there’s only so much I can tell you at this point. I guess that jealousy would be the simple answer, but it must have been more than that. The State’s Attorney is expecting an insanity plea; I don’t think anyone believes she could have done this without having serious mental issues, probably aggravated by alcoholism.”
Dad pursed his lips in that moralistic way of his and shook his head sadly.
It wasn’t until months later, during and after the trial, that everything came out. Mrs. Rock was indeed consumed by jealousy of Sally Delisle and, ironically, the nicer Sally was to her, the worse it got. It was only on that day, in the teachers’ room, that Mrs. Rock made the decision to kill poor Sally, just as Kate had surmised, even as Sally was doing her best to make a friendly goodbye of it.
It turns out that Rock’s jealousy was not simply about Sally being young and beautiful while she was old and ugly. It was about Sally being nice, and likeable. While we, the pupils and the other staff, all thought that Mrs. Rock enjoyed her role as the hard-assed bitch that everyone hated, the truth is that she really wanted to be liked and admired; she just didn’t know how. When Sally Delisle came along, with her simple, unaffected charm, and won everyone’s hearts, Mrs. Rock was devastated, and it drove her to the edge.
When Junior was saying goodbye on the front porch, he mentioned how odd Mrs. Rock’s behavior was.
“She was so meticulous about almost everything, but she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of a full bottle of whiskey, or a valuable leather portfolio. And she apparently couldn’t see that tiny spot of blood on the label.”
“Still,” I said, “If she hadn’t forgotten to lock that door, we would never have known there was anyone at the school, besides Ben, Miss Delisle, and Roger.”
By the end of the week, everyone in the school knew everything, or thought they did. The rumor machine circulated all the facts, but it also created a lot of “facts” that were pure speculation or fantasy. My friends and I, though, knew exactly what had happened and we enjoyed an immense satisfaction in knowing that Sally Delisle’s killer would pay the price.
I talked to Jane a couple of times. She was working every day for the law firm, and she was with Roger’s lawyer most evenings, trying to figure out ways to help him out. She was delighted that Mrs. Rock had been nailed, though, and she wanted to get together with me and the other kids, so we planned to meet at the Bake Shop on Saturday afternoon, after the rush had died down.
We all showed up around two o’clock; Tom and Win and Rollo, Jackie and Kate, and me, of course. It was a surprisingly warm day for January, so Jane walked in wearing her Hawthorne High letter jacket. She was smiling broadly and greeted us all happily. We had a great time, talking through the whole case all over again. There was sadness, too, because we weren’t forgetting poor Sally, and the girls cried a little.
Amy was working, as she usually did on weekends. She couldn’t give us any free stuff, because there were too many of us, and her Dad was working, but Jane had money and she was treating us all.
“If it weren’t for you guys, they never would have caught that old bitch,” she proclaimed, and she put her arms around me and Kate and pulled us both into a big hug.
We stayed about half an hour, and we each had a couple of hot chocolates and a couple of doughnuts or muffins, then the kids from Villa Drive had to make their way home. Win had just said goodbye, and it was just me and Jane standing at the counter. Jane had just asked Amy to put a couple of pastries in a bag for her to take with her when I heard a familiar voice behind me.
“What are you doing here, spaz? Meeting your ugly girlfriend?” It was my brother and one of his ninth-grade buddies.
Jane glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, then she zipped her jacket open. She was wearing a clingy “Poor Boy” sweater and a tight knee-length skirt. She turned around to face my brother, making sure he got the full view, from head to toe. She flashed her brightest smile and said, “Hi; I’m Jane.” Then she reached out, brushed my cheek lightly with her fingertips, said, “Be sure and give me a call, Denny,” and walked out the door, leaving Amy laughing her ass off and my brother and his friend with their jaws practically dragging on the floor.
Priceless.
The End