Headmaster. Ally is many things, but she’s not a liar.”
He shook his head, his glasses swinging on the cord around his neck in time, a little metronome of disapproval. “Mrs. Donovan, no one else saw this phantom at the window. And she and Rachel Bennett both misspelled misconstrue the same way.”
There was irony for you. “Isn’t it entirely possible that Rachel cheated off of Ally’s paper?”
The headmaster frowned. “Anything is possible, Mrs. Donovan, but I’m afraid that we have to take Mrs. Werlin’s word for it. She feels she saw Alina looking at Rachel’s paper. She’s the adult here, with no reason to obfuscate the truth.”
Susan’s back stiffened. “That’s not enough proof for me. You can’t expel Ally. I will raise holy hell if you even try. My daughter is not a liar. If she says she saw someone outside, she did.”
He sighed heavily. “I understand things are difficult right now. I don’t want to add to your burden. But this can’t go unpunished. I’ll have to suspend Alina, at the very least, for causing a disturbance in class.”
“Fine,” Susan said. “I’ll take her home now. Will a week of suspension suffice?”
The headmaster finally looked uncomfortable. “Yes, Mrs. Donovan. And a permanent note in her record.”
Susan bit her lip. It was utterly and completely unfair, but she just wanted to get out of there. She rose from her seat and nodded, then left the office.
“Come here, baby.” She took Ally’s hand and stood her up.
“Are you mad at me, Mommy?”
The headmaster had just come out of his office and was watching them.
She raised her voice a bit. “No, honey. I believe you. Let’s go get some ice cream.”
As they left, her cell phone began to chime. Six missed calls. The school had interrupted cell service inside the building to encourage a focused learning environment. She pulled it from her bag and saw the caller ID.
All six calls were from Betty Croswell.
Chapter Eighteen
Washington, D.C.
Dr. Samantha Owens
Sam watched Detective Fletcher’s face closely, looking for signs he wasn’t giving her all the pieces of the puzzle.
“All right. Let’s look at this in parts. On the surface, it looks like Donovan was carjacked, and shot from outside the car, with his own gun?”
“That’s what the report says.” Fletcher’s eyes were hooded. He was skilled at not letting himself be read, but Sam was good at looking past the surface. He was holding something important back from her.
“But the gun was found in Georgetown.”
Fletcher sighed. “Yes. Serial number matched the weapon he had registered in his name. According to this—” he shook the file in the air “—ballistics matched, too.”
“I think we can safely say that this wasn’t a random carjacking.”
“I agree,” Fletcher replied. “So if you’ll get me that report on the sand in his lungs as soon as you can, I’d appreciate it.”
He was dismissing her again. Damn it, she wanted to help. Why couldn’t he get that through his thick head? She needed all the details if she was going to do any good.
There was another way she could stay involved. She smiled, friendly and open.
“Of course. As soon as I have it, I’ll be in touch. Do you have any information on the other victim from Donovan’s unit? I thought I heard you say they were doing the post today?”
“Nocek’s doing it, I think.” Fletcher stopped and eyed her. She saw a glimmer of respect, and the knowledge that he’d just been trumped. Now she was in.
“You wanna post him yourself?”
“I’m happy to lend a second set of eyes, if you’d like.”
Fletcher pursed his lips for a moment, then nodded.
“That would be a help.”
Sam smiled. “I don’t know if they’ll let me attend, but I can ask. I’ll call Dr. Nocek now.”
* * *
Dr. Nocek was, of course, happy to have her attend the postmortem. They’d forged a connection over Donovan’s body, professional to professional. She liked him,
He shook his head, his glasses swinging on the cord around his neck in time, a little metronome of disapproval. “Mrs. Donovan, no one else saw this phantom at the window. And she and Rachel Bennett both misspelled misconstrue the same way.”
There was irony for you. “Isn’t it entirely possible that Rachel cheated off of Ally’s paper?”
The headmaster frowned. “Anything is possible, Mrs. Donovan, but I’m afraid that we have to take Mrs. Werlin’s word for it. She feels she saw Alina looking at Rachel’s paper. She’s the adult here, with no reason to obfuscate the truth.”
Susan’s back stiffened. “That’s not enough proof for me. You can’t expel Ally. I will raise holy hell if you even try. My daughter is not a liar. If she says she saw someone outside, she did.”
He sighed heavily. “I understand things are difficult right now. I don’t want to add to your burden. But this can’t go unpunished. I’ll have to suspend Alina, at the very least, for causing a disturbance in class.”
“Fine,” Susan said. “I’ll take her home now. Will a week of suspension suffice?”
The headmaster finally looked uncomfortable. “Yes, Mrs. Donovan. And a permanent note in her record.”
Susan bit her lip. It was utterly and completely unfair, but she just wanted to get out of there. She rose from her seat and nodded, then left the office.
“Come here, baby.” She took Ally’s hand and stood her up.
“Are you mad at me, Mommy?”
The headmaster had just come out of his office and was watching them.
She raised her voice a bit. “No, honey. I believe you. Let’s go get some ice cream.”
As they left, her cell phone began to chime. Six missed calls. The school had interrupted cell service inside the building to encourage a focused learning environment. She pulled it from her bag and saw the caller ID.
All six calls were from Betty Croswell.
Chapter Eighteen
Washington, D.C.
Dr. Samantha Owens
Sam watched Detective Fletcher’s face closely, looking for signs he wasn’t giving her all the pieces of the puzzle.
“All right. Let’s look at this in parts. On the surface, it looks like Donovan was carjacked, and shot from outside the car, with his own gun?”
“That’s what the report says.” Fletcher’s eyes were hooded. He was skilled at not letting himself be read, but Sam was good at looking past the surface. He was holding something important back from her.
“But the gun was found in Georgetown.”
Fletcher sighed. “Yes. Serial number matched the weapon he had registered in his name. According to this—” he shook the file in the air “—ballistics matched, too.”
“I think we can safely say that this wasn’t a random carjacking.”
“I agree,” Fletcher replied. “So if you’ll get me that report on the sand in his lungs as soon as you can, I’d appreciate it.”
He was dismissing her again. Damn it, she wanted to help. Why couldn’t he get that through his thick head? She needed all the details if she was going to do any good.
There was another way she could stay involved. She smiled, friendly and open.
“Of course. As soon as I have it, I’ll be in touch. Do you have any information on the other victim from Donovan’s unit? I thought I heard you say they were doing the post today?”
“Nocek’s doing it, I think.” Fletcher stopped and eyed her. She saw a glimmer of respect, and the knowledge that he’d just been trumped. Now she was in.
“You wanna post him yourself?”
“I’m happy to lend a second set of eyes, if you’d like.”
Fletcher pursed his lips for a moment, then nodded.
“That would be a help.”
Sam smiled. “I don’t know if they’ll let me attend, but I can ask. I’ll call Dr. Nocek now.”
* * *
Dr. Nocek was, of course, happy to have her attend the postmortem. They’d forged a connection over Donovan’s body, professional to professional. She liked him,
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