head. “Mike, go into the coffee shop. I want a list of everyone who was working last night. If they hassle you about giving names of cash-only employees, tell them we’re not interested in calling either the INS or the IRS. But we’ll call both if we have to.”
“I understand, Sergeant.”
“Yeah, make sure they understand as well. Be back soon.”
Decker slipped on his jacket and headed for high school.
Chapter 11
North valley was a bust .
Central West was a different story. Decker took out the Polaroids and laid them on the principal’s desk. The rotund black man winced distastefully, but there were no sparks of recognition in his eyes.
Not the case for the girls’ vice principal, Kathy Portafino. One glance turned her a putrid shade of olive. She was about Marge’s age and height—early thirties, around five ten and hefty, with a square jaw and a no-nonsense face that said, “I’ve seen it all.” But there was something uniquely ugly about postmortem photos. A cold finality combined with clinical sterility brought out emotions in even the most jaded.
“Who is she?” Decker asked.
The woman covered her mouth. “I think it’s Cheryl Diggs.”
“You think?”
“No, it’s her. She just looks so…different.” She wiped her forehead and swallowed weakly. “Excuse me, but I’m not feeling—”
“Go,” Decker said.
The woman fled the room. Decker turned his attention to the principal. He was staring at the top of his paper-piled desk.
Decker said, “Do you know this girl, Mr. Gordon?”
The principal ran his hand over his close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. “Now that Kathy has identified her, I know who she is.” He sat down in his chair. “This is just…terrible.”
Decker took out his notepad. “Did the school hold its senior prom last night?”
The man nodded, rubbed his forehead. “All of a sudden that seems like years ago.”
“And Cheryl Diggs was there?”
“I suppose.”
“Do you know who she went with?”
“No, I couldn’t tell you that.”
“Then tell me about Cheryl.”
“Ms. Portafino would know more.”
“What do you know, Mr. Gordon?”
“What do I know?” His pause told Decker he didn’t know much. “Cheryl ran with the wild crowd. Wild over here doesn’t mean homeboys mowing each other down. This is still a predominantly white, middle-class, gang-less school. But we have guns here.” He took a deep breath. “We have guns, we have knives, we have drugs, we have pregnancies, we have diseases, we have suicides and overdoses. We have every urban problem you can think of, including violent crime—theft, robbery, rapes, assaults. But this ?”
“Never any murders before?”
“One in the five years I’ve been here. Two boys fighting over a parking space. One of them just pulled out a thirty-two and shot the other in the head. You don’t recall that?”
“I wasn’t in Devonshire five years ago,” Decker said.
“I thought we’d hit rock bottom then.” Gordon sighed. “Even though we beefed up our security afterward, it took a long time to calm jittery nerves. Lord only knows what this is going to do.”
“Tell me about Cheryl’s crowd.”
“Cheryl’s crowd…” He hesitated, trying to formulate his thoughts. Just then, Kathy returned to the room. Her face had been splashed with water. She was palebut no longer green. Gordon turned to his ally. “Kathy, who were Cheryl’s friends?”
“Lisa Chapman, Trish Manning, Jo Benderhoff—”
“Boyfriends,” Decker interrupted.
“She hopped around.” Kathy sat down. “Steven Anderson, Blake Adonetti, Tom Baylor, Christopher Whit—” She stopped talking. “I think she went to the prom with Chris Whitman. At least I saw them there together. I remember them because they made such a beautiful couple.” The VP tapped her foot. “You know, I think something was wrong. Cheryl looked upset.”
Decker wrote as he spoke. “Is that hindsight talking or was there some definite
“I understand, Sergeant.”
“Yeah, make sure they understand as well. Be back soon.”
Decker slipped on his jacket and headed for high school.
Chapter 11
North valley was a bust .
Central West was a different story. Decker took out the Polaroids and laid them on the principal’s desk. The rotund black man winced distastefully, but there were no sparks of recognition in his eyes.
Not the case for the girls’ vice principal, Kathy Portafino. One glance turned her a putrid shade of olive. She was about Marge’s age and height—early thirties, around five ten and hefty, with a square jaw and a no-nonsense face that said, “I’ve seen it all.” But there was something uniquely ugly about postmortem photos. A cold finality combined with clinical sterility brought out emotions in even the most jaded.
“Who is she?” Decker asked.
The woman covered her mouth. “I think it’s Cheryl Diggs.”
“You think?”
“No, it’s her. She just looks so…different.” She wiped her forehead and swallowed weakly. “Excuse me, but I’m not feeling—”
“Go,” Decker said.
The woman fled the room. Decker turned his attention to the principal. He was staring at the top of his paper-piled desk.
Decker said, “Do you know this girl, Mr. Gordon?”
The principal ran his hand over his close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. “Now that Kathy has identified her, I know who she is.” He sat down in his chair. “This is just…terrible.”
Decker took out his notepad. “Did the school hold its senior prom last night?”
The man nodded, rubbed his forehead. “All of a sudden that seems like years ago.”
“And Cheryl Diggs was there?”
“I suppose.”
“Do you know who she went with?”
“No, I couldn’t tell you that.”
“Then tell me about Cheryl.”
“Ms. Portafino would know more.”
“What do you know, Mr. Gordon?”
“What do I know?” His pause told Decker he didn’t know much. “Cheryl ran with the wild crowd. Wild over here doesn’t mean homeboys mowing each other down. This is still a predominantly white, middle-class, gang-less school. But we have guns here.” He took a deep breath. “We have guns, we have knives, we have drugs, we have pregnancies, we have diseases, we have suicides and overdoses. We have every urban problem you can think of, including violent crime—theft, robbery, rapes, assaults. But this ?”
“Never any murders before?”
“One in the five years I’ve been here. Two boys fighting over a parking space. One of them just pulled out a thirty-two and shot the other in the head. You don’t recall that?”
“I wasn’t in Devonshire five years ago,” Decker said.
“I thought we’d hit rock bottom then.” Gordon sighed. “Even though we beefed up our security afterward, it took a long time to calm jittery nerves. Lord only knows what this is going to do.”
“Tell me about Cheryl’s crowd.”
“Cheryl’s crowd…” He hesitated, trying to formulate his thoughts. Just then, Kathy returned to the room. Her face had been splashed with water. She was palebut no longer green. Gordon turned to his ally. “Kathy, who were Cheryl’s friends?”
“Lisa Chapman, Trish Manning, Jo Benderhoff—”
“Boyfriends,” Decker interrupted.
“She hopped around.” Kathy sat down. “Steven Anderson, Blake Adonetti, Tom Baylor, Christopher Whit—” She stopped talking. “I think she went to the prom with Chris Whitman. At least I saw them there together. I remember them because they made such a beautiful couple.” The VP tapped her foot. “You know, I think something was wrong. Cheryl looked upset.”
Decker wrote as he spoke. “Is that hindsight talking or was there some definite
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