said one of the men in blue. I’d seen him a few times before. Tall and nice looking. I’ve got a thing for cops.
“You know my name?” I asked.
He smiled. “Your press card is in the glove box.”
Inside the school, I found Frank Olney and Patrick Finn, New Holland police chief, holed up with the ancient principal, Clarence Endicott, Louis Brossard, and a fifth man I didn’t know. Frank acknowledged me from across the room with a short nod then turned his attention back to the conference. I was waiting quietly near the door for the huddle to break, when the secretary, Mrs. Worth, motioned for me to join her at her desk.
“Who’s the man with the mussed hair in the houndstooth jacket?” I asked.
“That’s Mr. Russell,” she said. “Ted Russell, the music teacher Joey Figlio attacked.”
“Where’s Joey now?” I asked, wanting to chain him to my car’s bumper and drag him through the ice and snow back to the Fulton Reform School for Boys.
“Got away. But not before he tackled Mr. Russell in the hallway and tried to slit his throat. He would have, too. Mr. Brossard arrived just in time.”
“Oh, my, that’s what I feared he’d do. Was Mr. Russell injured?”
“No,” she said, dismissing my concern with a wave of her hand. “Mr. Brossard pulled Joey off before he could do any real harm. Managed to slice Mr. Russell’s tie in half, though.”
“I thought he looked a little too casual for a teacher. Any idea why Joey wanted to kill him?” I asked, wondering if others shared Joey’s suspicions about him.
She almost said something then held back. I smiled to encourage her, but she wouldn’t say.
“I know about Mr. Russell and Darleen,” I whispered.
Mrs. Worth adjusted her glasses as she pretended to read a sheet of paper she’d just taken from the Ditto machine. The smell of volatile solvent gave me an almost Proustian nostalgia for my school days. I inhaled deeply and was transported back to a sixth-grade social-studies test and Mrs. Jelkin’s permanent wave and black, laced Oxfords.
“Miss Stone,” whispered Mrs. Worth, interrupting my memory. “Everyone has heard that rumor.”
Suddenly Chief Finn, red face, white hair, and bushy eyebrows, noticed me and tried to shoo me away, insisting I had no business there. Frank informed him in his world-weary way that I was there to see him.
“What do you want with her?” asked Finn, a barrel-chested Irishman in a tight, blue pinstriped suit.
“She’s the one who called us,” said Frank. “If she hadn’t, you’d have a homicide on your hands, Finn. I phoned the school as soon as I heard, and the assistant principal saved Russell’s life. So you can thank me and her for doing your job for you.”
“Is she the gal from the newspaper? Artie Short told me about her,” said Finn, glaring in my direction. Then to me: “Hey, sweetie, next time try keeping track of your car, will you? Look at the trouble you caused us.”
“Come on over here, Ellie,” said Frank. “Let’s hear what happened.”
Finn looked me up and down, grinning like a bully. Frank opened the principal’s door and escorted me in. When the police chief tried to follow, Frank blocked him with a bearish arm.
“Get lost, Finn. And learn some manners when you’re talking to a lady.”
“So Joey made good his escape?” I asked.
“Yeah, he was gone before we got here,” Frank drawled. “He must have been driving like a bat out of hell. We showed up here about twelve minutes after your call. Finn took an age to get here.”
“It’s a pretty good car,” I said, “if you don’t mind that Fred Blaylock drove it into the lake last summer. Still smells of wet sometimes.”
“Forget about that. We’ve got to find that kid before he hurts someone. You talked to him for a while. Where do you think he’ll go?”
“He won’t go home,” I said. “The last time he broke out, he stayed in Darleen Hicks’s barn.”
“You think he’ll go there?”
“You know my name?” I asked.
He smiled. “Your press card is in the glove box.”
Inside the school, I found Frank Olney and Patrick Finn, New Holland police chief, holed up with the ancient principal, Clarence Endicott, Louis Brossard, and a fifth man I didn’t know. Frank acknowledged me from across the room with a short nod then turned his attention back to the conference. I was waiting quietly near the door for the huddle to break, when the secretary, Mrs. Worth, motioned for me to join her at her desk.
“Who’s the man with the mussed hair in the houndstooth jacket?” I asked.
“That’s Mr. Russell,” she said. “Ted Russell, the music teacher Joey Figlio attacked.”
“Where’s Joey now?” I asked, wanting to chain him to my car’s bumper and drag him through the ice and snow back to the Fulton Reform School for Boys.
“Got away. But not before he tackled Mr. Russell in the hallway and tried to slit his throat. He would have, too. Mr. Brossard arrived just in time.”
“Oh, my, that’s what I feared he’d do. Was Mr. Russell injured?”
“No,” she said, dismissing my concern with a wave of her hand. “Mr. Brossard pulled Joey off before he could do any real harm. Managed to slice Mr. Russell’s tie in half, though.”
“I thought he looked a little too casual for a teacher. Any idea why Joey wanted to kill him?” I asked, wondering if others shared Joey’s suspicions about him.
She almost said something then held back. I smiled to encourage her, but she wouldn’t say.
“I know about Mr. Russell and Darleen,” I whispered.
Mrs. Worth adjusted her glasses as she pretended to read a sheet of paper she’d just taken from the Ditto machine. The smell of volatile solvent gave me an almost Proustian nostalgia for my school days. I inhaled deeply and was transported back to a sixth-grade social-studies test and Mrs. Jelkin’s permanent wave and black, laced Oxfords.
“Miss Stone,” whispered Mrs. Worth, interrupting my memory. “Everyone has heard that rumor.”
Suddenly Chief Finn, red face, white hair, and bushy eyebrows, noticed me and tried to shoo me away, insisting I had no business there. Frank informed him in his world-weary way that I was there to see him.
“What do you want with her?” asked Finn, a barrel-chested Irishman in a tight, blue pinstriped suit.
“She’s the one who called us,” said Frank. “If she hadn’t, you’d have a homicide on your hands, Finn. I phoned the school as soon as I heard, and the assistant principal saved Russell’s life. So you can thank me and her for doing your job for you.”
“Is she the gal from the newspaper? Artie Short told me about her,” said Finn, glaring in my direction. Then to me: “Hey, sweetie, next time try keeping track of your car, will you? Look at the trouble you caused us.”
“Come on over here, Ellie,” said Frank. “Let’s hear what happened.”
Finn looked me up and down, grinning like a bully. Frank opened the principal’s door and escorted me in. When the police chief tried to follow, Frank blocked him with a bearish arm.
“Get lost, Finn. And learn some manners when you’re talking to a lady.”
“So Joey made good his escape?” I asked.
“Yeah, he was gone before we got here,” Frank drawled. “He must have been driving like a bat out of hell. We showed up here about twelve minutes after your call. Finn took an age to get here.”
“It’s a pretty good car,” I said, “if you don’t mind that Fred Blaylock drove it into the lake last summer. Still smells of wet sometimes.”
“Forget about that. We’ve got to find that kid before he hurts someone. You talked to him for a while. Where do you think he’ll go?”
“He won’t go home,” I said. “The last time he broke out, he stayed in Darleen Hicks’s barn.”
“You think he’ll go there?”
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