message to her classroom and have her come to the office after school.”
Mrs. Atkins, the counter clerk, appeared behind Stoddard.
“Actually, if you don’t mind,” Rider said, “we’d rather go to her classroom to talk to her. We don’t want to make her uncomfortable.”
Bosch nodded. Rider was on the same frequency. They didn’t want a message of any kind going to Mrs. Sable. They didn’t want her thinking about Becky Verloren until they were right there watching and listening.
“Either way,” Stoddard said. “Whatever you want to do.”
He noticed Mrs. Atkins standing behind him and asked her to report her findings.
“We have no record of a Roland Mackey as a student here,” she said.
“Did you come across anyone with that last name?” Rider asked.
“Yes, one Mackey, first name Gregory, attended for two years in nineteen ninety-six and -seven.”
There was a long-shot possibility that it was a younger brother or a cousin. It might become necessary to check the name out.
“Can you see if there is a current address or contact number for him?” Rider asked.
Mrs. Atkins looked at Stoddard for approval and he nodded. She disappeared to go get the information. Bosch checked the wall clock. They had almost twenty minutes to kill.
“Mr. Stoddard, are there yearbooks from the late eighties that we could look at while we’re waiting to see Mrs. Sable?” he asked.
“Yes, of course, I will take you to the library and get those for you.”
On the way to the library Stoddard took them by the plaque Rebecca Verloren’s classmates had put on the wall of the main hallway. It was a simple dedication with her name, the years of her birth and death and the youthful promise of WE WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER.
“She was a sweet kid,” Stoddard said. “Always involved. Her family, too. What a tragedy.”
Stoddard used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the dust off the laminated photograph of the smiling Becky Verloren on the plaque.
The library was around the corner. There were few students at the tables or browsing the shelves as the end of the day drew near. In a whisper Stoddard told them to have a seat at a table and then he went off into the stacks. Less than a minute later he came back with three yearbooks and put them down on the table. Bosch saw that each book had the title
Veritas
and the year on the cover. Stoddard had brought yearbooks from 1986, 1987 and 1988.
“These are the last three years,” Stoddard whispered. “I remember she went here from grade one, so if you want earlier books just let me know. They’re on the shelf.”
Bosch shook his head.
“That’s okay. This will be fine for now. We’ll come back by the office before we leave. We need to get that information from Mrs. Atkins anyway.”
“Okay, then I will leave you to it.”
“Oh, can you tell us where Mrs. Sable’s classroom is?”
Stoddard gave them the room number and told them how to get there from the library. He then excused himself, saying he was returning to the office. Before leaving he whispered a few words to a table of boys near the door. The boys then reached down to the backpacks they had dropped on the floor and pulled them underneath the table so as to not impede foot traffic. Something about the way they had haphazardly dropped their packs reminded Bosch of the way the boys of Vietnam had done it-where they stood, not caring about anything but getting the weight off their shoulders.
After Stoddard had left, the boys made faces at the door he had passed through.
Rider took the 1988 yearbook ahead of Bosch and he took the 1986 edition. He wasn’t expecting to find anything of value now that Mrs. Atkins had knocked down his theory that Roland Mackey had attended the school at one point but had dropped out before the murder. He was already resigned to the idea that the connection between Mackey and Becky Verloren-if it even existed-would be found somewhere else.
He did the math in his head and flipped
Mrs. Atkins, the counter clerk, appeared behind Stoddard.
“Actually, if you don’t mind,” Rider said, “we’d rather go to her classroom to talk to her. We don’t want to make her uncomfortable.”
Bosch nodded. Rider was on the same frequency. They didn’t want a message of any kind going to Mrs. Sable. They didn’t want her thinking about Becky Verloren until they were right there watching and listening.
“Either way,” Stoddard said. “Whatever you want to do.”
He noticed Mrs. Atkins standing behind him and asked her to report her findings.
“We have no record of a Roland Mackey as a student here,” she said.
“Did you come across anyone with that last name?” Rider asked.
“Yes, one Mackey, first name Gregory, attended for two years in nineteen ninety-six and -seven.”
There was a long-shot possibility that it was a younger brother or a cousin. It might become necessary to check the name out.
“Can you see if there is a current address or contact number for him?” Rider asked.
Mrs. Atkins looked at Stoddard for approval and he nodded. She disappeared to go get the information. Bosch checked the wall clock. They had almost twenty minutes to kill.
“Mr. Stoddard, are there yearbooks from the late eighties that we could look at while we’re waiting to see Mrs. Sable?” he asked.
“Yes, of course, I will take you to the library and get those for you.”
On the way to the library Stoddard took them by the plaque Rebecca Verloren’s classmates had put on the wall of the main hallway. It was a simple dedication with her name, the years of her birth and death and the youthful promise of WE WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER.
“She was a sweet kid,” Stoddard said. “Always involved. Her family, too. What a tragedy.”
Stoddard used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the dust off the laminated photograph of the smiling Becky Verloren on the plaque.
The library was around the corner. There were few students at the tables or browsing the shelves as the end of the day drew near. In a whisper Stoddard told them to have a seat at a table and then he went off into the stacks. Less than a minute later he came back with three yearbooks and put them down on the table. Bosch saw that each book had the title
Veritas
and the year on the cover. Stoddard had brought yearbooks from 1986, 1987 and 1988.
“These are the last three years,” Stoddard whispered. “I remember she went here from grade one, so if you want earlier books just let me know. They’re on the shelf.”
Bosch shook his head.
“That’s okay. This will be fine for now. We’ll come back by the office before we leave. We need to get that information from Mrs. Atkins anyway.”
“Okay, then I will leave you to it.”
“Oh, can you tell us where Mrs. Sable’s classroom is?”
Stoddard gave them the room number and told them how to get there from the library. He then excused himself, saying he was returning to the office. Before leaving he whispered a few words to a table of boys near the door. The boys then reached down to the backpacks they had dropped on the floor and pulled them underneath the table so as to not impede foot traffic. Something about the way they had haphazardly dropped their packs reminded Bosch of the way the boys of Vietnam had done it-where they stood, not caring about anything but getting the weight off their shoulders.
After Stoddard had left, the boys made faces at the door he had passed through.
Rider took the 1988 yearbook ahead of Bosch and he took the 1986 edition. He wasn’t expecting to find anything of value now that Mrs. Atkins had knocked down his theory that Roland Mackey had attended the school at one point but had dropped out before the murder. He was already resigned to the idea that the connection between Mackey and Becky Verloren-if it even existed-would be found somewhere else.
He did the math in his head and flipped
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