The Long Game
Page 35
And then came the questions.
CHAPTER 27
“I was coming back from the playing fields. I entered through the south entrance. I was walking past the library when I heard something. I turned around and saw blood coming out from under the library door. Then the—”
The body. It’s just a body now.
“Then John Thomas fell out into the hallway.”
I’d been through this a half-dozen times. The detectives kept saying that any information, even the tiniest detail, might help, so we kept walking through it again and again. The officers and I were sequestered in the headmaster’s office. Headmaster Raleigh stood in the doorway, presiding over the interview.
“Mr. Wilcox was still alive at this point?” the detective prompted.
I nodded. “He was bleeding. I didn’t know at first that he’d been shot, but there was so much blood.” I swallowed. I’d been in shock. I wasn’t going back down that road. “I knelt next to him and tried to stop the bleeding. He—John Thomas—he said he’d been shot.”
“He actually said the words I’ve been shot?”
“No,” I said through gritted teeth. “He just said shot.”
And then he’d said tell and then didn’t and then tell again. We’d been over this. And over it. And over it.
“I yelled for help, but no one came.”
“As I’ve mentioned,” the headmaster interjected, “news of the assassination attempt on the president had commanded the staff’s attention, not to mention that of the other students. There was quite a bit of chaos. Under normal circumstances, I assure you our campus security would have been alerted within seconds.”
The police had already sent someone to talk to campus security. There were closed-circuit cameras everywhere at this school. The hope was that the cameras might be able to tell the police what I couldn’t—who had shot John Thomas Wilcox.
How did someone even get a gun into the school? That was one of a half-dozen questions echoing through my mind each time I walked through what had happened.
“What were you doing out at the playing fields?” This was the first time one of the detectives had steered the questioning toward what I’d been doing before I’d discovered the body.
“Thinking.” One word was all I needed to answer the question, so one word was all I used.
The two detectives exchanged a look.
“You said you headed back at about ten to,” the one on the left said, looking through his notes. “You discovered John Thomas’s body. The 911 call came in at three after the hour.”
Thirteen minutes from the time I’d started walking toward the building until I’d dialed 911. Ten minutes of walking, three of yelling for help—and yelling and yelling, and no response.
“Tess, dear.” Mrs. Perkins stuck her head into the office. “I talked to Ivy. She’s on her way.”
The headmaster paled slightly and stepped forward. “Gentlemen, I believe this interview has gone on long enough. The girl has told you what she remembers. I can attest to the fact that the playing fields are a good jaunt from the main building, and Hardwicke has no policy against students walking the campus to think during lunch.”
The headmaster came to stand behind me, placing a hand on the back of my chair. “If you have any additional questions,” he told my interrogators, “I’m afraid they will have to be asked in the presence of a parent and whatever legal counsel they may choose to employ.”
I was a minor. The police hadn’t had any qualms about taking my statement about finding John Thomas—but the headmaster’s words served as a reminder that they couldn’t really question me without Ivy present.
Not about my own whereabouts prior to the murder.
Not about my relationship with John Thomas Wilcox.
Ivy arrived fifteen minutes later. “Are you all right?” she asked, her voice quiet.
I nodded. She recognized that nod as a lie.
I wasn’t okay. Standing there, in Henry’s oversized shirt, the bottoms of my pants still stained with John Thomas’s blood, I wanted nothing more than to hand the reins over to Ivy, to let her fix this.
Fix me.
“Ms. Kendrick.” One of the officers stood and introduced himself to Ivy. “If you and Tess could bear with us for just a bit longer, we have a few more questions we’d like to ask.”
“Tomorrow.” Ivy also had a fondness for one-word answers.
That wasn’t what the officers wanted to hear.
“With all due respect, Ms. Kendrick, we really need to—”
CHAPTER 27
“I was coming back from the playing fields. I entered through the south entrance. I was walking past the library when I heard something. I turned around and saw blood coming out from under the library door. Then the—”
The body. It’s just a body now.
“Then John Thomas fell out into the hallway.”
I’d been through this a half-dozen times. The detectives kept saying that any information, even the tiniest detail, might help, so we kept walking through it again and again. The officers and I were sequestered in the headmaster’s office. Headmaster Raleigh stood in the doorway, presiding over the interview.
“Mr. Wilcox was still alive at this point?” the detective prompted.
I nodded. “He was bleeding. I didn’t know at first that he’d been shot, but there was so much blood.” I swallowed. I’d been in shock. I wasn’t going back down that road. “I knelt next to him and tried to stop the bleeding. He—John Thomas—he said he’d been shot.”
“He actually said the words I’ve been shot?”
“No,” I said through gritted teeth. “He just said shot.”
And then he’d said tell and then didn’t and then tell again. We’d been over this. And over it. And over it.
“I yelled for help, but no one came.”
“As I’ve mentioned,” the headmaster interjected, “news of the assassination attempt on the president had commanded the staff’s attention, not to mention that of the other students. There was quite a bit of chaos. Under normal circumstances, I assure you our campus security would have been alerted within seconds.”
The police had already sent someone to talk to campus security. There were closed-circuit cameras everywhere at this school. The hope was that the cameras might be able to tell the police what I couldn’t—who had shot John Thomas Wilcox.
How did someone even get a gun into the school? That was one of a half-dozen questions echoing through my mind each time I walked through what had happened.
“What were you doing out at the playing fields?” This was the first time one of the detectives had steered the questioning toward what I’d been doing before I’d discovered the body.
“Thinking.” One word was all I needed to answer the question, so one word was all I used.
The two detectives exchanged a look.
“You said you headed back at about ten to,” the one on the left said, looking through his notes. “You discovered John Thomas’s body. The 911 call came in at three after the hour.”
Thirteen minutes from the time I’d started walking toward the building until I’d dialed 911. Ten minutes of walking, three of yelling for help—and yelling and yelling, and no response.
“Tess, dear.” Mrs. Perkins stuck her head into the office. “I talked to Ivy. She’s on her way.”
The headmaster paled slightly and stepped forward. “Gentlemen, I believe this interview has gone on long enough. The girl has told you what she remembers. I can attest to the fact that the playing fields are a good jaunt from the main building, and Hardwicke has no policy against students walking the campus to think during lunch.”
The headmaster came to stand behind me, placing a hand on the back of my chair. “If you have any additional questions,” he told my interrogators, “I’m afraid they will have to be asked in the presence of a parent and whatever legal counsel they may choose to employ.”
I was a minor. The police hadn’t had any qualms about taking my statement about finding John Thomas—but the headmaster’s words served as a reminder that they couldn’t really question me without Ivy present.
Not about my own whereabouts prior to the murder.
Not about my relationship with John Thomas Wilcox.
Ivy arrived fifteen minutes later. “Are you all right?” she asked, her voice quiet.
I nodded. She recognized that nod as a lie.
I wasn’t okay. Standing there, in Henry’s oversized shirt, the bottoms of my pants still stained with John Thomas’s blood, I wanted nothing more than to hand the reins over to Ivy, to let her fix this.
Fix me.
“Ms. Kendrick.” One of the officers stood and introduced himself to Ivy. “If you and Tess could bear with us for just a bit longer, we have a few more questions we’d like to ask.”
“Tomorrow.” Ivy also had a fondness for one-word answers.
That wasn’t what the officers wanted to hear.
“With all due respect, Ms. Kendrick, we really need to—”
