The Night Shift(12)

“That would be great, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all.” He picks up the phone and asks someone to collect the yearbooks.

Keller looks around the office. A bulletin board is covered with senior pictures and notes from students.

I wouldn’t have made it without you.

I owe my admission to Princeton to you.

Team Steadman!

Off the phone now, the principal notices her eyeing the board. “The pay isn’t great but seeing these kids succeed—particularly with the obstacles many face—it’s the reason I stay.”

Keller offers a fleeting smile.

“Did you work here in 1999?” Keller asks.

“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “I was a teacher, not an administrator, back then. But yes, if you’re looking for possible connections with people who worked here in 1999, I’m one of them. And Mr. Greer, but he’s pushing eighty and I doubt he’d make much of a suspect.”

Keller smiles again.

“Anyway, I’ll check our files and make you a list of all current staff who worked here back then.”

“Did you know the girls from Blockbuster?” Keller asks.

“I’ve stayed in touch with Ella Monroe, the survivor. If you’re focusing on the case, you’ll definitely want to speak with her.”

“She’s on my list,” Keller says.

“Good. Actually, Ella’s already met with Jessica Duvall at the hospital. Ella’s a therapist.”

Keller thinks about this. It makes sense. A trauma survivor wanting to help other trauma survivors.

Principal Steadman continues, “I didn’t know the victims from Blockbuster well. I didn’t have Candy, Mandy, or Ella in my class. And Katie McKenzie didn’t attend Union; she went to a local Catholic school.”

Keller nods. Picking up on a thread from earlier, she says, “You said Jessica Duvall’s new to the school. It’s unusual to change schools during senior year, isn’t it?”

“She’s in foster care. She’s been to three different high schools already. Though I understand there was an incident at her last school.”

“An incident?”

“They didn’t tell us what it was. Confidentiality rules.”

Keller nods. Arpeggio undoubtedly will look into that, but Keller makes a mental note.

“How about Vince Whitaker? Did you have him in class?”

Steadman shakes his head. “But I knew him by reputation. Which wasn’t good.”

“Can you think of any other connection between Blockbuster and what happened last night?”

“I’ll admit, after seeing Ella this morning at the hospital, those years have been flooding back to me. I’ve been thinking about it. But, no.”

“If you think of anything, anything at all, please let us know.” She gives Steadman her card.

On the way out, Atticus retrieves the banker’s box with the yearbooks.

In the hallway, Keller says, “Did the prior investigation look into him?”

“Dale Steadman?” Atticus says with skepticism. “I’ll double-check the file. But if I recall, he was at a New Year’s Eve party, lots of witnesses, when he got called to the hospital.”

“Yeah, double-check. He’s the only connection we have right now to victims from both crimes. And when you’ve got nothing, you turn over every stone.”

“Got it.”

Keller’s bladder is going to give if she doesn’t take care of it. She gazes down the long hallway and spies a sign for restrooms.

“I’ve got to go to the restroom,” she says. “Get used to it.”

Atticus nods, his face reddening.

Inside the bathroom, the cliché that everything is smaller when you go back to high school is true. Though maybe everything hasn’t gotten smaller, and instead, Keller’s grown much, much bigger. A glimpse of her profile in the mirror confirms that is most certainly the case.

“Big is good,” Bob always tells her. “Two hearty souls in there.”

She assesses the stall and decides she’ll have to squeeze in. When she maneuvers her maternity slacks down and makes it to the toilet seat, the school bell blares.

Of course it does.

Soon there’s a crowd in the lavatory. Keller’s bladder isn’t agreeable. This happens sometimes these days. The imminent need to pee, then nothing. Finally, the twins release their hold. By then, the masses have mostly cleared out.

Atticus must be wondering what the hell happened to her. She’s about to flush when a voice grabs her attention.

“The cops want to talk to you?”

This is followed by whispers. Then: “You’d better not tell them anything.”

Keller stands quietly, pulls up her slacks, and puts her eye to the crack in the door, but the students are out of her line of sight. All she can make out is a bright purple backpack. The bell rings again and by the time Keller squeezes out of the stall, the girls are gone.

In the hallway, she finds Atticus shuffling his feet.

“Did you see the group of girls who just left the restroom?”

Atticus shakes his head.

“Text Arpeggio and tell him one of the girls they’re interviewing, she has a purple backpack, knows something.”