2 Death Makes the Cut (26 page)

Without knowing why, I hesitated at the door of the last stall, as though part of me did not want to see whatever was in there. Then, giving myself a shake, I squared my shoulders and opened the door. And gave a sharp cry.

A figure was kneeling in front of the toilet. I jumped back, startled, part of me thinking that maybe she was sick and that I’d intruded. But a smaller part of me knew that couldn’t be true. Heart pounding in my chest as though it wanted to escape, I opened the door again, more widely this time. Someone was there all right. A woman’s form, head tipped forward into the bowl, her long hair soaked and streaming forward over the rim and down her back. Her arms hung limply from the shoulders, palms up, heedless of the water running over them, her feet twisted askew by enormous platform sandals.

Everything around me seemed to grow dim, out of focus, as I stared at those shoes. Frozen, I couldn’t draw air into my lungs. For a moment it seemed as though even my heart had stopped its frantic pounding. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out, because who wore shoes like that except Laura?

With superhuman effort I drew in a great gasping breath and leaped forward to wrench the figure out of the toilet. She was lighter than I expected, and we crashed over backward together, slipping in the water on the tiles, her limp cold form half on top of me. Panicking, I scrabbled out from under her, catching my head with a painful thump on a sink. Then, kneeling beside her, I pushed the long streaming hair from her face.

It was Laura. Yet it wasn’t. Her poor face was reddish blue, the eyes open and glistening sightlessly as water trickled from her parted lips. The clothes were hers, the long beautiful hair was hers, but Laura was no longer there. She was dead. And had been for some time. Beyond the reach of any CPR skills, beyond the reach of anyone. Laura Esperanza. My friend. The toilet, free of her long hair, ceased to flow, and silence filled the cold room, broken only by my ragged breathing and a soft dripping. I sat beside her for a long moment, then slowly got to my feet and dug through my purse for my cell phone.

I called 911 first. I spoke calmly and reasonably, although something must have been wrong with the connection because the operator kept asking me to slow down, saying that she couldn’t understand me. Stupid woman. I finally got her to understand enough to come to Bonham High, then I hung up on her despite her protests and called Colin.

He didn’t understand much of what I said either, but it didn’t matter.

“On my way,” he said, and must have meant it because he arrived with the paramedics, following them through the doors. I had never been so glad to see anyone in my life. I rushed to him and gripped his arm.

“In there. She’s in there,” I said, pointing.

He patted my hand. The paramedics hurried past us into the bathroom, only to reappear a second later.

“Nothing for us here,” said the taller one. He looked a little sick.

Colin glanced at me and beckoned to the paramedics.

“Here,” he said. “Need some help. This one’s in shock. Can you stay with her?”

He disengaged my grip on his arm and vanished into the bathroom. I kept my eyes fixed on the door until one paramedic wrapped a red blanket around my shoulders and the other started waving a small flashlight in my eyes. I winced away from the glare.

Colin reappeared, looking grim. He stalked past, speaking into a radio as he went. Patrol officers began arriving and he went to them, giving directions, gesturing. One of them stood outside the doors I had entered to begin directing people away from the building, while the others fanned out through the building, going down halls, checking doors. Colin returned carrying a plastic chair from one of the rooms.

He put it down around a corner, away from the puddle and out of sight of the bathroom, then returned and, putting an arm around my shoulders, led me to it and sat me down gently. I was trembling so hard by now my teeth were chattering and my fingers clutching the edges of the blanket were a bluish color. One of the paramedics gently loosened my fingers from their grip on the blanket and slipped a blood pressure cuff around my arm. I couldn’t take my eyes from Colin. For some reason, he was the only thing that seemed clear and solid. Everything else was growing oddly hazy. The second paramedic pulled out an oxygen mask and tried to slip it over my face. I pushed him away with a frown.

“Ma’am, this is just oxygen. We want you to keep it on just for a few minutes.”

“No,” I said. I was sure I had a good reason, although I was unable to find the words to express it.

“But, ma’am,” he started to protest.

Colin said something to the paramedic that I couldn’t hear and then took the oxygen mask.

“Jocelyn,” he said gently, squatting down beside my chair.

“Hi,” I answered in a small voice.

“You’ve had a pretty bad shock, you know. We’d like you to have some oxygen just to clear your head. So, do you think you could breathe through this? Just for a minute or two?”

His face was only inches from mine, but he seemed to be talking from a great distance. I stared into the blue of his eyes, thinking the color was remarkable. A deep midnight blue. If I tilted my head just right, I could see myself reflected in them.

He raised the mask to my face, and I leaned away from him. What was he doing?

“Sweetheart, you need to breathe through this.”

Well, if he was going to call me sweetheart. I let him put the mask over my face.

He waited patiently beside me. More people had arrived: even more patrol officers, a photographer with a camera, and a plainclothes cop who was probably another detective. The latter two vanished inside the ladies’ restroom, wading gingerly through the water. A moment later, Alonzo, the school janitor, arrived with a bucket on wheels and a mop, and began cleaning up the water in the hall. He mopped quickly, his movements jerky, sneaking glances at the cops from under half-lowered lids.

I finally drew in a deeper breath, feeling somewhat less cold and a little more alert. Colin noticed. He knelt beside me again, looking into my eyes and taking one of my hands in his. The warmth of his big hands made me aware that mine were little more than hand-shaped ice cubes. I flexed my fingers, puzzled.

“Feeling a bit better?”

I gave a small nod.

“I need to ask you some questions, then.”

I sat up a little straighter, trying to clear my head. Of course he needed to ask questions. Someone had done this to Laura. Someone we needed to find.

“Okay, I’ve seen the bathroom. Can you tell me exactly how you found her?”

“I got here early and slipped in the water. I figured one of the toilets was overflowing, and I thought I’d try to shut off the water at least.”

“Uh-huh. And when you walked in the bathroom, was she lying on the floor like that?”

My eyes filled with tears. “No,” I whispered.

“Where was she?”

A hot tear spilled down my cheek. I could not find my voice.

“Was she in one of the toilets?” he asked.

I closed my eyes and nodded.

“Do you know who she is?”

“Her name is Laura Esperanza,” I whispered. “She’s a Spanish teacher here.” I swallowed, tears now coursing down my cheeks. “She’s … she’s my friend. My best friend. We eat lunch together, we go shopping. She’s…”

“Oh my God,” he said, appalled. “Oh, Jocelyn.”

He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, and I buried my face against his chest, sobs wracking my body.

“Look, we’ll get you home. I’ll call your cousin. Just … is there anything else you can tell us that would be important right now?”

I raised my head a little. “She’s tiny. And someone stuffed her head in a toilet. Some bastard. I want you to find him, and I want to kill him.”

“Yes,” said Colin.

“I mean it,” I said fiercely.

“I know.”

*   *   *

I don’t remember much about the next few hours. Colin called Kyla, then drove me home himself in my car. He waited with me until she arrived and a patrol officer came to take him back to the school. It was only later that I thought that he probably should have stayed at the scene instead of babysitting me, but I was grateful.

Kyla was perfect. Instead of fussing or asking questions, while I showered and scrubbed my skin until it was pink, she turned on the television and mixed drinks. She settled me on the sofa with a blanket and a box of tissues.

I took the glass she handed me and took a big gulp, thinking it was orange juice. I sputtered for a few minutes as the warm glow of the alcohol burned a path to my stomach, and then settled back to sip the rest down.

In the middle of the afternoon, the phone rang, and I answered it without looking at the caller ID. You’d think I’d learn not to do that.

“What the hell is going on at that school of yours?”

My ex-husband, Mike Karawski. Oh joy.

“I called over there, and they said you’d gone home. Something about you finding the body. Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you find the body?

“What do you want, Mike?”

Kyla had been listening intently and at that name, her puzzled expression cleared. “Gimme that,” she said, trying to take the phone from me.

I fended her off.

“Murder in our public schools,” Mike was saying. “It’s a fucking publicity nightmare. My phone here is ringing off the hook, news stations, the public. Every jackass in the city has pulled his finger out of his ass and is using it to dial me! And I don’t know a goddamned thing. Who is the principal there? Obviously his security is not up to snuff. Who is the investigating detective? And what do you know about the woman who was killed? No one is saying anything.”

He finally had to pause to draw in a breath.

“How nice of you to call.”

“Ah. Um,” he floundered at this.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to pull your own finger from wherever you keep it and call someone else. Don’t call me again, Mike. I would hate to have to get a restraining order,” I added, and hung up.

“Nicely played,” said Kyla.

I shrugged. I felt exhausted and a little drunk. “I hope he doesn’t really run for judge or whatever it is he’s going for. Seeing that smug face on television would just about make me sick.”

“Judge? Mike? Oh, Jesus.”

“Yeah. Can you imagine having anything important decided by that man?”

“Makes me want to yack. But even if he is running for judge, why do you think he’s calling you?”

“That’s just what he does. He networks. Anyone he’s ever known is just someone he might be able to use at a later time.”

*   *   *

Colin came over at about four o’clock. He had showered and changed his clothes. His dark hair still curled damply along the nape of his neck. I felt a warm rush of gratitude toward him. For coming so quickly, for taking care of me, for his consideration.

Kyla let him in, and I tried to straighten myself on the sofa.

“Don’t get up,” he said quickly. “I can’t stay. I just thought I’d drop by and see how you were doing. Well, that and ask a couple of questions. If you’re up to it.”

I braced myself, but nodded.

“Do you know a guy named Mike Karawski?”

Not what I expected. “Unfortunately, yes.” I wished I could leave it at that, but with a sigh, I added, “I was married to him for almost a year.”

Now it was his turn to be surprised. “You’re kidding. The guy’s a giant…” He hesitated.

“Douche bag” I supplied. “Yeah, I know. What’s he doing now?”

“Mostly trying to pry confidential information out of anyone who will talk to him. He’s saying that he’s a relative of yours and has the right to know.”

“Neither one of those is true.”

“I thought so.”

Kyla broke in at this point. “You on duty, Colin? I make a killer screwdriver or we have beer.”

“Better not. I need to get back soon.”

“Tea, then?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Kyla went into the kitchen, and Colin slanted an odd look at me. “Married? Really?”

Some mistakes haunt you forever. I shrugged. “I was young and stupid. And although it’s not obvious now, he can be both funny and charming. When it suits him.”

Colin made a sound very near a snort. “Well, I’ll put the word out that we can safely ignore him.”

“I don’t know how safe it is,” I cautioned. “When he was trying to get information out of me, he let slip that he’s going to be running for judge.”

“Super.”

I laughed a little at that, then grew serious. “What have you found out?”

“Off the record?”

Kyla returned with tea and a sugar pot. “Record? Who the hell would we be on record with?”

“He’s worried we’ll talk to Mike,” I said, trying not to feel hurt.

Colin hastily busied himself with the sugar bowl, dumping three large spoonfuls into the amber liquid and giving a quick stir. Sugar crystals swirled and settled at the bottom.

The look on Kyla’s face said, “Want some tea with that sugar?” but before the words had a chance to come out, I said, “Of course off the record. I wouldn’t give Mike directions to a Dairy Queen, much less tell him anything important. And neither of us will talk to anyone else, either.”

“Yeah,” agreed Kyla.

He said, “It’s not that much anyway. We’ve been going over the security cameras. Unfortunately, the ones at Bonham are old-style. Probably been there since the school was built.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning half of them are fakes and the other half produce terrible quality video. There’s only one working camera in that hallway, and it doesn’t include the bathrooms or even the doors to the bathrooms.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Privacy concerns, according to your principal, along with practicality. There’s not much worth stealing down that hall, and nothing other than the bathrooms to vandalize. And again, taping kids going to the bathroom gets pretty close to invasion of privacy, so Dr. Gonzales and the school board felt a prominent but fake security camera would be enough of a deterrent.”

“But surely the cameras near the doors work?” said Kyla, then held up her hands. “I know, I know. Don’t call me Shirley.”