F Is for Fugitive

at two, but we can talk till then. Bring the file."
    I gathered up Jean's records and followed him in.
    "Have a seat," he said.
    His manner had changed. The easygoing man I'd seen earlier had disappeared. Now he seemed guarded, careful of his words, all business – slightly curt, as if twenty years of dealing with unruly teenagers had soured him on everyone. I suspected his manner tended toward the autocratic anyway, his tone edged with combativeness. He was used to being in charge. On the surface, he was attractive, but his good looks were posted with warning signs. His body was trim. He had the build and carriage of a former military type, accustomed to operating under fire. If he was a sportsman, I'd peg him as an expert in trap and skeet shooting. His games would be handball, poker, and chess. If he ran, he'd feel compelled to lower his finish by a few seconds each time out. Maybe once he'd been open, vulnerable or soft, but he was shut down now, and the only evidence I'd seen of any warmth at all was in his dealings with Joleen. Apparently his wife's death had ruptured the bounds of his self-control. In matters of mourning, he could still reach out.
    I took a seat, placing the fat, dog-eared manila folder on the desk in front of me. I hadn't found anything startling, but I'd made a few notes. Her former address. Birth date, social security number, the bare bones of data made meaningless by her death. "What did you think of her?" I asked him.
    "She was a tough little nut. I'll tell you that."
    "So I gathered. It looks like she spent half her time in detention."
    "At least that. What made it frustrating – for me, at any rate, and you're welcome to talk to some of the other teachers about this – is that she was a very appealing kid. Smart, soft-spoken, friendly – with adults, at any rate. I can't say she was well liked among her classmates, but she was pleasant to the staff. You'd sit her down to have a chat and you'd think you were getting through. She'd nod and agree with you, make all the proper noises, and then she'd turn around and do exactly what she'd been reprimanded for in the first place."
    "Can you give me an example?"
    "Anything you name. She'd ditch school, show up late, fail to turn in assignments, refuse to take tests. She smoked on campus, which was strictly against the rules back then, kept booze in her locker. Drove everybody up the wall. It's not like what she did was worse than anybody else. She simply had no conscience about it and no intention whatever of cleaning up her act. How do you deal with someone like that? She'd say anything that got her off the hook. This girl was convincing. She could make you believe anything she said, but then it would evaporate the minute she left the room."
    "Did she have any girlfriends?"
    "Not that I ever saw."
    "Did she have a rapport with any teacher in particular?"
    "I doubt it. You can ask some of the faculty if you like."
    "What about the promiscuity?" He shifted uncomfortably. "I heard rumors about that, but I never had any concrete information. Wouldn't surprise me. She had some problems with self-esteem."
    "I talked with a classmate who implied that it was pretty steamy stuff."
    Shales wagged his head reluctantly. "There wasn't much we could do. We referred her two or three times for professional counseling, but of course she never went."
    "I take it the school counselors didn't make much progress."
    "I'm afraid not. I don't think you could fault us for the sincerity of our concern, but we couldn't force her to do anything. And her mother didn't help. I wish I had a nickel for every note we sent home. The truth is, we liked Jean and thought she had a chance. At a certain point, Mrs. Timberlake seemed to throw up her hands. Maybe we did, too. I don't know. Looking back on the situation, I don't feel good, but I don't know how we could have done it any differently. She's just one of those kids who fell between the cracks. It's a pity, but there it is."
    "How well do you know Mrs. Timberlake at this point?"
    "What makes you ask?"
    "I'm being paid to ask."
    "She's a friend," he said, after the barest hesitancy.
    I waited, but he didn't amplify. "What about the guy Jean was allegedly involved with?"
    "You've got me on that. A lot of stories started circulating right after she died, but I never heard a name attached."
    "Can you think of anything else that might help? Someone she might have taken into her confidence?"
    "Not that I recall." A look