“Lurks?”
“Little Rich Kids.”
“Ah. That’s neat. In December, Enriquez drove the van by himself? Both ways?”
“Yes, ma’am. As far as I recall.” He leaned his head back again.
“The superintendent and that other chamber guy, Joe Tones, were in the one bus. I rode on the big activity bus with Frieberg so we’d have someone from the school with the kids. That’s where most of the stuff was. And Enriquez drove the van.”
Vasquez picked up his bundle of keys and wrapped the lanyard around his fingers, looking at Estelle expectantly. She reached over and turned off the tape recorder.
“I don’t know what exactly you’re looking for, but a lot of the trip in December is on tape,” Vasquez said. “The kids put out a video yearbook, and one of the yearbook kids is on the student council. Lori Schmidt? She’s the council historian, in fact. Old Lori was always stickin’ that camera in our faces. I think she used up an entire tape.”
“I’d like to see that.”
“When the clip came out in the video yearbook, it was about three minutes long,” Vasquez said. He laughed. “Chop, chop, chop.”
“What teacher works with the yearbook crew?”
He ducked his head with a touch of pride. “My wife.” It came out ma waff, and Estelle smiled. “She’s still at the middle school. Emily Vasquez? Teaches math and art.”
Estelle made several quick notes. “Okay. Thanks.” She smiled at Vasquez. “I appreciate your cooperation. I’m sorry to keep you so long.”
He practically lunged to his feet. “That’s all right. You all got a job to do, same as us.” He shook hands, his grip crushingly strong.
“Lemme know.” He nodded and left the office, keys jangling.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Estelle walked through the front door of the middle school in time to hear Principal Tessa Dooley’s voice booming over the P.A. system, reminding students that Friday was yearbook picture day and that they should dress appropriately. The woman turned and saw Estelle, hesitated, and then carefully stowed the P.A. microphone back in the cabinet.
“Good morning again,” she said, and her eyes shifted beyond Estelle and down a notch. She beckoned, and Estelle stepped to one side to allow two girls into the office.
“We’re supposed to pick up some tag board for Mrs. Tyler,” one of the students announced. The two girls glanced at Estelle, and one of them smiled shyly.
“Right there,” Dooley said, and pointed a fair collection of rings in the direction of a flat box leaned up against one of the office chairs. “You guys be careful,” she admonished as they struggled with the awkward box so that they could carry it between them. “Child labor,” she said as the two disappeared down the hall. “No school can run without it.” She took a deep breath and exhaled noisily. “What can I do for you? Sorry about the mayhem. My secretary is out today.”
“Mrs. Dooley, I need to speak with Emily Vasquez.”
“That shouldn’t be an impossibility,” the woman said. “And I won’t even ask you why.” She pulled out the right-hand sideboard of her secretary’s desk and ran a finger down the list of faculty. “This is…”-she looked up at the wall clock-“third period.” Her finger found the appropriate column. “Her prep’s fifth period, right after lunch. Right now she’s got a pre-algebra class.”
“Will you point me in the right direction?”
“Better’n that. Let’s take a hike. That way, I miss a couple of phone calls.” She rolled her eyes and lowered her voice. “Damn thing is driving me nuts this morning.”
Despite her short, roly-poly stature, Tessa Dooley set off at a brisk clip, head down and taking her lane out of the exact middle of the hallway. “You guys have been busy, I understand,’ she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Nasty stuff.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I’m always surprised at the conditions some of our kiddos have to put up with outside of school,” the principal said. “It’s amazing they can function at all.”
Before Estelle had a chance to answer, Tessa abruptly changed course, hitting the door of the girls’ restroom with the heel of her hand. “Two seconds,” she said, disappearing inside. She reemerged and grinned at Estelle. “You just never know what interesting things you can interrupt in a middle-school restroom.” She set off again, motioning toward the end of the hall. “One sixteen is the last room on the left. We’ll see if Mrs. Vasquez can break away for a few minutes. I can sit her class if it comes to that.”
They reached 116 and the principal paused, looking through the door’s narrow glass light. Estelle could see a classroom full of students, a white-board full of mathematics, and a young woman working with a student in the third row toward the back.
Mrs. Dooley opened the door gently, as if the students were a herd of gazelle that might bolt at the slightest disturbance. Emily Vasquez looked up and saw her, nodded, and continued her conversation with the red-haired eighth-grader whose freckled face was screwed up in frustrated anguish. The principal waited patiently until the discussion between student and teacher wound down.
“If you write it out, you’ll see why you have to add the exponents,” Mrs. Vasquez said as she moved away. The student didn’t look convinced. Three other hands instantly shot up, but the teacher ignored them and smiled pleasantly at the principal.
“Do you have a few minutes?” Dooley asked. Her broad body still blocked the doorway, and Estelle stepped back into the hallway.
“Mrs. Vasquez, this is Deputy…” and she hesitated. Estelle reached out a hand.
“Undersheriff Guzman,” she said, and Tessa Dooley grimaced.
“Well, I got that right, didn’t I. Anyway, Emmy, can you talk with the officer for a few minutes?” She glanced over her shoulder. “Jane’s not here today, so you can use her office.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll keep the hoodlums under control,” Dooley said with relish. “I can add and subtract as well as any eighth-grader.” She bustled across the hall, selected a key from the wad, and opened the nurse’s office door. “There you go. Enjoy.”
Estelle followed Emily Vasquez into a small office wallpapered with charts of various parts of the perfect human’s anatomy. As she was closing the door, they heard an explosion of laughter from across the hall.
“She’s a hard act to follow,” Emily said.
“An interesting lady.”
“Just incredible. Anyway,” she said, and sat down with her hands folded in her lap. “What can I do for you?” Another peal of laughter drifted to them, and Emily Vasquez smiled. She had the athletic build of a runner, as trim and fit as her husband was porky.
“Mrs. Vasquez, it’s my understanding that you were sponsor of the yearbook last year. Is that correct?”
She nodded. “Not a yearbook, actually. Two years ago, we decided to try making a year-video kind of thing. It seemed like a good project for mid-schoolers to try. The kids film the various activities during the year and then try and edit the segments down so that each spot is just a minute or two long. It actually works pretty well. This will be our third year.”
“And then you sell the tapes?”
“Yes. The first year, we sold only about fifteen. Then fifty last year. We’ll do even better this year, I think.” She cocked her head warily. “Is there some problem with the tape?”
“None whatsoever. I wonder if I might see the original tape from the student council trip to Mexico.”
“Oh, God.” One hand drifted up to cover the teacher’s mouth. “What happened? What’d we do?”
Estelle shook her head quickly and held up a hand. “Please…don’t misunderstand. We’re investigating an incident that might have involved one of the adults who went on the trip, not the students. There’s a possibility that in filming during the day, the student photographer might have caught something on tape that would be of interest to us.”
“My husband was on that trip.”
“Yes, ma’am.” And I know exactly how you feel, Estelle wanted to add.