Somewhere on Candelaria, another car engine started, and Estelle arose and stretched. The first bell at school would ring at 8:07 AM, in five minutes. She strolled back around the house, ducking under the yellow tape, and drove to the high school across town, arriving a minute before the bell. The parking lot and courtyard were flooded with students savoring the last few moments of freedom. Here and there, Estelle saw duty teachers, some standing with colleagues, some mingling with groups of students.
The undersheriff sat in the car, watching. Like a large flock of birds, the students began moving toward the school an instant before the bell rang, as if they could somehow hear the silent transistor circuits click into place. Two minutes later, the parking lot and grounds were empty, the day officially begun.
Estelle got out of the car and walked to the front doors. One of them opened, held for her by a tall, incredibly thin young man with a pageboy haircut and terrible complexion. “Hi,” he said, and immediately turned his attention to a mammoth backpack that rested on one of the wooden chairs, all zippers yawning open.
Margie Edwards was trying to hand something to the high school principal, Charlie Maestas, while Maestas talked to two animated young ladies. Maestas saw Estelle, held up a hand to silence the chatter, and then shooed the two from the outer office.
“I’m sorry I missed you the other day,” Maestas said, extending his hand. His suit appeared to be two sizes too small for his short, blocky frame, accentuated by his habit of buttoning the jacket over his rotund body. His grip was moist and perfunctory. “Come on in,” he said, holding open the door to his office.
Estelle nodded and smiled at Margie, then stepped inside. Maestas closed the door and immediately walked to his desk as if he needed to be in place before a conversation started.
“I need a few minutes with Mauro and Tony Acosta, Mr. Maestas,” Estelle said.
“No problem…if they’re here,” Maestas said. He tapped the keyboard of his computer and waited. “What can you tell me?”
“About what, sir?”
He shot a quick glance at Estelle, and then his eyes shifted back to the computer screen. “We’re all concerned,” he said, tapped the keyboard again, and straightened up. He brought his hands together in a silent clap and held them that way. “Yesterday at the administrative council meeting, Ms. Dooley gave us a rundown of what happened at the middle school with Deena Hurtado.” He paused as if he expected Estelle to add something. When she didn’t, he said, “Is this hat pin thing the newest trend? Is that the latest fad? If they’re on campus, we need to move on it.”
“I don’t know, sir. I don’t know how widespread they are. I would hope that it’s limited, but we just don’t know yet.”
“Sit, sit,” he said impatiently, waving toward a large chair in front of his desk.
“Actually, sir, I need to see the Acosta boys.” She glanced at her watch. “We’re running sort of tight today.”
“Ah, well,” Maestas said, with more than a hint of disappointment, “I can understand that.” He glanced back at the computer screen. “Who first? Or do you want them together?”
“I’d like to talk with Mauro first,” she said.
“He’s in Metals One right now, with Mr. Fernandez. I’ll call for him.”
“It would be helpful if you wouldn’t use the PA, sir. Maybe you and I could just walk down there and get him.”
“Sure, we can do that. You want to use this office for home base?”
Estelle smiled with just a hint of politic apology. “I’d like to talk with him outside, I think. We might just take a little walk.”
“All right,” Maestas said, frowning. “Have you been in touch with his parents?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How’s the sister?”
“Holding her own, I think. We won’t know if there’s any permanent damage for some time.”
He looked askance at Estelle. “You don’t think the boys had anything to do with this business, do you?”
“I hope not,” she replied.
“Mauro and Tony are the sort of boys-” he hesitated, searching for just the right thing to say “-who really need to be here. Do you understand what I mean?”
“I believe so.”
He nodded sharply. “Let’s go find ’em.”
The metals shop was at the far end of the school complex, taking up what looked like it had once been a large garage, complete with two huge overhead doors that yawned open. Nine students were clustered in a small classroom off to one side, most of them attentive as Mr. Fernandez explained something on the chalkboard. Estelle remained just outside, and in a moment the principal appeared with Mauro Acosta in tow.
The ninth grader walked as if he were a hunchback, baggy pants sagging under a long-tailed, checkered flannel shirt. His olive drab army belt flapped a foot too long.
“Hello, Mauro,” Estelle said. “I’m Undersheriff Estelle Guzman. I’d like to talk with you for a few minutes.”
“Okay.” He shrugged and glanced at Maestas.
“If you need me for anything, you know where I am,” the principal said. He reached out and patted Mauro on the shoulder. “You too, guy.”
“Let’s take a walk,” Estelle said. As they strolled along the metal building, Mauro shuffled with his hands in his pockets. It appeared to Estelle as if he had to constantly work at keeping his trousers in the perfect position of suspense. Between the gravity-defying trousers and carelessly tied shoes, running wasn’t on the agenda.
Estelle paused at a runty elm tree just inside the chain-link fence. The ground around the tree’s base was littered with cigarette butts.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t have a chance to talk to you before you had to go to Albuquerque,” she said. “The doctors say that your sister is making some progress.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, avoiding eye contact. He managed an assessing glance at Estelle, his gaze running down her figure, and he hunched his shoulders a bit more to make sure he was giving away no secrets.
“I need to know about the hat pins, Mauro.” His eyebrows twitched. “We know that you sharpened the one that your sister had with her. We also know that you sharpened at least one for Deena Hurtado.”
He shook his head slightly and regarded the distant horizon.
“I don’t imagine that Mr. Fernandez knows much about that, does he?” The boy remained silent, and Estelle stepped closer, lowering her voice. Mauro was her height, and she shifted to stand directly in front of him, forcing him to look at her. “None of that is of much interest to me just now, Mauro. You’re a smart young man. You know as well as I do what the consequences are if you’re caught carrying a weapon on school property. Even if it’s just a quickie sharpening job for a friend.” She gave him the chance to reply, but he remained silent. “So now you know,” she said. “Tell me about your neighbors.”
His eyes registered surprise at the sudden change of topic.
“Wha-” he said with a frown, as if the final t took too much energy to pronounce.
“Tell me about Kevin Zeigler,” she said.
His head jerked back a little as if to say, “Why are you asking me?”
“Did you talk with him in the last couple of days?”
“No.”
“How about his roommate, William Page?”
“Why would I talk to him?” Mauro said. “He don’t even live here.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
Mauro shrugged.
“Last weekend, when Mr. Page was visiting…did you go riding with them then? On the bikes?”
“I don’t ride no bikes,” he said, as if the very thought was ridiculous. Estelle managed not to smile at the thought of the baggy Pants and untied laces tangled hopelessly in the bicycle’s chain. But then, Zeigler’s carefully composed photos had shown Mauro capable of a different image than simply that of the school’s thug.