Will opened the door and Faith led him down the hallway to the appropriately marked door. She knocked twice, and someone called, "Enter."
Faith had been to her share of parent-teacher conferences, so she shouldn't have been surprised to find all ten of them seated in a half-circle with two empty chairs at the center waiting to be filled. As was befitting a progressive school specializing in the communicative arts, the teachers were a multicultural bunch representing just about every part of the rainbow: Chinese-American, African-American, Muslim-American, and-just to mix things up-Native American. There was one lone Caucasian in the bunch. With her hemp sandals, batik dress and the long, gray ponytail hanging down her back, she radiated white guilt like a cheap space heater.
She held out her hand, offering, "I'm Dr. Olivia McFaden, principal of Westfield."
"Detective Faith Mitchell, Special Agent Will Trent," Faith provided, taking a seat. Will hesitated, and for a moment she thought he looked nervous. Maybe he was having a bad student flashback, or perhaps the tension in the room was getting to him. The security guards outside were meant to make people feel safe, but Faith got the distinct impression that they were doing the exact opposite. Everyone seemed to be on edge, especially the principal.
Still, McFaden went around the room, introducing the teachers, the subjects they taught and which girl was in their classes. As Westfield was a small school, there was a considerable overlap; most teachers were familiar with both girls. Faith carefully recorded their names in her notebook, easily recognizing the cast of characters: the hip one, the nerdy one, the gay one, the one hanging on by her fingernails as she prayed for retirement.
"Understandably, we're all extremely upset about this tragedy," McFaden said. Faith didn't know why she took such an instant dislike to the woman. Maybe she was having some bad school flashbacks herself. Or maybe it was because of all the faculty in the room, McFaden was the only one who hadn't obviously been crying. Some of the women and one of the men actually had tissues in their hands.
Faith told the teachers, "I'll convey your sympathies to the parents."
Will answered the obvious question. "We can't entirely rule out a connection between what happened yesterday and the school. There's no need to be overly alarmed, but it's a good idea for you all to take precautions. Be alert to your surroundings, make sure you know where students are at all times, report any unexplained absences."
Faith wondered if he could have phrased that any differently to freak them out even more. Glancing around the room, she thought not. Faith stopped, going through the teachers' faces again. She remembered what the front office secretary had said. "Is someone missing?"
McFaden supplied, "That would be Mr. Bernard. He had a previously scheduled meeting with a parent that couldn't be moved on such short notice. He'll be here shortly." She glanced at her watch. "I'm afraid we're a bit tight for time before the assembly starts."
"Assembly?" Faith gave Will a sharp glance.
He had the sense to look ashamed. "Amanda wants one of us to attend the assembly."
Faith guessed she knew which one was going to draw that short straw. She shot him a look of utter hatred.
McFaden seemed oblivious. "We thought it would be best to call all of the students together and assure them that their safety is our number one priority." Her smile was of the megawatt variety, the kind meant to encourage a reluctant student to accept a foregone conclusion. "We really appreciate your help in this matter."
"I'm happy to help out," Faith told the woman, forcing her own smile. She didn't think an assembly was a bad idea, but she was furious that the task fell to her, not least of all because Faith was terrified of public speaking. She could very well imagine what the assembly would be like: myriad teenage girls in various stages of hysteria demanding that their hands be held, their fears be assuaged, and all the while Faith would be trying to keep the tremble out of her voice. This was something more suited to a school counselor than a homicide detective who had thrown up before her oral comps on her detective's exam.
The principal leaned forward, clasping her hands together. "Now, tell me, how can we be of help to you?"
Faith waited for Will to speak, but he just sat ramrod straight in the chair beside her. She took over, asking, "Could you give us an impression of Emma and Kayla-socially, academically?"
Matthew Levy, the math teacher, took the lead. "I spoke to your colleague about this yesterday, but I suppose I need to say it again. The girls didn't really fit into any one social group. I had both Kayla and Emma in my classroom. They tended to keep to themselves."
Faith asked, "Did they have enemies?"
There was a series of exchanged looks. Levy replied, "They were picked on. I know the first question that comes to mind is how we could be aware of that and still let it continue, but you have to understand the dynamics of the school situation."
Faith let them know that she did. "Kids don't tend to report bullies for fear of reprisal. Teachers can't punish activity they don't see."
Levy shook his head. "It's more than that." He paused, as if to gather his thoughts. "I taught Emma for two years. Her aptitude wasn't math, but she was a good student-really, a lovely girl. She worked hard, she didn't make trouble. She was on the fringe of one of our popular groups. She seemed to get along well with other kids."
One of the Asian women, Daniella Park, added, "Until Kayla showed up."
Faith was startled by the teacher's sharp tone of voice. Park seemed unfazed by the fact that the girl had been savagely murdered. "Why is that?"
Park explained, "We see it all the time. Kayla was a bad influence." Confirming nods rippled around the room. "For a long time, Emma was friends with a girl named Sheila Gill. They were very close, but Sheila's father was transferred to Saudi Arabia at the beginning of term last year. He works for one of those soulless multinational oil companies." She dismissed this with a wave of her hand. "Anyway, Emma didn't have anyone else in her group to turn to. There are some girls who gravitate toward one particular person rather than a group, and without Sheila, she didn't have a group. Emma became more introverted, less likely to participate in class. Her grades didn't slip, they actually improved slightly, but you could tell that she was lonely."
"Enter Kayla Alexander," Levy interjected with the same rueful tone of voice as Park. "Smack in the middle of the school year. She's the type who needs an audience, and she knew precisely who to pick."
"Emma Campano," Faith supplied. "Why did Kayla transfer in during the middle of term?"
McFaden chimed in, "She came to us through another school. Kayla was a challenge, but at Westfield, we meet challenges head-on."
Faith deciphered the code. She directed her next question toward Levy, who seemed to have no problem criticizing the dead girl. "Kayla was kicked out of her last school?"
McFaden tried to keep spinning. "I believe she was asked to leave. Her old school was not equipped to meet her special needs." She straightened her shoulders. "Here at Westfield, we pride ourselves on nurturing the special needs of what society labels more difficult children."
For the second time that day, Faith fought the urge to roll her eyes. Jeremy had been on the cusp of the disorder movement: ADD, ADHD, social disorder, personality disorder. It was getting to be so ridiculous, she was surprised there weren't special schools for the boring, average children. "Can you tell us what she was being treated for?"
"ADHD," McFaden supplied. "Kayla has-had, I'm sorry-a very hard time concentrating on her schoolwork. She was more focused on socializing than studying."