McFaden was checking the mic. Hushes went around the room, then the usual feedback through the sound system and the predictable murmur through the crowd. The principal waited for the noise to die down. "We are all aware of the tragedy that struck two of our students and one of their friends yesterday. This is a trying time for all of us, but as a whole, we can-we will-overcome this tragedy and make something good of it. Our shared sense of community, our love for our fellow students, our respect for life and the common good, will help all of us at Westfield persevere." There was a scattering of applause, mostly from the parents. She turned to Faith. "A detective from the Atlanta Police Department is here to take some of your questions. I would remind students to please be respectful to our guest."
McFaden sat down, and Faith felt every eye in the room scrutinize her as she walked across the stage. The podium seemed to get farther away with each step, and by the time she reached it, her hands were sweaty enough to leave marks on the polished wood.
"Thank you," Faith said, her voice sounding thin and girlish as it echoed through the speakers. "I'm Detective Faith Mitchell. I want to assure you that the police are doing everything they can to find Emma, to find out who committed these crimes." She threw in "And the Georgia Bureau of Investigation" too late, realizing that her sentence did not make much sense. She tried again. "As I said, I'm a detective with the Atlanta Police Department. Your principal has my direct phone number. If any of you saw anything, heard anything or have any information that might help the case, then please contact me." Faith realized her lungs were out of air. She tried to take a breath without making it obvious. Briefly, she wondered if this was what it felt like to have a heart attack.
"Ma'am?" someone called.
Faith shielded her eyes against the bright stage lights. She saw that several hands were up. She pointed to the closest girl, concentrating all of her attention on the one person instead of the crowd of onlookers. "Yes?"
The student stood, and then Faith noticed her long blond hair and creamy white skin. The question came to Faith's mind before the girl got it out. "Do you think we should cut our hair?"
Faith swallowed, trying to think of the best way to answer. There were all kinds of urban legends about women with long hair being more likely to be targeted by rapists, but as far as Faith's practical experience had shown, the men who committed these crimes only cared about one thing on a woman's body, and it was not whether or not she had short or long hair. On the other hand, Kayla and Emma looked so much alike that it could certainly point to a trend.
Faith skirted the question. "You don't need to cut your hair, you don't need to change your appearance."
"How about-" someone began, then stopped, remembering protocol and raising her hand.
"Yes?" Faith asked.
The girl stood. She was tall and pretty, her dark hair hanging around her shoulders. There was a slight tremble to her voice when she asked, "Emma and Kayla were both blond. I mean, doesn't that mean that the guy has an MO?"
Faith felt caught out by the question. She thought about Jeremy and the way that he could always tell when she was not being honest with him. "I'm not going to lie to you," she told the girl, then looked up at the group as a whole, her stage fright dissipating, her voice feeling stronger. "Yes, both Emma and Kayla had long blond hair. If it makes you feel more comfortable to wear your hair up for a while, then do it. Don't let yourself believe, though, that this means you are perfectly safe. You still need to take precautions when you're out. You need to make sure your parents know where you are at all times." There were whispers of protest. Faith held up her hands, feeling like a preacher. "I know that sounds trite, but you guys aren't living in the suburbs. You know the basic rules of safety.
Don't talk to strangers. Don't go to unfamiliar places alone. Don't go off on your own without letting someone-anyone-know where you are going and when you will be back."
That seemed to mollify them. Most of the hands went down. Faith called on a boy sitting with his mother.
He spoke timidly. "Is there anything we can do for Emma?"
The room went completely silent. The fear started to creep back in. "As I said…" She had to stop to clear her throat. "As I said before, any information you can think of that might help us would be appreciated. Suspicious characters around school. Unusual things Emma or Kayla might have said-or even usual things, something that maybe you are now thinking might be connected to what happened to them. All of that, no matter how trivial it may seem, is very valuable to us." She cleared her throat, wishing she had some water. "As for anything you can personally do, I would ask again that you remember safety. Make sure that your parents know where you are at all times. Make sure that you take basic precautions. The fact is, we have no idea how this connects to your school, or even if it connects at all. I think vigilance is the key word here." She felt slightly idiotic saying the words, thinking she sounded like a bad rip-off of Olivia McFaden, but the nods from both parents and students in the audience made Faith think that she had actually done some good here.
She scanned the crowd. No more hands were up that she could see. With a nod toward the principal, Faith walked back across the stage and took her place in the wings.
"Thank you, Detective Mitchell." McFaden was back at the podium. She told the students, "In a few minutes, Coach Bob is going to do a ten-minute presentation, followed by an instructional film on personal safety."
Faith suppressed a groan, only to hear it echo around the auditorium.
McFaden continued, "After Coach Bob, Dr. Madison, who is, as you know, our school counselor, will have some remarks to make about dealing with tragedy. He will also be taking questions, so please remember, any questions you have should be saved up until Dr. Madison is finished speaking. Now, if we could all just take a moment to quietly reflect on our fellow students-those among us and those who are gone." She waited a few seconds, then, when no one reacted, she said, "Bow your heads, please."
Faith had never been a fan of the moment of silence, especially when it required head bowing. She liked it almost as much as public speaking, which took a close second to eating live cockroaches.
Faith scanned the crowd, looking past the bowed heads to Mary Clark, who was staring blankly at the stage. As quietly as possible, Faith made her way down the stage stairs. She could almost feel Olivia McFaden's disapproval as she sneaked down the side aisle, but Faith wasn't one of the woman's students and, frankly, she had more important things to do than stand in the wings listening to Coach Bob drill students about their safety for the next ten minutes.
Mary Clark stood straighter as she realized Faith was heading her way. If the teacher was surprised to find herself singled out, she didn't show it. As a matter of fact, she seemed relieved when Faith nodded toward the door.
Mary didn't stop in the hallway, but pushed on through the exit before Faith could stop her. She went outside and stood on the concrete pad, hands on her hips as she took deep breaths of fresh air.
She told Faith, "I saw McFaden pointing me out before you started and I was sure she was telling you that she was going to fire me."
Faith thought this was a strange way to open up a conversation, but it seemed like the sort of inappropriate remark she was capable of making herself. "Why would she fire you?"
"My class is too noisy. I'm not strict enough. I don't adhere to the curriculum." Mary Clark gave a forced laugh. "We have very different educational philosophies."