Knute spoke up,“We’ve hired Abattis Security and Jack has oriented them, given them maps, whatever they need. They are already on the job.”
“Strong beginning,” Crawford said as he folded his hands. “Charlotte, I want to congratulate you on how you handled the television interviews. Being able to present yourself is an advantage. It’s print reporters like Greg Baghout who ought to be horsewhipped. His article in the paper was inflammatory, irresponsible. He insinuated that Al’s murder is connected to the issue of slavery in Custis Hall’s heritage. He’s a menace.”
“Menace he may be, but until more facts are brought to light, menace he will continue to be.” Alpha Rawnsley, wise, watchful, and now worried, carefully chose her words.
A silence followed. Charlotte asked almost plaintively,“Does anyone here have any idea how this could happen? What is going on?”
“I can tell you what is going on,” Knute, face now red, said. “Someone hated Al.”
“Or hates Custis Hall,” Amy Childers replied. “Wants to make us look racist.” When everyone stared at her, she added, “He was Latino, you know. We’re in the middle of this, um, slave labor stuff.”
Charlotte looked at the attractive science teacher and thought how nine years ago, when she became headmistress, Amy had been a fresh, enthusiastic woman eager for life. She was turning into an embittered woman, entering the lists of early middle age.
“For God’s sake!” Knute threw up his hands. “That’s far-fetched.”
“We do represent the old WASP ways,” Bill intoned.
“We have the best diversity program on the East Coast”—the color rose to Charlotte’s cheeks—“second to none.”
“But not in terms of faculty hiring,” Amy bluntly stated.
Sister, her voice deep, soothing, finally spoke.“Stereotypes die hard: the money-grubbing Jew, the lazy black, the Mafia-connected Italian, the sex-crazed homosexual. Even though this institution has reached out to the community, done a wonderful job of attracting the best students of all races, the general perception is still that Custis Hallserves rich, spoiled white girls who will go on to Mt. Holyoke. Sorry, Alpha,” she nodded to Alpha, a Mt. Holyoke graduate from the early 1970s, “Smith, Radcliffe, Wellesley, and marry a rich white boy from Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Dartmouth. Now, untrue as that stereotype may be, I doubt it is cause for murder. And I doubt the lack of Hispanics or a better proportion of African Americans on the faculty or administration is cause for murder.”
“Well, what then?” Amy was upset, shaken, and frustrated.
“One kills out of passion, greed, or self-protection. Normal people kill. Abnormal people hear voices or whatever and they kill for quite different reasons, it seems to me. Hanging Al Perez from Hangman’s Tree, if you think about it, was brilliant.” Sister held up her hand to forestall comments. “It’s hard to give credit to such a repulsive act when everyone is grieving, but here we are focusing on the repercussions of that act. A great deal of energy and money will be spent to calm students, parents, and the faculty. The killer has us all focused, worried. I have learned from my quarry, the fox, that things are not always what they seem. Al’s killer has distracted us from his scent.”
“What exactly do you mean?” Bill leaned forward, eyebrows quizzically raised, since he hunted when he could.
“I mean our fox has fouled his scent. The public nature of the act stunned all of us. He’s scooted away for now.”
“But he’s close?” Charlotte understood the language.
“Charlotte, board members, forgive me for using foxhunting terminology,” Sister gravely said. “He is close, he is part of this community, and he obviously has powerful reasons to kill. He’s a fox in the henhouse.”
Crawford bit his lips.
Knute blurted out,“Good God. But I still can’t see why anyone would take out Al. We all worked with Al. He was so good-natured, so good with the alumnae. You had to like him. Everyone liked him.”
Bill twiddled his pencil.“Maybe he was running drugs that came in through Mexico. Amy made a point about his background. Well, he’d be able to talk to people in a way we couldn’t. It’s not impossible, you know, that he may have been involved in something criminal.”
“Oh, Bill, really.” Alpha’s eyelids fluttered.
“We have to think of everything no matter how absurd,” Bill defended himself.
“He’s right, Alpha. Much as we all liked Al, we can’t neglect the possibility that there may have been unsavory aspects to Al’s life.” Knute slumped a bit in his seat, weary from the weight of the hours. “But I can’t think of a one.”
“Sister, you divided killers into normal and abnormal categories. Hanging a man from a tree at the place of former public executions the night of a Halloween party in front of children, that doesn’t seem normal to me,” Amy remarked.
Christopher answered his sister,“Maybe that’s just what the killer wants us to think, that he’s some nutcase.”
“Sick as it is, I don’t think our killer is a nutcase. What we do know,” Sister’s voice was hypnotic, “is that he or she is strong, strong enough to string up a grown man. Bold. The killer was on that ridge not fifteen minutes before the girls and boys arrived. He knew the territory, never forget that. He knows us, and he understands symbolism.”
A long silence followed her assessment.
Charlotte pulled back her shoulders, saying,“Sister, there’s a reason you’re master of foxhounds, and I thank you for bringing us back on the line.” Her eyes swept the room. “Allow me to amend something Sister Jane said. Yes, he thinks he knows us, but what he doesn’t know is that nothing is going to destroy this school. Custis Hall survived the War of 1812, the War Between the States, two world wars, the Great Depression, Korea, and Vietnam. We will survive this, which is a different, personal threat, but we are more resourceful than this disgusting human being can know. He will be found, he will be brought to justice for what he’s done to Al, and we will come through this stronger.”
Knute Nilsson started to open his mouth but closed it. He was going to say,“We might be stronger, but we’ll probably be poorer for years. It will affect alumnae pledges.” Under the circumstances this very real concern seemed a little crass. He’d discuss this with Charlotte in private.
C H A P T E R 1 0
At sixteen pounds, Target qualified as a major fox. In the fullness of maturity, his coat fluffed out deep red, but his mask betrayed a few gray hairs near his dainty nose. Indian summer returned to central Virginia so he blew off the fact that the Jefferson Hunt Club would be at Mud Fence. With the mercury happily showing in the mid-fifties, skies of robin’s-egg blue, and, even better from his point of view, a stiff breeze from the west, scent would be awful.
So he dillied and dallied, rooting around the cornfields bordered by rows of tall fir trees to break the wind. Corn tasted delicious. Why burn calories chasing rabbits, mice, moles, and small birds when all he had to do was nibble kernels off the ears lower on the plant, for this was left as a silage field and wouldn’t be cut for months. He paid no attention to the mice chattering in their high voices when they got a whiff of him. He heard their tiny claws clatter over the husks fallen to the ground, stiff and brown now. He’d eaten so much he felt a little drowsy, but considered that it was a long way homeand he ought to begin walking, as his den was on After All Farm, perhaps five miles as the crow flies. Target hated crows, which is not why he didn’t always travel in a straight line. Given his high intelligence there were so many enticements. He noticed a nest of digger bees, so he watched them fly in and out of their underground nest. Bears liked bees, but he avoided eating them. His aunt Netty would sometimes pick up what bears had left after they ripped open a tree, the side of an old building filled with honey. She liked the bee taste. He hated eating bees, although he liked honey well enough.