When the smoke cleared from around the charred remains and when the dust settled on all the paperwork, it turned out that the damage to the vehicle was completely covered under the truck’s original warranty, but the damage to Cummings’ name and reputation proved to be permanent. The “Sparky” handle was liberally applied, and it stuck. Cummings managed the teasing with a combination of humor and good grace.
“Hello, Sparky. This is Beaumont from Homicide,” I said.
“Top of the morning, Beau,” he said. “What can we do for you?”
“I’m calling about the school district bomb threats.”
Instantly his tone became markedly guarded. “School district bomb threats? What do you know about that?” he demanded.
“Not much, but I’ve got the file right here and…”
“What the hell are you doing with it? That file’s not supposed to be out of this office.”
“Hold on,” I countered. “I don’t have your file, Spark. I have the school district’s file.”
There was a long pause before he said, “Ouch. Me and my big mouth. I guess I blew it, didn’t I?”
“You could say that,” I returned lightly, knowing I had him dead to rights, but I didn’t rub it in. “Look, I’m working yesterday’s school district case. That file of yours may have something to do with it.”
“You mean the suicide/homicide? How could it? I got the distinct impression from what I read in the paper this morning that it was some kind of love-triangle thing. What does that have to do with bomb threats?”
“Beats me,” I answered, “but it’s out job to check all the angles. I want to see that file. ASAP.”
There was another long, thoughtful pause. “Hang tight, Beau. I’ll see what I can do and get back to you.”
Ten minutes later Detective Cummings appeared in my cubicle, file in hand.
“I got the word from upstairs,” he said, handing it over to me. “You can look at it all you want, but only while I’m here. You can take notes if you like, but nothing gets copied, and nothing gets taken out.”
“Wait just a goddamned minute here,” I objected. “What is this? I’m a homicide detective working a case and I can’t have unlimited access to one of Seattle P.D.”s own files?“
Sparky shrugged. “It’s the best we can do under the circumstances. If you’d like a word of friendly advice, I wouldn’t make too many waves about it either. Rumor has it that some of the brass are getting their chains yanked real good on this one by person or persons unknown. My guess is it’s somebody important from across the street.”
“Across the street” was the department’s sarcastically euphemistic reference to the city’s administrative offices located on the other side of Fourth Avenue.
“You mean as in the mayor’s office or somebody on the city council? We’re supposed to be talking squeaky clean Seattle here.”
“We’re also talking partisan politics,” Cummings replied meaningfully. “Now, are you interested in looking at the file or not?”
Silenced, I scanned through the incident reports. The information contained in them wasn’t very different from what I already had received from Doris Walker, with one notable exception-the actual texts of the threats themselves. There were typed transcripts of the two that had come in over the phone.
One said: “Start school now or else this place is history.” The other: “Education delayed is education denied. Dynamite is the cure.”
“Cute,” I said, tossing the transcripts back in the file. “The guy must think he’s a comedian. It is a guy, isn’t it?”
Cummings nodded. “Young male Caucasian, that’s about all the experts have been able to tell us so far from listening to the tapes.”
Also included were Xeroxed copies of the other threats, the ones that had been tossed through the windows. The poorly spelled notes had been stitched together, some with whole words and others with individual letters clipped from newspapers and magazines, a real cut-and-paste job. One said, “Teachers should teach. Strikes waist lives. Get school open before I blow this place to peaces.” Another said, “All I need too know is available in The Anarchist’s Handbook. Pipe bombs rule.” Still another said, “You guys are fuking with my life. I want my education now!”
I looked up at Cummings. “This dude can’t spell for shit, and he reads too many kidnap novels.”
Sparky Cummings nodded. “If he reads at all. The more we pay for education, the less we get. Go on.”
“Whose the boss, you or the teachers?” and “I am loosing patients. Stop the strike now.”
“If he’s so opposed to the teachers’ union, how come he’s threatening to blow up the school district office? Why not the union’s office instead?”
“Beats me,” Cummings replied. “Where is it written that kooks have to be smart or logical?”
“Who sat on this report, Sparky? I need to know.”
“All of the above,” Cummings answered. “At the time it was happening, both the teachers’ union and the district asked that we not release the information because they were deeply involved in negotiations. I don’t know who had the horses to keep a lid on it after the strike was over, but of course, by then the threats had stopped as well. There probably wasn’t much reason to raise a hullabaloo after the fact.”
“Particularly not when Her Honor’s primary interest is maintaining the status quo,” I added.
Cummings shot me a warning frown. “You said that, Beau. I didn’t.”
Although the two shouldn’t have been linked, the previous year’s mayoral election had been won and lost with the school district’s future as the central focus of the bitter campaigns. A group of angry and very vocal parents, tired of years of mandatory busing, had brought in some new political blood. Much to the consternation of long-term political lights, the new kids on the block and their off-the-wall candidate had played havoc with what should have been a shoo-in election for the retiring mayor’s handpicked successor.
Elected by such a minute margin that a legally mandated recount had been necessary, the new mayor was now trying her best to keep city government running smoothly while she fought to regain lost ground among the grass-roots electorate. Meanwhile the school district was doing away with busing an inch at a time while student population dwindled, as did money, and those same disillusioned parents, beaten but still pissed, continued to take their children else-where.
Her Honor’s press aide had recently announced that Seattle was once more among the top three contenders for “The Most Livable City Award.” Participants in that kind of national competition can’t afford to wash their dirty underwear in public, and trouble in a school district is civic soil of the worst kind. If you don’t believe it, try asking the City of Boston.
Scanning through the file wasn’t telling me much of anything new. “So what did you guys finally find out about this?” I asked at last.
Cummings shrugged. “For a while the pet theory going around was that someone opposed to the teachers’ union was posing as a student and making the threats, but we couldn’t find any likely possibles. A disgruntled student was the most we ever came up with, although why a ”disgruntled student“ would be so damn eager to have school get started, nobody was ever able to figure out. After the strike was over, though, since no bombs were ever found and since no one was hurt, the case got shifted to low priority.”
“Fast?” I asked.
“You mean did it get shifted fast?” he asked. I nodded. “You bet. It was fast, all right.”
“And nothing’s happened since?”
“That’s right,” Sparky replied. “Zippo.”