Possibly,” she said hesitantly. “And if he’s not the killer then he’s most likely a witness.”
Chapter Eight
After ten minutes of debating whether or not they should comb the side streets of the Roosevelt neighborhood in search of the figure in the Army jacket, Molly and Andre decided to spend their time pursuing more tangible leads. They stopped by the Jack in the Box but were told the teenager who took the order had the day off. She scribbled the employee’s home address in her notebook, unwilling to wait for any leads to break on the case. A quick drive to the boy’s house proved fruitless since he wasn’t home. Andre agreed to come back later.
Maria’s school seemed the next logical stop. It was quiet as they pulled up to Phoenix Elementary Number One. The name was self-explanatory. They were sitting in front of the oldest grade school in the city. Although it had undergone at least a dozen restorations and remodeling jobs during its 160 years of existence, the framework of the original structure remained intact, with tall stone pillars rising from the foundation, sentinels for the modernized steel double doors that served as the school’s front entrance. The chiseled name emblazoned across the stone front left no doubt about the importance of the edifice to the community, a symbol of the stature of education at a different time in history.
All of the children were in classes and the central corridor was empty. They found the office, which was bustling with late students and irate parents waiting to speak with an administrator. Once they flashed their badges they were quickly escorted to the conference room. The appearance of police officers superseded other business and the school principal appeared.
“Hello, I’m Cynthia Preston,” she said, holding out her hand for what Molly imagined was the customary greeting that she bestowed on a multitude of people each day.
Molly met the firm handshake and was immediately impressed by Principal Preston, whose face was earnest. “I’m Detective Nelson and this is Detective Williams. We need to speak with you about Maria Perez.”
Ms. Preston shook her head. She motioned for them to sit and took the chair at the head of the table. “Such a horrible tragedy. You have no idea how much this has affected our school today. The TV trucks left right before you came. All those media mongers trying to interview our parents, watching the children crying. It was ridiculous.” She started to say something else and closed her mouth. She folded her hands on the table, a gesture of restraint.
Molly guessed the principal to be in her late fifties, a handsome African-American woman with a fine figure. Her makeup was meticulous yet her eyes betrayed her fatigue—and it wasn’t even noon.
“Tell us about Maria,” Molly said.
Ms. Preston laughed slightly as a tear rolled down her cheek. “She was one of those students who teachers loved, but it wasn’t always easy. Maria challenged everyone, and she expected good answers to her questions. You earned respect from her, but once you had it, well, that child would do anything for you then.” She reached for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes.
“So she was very strong willed,” Andre concluded.
She nodded in agreement then added, “Not in a bad way. Maria expected fairness and justice. Although she was only a fifth-grader, she understood that a decision could be just even if she didn’t agree with it.”
“Did anyone at the school have a problem with her?” Molly asked.
“Well, it seems she and her friend Selena observed one of our toughest fifth-grade boys attempting to extort lunch money from a second grader.”
“What did she do about it?” Molly probed, already fearing the answer.
“Just what you would expect. She confronted the boy and got in his face. A teacher saw them arguing and came over to intervene. We have these kinds of problems all the time, but the reason I mention it is because the
Chapter Eight
After ten minutes of debating whether or not they should comb the side streets of the Roosevelt neighborhood in search of the figure in the Army jacket, Molly and Andre decided to spend their time pursuing more tangible leads. They stopped by the Jack in the Box but were told the teenager who took the order had the day off. She scribbled the employee’s home address in her notebook, unwilling to wait for any leads to break on the case. A quick drive to the boy’s house proved fruitless since he wasn’t home. Andre agreed to come back later.
Maria’s school seemed the next logical stop. It was quiet as they pulled up to Phoenix Elementary Number One. The name was self-explanatory. They were sitting in front of the oldest grade school in the city. Although it had undergone at least a dozen restorations and remodeling jobs during its 160 years of existence, the framework of the original structure remained intact, with tall stone pillars rising from the foundation, sentinels for the modernized steel double doors that served as the school’s front entrance. The chiseled name emblazoned across the stone front left no doubt about the importance of the edifice to the community, a symbol of the stature of education at a different time in history.
All of the children were in classes and the central corridor was empty. They found the office, which was bustling with late students and irate parents waiting to speak with an administrator. Once they flashed their badges they were quickly escorted to the conference room. The appearance of police officers superseded other business and the school principal appeared.
“Hello, I’m Cynthia Preston,” she said, holding out her hand for what Molly imagined was the customary greeting that she bestowed on a multitude of people each day.
Molly met the firm handshake and was immediately impressed by Principal Preston, whose face was earnest. “I’m Detective Nelson and this is Detective Williams. We need to speak with you about Maria Perez.”
Ms. Preston shook her head. She motioned for them to sit and took the chair at the head of the table. “Such a horrible tragedy. You have no idea how much this has affected our school today. The TV trucks left right before you came. All those media mongers trying to interview our parents, watching the children crying. It was ridiculous.” She started to say something else and closed her mouth. She folded her hands on the table, a gesture of restraint.
Molly guessed the principal to be in her late fifties, a handsome African-American woman with a fine figure. Her makeup was meticulous yet her eyes betrayed her fatigue—and it wasn’t even noon.
“Tell us about Maria,” Molly said.
Ms. Preston laughed slightly as a tear rolled down her cheek. “She was one of those students who teachers loved, but it wasn’t always easy. Maria challenged everyone, and she expected good answers to her questions. You earned respect from her, but once you had it, well, that child would do anything for you then.” She reached for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes.
“So she was very strong willed,” Andre concluded.
She nodded in agreement then added, “Not in a bad way. Maria expected fairness and justice. Although she was only a fifth-grader, she understood that a decision could be just even if she didn’t agree with it.”
“Did anyone at the school have a problem with her?” Molly asked.
“Well, it seems she and her friend Selena observed one of our toughest fifth-grade boys attempting to extort lunch money from a second grader.”
“What did she do about it?” Molly probed, already fearing the answer.
“Just what you would expect. She confronted the boy and got in his face. A teacher saw them arguing and came over to intervene. We have these kinds of problems all the time, but the reason I mention it is because the
Similar Books
