Trial by Fury (9780061754715) by Judith A. Jance Page B

our student body today.” He spoke with the measured cadence of an old-time educator, one used to having his listeners’ undivided attention. Or else.
    â€œI considered dismissing school entirely when we first were notified of the situation. It’s difficult to know what’s the best thing to do in a case like this.”
    He paused and rubbed his chin, staring fixedly at us.
    â€œNot canceling school was probably a good idea,” I said. “It’s best to keep things as close to normal as possible.”
    My comment was greeted with all the enthusiasm Ned Browning might have given an unfortunate truant’s overused alibi. He ignored it totally. He continued speaking as though I’d never opened my mouth.
    â€œThe trouble is, this team has faced a similar problem once before. Some of these boys were already playing varsity ball when their previous coach, Mr. Altman, died of a heart attack.
    â€œOf course, that was last year. It happenedduring the summer. It wasn’t a situation like this where he was here one day and gone the next. We had the benefit of some adjustment time before school started in the fall. Not only that, Mr. Ridley had worked with the team for several years as the assistant coach. There was enough continuity so they were able to put together a winning team. They won the state championship last year. Were you aware of that?”
    Peters and I nodded in unison. Browning went on. “I’ve sequestered the entire team as well as the squad of cheerleaders in Mr. Ridley’s classroom. Of all the students, they’re probably the ones who are most upset. They’re the ones who worked most closely with him.
    â€œOur guidance counselor, Mrs. Wynn, is with them. I thought it best to keep them together and isolated for fear some of your friends out in the other room would get hold of them.” Ned Browning nodded slightly in the direction of the outer office. All of his actions were understated, self-contained.
    â€œBelieve me, Mr. Browning, those jerks out there are anything but friends. If we could talk with each member of the team…”
    Browning cut me off in mid-sentence. “They’re not there for your convenience, Mr.…”
    â€œBeaumont,” I supplied. “Detective Beaumont.”
    â€œThank you, Detective Beaumont. These are adolescents who have suffered a severe loss. I’ve assembled them for the purpose of enabling them to begin working through their grief. It’s the idea of peer group self-help. I won’t tolerate any manipulation by you or anyone else. Is that clear, Mr. Beaumont?”
    There was no Santa Claus twinkle in Ned Browning’s eyes. They were sharp and hard. He meant what he said. I couldn’t help feeling some real respect for this little guy, doing the best he knew for the benefit of those kids. I wondered if they appreciated him.
    â€œMr. Browning,” Peters broke in, “neither Detective Beaumont nor I have any intention of manipulating your students, but we do need to interview them, all of them. It’s the only way we’ll get some idea of what happened Friday night.”
    For a time Browning considered what Peters had said. Finally, making up his mind, he nodded. “Very well. I’ll take you there, but you must understand that the well-being of these young people is my first priority.”
    He rose. His full height wasn’t more than five foot seven. “This way,” he said. He led us out through a back door, avoiding the crowd surrounding the front counter. What had been Darwin Ridley’s classroom was at the end of a long, polished corridor. Browning stopped before the closed door.
    â€œWhat did you say your names are again?”
    â€œBeaumont,” I said. “Detectives Beaumont and Peters.”
    He ushered us inside. The room was hushed. There must have been twenty or so people in the room, standing or sitting in groups of two or