Thread of Truth, стр. 22
“Did you know his girlfriend?” I asked. “Olivia Cousins?”
Gentry nodded again. “I did, and I know she was pregnant.”
“She had the baby.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Did she? How is she?”
“Health-wise, I think everyone is good.”
A faint smile crossed his lips. “That's good to hear. She's a nice kid, too. I think they gravitated toward one another because they knew they probably shouldn't have been here.”
“Did he get in any trouble while he was here?” I asked.
Gentry shook his head. “No. More the opposite, really. I felt like he grew up. His grades were solid. I know he had a job outside school. He was thinking about college, but not set on it.” He shrugged. “And that was okay by me. College isn't for every kid.”
“Sure.”
“He joined one of our peer panels,” Gentry said. “It's designed to give the students a voice in what goes on here at the school. I think some of the other students really saw him as a leader, and not in a suck up kind of way. I think they trusted his voice.” He shook his head. “Just rotten that he's gone.”
It was rotten. Hearing the things Gentry had to say about him, it made me even sadder for Desmond. It really sounded like he'd gotten through the crap in his own life and was making some good headway. The fact that no one would get to see what he could've become didn't feel good.
“Did he have a lot of friends here?” I asked.
He thought for a moment. “I think everyone liked him. He didn't come in here with an attitude, and he didn't treat anyone differently than they treated him. That goes a long way here. If you're accepting, you're accepted. You don't see the cliques you would in normal school.”
“I talked to a couple of other people before I came here,” I said. “A kid named Sal Boston and some kids at a skate park Desmond used to hang out at. There seemed to be some thought that maybe Desmond was putting on a show, that maybe he wasn't as good as people thought. Like he was fooling people. Any sense of that?”
“I could see Boston saying that,” Gentry said with a wry smile. “Sounds just like something he'd say.”
“You know him?”
“Just a little bit,” he said. “He didn't last long with me. But I can only tell you what I saw and witnessed. Desmond seemed like a good kid with a good head on his shoulders who'd made a few mistakes. He saw the light, and I think this place gave him what it's designed for. A real second chance. I'm sure he wasn't an angel.” Phil Gentry paused for a moment, thinking. “But I really believe Des had a bright future.”
NINETEEN
The last teacher on Desmond's schedule was Christine Gonzowski and I found her in the last classroom in the same hallway that Phil Gentry was in. She was hunched over her desk, her chin in her hand, studying something laid out in front of her.
I knocked on the doorframe and she glanced in my direction. “Yes?”
“Christine Gonzowski?” I asked.
She nodded.
“My name's Joe Tyler,” I said. “I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about Desmond Locker?”
She blinked once, closed the notebook on her desk, and stood. “Yes. Mr. Locker emailed me and said you might be stopping by.” She walked toward me in the doorway. “I've got a few minutes before I need to leave. Come in.”
She was in her early thirties, with short blonde hair and green eyes. She wore a lime green pantsuit and matching colored heels that looked far too professional for the environment we were in. She reminded me more of an admissions counselor at an expensive private school than a teacher at an alternative school.
She led me to a desk similar to the one I'd sat in in Gentry's room and then slid into the desk next to me. “I heard about Desmond this morning. I was shocked.”
I nodded. “I think most folks who knew him were. You teach history?”
“U.S.,” she said. “I had him in class this year.” She paused. “Can I ask a question?”
“Sure.”
“My understanding was that it was an accident,” she said. “A hit and run. What kind of investigating are you doing?”
“To be honest, I'm not quite sure,” I told her. “The family is a bit rattled, they haven't had a great experience with the police, and I think they need some closure. I'm just trying to get some background on him before I go any further.”
She thought for a moment, then fingered one of the small, golden orbs in her earlobes. “I'm sure they're having a tough time.”
“Very much so.” I glanced around the classroom, noticing the timeline of presidents and the poster-size versions of the Constitution and Declaration of Independence. A small bookshelf tucked under one of the windows bulged with books, and the top was littered with statues of famous American symbols: the Statue of Liberty, the Washington Monument, the Liberty Bell. “So this was the first year you had him in class?”
She nodded. “Yes. I think I'd seen him on campus last year, but didn't interact with him.”
“Good student?”
She thought again for a moment. “I think he could've been, but I'm not sure he was...focused.”
“Was he doing okay in your class, grade-wise?”
“I really can't discuss his actual grade,” she answered, a little stiffly. “But I can say he could've done better.”
I nodded. “Understood. Did you have any interaction with him outside of class?”
She looked down at the desktop for a moment, then shook her head. “I don't believe so.”
“No tutoring, nothing like that?”
“No tutoring,” she said. “I don't