Thread of Truth, стр. 30
They exchanged a look. I wasn't sure what was in it, but I thought there was something.
I waited.
“You talk to any teachers?” Donnie finally said.
I nodded. “I did.”
“Who?”
“I tried to talk to all of them, but I was just able to get with two of them,” I said. “Math and History. Older guy, younger woman.”
Donnie nodded. “We know 'em.”
Burt nodded in agreement, grinning at me.
“What am I missing?” I asked.
Donnie pointed a finger at me again. “You're on the right track, Joe the investigator.”
“Gimme more than that,” I said. “Do I need to talk to more teachers?”
They looked at one another and laughed.
“Nope,” Donnie said.
“Nope,” Burt said.
I thought for a moment. “So, what? Talk to those two again?”
Donnie grinned. “You're a pretty awesome investigator.”
I was trying to hold my frustration at bay. “So I should go talk to the math teacher again?”
They both cracked up and it took them a moment to compose themselves.
“No,” Donnie said, shaking his head. “Not that old fossil.” He pointed the finger at me. “You need to talk to...Christine.”
Burt doubled over, laughing.
“The history teacher?” I said, clarifying.
“Yeah,” Donnie said, his own laughter turning it into a two-syllable word. “Christine.”
Burt gasped with laughter and Donnie joined him.
I thought for a moment.
There was something behind their laughter and the way Donnie was saying her name. I wasn't sure exactly what it was, but my antenna was up and directed back at Seaside.
I stood up. “Alright, fellas. I appreciate the help. Stay outta trouble.”
They were both on their sides, still laughing and gasping for air.
TWENTY SIX
I checked in at the front desk at Seaside and found my way down to Christine Gonzowski's room. She was at her desk, a red pen flying over a pile of papers.
I rapped on the doorframe.
“Yeah,” she said, without looking up, her focus on the papers.
“It's me again,” I said.
She turned, and it took a moment to register who I was. “The investigator.”
“That's right,” I said.
“I'm not sure I have anything else to give you,” she said, turning her focus back to the papers. “I thought we established that. And I'm incredibly busy.”
She was irritated to see me, and I took that as a sign that I was on the right track.
“I don't intend to take up much of your time,” I said.
“I believe you said that when you were here before.”
“If you'd like, I can go down to the administration and arrange for a formal time for us to talk.”
She set the red pen down and folded her arms across her chest. “You're here, so I don't see why that would be necessary.” She gave me a fake smile. “What can I do for you?”
I went and sat down in a desk in the front row across from her. “As I told you before, I'm trying to get a handle on what was going on in Desmond's life before he was killed.”
“Yes, you did tell me that,” she said.
“I've talked to you and another teacher here,” I explained. “I've talked to his parents. I've spoken with his girlfriend and her family. I spoke to his employer. And I've spoken to some of his friends.”
She nodded slowly. “Sounds...thorough.”
“His parents also gave me his laptop,” I told her. “Just to see if I could find anything.”
She frowned at me. “Why are you giving me the rundown here? Shouldn't you just be typing all of this up in a report?”
“His friends at the skate park suggested I come back and talk to you again,” I said. “Why would they tell me to do that?”
She shifted in her chair and picked up the red pen, tapping it against the pile of papers she'd been working on. “I don’t have the faintest idea.”
“They were amused by the idea,” I told her. “They called you Christine, then busted up laughing.”
She tapped the pen a little quicker.
“They were high as kites, but there was something there,” I said. “Any idea what it might have been?”
“Again, not the faintest,” she said. “And if you're here because a couple of kids mentioned my name while they were using drugs and you found that curious, I'd say maybe you aren't the sharpest investigator in the world.”
“I'm not,” I said lightly. I paused. “You're sure you didn't know Desmond outside of class? In any way?”
She shifted again in her chair, like she was physically trying to dodge the question. There had been something in the way Donnie and Burt said her name that rang a bell for me. It indicated to me that there was some connection between her and Desmond that she hadn't told me about the first time around and I wondered why. I could've been wrong, but I didn't think that I was, and her hostility toward me just made me more certain that I was right about it.
“I really don't have time for this,” she said. “I have this entire pile of essays to grade and they have to be done tonight. I don't think I can help you.”
“But you haven't answered the question,” I said.
“I think I've answered it several times,” she responded.
I looked around the room, once again noticing the timeline and the posters. On the whiteboard, her name and email were written in the far left corner, with a box around them. On the right side, she had the week's reading assignments written out, along with a reminder that all of the information was available online.
I looked back to the left again, where her name and email was.
Then I looked at her. “Why are you so irritated that I'm here?”
“Because I have a lot to do.”
“A kid died. Feels like that might take precedence over your essays.”
She cleared her throat. “I understand that, and I'm sorry that it happened. But life goes on and I have a job to do.”
“So do I,” I said. I stared at her. “Did you have a relationship with Desmond Locker?”
She hesitated. “Of course I did. He was my