The Silent Boy (Emma McPherson Book 1) by A.J. Flynn (people reading books txt) 📕

A dark shadow crossed the woman’s face. “About poor little Charlie?”

She nodded, and Miss Tack stood up and walked to the inner door. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

In a few seconds she was back. “You can step in.”

The principal’s office was a much larger version of the secretary’s, and he stood for her, waiting with his hand outstretched.

“Happy to meet you, Lieutenant. I’m Mr. Lewis, this school’s principal.”

While they shook hands, the secretary withdrew back to her own office.

“I imagine you’re a busy man, Mr. Lewis, so I’ll be brief. I’d like to speak to some of the teachers who had Charlie as a pupil.”

“Of course, anything we can do to help. A thing like this is so strange and foreign to us that we don’t know much about what’s required, but you can count on our complete co-operation.”

The principal walked to a large file and thumbed through an array of folders. “I’ll check, just to confirm who his teachers were. I hate to say it, but most of the contact I have with the students is with the troublemakers, and believe me, Charlie wasn’t one of them.”

He picked out one of the folders and returned to his desk. “I’ll write up a list and have Miss Tack let them know you’re here.”

He jotted down the names and tapped a button on his desk. Miss Tack re-appeared a second later.

“The lieutenant would like to speak with Charlie’s teachers. Could you contact them and request that they report to the teacher’s lunchroom? I think that would be a good place.”

“Of course, Mr. Lewis.”

“I’d like to speak to them one at a time, if that’s possible,” McPherson said.

The girl glanced over the list. “Miss Preacher has a free period now, so I’ll ask for her to go first.”

McPherson nodded. “That will be fine, and where can I find the teacher’s lunchroom?”

“I’ll walk you there,” Lewis offered, and he and McPherson exited through the outer office and into the stone-tiled hallway.

“We aren’t familiar with this sort of thing, Lieutenant, but hopefully we can be of help. Have you been making progress?”

“Very little,” McPherson admitted. “In cases like this it’s difficult to find the motive, so it’s always a little slow going.”

“I can imagine. Here we are,” he said, as he pushed open the door. “Go right along and make yourself comfortable. Miss Preacher will be along shortly.”

McPherson thanked him and stepped inside. It was a pleasant, sun-lit room, with a long table, flanked on both sides by folding chairs. Clustered in front of a massive window sat several upholstered chairs and a large couch. In the center of the grouping was a large coffee table with more than one ashtray.

She took a seat and lit a cigarette, mentally reminding herself that she needed to cut down. She knew she wouldn’t, but she did her best to remind herself anyway.

The window was overlooking the playground and she watched as the kids were readying themselves for the hundred yard dash when the door pushed open. She put out the cigarette quickly, and stood to see a thin dark-haired woman enter.

The woman was hardly attractive, but she’d seen worse. Her mouth was a few sizes too small for her face, but she had wide hazel eyes that gazed at her steadily.

“Lieutenant McPherson?” the woman said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m Miss Preacher, Charlie Turner’s math teacher. Miss Tack told me you wished to speak to me.”

“Yes, shall we sit?”

Miss Preacher walked gracefully to the couch and sank into it. McPherson chose one of the nearby chairs.

“You wanted to ask about Charlie, of course.”

“Yes, as his teacher, there might be something you can tell me that I haven’t been able to learn from his family or friends.”

Miss Preacher sat uneasily for a few seconds, then said, “It’s foolish of me to feel so nervous, but a thing like this doesn’t feel possible. I know intellectually that people are murdered every day, but it’s always someone far away, never anyone you know.”

“That’s what everyone thinks until it happens. Do you care if I smoke?”

“No, not at all. In fact, could I please have one? Mine are all the way in my locker.”

She handed the woman a cigarette and lit both of them.

“I can’t seem to find out much about Charlie’s personality from the people I’ve spoken to so far, and I thought we might gain a more objective point of view from his teachers.”

“I’m sure you’re right. Most teachers have the interest of their students at heart, but they aren’t blinded by parental pride or love.”

Miss Preacher paused, but McPherson remained quiet. It seemed best to let her tell it her own way.

“Charlie was an extremely talented math student,” Miss Preacher went on. “His mind grasped problems quickly, and solving them was always easy for him. He was polite and quiet and gave one the impression of shyness. Perhaps he was shy, but I’ll tell you, that boy had a will of iron. I noticed several times whenever he thought he was right about something that was wrong, it took a great deal of effort to convince him. I wouldn’t exactly call him stubborn, although he was close. It was more like inner determination.”

“What about friends? Would you say he was able to make friends easily?”

“I wouldn’t say he made any. He got along just fine with the other children, but the only one who seemed to want to be his friend was Rudy Murphy. He and Rudy were rather close, but even that wasn’t the kind of strong bond most boys his age form.”

“Was he the kind of child who inspired dislike?”

“No,” she said reflectively. “Now that I think back on it, I don’t think he cared enough about others to bother making an impression.”

“Thank you for your help. After I talk to the others teachers, I think I’ll have a better mental picture of Charlie. By the way, could you tell me where you were the night of the murder?”

She smiled. “I was home all evening. I