the interviews it became apparent to me why Bob Payson was captain. None of the other boys was either as observant or as articulate as Bob had been. They told me more or less the same things he had, but without some of the telling details.
By three o'clock, parents began arriving to take their kids home. I could see Ned Browning's handiwork in that as well. One way or another, he was going to make sure the likes of Maxwell Cole didn't lay hands on any of his "young people" as long as they were in the school's care and keeping.
Unfortunately, I knew the news media a little more intimately than Ned Browning did. I guessed, and rightly so, that reporters would make arrangements to snag the students at home if they couldn't reach them at school. Had Ned and I discussed the matter, I could have told him so.
By the time the last of the students had left, Peters and I were wiped slick. As usual, we had worked straight through lunch and then some. Candace Wynn looked like she'd been pulled through a wringer, too. We invited her to join us for coffee at Denny's, a suggestion she accepted readily. It wasn't totally gentlemanly behavior on our part, though. We still hadn't interviewed her.
I waited politely until she had swallowed a sip or two of coffee before I tackled her. "Mrs. Wynn," I began.
"Call me Andi," she said. "I hate my name."
"Andi, then. Were you at the game?"
She nodded and smiled. "Where the cheerleaders go, there go I."
"Can you tell us anything about that night, anything odd or unusual that you might have noticed about Mr. Ridley."
Her eyes clouded. "You'll have to bear with me," she said. "We were good friends. It's hard to…"
"We understand that," Peters interjected. "Your point of view might be just that much different from the kids', though, you could give us some additional insight."
She sighed. "I knew him a long time. I never saw him as upset as he was that night."
"Any idea why?"
"No. I tried to talk to him about it during halftime, but he just cut me off."
"Are you the one who came to the dressing room door?"
Andi gave me an appraising look, as though surprised that I knew about that. She nodded. "He said he couldn't talk, that he was busy with the team. He shut me out completely."
"What about after the team left the dressing room? Did you see him talking with anyone in the hallway? Something or someone made him late for the second half."
"I knew he was late, but I didn't see anyone with him."
"Could he have been sick? Did he say anything to you?"
"No."
"Did you talk to him after the game at all?"
"I left during the third quarter. My mother's sick. I had to go see her. I was late getting back."
"So you never talked to him again, after those few words at the dressing room door."
"No." She choked on the word. "Something was wrong. He looked terrible. If only I…" She stopped.
"If only you what?"
"If only I could have helped him." She pushed her coffee cup away and got up quickly. "I'm going," she said. "Before I embarrass myself."
"We appreciate your help, Andi," Peters said.
"It's the least I can do."
We watched her drive out of the parking lot in a little red Chevy Luv with a bumper sticker that said she'd rather be sailing. As she pulled onto the access road, Peters said, apropos of nothing, "How many women do you know who drive pickups?"
I shrugged. "Not many, but it figures. She's a guidance counselor. My high school counselor at Ballard wore GI boots and drove a Sherman tank."
Peters laughed. "Come on now, Beau. Mrs. Wynn isn't that bad. I think she's cute. And she really seems to care about those kids."
On our way back to the Public Safety Building, Peters and I compared notes from our respective interviews. The cheerleading squad had been able to tell Peters very little that the team hadn't already told me, except they said Darwin Ridley had been five minutes late coming into the game after halftime.
The cheerleaders had taken a short break at the beginning of the
By three o'clock, parents began arriving to take their kids home. I could see Ned Browning's handiwork in that as well. One way or another, he was going to make sure the likes of Maxwell Cole didn't lay hands on any of his "young people" as long as they were in the school's care and keeping.
Unfortunately, I knew the news media a little more intimately than Ned Browning did. I guessed, and rightly so, that reporters would make arrangements to snag the students at home if they couldn't reach them at school. Had Ned and I discussed the matter, I could have told him so.
By the time the last of the students had left, Peters and I were wiped slick. As usual, we had worked straight through lunch and then some. Candace Wynn looked like she'd been pulled through a wringer, too. We invited her to join us for coffee at Denny's, a suggestion she accepted readily. It wasn't totally gentlemanly behavior on our part, though. We still hadn't interviewed her.
I waited politely until she had swallowed a sip or two of coffee before I tackled her. "Mrs. Wynn," I began.
"Call me Andi," she said. "I hate my name."
"Andi, then. Were you at the game?"
She nodded and smiled. "Where the cheerleaders go, there go I."
"Can you tell us anything about that night, anything odd or unusual that you might have noticed about Mr. Ridley."
Her eyes clouded. "You'll have to bear with me," she said. "We were good friends. It's hard to…"
"We understand that," Peters interjected. "Your point of view might be just that much different from the kids', though, you could give us some additional insight."
She sighed. "I knew him a long time. I never saw him as upset as he was that night."
"Any idea why?"
"No. I tried to talk to him about it during halftime, but he just cut me off."
"Are you the one who came to the dressing room door?"
Andi gave me an appraising look, as though surprised that I knew about that. She nodded. "He said he couldn't talk, that he was busy with the team. He shut me out completely."
"What about after the team left the dressing room? Did you see him talking with anyone in the hallway? Something or someone made him late for the second half."
"I knew he was late, but I didn't see anyone with him."
"Could he have been sick? Did he say anything to you?"
"No."
"Did you talk to him after the game at all?"
"I left during the third quarter. My mother's sick. I had to go see her. I was late getting back."
"So you never talked to him again, after those few words at the dressing room door."
"No." She choked on the word. "Something was wrong. He looked terrible. If only I…" She stopped.
"If only you what?"
"If only I could have helped him." She pushed her coffee cup away and got up quickly. "I'm going," she said. "Before I embarrass myself."
"We appreciate your help, Andi," Peters said.
"It's the least I can do."
We watched her drive out of the parking lot in a little red Chevy Luv with a bumper sticker that said she'd rather be sailing. As she pulled onto the access road, Peters said, apropos of nothing, "How many women do you know who drive pickups?"
I shrugged. "Not many, but it figures. She's a guidance counselor. My high school counselor at Ballard wore GI boots and drove a Sherman tank."
Peters laughed. "Come on now, Beau. Mrs. Wynn isn't that bad. I think she's cute. And she really seems to care about those kids."
On our way back to the Public Safety Building, Peters and I compared notes from our respective interviews. The cheerleading squad had been able to tell Peters very little that the team hadn't already told me, except they said Darwin Ridley had been five minutes late coming into the game after halftime.
The cheerleaders had taken a short break at the beginning of the
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