Page 135 of Don't Say a Word

Maybe. Probably not. But maybe.

He went up to his office and got to work.

Chapter Forty-Two

Margo Angelhart

Jack met me at the high school just before three. I told him it wasn’t necessary, but he was worried about the guy he called astalker. Truth was, I was glad to have a second pair of eyes. I gave him a description of the guy and both vehicles.

I was still mad that I’d lost Mr. Sunglasses.

Because classes had been canceled, the student parking lot only had a few dozen cars, but the football stands were beginning to fill up with students, parents, and staff. A decent crowd, I thought, showing up when they didn’t have to.

We stood off to the side as the principal, Mr. Borel, began to speak about Lena Clark. He didn’t say anything about Dwight Parsons, his suspected suicide, or that Lena had been murdered by a fellow teacher.

The vice principal, Melissa Webb, then spoke about student counseling and a service they were planning at the school after the family had a private funeral. As she spoke, Jack tapped my shoulder and said, “Chavez just walked in through the gate.”

I looked; King wasn’t with him. Chavez spotted Jack and approached us.

“Late,” I muttered.

Chavez didn’t say anything.

The student body president spoke and shared a personal story about what Lena meant to her. She was a good speaker, I thought, but it went on seemingly forever, and it was hot.

I looked at the staff, studied each face. I suppose a student could have killed Lena and Dwight, but I thought staff. A teacher. A coach. An administrator. Someone who knew the ins and outs of the school and could get into Dwight’s classroom without being detected. Someone Dwight knew and trusted.

Their killer was here. Unfortunatelykillerwasn’t stamped on any forehead.

I didn’t see Angie until the student body president finally finished her speech and I spotted her, Peter, and Andy heading toward the parking lot. Good, she was sticking close to her friends.

“The autopsy won’t be until Monday,” Chavez said. He walked with Jack and me toward where we parked.

“And? You came here on the off chance that you’d run into me just to say you have nothing?”

“However,” Chavez continued, “we’re working the case as a homicide.”

“What did you find?” Jack asked.

“No physical evidence, if that’s what you mean. The scene looks like a suicide. But two things stand out. First, his message to you. We must have listened to it a dozen times. He was making plans. He also responded to your message with a text, and we confirmed it came from his phone, and his phone only has his prints on it.

“Then, we interviewed the maintenance manager a second time. His story is consistent. He’s worked for the district for thirty-two years, and at Sun Valley for more than half that time. Parsons has been here for all those years, so he knows the teacher well. He was grading papers at his desk. The manager asked when he was leaving, and Parsons said he didn’t want to be home alone just yet, but he was looking forward to seeing his son, who was flying in Friday night.”

“When does his son arrive?” I asked.

“Tonight at nine. I just don’t see a man who knows his son is coming home, who sounded happy about the visit, killing himself.”

“Playing devil’s advocate,” Jack said. “What if he killed himself at school so his son wouldn’t find his body?”

“Maybe,” Chavez said, but didn’t sound like he believed that scenario. “Why not in his car? Check into a motel so a student or colleague doesn’t find him? Again, we’re not ruling out suicide, but all the boxes aren’t checked.”

We stopped at Jack’s truck.

“The other issue we keep running up against is the timing in Lena Clark’s murder,” Chavez said. “Exact time of death is generally hard to pinpoint, but we have a very short window between her call to you, Margo, and when Parsons called for help at 5:27. He could have walked into her office and immediately stabbed her then called for help. But we know he didn’t get there before 5:25. Too many people saw him walking from his classroom to the administrative building.”

“The suicide note,” I said, seeing what he saw. “It doesn’t ring true.”

Chavez nodded. “His letter says she broke up with him and he saw the letter opener and stabbed her before he realized what he was doing. She was stabbed four times. One of the wounds nicked her heart. She died in minutes. When did they have time to argue? Did he walk in at 5:25 and she told him, ‘It’s over,’ and he stabbed her and then called for help? The 911 call came in at 5:27. And there’s one thing that we’ve kept out of the media. I’m going to tell you both this, but please don’t share the info.”