Chapter 27

Ty Conroy had followed in his father’s footsteps, becoming a biology teacher at the local high school, the same school his father had taught at twenty years earlier. I arrived just as classes had ended for the day, and I found Ty in his classroom, tidying up his desk.

Ty was a tall man and heavyset, with a receding hairline he was struggling to hold on to even though he’d already lost the fight. His shirt, an ill-fitted, short-sleeved button-up, had once been white but now it had a gray tinge to it like it had been washed with a load of darks too many times. And while it appeared he’d tried tucking it into his black trousers at some point earlier in the day, it had come halfway untucked, with baggy areas flapping over the top of his pants.

He didn’t see me when I first walked in, but I saw him, reaching into the top of his desk drawer and pulling out a silver flask. He twisted off the cap, bent his head back, and took a long, hearty swig, wiping his mouth afterward as he breathed out the stress of a long school day.

He slid the flask back into the drawer, closed it, and turned, startled to see me standing there, eyeing him with curiosity.

I flashed him a big grin and said, “I feel like this is where I’m supposed to say it’s five o’clock somewhere. I mean, not here … but somewhere.”

Here it was three o’clock, not that it mattered.

School was out.

His students were gone.

Who was I to judge the man for taking a wee gulp of liquor if he needed one? I had no idea what kind of day he’d had, or week, or year, for that matter.

“I’m … uhh, sorry,” he said. “I didn’t see you come in.”

I swished a hand through the air. “It’s all right. Take another swig if you need one. Sip, sip away.”

I almost laughed after I said it, but he hadn’t so much as cracked a smile. He hadn’t found my quip as funny as I did, it seemed.

Ty moved a hand to his hip and asked, “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What are you doing here? Is there something I can do for you?”

“I’m Georgiana Germaine, and I’m a?—”

“I’ll stop you there. You’re investigating the murders of my old classmates. I’ve heard. Everyone in town has, I expect. Word gets out fast around here.”

So it would seem.

“If you know who I am, I’m guessing you also know why I’m here,” I said.

“I do not.”

Except he did—I could tell.

“Sure you do,” I said.

He stared at me for a moment and then said, “I haven’t talked to anyone about what happened back then in a long time. I don’t know how I can be of any help.”

I did.

“I heard an interesting story about you yesterday,” I said.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Back when your father taught here, he created a final test for his students, a test he never changed over the years.”

“What about it?”

“You knew about the test, knew your father always gave the same one year after year. You slipped a copy to Jackson, so he’d get a good grade. Except it backfired when your father figured out Jackson and a few of his friends had seen it beforehand.”

Ty cleared his throat once, then again.

He pointed at the door to the classroom and said, “Would you mind closing it, please? This isn’t a conversation I wish to have while faculty members are walking around in the hallway.”

I did as he asked, and then I joined him at his desk.

“I haven’t thought about what happened back then in … well, many years,” he said. “It’s not a memory a person wants to revisit.”

“Your father didn’t take it well when he found out some of his students had cheated.”

“He did not, and he blamed me for all of it. He stopped speaking to me.”

Before I’d driven over to the school, I’d taken a moment to read the notes in the case file about the interview Whitlock and Harvey had conducted at Ty’s home during the murder investigation, and I learned a few things I didn’t know.

“Your father died a week before you graduated from high school,” I said. “He overdosed on pain killers.”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Must have been hard on you, given the two of you weren’t speaking.”

“My father was recovering from a motor bike accident. He was in a lot of pain, and he was depressed. We didn’t realize how bad things were until after he died. I don’t … ahh … I don’t want to talk about him.”

“I imagine everything that happened back then was upsetting,” I said. “You trusted Jackson with the test. You asked him not to show it to anyone, and he broke your trust. If he hadn’t shown it to anyone else, there’s a good chance no one would have ever known what happened.”

“Why does any of this matter now? Why waste your time coming here to talk to me about it?”

My reasons were forthcoming.

I just had a few more things to say before I gave him the hard press.

“When your father realized some of his students had cheated, he went to the school principal,” I said.

“What about it?”

“He was so upset, he retired,” I said.

“Who told you that?”

“One of your classmates.”

“It isn’t true. My father didn’t retire because some knuckleheads cheated on a test. He was going to retire anyway. He just hadn’t told anyone yet. My mother and I knew, but my dad was waiting to make it official until after school got out for the summer.”

Ty seemed nervous, and I wasn’t close to being done yet.

He ran a hand along his sweaty brow.

“You assaulted Jackson after the truth came out,” I said. “You pushed him up against the lockers and tried to choke him.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake … I don’t have time for this right now. This entire conversation, it’s ridiculous. What happened with Jackson at his locker wasn’t a big deal. I was angry.”

“Did you think he wouldn’t turn you in if he got caught?” I asked.

“I dunno. Hard to say. He was put in a difficult predicament.”

A difficult predicament?

He was playing it off like it meant nothing.

Then again, a lot of time had passed since it happened.

Maybe it wasn’t a big deal anymore.

“The day after the test, Jackson and a few of his friends were called into the principal’s office,” I said. “They didn’t admit to cheating, but Jackson’s stepdad said he’d seen the test in Jackson’s room. The following day, the principal found a note on the door of his office stating you were the one who’d given Jackson the test. I assume you thought Jackson wrote the note because you confronted him. You spit in his face.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“There were eyewitnesses who saw what happened.”

“I didn’t spit on Jackson on purpose. I was mad, and while I was yelling at him, I got carried away. I wasn’t trying to choke him either. I was trying to keep him from taking off until I told him how I felt about what he did.”

“I bet I know how you felt when you gave him the test,” I said. “You felt accepted. You thought the two of you were friends. You thought you were doing him a solid, a favor no one else could have done except for you.”

“I felt bad for the guy. So what?”

“You felt bad for him before you gave him the test … not after everything came out. Someone wrote the note. Someone stuck it on the principal’s door, and you decided Jackson did it.”

Ty opened his desk drawer. I thought he was going to reach for the flask again, but he didn’t. He grabbed a bottle of water, opened it, and drank it halfway down. Then he slammed it down on the desk, shaking his head as he said, “I confronted Jackson that day, yes. I asked if he’d written the note. He started laughing, and he just kept on laughing while everyone looked on.”

“You threatened him. You said you’d make him pay. You said you’d make them all pay.”

“I was heated. It was a stupid thing to say. I should have never said it. For all I know, any one of them could have written that note.”

I tapped a fingernail on the top of his desk, thinking about what he’d just said to me. “I’m trying to figure out why you’re defending Jackson, even now, a kid who I’ve heard was a school bully at times. Why not be honest about how you feel? What does it matter now?”

Ty downed the rest of the water and said, “He’s dead! Why would I speak ill of him now? I’m alive. I’m still living. He died too young. They all did, lost their lives to some violent maniac who’s still free because the cops in this town couldn’t do their job!”

There it was, the anger I’d been pushing for, needling him bit by bit until I wore him down. His anger showed me he still had a temper after all these years. And even though twenty years had passed, not only did he still blame Jackson, but I believed he hadn’t forgiven Jackson for his betrayal.

“When the police interviewed your family, your mother said you were with her the night Jackson and the others died,” I said. “I read it in the police file. Is that true?”

“I was at home all night, just like she said.”

“Funny thing about parents … many will do anything to protect their child whether they’re guilty or innocent.”

“Is that why you’re here—to accuse me of murdering five people?”

And attempted murder of a sixth.

“I haven’t accused you of anything.” I pointed at the sleeve of his shirt. “You’ve got what looks like a reddish stain on your shirt sleeve, at the bottom, by the cuff.”

Ty raised his wrist, staring at what I’d just pointed out. “I don’t know what that is or how it got there.”

I steered the conversation in a more pointed direction.

“Must have been hard for Cora, to be the only one to survive the attack,” I said. “She’s lucky to be alive … gone but not forgotten.”

Gone but not forgotten, the words left on the cabin wall.

I wondered how he’d react when he heard them.

But he had no reaction, none at all.

“I was relieved when I heard Cora survived,” he said. “She was a nice person, from what I remember about her, at least.”

“I took a trip up to the cabin yesterday where it all happened. There was a message written on one of the bedroom walls. And sure, I suppose it could be old. But I think it’s new. I think the killer is still around. He’s sent a message to Cora to incite fear, to make sure she knows he knows she’s still alive.”

“Huh, I’m surprised. I heard the family hasn’t been to the cabin for years. Students go up there on a dare from time to time. They’re convinced the cabin is haunted. You know how stories like that go. Everyone’s always curious about a murder house.”

“I suppose they are.”

“You want to know what’s crazy about it all? Detectives came to my house back then because they considered me a suspect. Me, someone who’s never been in an altercation in his life.”

“But you have been in an altercation … with Jackson.”

Ty rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t count.”

“Doesn’t it?” I asked.

“He didn’t get hurt.” Ty leaned over his desk, grabbed a stack of papers, and stuffed them into a worn, brown-leather satchel dangling off the side of his desk chair. “If there’s nothing else … I need to get going.”

“I suppose I’ve troubled you enough for now.”

“For now? What? You think I’m a suspect too?”

“Maybe. Whether you are or you aren’t, I’ll know soon enough.”

Ty slung the satchel over his shoulder, flashing me a snarky grin as he said, “You think you’re smart? You think I’m your guy? Prove it.”

I smiled back. “Oh, don’t worry. If you’re guilty, I will.”