The Augustine Murders - Season 3, Episode 1

III.1

(“Give me the poison that should illuminate or kill my reason!”)

February 17^th, 1990 – Saturday

  The steel door closed behind Scott. He was walking slowly, still wearing handcuffs. He was in jail now.

– “I’d like to call a friend.”

– “You've had your phone call. Follow me.”

  Sheriff Maxwell was guiding him downstairs. Biberton’s police precinct had a number of small cells in its basements. They were empty at the moment.

– “This won’t do... I didn’t catch you drunk on the Interstate. Besides...” the sheriff yawned. “It’s time to go to sleep.”

  Scott yawned as a way of answering. It was almost 4AM.

– “You’re lucky that we put a bed in there, with a new mattress, new drapes and covers.”

  The sheriff had just introduced Scott into a closed room, with a solid door, that was used as the main cell in the precinct. It was scantily furnished, of course: a table and a chair, both painted in an immaculate white, a large bed and a sink in the corner. There was no window... A small, barred opening in the wall, close to the ceiling, let the moonlight in through reinforced glass. These walls were made of thick concrete, only decorated with wood panels on the outside.

– “How do you like it?”

– “I should be fine in here for the night.”

– “Good.”

  The sheriff opened Scott’s cuffs. As he turned around, they exchanged one last look.

– “You wouldn’t give me the presidential suite if you thought I had anything to do with that man’s murder.”

– “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m convinced that you had something to do with the death of... What’s his name again?”

– “Huggins. Dylan Huggins.”

– “Right. You told me yourself that you were supposed to meet the guy.”

– “Yes, only yesterday... In his office. Not today.”

– “And he didn’t show up.”

– “No...”

– “We’ll have to wait for the autopsy report, but it’s pretty clear to me that he may have been dead for more than one day... Who knew about this meeting of yours?”

– “I have no idea.”

  Sheriff Maxwell took off his hat and put it on the table before Scott. Then he looked straight into his eyes.

– “You’ve been looking for trouble since the first day you’ve come to Biberton, haven’t you?”

  Scott didn’t know what to say.

  He had only been in town for a few weeks, and he had played his hand rather well – only the game was more dangerous than expected. Spending a night in jail might be the least of his troubles, if he went on with it.

– “I don’t know... I’m no detective, I’m a journalist. Whatever I’ve been looking for must be a concern for some people I don’t even know.”

– “Give yourself some credit. You’ve started asking questions as journalists do, but you have been investigating just the same. Some people would rather deal with a P.I. than a journalist.”

– “Why?”

– “Because those guys can keep their eyes shut, and nobody will know. That’s the upside of being private. Your job is to make everything public. A crime is a crime, you turn it into an event. You’re making a scene. You add drama. You create scandals. That’s more damaging than a crime... for those people.”

  The subtle tone of threat was not lost on Scott, no matter how subtle the sheriff could be. Clearly, the man’s position depended on the general feeling of safety and security for everyone in the county.

  The phone rang in the sheriff’s office. He didn’t rush to answer. After two rings, the call was automatically transferred downstairs. He took the receiver outside the cell.

– “Biberton P.D. What can I do for you? Oh... Sorry?”

  Scott was sitting on the bed, waiting. It was more comfortable than he thought. He noticed Sheriff Maxwell waving at him.

– “It’s for you.”

– “Really?”

  He took the receiver. It was Will calling from his office.

– “Will?”

– “The one and only... Seriously, Scott, is that a time to play games and ask me for a “get out of jail” card?”

– “You know it’s not a game.”

– “Boy, do I know. Mr Horn is furious like you wouldn’t believe...”

– “What did he say?”

– “In a nutshell... You’ve had your fun. It’s time to go back to work.”

– “I am in the middle of work right now!”

– “Right...”

– “What does he think I’ve been doing?”

– “From the way you’ve spent the newspaper’s money, “holiday” doesn’t begin to describe it. As an editor, Mr Horn thinks that you’ve only been enjoying yourself. He didn’t want to send you away, that was a rotten job, but you took advantage of him.”

– “Oh, boo hoo... What now? What’s next?”

– “There’s nothing next. He wants it to stop now.” Will took a deep breath. “I’ll be in Biberton, first thing in the afternoon.

– “What? No way...”

– “Sleep tight, Scott.”

– “Wait! No... Wait...”

  Will had already hung up.

– “That scheming, little bastard!”

– “...Trouble with your boss?”

  Sheriff Maxwell was looking at Scott in amazement.

  The young journalist nodded. Then he started laughing. Will was right. Mr Horn was right. Of course, he had been enjoying himself immensely on his employers’ money. These last weeks in Biberton were the best time in his life...

  And he had no intention to stop. There was a crime to solve. There was a new crime attached to the first one, just to spice things up... Scott wasn’t the kind of guy who would give up so easily. He only wanted to keep enjoying himself.

■ ■ ■
  

  The meeting had to take place in Mr Porkenham’s private salon. It was a very large chamber, lined with innumerable volumes, many of which had overflowed from the shelves and lay in piles in the corners, or were stacked all round at the base of the cases. A number of comfortable, black leather armchairs were in the center of the room. In the only large couch, propped up with pillows, was the headmaster of the school, Mr Porkenham.

  He put a little bell on a coaster next to him, after ringing it. Coffee would be served in a moment, with cookies, marble cake, small pies, toasts, butter and jam.

– “Do sit down, gentlemen...”

  The entire board of administrators was present, which made the absence of one of them more remarkable. The recent death of their colleague, Mr Huggins, was a crushing blow for them.

  Mr Swayn was the only person still standing. He was pacing nervously, picking up a book from time to time, and leaving it only a few steps away from its previous place. Mr Thorne kept trying not to smack his lips, waiting patiently for coffee to be served. As a cook, Mrs Spread didn’t look so thirsty or hungry, but she removed a few items from the low table in front of the headmaster, so the maid would have no problem with the platters of food. The others were sitting in an uncomfortable silence. Father Knox was the only one actually busy, writing a few words now and then on a piece of paper laid across his knee.

  When the maid came in with the coffee and cookies, she didn’t feel welcome at all. Everyone was waiting for a more important visitor, whose presence was even less desired than hers.

– “What time did he say he would be here?”

– “Does it really matter? Mr Wingrave is bringing him here from the station.”

  Everyone looked at the people sitting in the other armchairs. There was only one empty place left – where Mr Huggins used to sit down, have a drink, listen to his colleagues and make a harmless joke every once in a while...

This was no time for a joke.

– “It looks like we have a visitor.” Mr Swayn announced, looking outside from the window.

– “Do you see Mr Wingrave and our guest coming this way?”

– “No...”

– “What, is he alone?”

– “I didn’t see them yet.”

– “How can you tell, then?”

– “Mr Scupper has just stopped raking the leaves. Then the bell must be ringing at the gate. There, just as I thought.”

  At the end of a very large field, the gardener was opening the school’s gate. Then Mr Swayn confirmed that the head of security was coming their way with a younger and much thinner man, looking well-dressed and impetuous.

– “We’ve met him before. He attended Michael Astern’s funeral.”

– “Did he really?”

– “Taking pictures, I believe...”

  Mr Swayn turned to face his colleagues. He straightened his jacket with a sly grin, secretly quite satisfied of his little act. There he was, looking perfectly quiet and confident, while they were all pale and stiff with anxiety.

  After a moment, Mr Richard Wingrave introduced their guest in the salon, and Mr Porkenham made the presentations for Will.

– “How do you do?”

– “How do you do...”

“What a bunch of pasty, gloomy masks for a Mardi Gras...” he thought with a discrete smile.

  Will had been thinking about the whole case on his way to Biberton. Scott had told him pretty much everything about Saint Augustine Bells school for boys. He knew what to expect, and one look around the room was enough to have his hunch confirmed.

  The death of one of their students under mysterious circumstances was a concern, of course, but seeing one of the administrators – one of them – killed no less mysteriously was more than they could handle. They looked like a sword was hanging over their heads, which they had not noticed before.

– “I have been wondering about the kind of announcement you would like to make for the press.”

  Mr Porkenham rose from his couch. His large, blue-veined hands were clasped tightly over the ivory head of his cane.

– “We do not wish to make any declaration to the press. We will, naturally, let the police do its job... but we leave all the official business involved in this case to the officials.”

  Will tried not to smile in front of the headmaster.

– “Have you informed the victim's family?”

– “Mr Huggins was single, God bless him for that!” Mr Porkenham interrupted with that sharp, decisive manner for which he was famous in Saint Augustine. “To inform one's family must, in the long run, mean to inform the public, which is what we particularly desire to avoid.”

  The old man sat down. Clearly, he had not slept much. Will noticed the glimmer of anger in his eyes. There was no need for him to be told that no account of the previous night's events should ever be printed in any newspaper...

– “Are you all quite clear about this case?”

– “Not quite... To be perfectly honest, I can make neither head nor tail of it. So far as I can see it is just as tangled a business as ever I handled.”

– “How so?”

– “Well, there is no motive.” Mr Swayn suggested.

– “Here's a man dead. Killed... There's no denying that.” Mr Porkenham almost growled. “But, so far as I can see, no reason why anyone should wish him harm.”

  Will lit his cigarette and leaned back in his chair.

– “Come on. Let's hear about it.”

– “We've got our facts pretty clear...” Mr Swayn straightened his jacket once again, not feeling so confident anymore. “We simply can't imagine how to put them together in a way that makes sense. Mr Huggins had nothing against him either as a teacher or as an administrator in Saint Augustine Bells. He had few relations outside this school, and he was generally considered as a decent, quiet, hard-working man.”

  Will only had to wait and let him say his piece.

– “What about the place where his body was found?”

– “That's the gardener's pavilion.”

– “The old gardener's pavilion...” Mr Porkenham corrected. “The school has provided a new place for Mr Scupper to store his equipment. That pavilion was no longer used by anyone...”

– “Is it under surveillance?”

  Everyone turned to Mr Wingrave, who almost choked on his piece of pie.

– “I regret to say that... No, that part of campus wasn’t under surveillance.”

– “How is that possible?”

– “We’ve had trouble with the camera. It’s been off for almost a week, now... I have called the repairman, but it was not considered top priority, since there was nothing to look at, except that little, old building of no particular interest.”

  Evidently, Mr Wingrave wished that he could hide under the pillows like a little mouse – even more so as Will guessed that the head of security weighed no less than a hefty 320lbs...

– “So the place was closed down?”

– “I thought it was. Evidently, Mr Huggins had access to it.”

– “Who else had a key?”

– “Mr Wingrave, our head of security, of course. And Mr Scupper, our gardener.”

– “How about you, Mr Porkenham?”

  The old man froze. He was about to rise from the couch, holding his cane like a stick when Mr Swayn came to his rescue at once.

– “Almost anyone in the staff would have access to that pavilion... The school's locking system has only been improved recently.”

– “How so?”

– “Two years ago, we realized that any key used for a teacher's bedroom or office could open another office, or any store room for that matter. Naturally, the board of administrators decided to make individual locks and keys, but this change only affected the new buildings and the rooms currently in use.”

– “I see...”

– “It is quite possible that one of these old keys was stolen, or at least lost and found... by a student.”

– “This is only speculation!” Mr Porkenham almost snarled at his younger colleague.

– “It was speculation until we found such a key in one of the students’ bedroom. That’s when we decided to take action.”

  Mr Swayn sat down, his face a bit flushed after such an argument.

– “We have made a thorough search of all the rooms and bedrooms...”

– “Is that so?” Will asked nonchalantly.

– “Of course, research of that kind can only lead us to a certain point. I happen to know that some of our... least disciplined boys have a number of hiding places for their personal belongings.”

– “Then, even a student could have come to the pavilion, where Mr Huggins was killed.”

– “I'm afraid that we can't dismiss that possibility.”

  This was bad news for Will, who only enjoyed a puzzle when he was could solve it in less than an hour. This was tougher. He had no clue at all...

– “Who knew about the camera being off, for the last few days?”

– “I wasn’t aware of it!” Mr Porkenham claimed.

  The other people in the room nodded, dumbstruck and shivering.

– “How about the students? Young boys are so much more in tune with modern technologies, they must have noticed this. It’s like a sixth sense, for them...”

  Of course, a breach in the school’s security system could explain everything.

  What would Mr Huggins be doing in a place like that, unless he had some secret business to do? Did he ask for someone to meet him there, or was he answering to an invitation? The second possibility sounded better. Someone had asked him to come – and killed him.

  Looking up, after a long moment almost lost in his thoughts, the young photographer found solace in the fact that he had just raised everyone’s level of anxiety to some unprecedented heights. The tables were turned. Whoever was behind Michael’s murder may no longer be interested in more or less innocent, young boys...

  Anyone of them could be the next victim.

■ ■ ■

  

  The basements in the police precinct were warm. Scott’s cell was close to the janitor’s closet, with the building’s heating system. His bed was a bit smaller but almost as comfortable as the one in his bedroom at the Paddington Hotel. He was still lying in there, naked, looking at the sky through that little window.

  It was raining outside. Everything was so quiet. Scott didn’t want to get out of bed...

  He stretched his arms and moaned for a moment. Then he turned his back to the wall and saw a pile of sandwiches on his table, with a few bottles of soft drinks.

– “Hmmm... Sandwiches again?”

  Scott had already eaten a hearty breakfast around 9AM. Sheriff Maxwell had brought a bunch of sandwiches, made by his wife Maria – especially for him.

  Then he had enjoyed an even larger lunch, with Tupperware boxes full of rice with spicy meatballs and sauce, home-made tacos and sandwiches, followed by desserts. He wasn’t particularly hungry now, but the sight and smell of those sandwiches made his mouth water...

– “Okay, I’ll only have one or two... or three.”

  Scott grabbed two sandwiches in each hand, and went back to bed.

  Sitting against the wall, he ate the first one in a matter of minutes, then the second. He tore into the third one even faster, and it wasn’t long before the last one joined the other three in his stomach.

– “God, Maria’s cooking is so good!”

  He was already rearranging the covers with four more sandwiches next to him. They were too delicious to resist. And there were five or six more on the table.

– “No wonder her husband is getting fat...”

  Scott hardly mumbled those words, eating and moaning as he grabbed one bite after another, not even slowing down on his chewing.

  When the last sandwich was gone, he felt surprisingly frustrated that there had been only fifteen foot-long sandwiches with meat balls and spicy marinara sauce. He was also quite full, after such a “snack”.

– “BUUURRRP!”

  Scott rubbed his belly under the covers. He had a hiccup for a moment, then all felt comfortable, quiet and fuzzy around him. That was enough to make him fall asleep.

  He may have trouble with his jeans’ top button, when the sheriff would let him out of his cell – but he couldn’t care less, right now...

  The young prisoner was only looking forward to another home-cooked meal for dinner.

■ ■ ■

  

February 19^th, 1990 – Monday

  Visiting hours in Biberton’s hospital and Police precinct started around 9AM.

  Will was naturally impressed with Sheriff Maxwell’s commanding good looks. He had to wait for a few minutes, and sign a few forms, to be allowed to see Scott. As a matter of fact, his colleague was still eating breakfast, and he didn’t feel like dressing up so early in the morning.

– “Looks like they’re not treating you so bad... I’m ready to swear that you have put on more weight in here!”

  Scott didn’t answer. He looked grumpy in his tight jeans and shirt.

– “Good morning to you too!” Will chuckled.

– “You didn’t come to Biberton just to say hello... What’s the news?”

– “There isn’t much to be told, so far. It is just as you and I suspected. They are all afraid that there is a killer loose in that school. It may be one of the teachers. It may be one of the students... It may be anyone, really.”

– “This second murder should give us enough information to narrow it down.”

– “I can’t imagine how. The only person who had an appointment with the victim on the day of his death is... well, you.”

– “Seriously?”

– “According to his notebook.”

– “Just my luck...”

  Will threw him a sideways look.

– “Don’t get me started about your luck. You’ve been a pretty lucky bastard, so far, hanging around such handsome fellows, in an atmosphere of pure mystery and delicious sweets, and... masculine sweat.”

– “What’s that supposed to mean?”

– “How about that stud muffin of a sheriff, for starters?”

– “Please... The guy’s married. And happily married, you can trust me on that one.”

– “Huh huh. I see you’ve done some more comparison shopping.”

– “Can you blame me?”

  Will nodded cheerfully, and sat on the bed next to Scott.

– “How about that blonde hunk, doctor Sexy?”

– “That’s not his name.”

– “Doctor Something? Who cares, they always call him Phil.”

– “Not in Saint Augustine, they don’t.”

– “Right, they call him... What is it already, golden Graham?”

– “Just Graham.”

– “Yeah... Why’s that?”

– “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you... And you’d be appalled if I did.”

– “Anyway... Phil... Woof!”

– “Give it a rest. Have you seen him lately?”

– “Yesterday evening. Now there’s a guy who looked like he had spent two days and nights in prison... not eating his way out of a gingerbread house!” Will poked Scott’s belly.

  The two boys had a friendly cat fight on the bedspread, until Scott crushed his opponent under his weight – which was enough for Will to put an end to it.

– “What was wrong with Phil?”

– “He was in charge of performing the autopsy. That’s no fun, of course, but they also told me that he had not slept for more than an hour between Friday and Saturday, so he wasn’t exactly at the top of his game. Still, the administrators in Augustine Bells insisted on getting a report as soon as possible, so he had to hurry up and join us in Mr Porkenham’s office.”

– “I can only imagine...”

– “The poor guy was a kept under pressure for the last 48 hours.”

  Will leaned back against the wall, hands behind his head.

– “Of course, I could think of a few ways to make him feel a lot better...”

– “Don’t even try.”

– “How far did you get with him? He looks cuddlier than a teddy bear.”

  Scott blushed as he remembered Phil’s passionate kiss, after he had compared him to a bear. It was a special occasion. They were both tipsy. Scott was drunk, actually, and he had eaten way too much at Matt’s.

– “I see...” Will teased.

– “Nothing happened the way you think it did.”

– “Too bad. You would have enjoyed quite a night... And I’m willing to bet my bottom dollar that he’s up to the challenge. Ha ha!”

– “He’s a good guy. Don’t play games with him.”

– “I know you, Scott. You want to be the only one who “plays games” with him.”

  Once again, Scott didn’t answer. Will was right.

– “What is he for you, another boy toy?”

– “I don’t know... He’s a doctor. The guys I used to date own a Volvo dealership, at best. They weren’t the sharpest pencils in the box, with little to no personality, and they had money. Phil’s nice and all, but he’s poor like a farmhand.”

– “Is that so...”

– “I don’t know. He’s different.”

– “You never cease to amaze me. That kind of change would be for you.”

  Scott let out a sigh.

– “You know what my mom used to tell me, as a kid.”

– “I wouldn’t mind it if you reminded me.”

– “She always said that I had too many toys... I would never know what I really want.”

■ ■ ■

  

  Mr Huggins’s body had been sent to the morgue early in the morning. Phil had hardly left the corpse, from the pavilion where it was found to the hospital. The young doctor wasn’t quite ready to perform an autopsy, but he was only allowed an hour of rest. One phone call to the mayor, then to Dr. Lipton, and Phil was up again, alone and working on the case.

  Nurse Vickers started managing the desk around 8AM. She joined Phil in his office and helped him with his report. His work shirt and T-shirt were a mess, as always, and she made him change so he would look decent before the board of administration of Saint Augustine Bells.

  More than anyone in the hospital, Nurse Vickers knew the importance of a good impression. Phil had never been raised properly, in her own opinion, which was evident from the way he stood in front of an audience or a jury.

  She wasn’t entirely wrong. Phil put on a dry, clean T-shirt, but he had no shirt left, except for his sleeveless plaid shirt. As for his jeans, they were worn out and almost shiny around the seams...

  As one of the few people present in Mr Porkenham’s salon, Will could tell Scott how the doctor’s autopsy report had turned into a very personal interrogation.

  He had tried to lift the mood a little, shaking hands with Phil and welcoming him like a newcomer in a bar, also commenting not too subtly on the way he was dressed.

– “Howdy, Woody Guthrie!”

  But that cheerful outburst fell flat.

  It was only a matter of minutes before Mr Swayn and Mr Porkenham backed the young doctor into a corner. According to Will, their attitude may have been part of their routine, since Phil happened to be part of the staff as their male nurse. They were particularly mean to him, as it was.

  The facts were presented with some clarity, although the doctor was constantly interrupted.

– “The victim was found around 8PM last night... He was immediately identified as Mr Dylan Huggins, whose whereabouts were unclear for the previous 24 hours.”

  Phil had to catch his breath. Mr Porkenham gently hit the corner of the coffee table with his cane, so the people around him eventually stopped mumbling and chattering to listen to the autopsy report.

– “Considering the rigidity of the corpse, it is clear that Mr Huggins was dead long before his body was found.”

  That statement alone was enough to keep everyone’s mouth shut.

– “To be more precise, I would establish the time of death between 2PM and 4PM on the previous day.”

– “How do doctors get to know these things? I’ve always wondered...”

– “The contents of the deceased’s stomach showed traces of food consistent with lunch, which he may have eaten alone in his office. As we all knew Mr Huggins to be a man of regular habits, he only drank coffee in the company of a teacher or a member of the staff, around five o’ clock...”

– “True... True.” Mr Porkenham encouraged him to go on.

– “There was no trace of caffeine in his system, so we can assume that Mr Huggins was killed before he had the opportunity to drink coffee.”

– “That’s good enough for me!” Will was really tempted to applaud the blonde guy, who kept shifting his weight from on leg to the other, standing in the middle of the room, next to the coffee table.

  There was a moment of silence, then Mr Porkenham asked the question that was on the tip of everyone’s tongue.

– “How did it... happen?”

– “Mr Huggins was killed with a long piece of thin, but solid rope or wire.”

– “Like piano wire?”

– “Huh... Maybe, something like that...”

– “Who uses piano wire to strangle someone? This is absurd!”

– “How would anyone get his hands on piano wire?” Mr Thorne asked. “I doubt that there is any musical instrument in this school bigger than a whistle!”

  Phil tried to make himself clear. It wasn’t too easy for him, as he was already struggling to keep his eyes opened.

– “The nature of the wound is consistent with the marks left by a certain length of thin, flexible wire or rope... The killer may have used a strong fishing line, for instance.”

  Mr Thorne nodded approvingly.

– “Fishing line... That is certainly more plausible. You can keep it in your pocket, swiftly pull on it, and then hide it just the same as you leave the scene.”

  Mr Swayn suddenly turned to Phil.

– “If the murder didn’t happen yesterday, how about the scene of the crime?”

– “I beg your pardon?”

– “Is it possible that Mr Huggins was killed somewhere else, and his body was moved and hidden in that pavilion thereafter?”

  That was a lot of information for the blonde guy to take in.

– “I, huh... I really don’t see what you mean.”

– “If the man was killed in the middle of the afternoon...” Mr Thorne interrupted, “it would be hard to move his body to that remote, little place unnoticed.”

– “I never suggested that this must have been done by day, right after Mr Huggins was killed. But sometimes during the night, maybe?...”

  Will didn’t like the way Mr Swayn was looking at Phil.

– “That pavilion is quite far away from the main buildings, I will agree to that... but not so distant from the gym and swimming pool, and infirmary.”

– “These are all in the same building.” Mr Thorne protested.

– “Quite... Not so distant from your apartment on campus, then, since it is the only one still in use in that building...” Mr Swayn looked straight into Phil’s eyes, rather aggressively. “Am I right?”

– “Well... yes, you are right.”

  Mr Porkenham was getting impatient.

– “What’s your point, Mr Swayn? Mr Huggins was found by that young busybody, I mean... Mr Girder...” The old man turned to Will with a little, apologetic bow. “as he was leaving from the infirmary. That’s a ten minute walk, at best.”

– “Then I should ask our male nurse if he didn’t happen to see Mr Huggins during that fatal afternoon.”

– “I couldn’t... I was busy in my office, then I had to go to the hospital.”

– “We have all been asking ourselves the same question: where were we when our friend and colleague was killed. Evidently we’ve made a mistake, looking for everyone’s alibi on Friday evening, when we should have been focusing on Thursday afternoon.”

  With a long, theatrical gesture, Mr Swayn proceeded to ask the people sitting around him. Mrs Swayn, then father Knox and the others told about their various occupations on that day, sometimes producing their agendas to leave no doubt about it. Phil also had his notebook, where every appointment was written down and could be easily confirmed by one of the nurses at the hospital.

– “Then we are all in the clear...” Mr Swayn sat down, and joined his fingertips “...unless someone here is lying.”

  Will was amazed by the young man’s attitude, once again.

  Much to everyone’s surprise, Phil had something else to say.

– “I would have to agree on what you suggested earlier.”

– “What was it, exactly?”

– “The body was moved. Mr Huggins was already dead when his killer made him sit in that chair on the pavilion’s first floor...”

  There was a long moment of silence. Even the few people who had listened to Mr Swayn’s argument with an amused smile were horrified now.

– “Then he was moved...”

– “Where was he killed, then?”

– “There were a few bloodstains in the stairs, when I joined Scott and Sheriff Maxwell...” Phil offered “...and very few traces on the floor, which was almost white with dust.”

– “...So?”

– “My point is...” Phil scratched his head. “There was no sign of struggle. Sheriff Maxwell should look for them on ground floor, where the furniture is stored in such a mess that clues could be easily overlooked.”

  Mr Porkenham agreed. He was ready to let everyone go when Mr Thorne added a few words of warning.

– “There is another possibility...”

– “Yes?”

– “Of course, we should keep looking for everyone’s whereabouts during the last three days, check the security cameras for any remarkable detail, but there are some people that we can’t question. And yet, we can’t ignore them.”

  Mr Thorne’s colleagues knew what he meant, but Will insisted.

– “The students?”

– “That’s right... Mr Huggins was close to them. He handled their school records. He may have known something important about Michael’s... death.”

  The old man suddenly stopped talking. Everyone turned to the windows. The wind had been howling around the school buildings all afternoon, but there was a loud rumor outside.

– “What is it?”

  Will rushed to look outside. There was a crowd of at least two hundred students on school grounds, running under the heavy rain. They were not leaving their bedrooms, but there was something happening behind the West wing that was too interesting for them to stay behind.

– “There’s a great column of smoke...”

– “A fire? There’s a building on fire!”

  Almost everyone ran outside, cut through the crowd of chubby boys then stopped before the gardener’s pavilion. It was true... The relatively modest building was burning like a mass of charcoal. It looked like it had been blown up first.

– “No... No... No...” Mr Swayn mumbled between his teeth, his fists clenched by his sides.

  Father Knox urged the students to go back to their rooms, and lead a few of them himself. Mr Porkenham joined Will and Phil, who had run so much faster than him.

  Will only had eyes for the blonde guy, getting all wet in his tight, white T-shirt and sleeveless plaid shirt. Phil, on the other hand, just stood there almost petrified. Will couldn’t tell if there were tears or the rain rolling down his cheeks.

  Mr Scupper was already there with a large, black umbrella. He offered it to the school’s headmaster – with a few bitter words.

– “Whose clever idea was it to put a police cordon around the building?”

– “What do you mean?” Will turned to ask.

  The short, wrinkled gardener hardly even looked at him. His argument was with Mr Porkenham, who stood speechless under that umbrella.

– “Surely you knew that it would attract our boys better than flypaper!”

■ ■ ■

  

  That was the end of Will’s report.

– “Damn... So, the place is destroyed?”

– “The fire was easily put out. It was raining cats and dogs.”

– “It’s still raining...”

  Scott was still considering the pieces of the puzzle set before him. There were a few new pieces, but also a few missing ones, which would be lost forever.

– “We won’t find any piece of evidence in that pavilion.”

– “That’s what they kept saying. Except Phil... and me, of course.”

– “Seriously?”

– “The sheriff will only find something different... It was a murder scene, now it’s arson. Different crime, same investigation. He’s already working on it.”

– “Is he looking for something specific?”

– “As a matter of fact, he is. I have told Sheriff Maxwell that the fire started with an explosion. Then there must be some kind of device left in there.”

– “I see.”

– “Phil didn’t agree. The poor blonde guy’s just too good to have brains.”

– “Why? What did he say?”

– “In his opinion, the fire was simply a fire. With everything that was scattered around the building, including the windows and frames... Give me a break.”

  Scott didn’t want to argue with Will, but Phil was an Army doctor. He certainly had more experience around fires and explosions than the two journalists could even imagine...

– “You said Sheriff Maxwell was in Augustine Bells?”

– “Yes. That blimp who works as head of security, Mr...”

– “Wingrave.”

– “Yes, he called him at once. Then they secured the area a bit better, to avoid another incident.”

– “How so?”

– “There will be someone guarding the remains of that pavilion at all times, until the investigation is over. That should keep them busy for a few days...”

– “No doubt. Did the sheriff have something else to say?”

– “He was rather busy, when I left.”

– “I bet he was...”

– “He was interested in the autopsy, and our blonde friend the doctor kept trying to tell him about it, but there were too many people around us, you know... Too many students, buzzing like bees in a hive.”

– “Of course.”

  There was some noise in the street. Scott could swear that it was the police car being parked on the opposite side of the wall.

– “I guess his job’s done, back there...”

  Will got up and took his coat on the table.

– “...And my job’s done with you here. I’ll go back to town. Where do you think I should find a certain blonde, Southern bear at this hour?”

  Scott stretched out his body on the bed, looking sensual and mischievous like a cat.

– “If I knew where you can find him, why should I tell you?”

– “Don’t tell me that there are other bears in these woods... I know you better than that.”

– “Don’t tell me than you could be interested in only one guy. I know you better than that...”

– “You know me well, all right.”

– “You’re a hunter.”

– “I’m not hunting so much as... looking for pleasure in all the right places.”

  They could keep playing that game all day. Only Scott wasn’t in a good mood, right now.

– “What could you possibly want with Phil?”

– “Please, I want that saltine cracker spread on toast...”

  Scott decided to laugh about it.

– “All right, go and look for him. He’s probably still in Augustine Bells.”

  There were the sounds of footsteps in the basements. Sheriff Maxwell opened the door to Scott’s cell. He wasn’t alone.

– “Good evening! Visiting hours are over... You’re going out tomorrow morning, Scott, but you’ll have to make room for a cellmate for tonight.”

  Behind the sheriff’s tall, large frame, Phil was standing and waiting. Scott shook Will’s hand and wished him a pleasant evening – but with an impish grin.

■ ■ ■

  

  Once Will was gone, Scott was free to ask Sheriff Maxwell about Phil’s presence in his cell. The blonde boy was drenched, and so tired that he didn’t sit on the bed so much that he fell on the side and started to sleep.

– “I hope it’s okay with you.”

– “No, it’s perfect...” Scott stuttered. “Perfectly fine.”

  Phil was already snoring, which made him sound like a big, purring cat.

– “It’s fine, but why did you bring him in here?”

– “Honestly? It felt like the best thing to do, at the moment...”

– “Putting him in jail was the best thing to do?”

– “Yes. Look at him, he could barely stay awake to answer my questions.”

– “Wouldn’t he sleep better in his own bed?”

– “No doubt, but the others wouldn’t leave him alone for a minute.”

– “What others?”

– “Those guys in Saint Augustine Bells. They kept asking him questions, just as they kept asking me questions. I already had a headache. Taking the doctor for an interrogation at the Police precinct was the only way to put an end to all that yapping.”

– “Okay, then...”

  After a few words regarding the fire and the emotion it caused in the school, Sheriff Maxwell brought one last bag full of sandwiches for Scott’s dinner.

– “More sandwiches? You are too kind!”

– “Maria was really pleased when I told her that there wasn’t a crumb left from the previous ones, so she made these especially for you.”

– “Please thank her for me...”

  Scott’s mouth was already watering.

– “Good night.”

– “Good night. See you in the morning.”

  Scott wasn’t too hungry, but he knew how delicious Maria’s sandwiches could be – and he wasn’t disappointed. The whole meal was finished in little more than ten minutes.

  Phil was sleeping on the bed, behind him, still wearing his wet shirt and T-shirt.

– “Hello... Hello? Phil, wake up.”

  Scott made him sit up, but he could only be half awake.

– “You’re wet like a stray dog... Take off your shirt.”

  Phil did as he was told – slowly, carefully, like a guy under hypnosis.

– “All right. Your T-shirt, too.”

  Scott couldn’t help smiling and licking his lips, looking at the sleepy, shirtless guy. The aftertaste of Maria’s marinara sauce was delicious, and so was the sight of Phil’s muscled, furry blonde chest.

– “Time to turn out the lights, you big bear...” Scott let him fall back heavily on the bed cover.

  Phil was still wearing his shoes. Scott eventually decided to take them off, along with his socks. This caused the handsome, blonde guy to moan a bit, but it didn't wake him up. Then they both assumed sleeping positions in bed.

  For a moment, the two boys took some well-deserved rest together. Phil was sleeping on the side, with his back turned to Scott. It was all too tempting for him to just lie awake there...

  Scott carefully turned and hugged the big, beefy boy from behind. Phil was shorter than him, which allowed him to bury his nose in that wet, blonde mane of hair for a moment. It felt clean, nice and fragrant, as if he had just come out of the shower. Scott whispered a few words into his ear, very softly at first, then a bit louder – to see if he would react.

  Phil hardly even moved. The experience was a success.

  Closing his eyes, Scott went on a special game he had sometimes played in the past, with guys he allowed to spend the night in bed with him: checking him out with his hands, trying to reconstruct the boy's good looks as he fondled his body and followed its sensual curves, from his thighs and buttocks to his upper chest, tracing the outlines of his arms and shoulders, then again from the back of his neck to his face – in the case of a sound sleeper – without being distracted by a smile or a wink.

  Back when he was a football star, Scott would do so in the morning and it helped him establish just how much he had been drinking the night before. With a little more experience, he had improved the whole process and considered it a good “test” to get past first impressions, flirts and other deceptions, looking for potential roommates, bedmates or – highly unlikely – boyfriends.

“Just as I expected...” Scott thought. “There’s a lot more to this guy than meets the eye.”

  It was only natural that Phil's body should feel brawny and strong in all the right places – Scott was still delighted with everything he got to grope and grab, at the moment. Those worn-out jeans weren't much of a barrier, considering how thick and sturdy Phil's thighs were. His calves felt bigger than Scott's arms. Then the fabric of his pants was little more than paper thin around his meaty bubble butt – so magnificently shaped and so firm that Scott couldn't help licking his lips once again...

  Not surprisingly either, Phil was relatively well-fed. His waist was lean but his abs were hidden under a good layer of fat, which made his tummy comfortable and appealing, very much like a teddy bear. Phil truly deserved to be referred to with that kind of nickname, in a school like Saint Augustine Bells.

  Scott decided to start again from Phil's shoulders and going down. He was all too excited for his own good, at this point.

  Hugging his friend close, he could feel just how well-rounded those shoulders were – and those pecs. Had this blonde guy been smooth, his chest could have been cast in bronze and looked like an armor in a gladiator movie... But Phil was nicely furry, and Scott enjoyed following that happy trail of blonde hair – like a yellow, thick road going South through the forest, over the hills and in the valley.

“Time to look for the wizard...” Scott thought with a broad smile on his face, his heart racing in anticipation. He was already holding his breath.

  On more than one occasion, Scott had been wondering – and itching to check – if this cute, Southern guy didn't keep a roll of socks in his crotch or something like a large, ripe banana. Phil never made a display of it, but from the way he sat down, rose from his chair or simply stood up, a guy like Scott could guess that he was more than well-endowed...

  Clearly, this guy would feel a lot better if the medieval kind of leather codpieces should come back in fashion!

  Scott was moving slowly – making sure than Phil was still sound asleep – but there he was, and holding his breath was no longer enough. He could swear that his heart had just skipped a dozen beats... Lying so close together under the covers, both his body and Phil's felt warm and toasty.

“Okay... I really need to calm down...”

  All in all, he had gathered all the information he needed – and more... No roll of socks would ever feel this thick and firm. No banana would ever grow this big, no matter how ripe it could get. Scott certainly knew enough to make the difference – and he was amazed.

  His heart was racing again. The two boys were sweating to the point of feeling slippery now. Scott came a bit closer to whisper into his friend's ear, once again.

“Hold me, big brother?”

  He wasn't too sure that such a trick would work – but it did... Phil was asleep to the point of being easily influenced. He rolled on to lie on his back, keeping Scott in his arms to let his friend's head rest against his chest. Then he hugged him a bit tighter to encourage him to go to Sleep.

  Scott felt as if his own body had turned to silly putty...

  His move had worked. Phil was unconscious to the point of following his instinct and treating Scott like one of his younger brothers.

  It felt more than comfortable to sleep on top of such a big, cuddly and sexy Teddy bear. Scott had no brother or sister. He had never shared his bed with anyone – except for naughty games and sex. It was something entirely new for him, to be comforted like that. Phil was snoring again, which made him sound like a big cat... Scott wondered for a moment if bears were able to purr.

“Well, this bear does, I guess...”

  Surrendering to Phil's encouragement to sleep comfortably, Scott nestled his head between his friend's shoulder and chest, taking a good breath of his natural masculine scent, and closed his eyes for good.

  He had never been so aroused in his life. And he had never been with a guy like this and kept his pants on... Still, he didn't want to ruin such a perfect moment, and he fell asleep almost immediately.

■ ■ ■

  

February 21^st, 1990 – Wednesday

  Scott's interrogation only confirmed what everyone knew. As the guy who had found Mr Huggins's body, he was a person of interest, but he had noticed nothing special about the crime scene. It was dark, and he had left pretty soon.

  The whole place was a pile of ashes, right now. More than forty-eight hours had passed, and going through the remains of the pavilion had provided little result.   There was no sign of a bomb, or any explosive device so far...

  Will left Biberton with a long letter of explanation to their boss. Scott had also asked Sheriff Maxwell to add a few words on the side.

– “Sure, if that can help you...”

– “It's signed, stamped and official. A word from you should carry some weight.”

  The sheriff answered with a big smile.

– “If you want anything to carry some weight, you've come to the right guy!”

  And he patted his round belly lovingly. Scott couldn't be more grateful.

– “A few words from the people running the school would be good too...”

  Scott wasn't too sure that he could count on them. He was pleasantly surprised when he received a phone call from Mr Porkenham himself, inviting him to attend the next meeting in his office.

  Sheriff Maxwell let him out with a few words of encouragement. He would give them a call that would cut corners around his coming in and out of that school.

  Considering their current situation, the board of administrators had to make a few important decisions, some of which dealing with internal rules and discipline or communication, some others regarding Scott in particular. As a journalist, he had caused some trouble around the school. Some people accused him of being responsible, at least partly or indirectly, for their recent crisis.

– “Now, now... Gentlemen!” Mr Swayn tried to have some order in the room. “Mr Girder is merely a journalist. We shouldn't make him a scapegoat.”

  Their argument still went on – until Mr Porkenham put an end to it. When Scott joined them in his office, he only had to make their decision toward him official and agreed by all parties.

  His main concern, which only a highly intuitive man like Mr Swayn had guessed, was that Scott could sue the school, or make their methods a matter of public debate in the press. He could describe them as “rough” or morally “dubious” all too easily...

– “Could he really do that?”

– “If things get any worse, he might...”

  Mr Thorne reminded everyone that Scott wasn't quite in the position to be such a threat to their school. No matter what slanderous articles he could write about their school, his editor would refuse them. The press wasn't so pressing an issue, at the moment.

– “What about a lawsuit?”

– “I doubt that a man like Mr Girder has the means to start such a fight...”

  Mr Porkenham was still unconvinced.

– “Do not forget,” Mr Swayn suggested to his colleague, “that Michael Astern's mother stands behind Mr Girder, in this instance. And I have no doubt that she can buy the best lawyers in the country... maybe even ours too.”

  Mr Thorne had no more objection.

– “But what kind of evidence can he produce before a jury?”

– “Well... Surely you must have noticed that Mr Girder has put on a good amount of weight, since he's come to our school.”

  Mr Swayn turned to give a look to the head of security, Mr Wingrave. For the last few weeks, he had been quite close to Scott. He had not only granted him access to every building on campus, but allowed him to stuff his face with all kinds of their most delicious pastries.

  The massively overweight man answered with half a smile. Scott's gluttony had also allowed him to lose some really excessive fat mass, which he was thankful for. He kept defending him in front of the administrators, and their new debate would probably make him look bad...

– “I don't see how a few more pounds on his frame could convince anyone that he has been treated badly.” He chuckled, certainly not amused by this.

– “Nevertheless...” Mr Porkenham started.

  This meant the worst. When Mr Porkenham used words like “nevertheless” or “hence”, or “disregarding”, everyone knew that they could stop listening for a good quarter of an hour and tune in again for the inevitable conclusion.

  As a matter of fact, the old headmaster wasn't done talking when a maid came in and announced that Scott was waiting in the corridor.

– “Mr Girder.”

– “Well... Come in.”

  Much to everyone's surprise, the conclusion of their debate was quite simple, and presented in no uncertain terms. Scott also had reasons to be surprised, but his certainly weren't the same as theirs...

– “You should be pleased to know that we have decided to let you stay and work for another two weeks in our school. According to Sheriff Maxwell, you cannot be allowed to leave the county for the duration of the official inquiries around the loss of our dear colleague, Mr Huggins. As headmaster, I would also appreciate it if you could attend his funeral.”

– “Oh... Naturally. I'll be there.”

– “Good. Then we considered the possibilities, and it appeared that it would be more convenient, and perhaps more decent, if you stayed with us on campus. I'm confident that father Knox knows which rooms are vacant.”

  There was no immediate reaction. Father Knox had fallen asleep in his armchair next to Mr Wingrave. Rick offered a simple solution.

– “There's an empty bedroom by the gates, on top of the security office, now that we only have two security guards. I guess that would be okay?”

  Mr Porkenham welcomed the proposition – not without a grain of salt, however. Rick had managed to mention the recent cuts in his budget, which was a taboo subject...

  Scott couldn't be happier with all this.

– “Naturally, there is one condition.”

– “Okay... What is it?”

– “According to our policy, it is essential that you should provide a good example for our students in Saint Augustine Bells. Since you are neither a secretary nor a teacher in this school, contacts should be kept to a minimum with our boys.”

– “It may be in your own interest, too...” Mr Swayn commented.

– “Nevertheless, your conduct should be in accordance with the rest of our staff. You tend to wear remarkable, flashy clothes, but I can only approve the way you shave and maintain good personal hygiene. Naturally, no drinking is allowed.”

  Scott shot a sideways glance at Mr Thorne, who acted as if he was distracted by something hanging from the ceiling.

– “And we can't recommend enough that you go on a diet.”

– “...I beg your pardon?”

– “A diet. You should go on a diet.”

– “Why?...”

– “Well, the purpose would be for you to lose some weight, of course.”

  They had made up their minds about it. Clearly, they had already started a plan to make him eat less, do cardio exercises, sweat off as much as he could and see that his waist would shrink by more than a few inches...

  Scott couldn't be more disgusted with all this.

■ ■ ■

  

February 23^rd, 1990 – Friday

  Losing weight. That's what he had to do...

  That's what everyone told him now – and every day.

  Scott was in a bad mood. Deep down, he knew that he was the one to blame for it... He had only accepted Mr Porkenham's offer because he couldn't afford to refuse. Staying in Biberton was better than leaving town. Staying in the school at night was better than not being allowed to get in. These were no small privileges – but Scott had to pay for them. Hard.

  Mr Porkenham had put Rick in charge of Scott's diet. The head of security used to let his friend share his food, which was more abundant than ever on his desk – a monument to the glory of chocolate eclairs, pies, cupcakes, cookies, donuts and brownies, in the shape of piles of large and heavy boxes...

  Rick could no longer allow Scott to pig out. He didn't like that arrangement. It may have been a way for the school's headmaster to take revenge on him after his shrewd complaint over his budget. No matter how embarrassed he was, his orders were clear, and results were expected from him. And no matter how much he disliked it, Scott hated it even more!

  The board of administrators had also appointed their male nurse to make sure that Scott would exercise, run or swim, and tone up a bit. Phil had been hired as a doctor as well as a gym teacher – until he was told that all sports classes were canceled... That was part of the school's policy to keep their overactive, violent boys quiet and lazy. It also meant that Phil's paycheck was cut down by half. The blonde guy had been struggling with money ever since.

  Scott wasn't too enthusiastic as the first – and definitely only – boy allowed to use the gym again...

  Phil was perfectly aware of his situation, and he was by far the most devoted, most gentle, most caring gym instructor Scott had ever known. To think that this cuddly blonde bear of a guy had been a surgeon in the US Army felt like a joke – or one of Scott's most perverted fantasies...

  Their routine was still quite complete, and effective. Phil didn't enjoy watching his friend struggle when they went for a jog in the morning, when he made him lift weights in the afternoon, or when they spent two hours swimming together back and forth, late in the evening. When Scott got tired of feeling starved and miserable, he reminded himself that he had never spent so much time with Phil.

  Their days were as packed as his schedule at the hospital allowed. This meant that they had to get up early – another thing that Scott hated to do...

  The blonde, Southern boy had to be patient for two. Scott wasn't the easiest person to be with, when he was always so hungry. On the other hand, his weight loss was quite impressive: starting at a flabby 220lbs, Scott was down to 205lbs in little more than a week.

  Under any other circumstances, he would have been happy – but he wasn't.

  He was brutally honest with Phil. Losing weight was the toughest thing he had ever had to do, he missed being allowed to stuff his face, and he actually felt like something was missing about his body.

  Maybe Scott wasn't totally honest with Phil, however. Being hungry made him grumpy, of course, but he was frustrated more than anything.

  How could he wake up before dawn and follow Phil around campus when there was a pile of pastries ready to be eaten on Rick's desk? How could he be served a small plate of chicken and vegetables while Rick was forcing himself to keep on eating waffles? How could he walk downtown and not stop for a good beer at the Double D? It was Biberton, for crying out loud!

  And – last but definitely not least – how could he follow such a hunk as Phil and watch him run, swim and lift weights without pouncing on him just the way he did jump on the tight end on the field?

  The school's methods didn't leave him angry and frustrated. They were torture. Pure and simple. It only made him more easily pissed off.

  Rick didn't notice much of a change in Scott's behavior. Phil couldn't ignore it.

Day after day, Scott encouraged him to use heavier sets of weights to show him how to lift properly. He made him swim a bit more, run a bit more, sweat a bit more. The example he provided was never good enough...

  After a week playing this game of cat and mouse, Phil was exhausted.

  Their only real moment of peace was when they sweated for a good hour in the school's sauna... Phil had come up with the idea. The equipment needed a bit of repair, at first. He spent a whole evening working on it, so it worked perfectly.

  These relatively intimate moments allowed them to discuss about the double murder case in their school.

– “I don't know if you remember, Scott...”

– “Remember what?”

– “On that day, before you found Mr Huggins in the pavilion...”

– “Yes...”

– “You told that... you knew how Michael was killed.”

– “Did I, really?”

  Phil looked a bit confused. It was so easy to make him blush. Of course, as a soldier showing occasional signs of post-traumatic stress, Phil had troubles with his memory. He could easily forget what he had eaten for breakfast before it was time for lunch, or remember something that had only happened in a dream...

– “I don't know... I'm probably mistaken.”

– “What I did tell you about is that feeding machine they keep in a secret part of the dorms.”

– “No wonder I forgot about it...”

– “Why?”

– “It sounds like something out of a science-fiction story.”

– “Forget about fiction. Forget about science. I was there.”

– “Okay.”

– “So... I thought, maybe Michael was sent there, too.”

– “Maybe he was. What then?”

– “It's a machine, you big, dumb blonde bear. It may have stuffed him to the point of... you know...”

– “I really doubt it. Michael didn't die from being stuffed full of food.”

– “But he was stuffed.”

– “He was... Honestly, that's hardly a clue, in a crime like this. Consider where it happened. All the boys in this school are stuffed with more food than their bellies can hold.”

– “Not quite. They're overfed. I'm talking about a machine.”

– “I heard you. What about it?”

– “We know Michael was fed something he was allergic to. That's how he died. That's the kind of little detail which a machine would ignore.”

– “True... The only problem is that Michael's body wasn't found in any secret part of the dorms. He was in his bedroom.”

– “Maybe they moved his body, just the way Mr Higgins was moved after he was killed.”

– “That's not possible. Mr Huggins was only moved upstairs, in a small building. Besides, didn't you see Michael going to his bedroom on the security tapes?”

– “You're right. I saw him...”

  That was the only notch in his plan. Scott resented Phil for pointing it out like that. He deserved to be punished – or at least teased some more.

– “Would you say that Michael was stuffed full when he was caught on camera?”

– “He looked... fat. I can't say. He looked like he had eaten a good meal.”

– “Then he had to be stuffed later...”

  Scott wished that he could be treated the same.

  Well – not really. Michael had been killed, after all...

– “I can't understand how he was killed.”

– “You've heard the rumor. It was Ian's ghost.”

– “Sure... I'd love to get his interview. “A killer from beyond the grave”. That would make the headlines in any newspaper.”

– “There may be another way...”

– “What do you mean?”

– “The first person to enter Michael's bedroom was the maid. If you want to interview someone, it should be her...”

– “True. She must have something interesting to say.”

– “Just like you were the first to find Mr Huggins.”

– “Was she interrogated by the sheriff?”

– “No.”

– “How could she avoid that?”

– “She didn't ask for anything. The school refused to let her be interrogated.”

  That was suspicious enough to make Scott interested in meeting her...

– “Where is she now?”

– “The real question would be: which one is she?”

– “Oh...”

– “Then I've been through my closest friends in and around school. And... I've found her. Her name isn't Consuela, Carlotta or whatever name they told you. I have her real name and address.”

– “Okay, that's great.”

  Scott appreciated it, but he was still playing games with Phil. The hungry boy didn't mean to hurt his friend's feelings, but he had a sharp tongue and no other toy to play with than this blonde teddy bear.

  Phil didn't mind being compared to a bear, so that wasn't good enough – only Scott's senses were in full alert, lately, and the way they would sweat together was driving him wild...

  From the first day of their training, he had started mentioning how strong Phil's masculine scent was, and he had slowly turned it into a wicked game.

– “...That's the reason why people call you a bear, you know.”

– “I didn't even know that they had a nickname for me, really...”

– “Consider yourself lucky that the smell reminded them of a big bear... I would do something about my b.o. if I were you.”

– “Okay...”

– “I mean, like, first thing tomorrow.”

– “What can I do about it? We're meant to run and swim and sweat all day, these days...”

– “That may be, but people wouldn’t have you confused with a big, furry, sweaty bear if you started shaving your chest, for starters!”

  Phil didn't stand a chance in this game. Scott was too good at this – and maybe his friend was too nice, or too polite to come up with a snappy answer.

  It didn't solve Scott's problem. He was still hungry and frustrated. Only he was no longer the only one to feel tired, sweaty and miserable...

■ ■ ■

  

  It had been raining all night and it was still drizzling in the park, on the morning of Mr Huggins's funeral. He was to be buried by the school's chapel. Scott was standing between Phil and Rick, on the front row. He was able to put on pants he had bought two weeks earlier – needless to say, he was hungry...

Father Knox was close to the end of his last speech to their departed friend.

            “So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,

         And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.”

  Scott was a bit puzzled by that conclusion.

– “Is that from the Bible?”

– “It's taken from a sonnet by William Shakespeare.”

  Mr Thorne, who had remained silent the whole time during the father's speech, and looked like he was both standing and sleeping, like an old horse, suddenly looked up and smiled, commenting on Phil's answer.

– “What do you know, he's right! These are the last verses from Sonnet 146, I believe... I didn't expect a guy like you to be familiar with the Bard.”

  The blonde guy turned to him discreetly, still not raising his head. Scott couldn't hear what they were saying, but the old man nodded in acquiescence.

– “True... I've heard that they even study Greek poetry at West Point.”

  They had to stop talking when Mr Porkenham gave them a stern look.

  Once the ceremony was over, everyone went their own ways. Phil had to go back to the hospital. Scott had to follow Rick for lunch – a sorry excuse for a meal, in his own opinion. Mr Thorne had an appointment with a bottle of scotch.   Mr Swayn followed Mr Porkenham into the main building.

  Holding on to their black umbrellas, they passed by the construction site of the future concert hall. There was a fair amount of scaffolding against the walls, but no one was allowed to work on that day.

– “What do you think?”

– “It was a good ceremony.”

– “I don't mean that. I mean... him.”

– “Oh, well...”

  Mr Swayn lowered his voice, as they entered the hall.

– “I think we can start phase 2.”

– “Are you sure?”

– “...Quite sure.”

– “Are we ready for phase 2.”

– “I think we are... He certainly is!”

  Mr Porkenham turned around, looking for Scott and Rick as they were going to the security office, by the school's entrance gates.

– “I guess you're right.”

– “Trust me on this. I can hear his stomach rumbling from here.”

■ ■ ■

  

March 2^nd, 1990 – Friday

  Scott was in the middle of what Rick called “breakfast” when the phone rang in his office.

– “Mr Swayn? Oh... Scott, its for you.”

– “Thanks. Hello?”

– “Scott. If you're not too busy at the moment, could you come and see me in my office?”

  Scott had nothing to do, of course, except watch Rick gorge on apple pie – his favorite item to get him started on a good day. He was already on Mr Swayn's doorstep and knocking on the door.

– “Come in, please.”

– “Good morning...”

– “Good morning, Scott!” Mr Swayn welcomed him.

  He shook hands with him, looking amiable and cheerful – even more so as his guest was positively gloomy.

– “Coffee?”

– “Thank you.”

– “Sugar?”

– “I guess... if that's okay.”

– “How could sugar not be okay?”

  Mr Swayn's laugh always felt so fake. He was certainly good at his job, but his social skills were an acquired taste.

– “I don't know...”

– “How about milk? Cream?”

– “Listen now, I didn't come all the way up here to be insulted.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence. Scott had reasons to feel offended – then Mr Swayn stopped playing games with him.

– “Have a seat.”

– “Okay...”

  Mr Swayn sat in front of him, not at his desk but next to him.

– “You need to understand something, Scott. This school has never known such a crisis in all its years. Two deaths in less than two months? And we can't dismiss the last one... It is, undoubtedly, murder. As headmaster, Mr Porkenham always looks for what is best for our school, and makes it his number one priority... Its reputation, for instance.”

  Scott was listening.

– “In light of the most recent events, he was under the impression that you may sue Saint Augustine Bells as an institution. We've had quite a heated argument about this, and Mr Porkenham chose... against my own advice, if I may say so... to intimidate you.”

– “How so?”

– “By imposing this ridiculous diet on you, of course.”

– “What did you recommend, then?”

  Mr Swayn held out his hand over his desk and put a file in front of Scott.

– “I recommended that we settle this argument once and for all.”

  Scott read what was typed in that file.

– “You want me to swear that I will never bring a lawsuit against the school.”

– “That's right. All we want is to keep on minding our own business, educate and work in our classrooms and offices, with the assurance that they will still be there tomorrow.”

– “Okay.”

– “This shouldn't prevent you from working with us, in your own field.”

– “Oh...”

– “As a matter of fact, having to deal with the death of a colleague, the way we all did, meant a considerable amount of work. We are getting behind our regular schedules.”

– “Yes... You can't afford to lose too much time.”

– “Naturally, this deal makes the previous one null and void. I should also tell you that, according to paragraphs nine to eleven, the school has booked a new bedroom for you at the Paddington Hotel, all expenses paid. Your access to every building on campus will also be renewed, and no particular restriction will be required of you.”

– “Okay...”

– “How does that sound? All parties get their fair share of a deal... The American way.”

  Scott's signature was the only one missing, at the end each page. He accepted Mr Swayn's pen and signed the school's copy, then his own.

  When he left the building, he was floating on clouds...

  Being allowed to go back to the Paddington Hotel was more than he had hoped for. The bedroom provided by the school was even larger than his first – with a good mini-bar and a luxurious Jacuzzi in the bathroom...

– “Okay... I'm going to eat until I explode!”

■ ■ ■

  

March 3^rd, 1990 – Saturday

  Scott was stuffed. He had spent the whole morning with Rick, eating all the pies and cupcakes and brownies and donuts his friend kept putting in front of him. By lunchtime, his belly looked like it was ready to burst.

  Of course, he couldn't stuff so much food as before – but everything would go back to normal, soon.

– “BUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRP!!!”

  Rick laughed, and gave him a good pat on top of his stomach.

– “Feels good, doesn't it?”

– “Feels just like home!”

  Scott waddled out of the security office, his shirt feeling tight again, his pants' top button opened again. Strange as it may sound, he was going to the gym – not to lift or swim, but he had invited Phil to take a short afternoon break in the sauna with him.

  The blonde was both disappointed and relieved when Scott had told him about the school's new dispositions about him: Phil was sad because he clearly enjoyed spending time with his friend – but he couldn't afford to be out of the hospital so often...

  Phil didn't say a word about the amounts of food Scott had already devoured in one day. The young journalist knew that he preferred a guy with a good appetite. Even as a doctor, he would rather recommend him to eat to his heart's content – but he didn't look too happy about Mr Swayn's offer.

– “You have planned to interview a number of people in our school...”

– “That’s my job.”

– “And they often invite you to taste food, too.”

– “Also part of my investigation, I guess...”

– “I know it is, now more than ever. Then you should be more careful.”

– “...About the people I interview?”

– “Not only that, but about the food you eat in Augustine Bells...”

  Scott winked at his blonde friend, who seemed to care so much about his diet.

– “So what if I put on a little more weight?”

  He gave a good thump on his smooth, shiny belly. Phil looked no less serious about it.

– “You have a healthy appetite, Scott. That’s not what I meant.”

– “Why should I be so careful, then?”

  Phil took a long breath.

– “You remember what I told everyone about Mr Huggins’s autopsy.”

– “Yes. He was strangled.”

– “He was. We all saw it. It’s in my report...” He hesitated for a short moment. “But I didn’t tell them the truth.”

– “What?”

– “I didn’t tell them the whole truth, at least. Mr Huggins was strangled, just as I said... but he was poisoned first.”

– “Poisoned? How?”

– “I don’t know, but Mr Huggins was a tall and corpulent man, yet pretty active. I’ve performed a few more tests, and the results were positive. The killer used a slow-acting poison, as a mean to weaken his victim or at least make him sick.”

– “So the killer wasn’t so strong as Mr Huggins.”

– “He certainly made the assault a lot easier for him...”

– “If the guy was unconscious, how much strength would be required to pull on that string, or... wire, and leave those marks on his neck?”

– “Not very. A student could have done it, really... or an older man, considering the rush of adrenaline at the moment of the crime.”

– “A man or a woman...”

– “Oh, sure... A woman could have inflicted such a wound on the body.”

  Scott took a moment to think about it. He looked at the timer in the sauna. He was hungry again.

– “What does this tell us about the murder?”

– “Not much. Except for the fact that it indicates premeditation.”

– “Oh... Right.”

– “We found no sign of violence on the body, except for the marks on his neck. No sign of struggle either. It didn’t feel right that a murder should look so brutal and so... clean at the same time.”

– “Then you suspected that there was poison involved from the moment you saw him in the pavilion?”

– “Call it a hunch. Now you and I know how it happened.”

  It was getting hard to breathe in the sauna. Scott couldn’t tell if that was due to the heat or his own excitement over the case.

– “Who else knows about it?”

– “Sheriff Maxwell, of course. I called him on the phone, first thing in the morning.”

– “What do we do about it, then?”

– “You will have to look for poison, I guess.”

– “Poison...”

– “Yes. That’s why I recommend caution.”

  Phil was getting out of the sauna, his shoulders and torso glistening with sweat. With his long, golden hair and goatee, he looked like some kind of Nordic god.

– “You’re not just interviewing people in Augustine Bells... You’re swimming in deep and troubled waters. Then there’s at least one shark in that pool.”

– “Don’t worry!” Scott laughed half-heartedly. “I won’t let anyone bite me.”

– “What if you grab a bite of the wrong kind of pie?”

  Scott gulped down anxiously. He still tried to joke about it.

– “Who knew there was a... wrong kind of pie?”

– “Pie’s all right.” Phil turned to him with a smile. “But you can find poison in the most delicious pastries, and it may be too late when you figure it out.”

  For some reason, Scott didn’t feel so hungry right now...

(To be continued...)