The Replacement Child - By Christine Barber Page 0,38
small smile and a feminine wave of his hand. “I might as well be honest. In those few minutes I made you wait, I called our attorney and he told me exactly what to say. I even wrote the first part of my little speech down.” Strunk held up a sheet of school stationery that was covered with very precise—almost draftmanslike—writing. “But it feels strange not to help the police fully. I guess I can still hear my mother saying to me when I was little, ‘Kenneth, if you ever get lost, go find a police officer.’ So, maybe we can try this again, and I’ll be a little more forthcoming. What other questions do you have?”
Gil studied him for a second before he asked, “Do you allow relationships between teachers?”
“You mean between Melissa and Hammond?” Gil noticed that Strunk called Melissa by her first name and Hammond by his last. “I don’t encourage teachers’ dating.”
“Did you discourage Melissa and Hammond, Mr. Strunk?” Gil asked.
“No. They were professional about it. I would have …” Strunk searched for the word, “prompted them to end the relationship if they had public fights or obvious signs of affection, that sort of thing.”
“As far as you know, they got along fine?”
“Yes. Not that I actually would know.” He smiled again. “The boss is always the last to find out.”
“What did you think about Melissa personally?”
“I thought very highly of her. She was an excellent teacher who cared about her students very much…. Lord, that sounded rehearsed again, but it’s the truth.”
“What do you think about Hammond?”
Strunk considered the question for a moment before he answered carefully, “He is very studious.”
Gil waited for more but nothing came. “Mr. Strunk, I thought you were trying to be more helpful?”
Strunk stared at the abstract painting on the wall behind Gil before he answered. “The truth is, Mr. Hammond has a hard time guiding his students. He doesn’t have Melissa’s natural abilities. When they started dating, I had hoped Melissa could communicate to him a little more about what it means to be a teacher, that it’s not all about studying. Students need emotional guidance as well.”
“Did Mr. Hammond ever do anything inappropriate in the classroom?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that. He just thinks we should give the students free rein. Melissa believed in very traditional mores. For instance, one of the younger girls came to class with quite a bit of makeup on and Melissa made her go wash it off and then sent her to my office. And I sent her to the school counselor.”
“How old was the girl?”
“She was eight. Melissa realized, and rightly so, that it was dangerous for a girl that young to be putting too much emphasis on her looks. At our teachers’ meeting later that day, Mr. Hammond said he thought we had overreacted. He said if the girl had chosen to wear makeup to school, who were we to tell her that it was wrong?”
Gil wondered what else Hammond let the students get away with.
“Did Melissa ever have any problems with students or parents?” Gil asked.
“Just the usual. Nothing untoward.” Gil smiled to himself. That wasn’t a word he heard every day in his line of work.
“How was Melissa the past few days?” Gil asked.
“She seemed normal, very dedicated as always,” Strunk said, as he picked a pen up off his desk and started to play with it. Without looking at Gil, he added, “What you’re really asking is did she seem like she was on drugs. I read the article in the newspaper this morning. I’ve already had three phone calls from parents. They all said things like, ‘How could you let a woman like that work here.’ And the TV stations have started calling. Our attorney told me to say ‘no comment.’ The truth is, she was fine. I didn’t notice anything.”
Maxine Baca was kneeling in front of Daniel’s shrine, just starting on the second Sorrowful Mystery of the rosary. The Scourging at the Pillar. In her mind, she recited what she’d been taught in grade school: Jesus is bound to a pillar and cruelly scourged until his whole body is covered with deep wounds. Maxine’s eyes were closed and she held her blue-beaded rosary tightly. She imagined herself at the pillar, being scourged. She thought of a leather whip. Then a stick like the one her mother had used. She bowed and crossed herself as she said, “Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our