to finish it off by walking out straight up, not have us come in and drag out your corpse.' '
'And the kid says, 'You're right,' and he opens the door and comes out,' DiBella said. 'Takes off his ski mask. Gabe takes his guns, and they walk out together. Gabe said he wouldn't cuff him, and he didn't.'
'Until he got outside,' I said.
'Oh, sure, then the SWAT guys swarmed him and off he went.'
'Film at eleven,' I said.
'A lot of it,' DiBella said.
Chapter 4
THE DOWLING SCHOOL was on the western end of town, among a lot of tall pine trees. I drove between the big brick pillars, under the wrought- iron arch, up the curving cobblestone drive, and parked in front, by a sign that said FACULTY ONLY. There was one other car in front, a late-model Buick sedan.
The place had the deserted quality that schools have when they're not in session. The main building had a stone facade with towers at either end and a crenellated roofline between them. The front door was appropriate to the neo-castle style, high and made of oak planking wirli big wrought-iron strap hinges and an impressive iron handle. It was locked. I located a doorbell and rang it. There was silence for a long time, until finally the door opened and a woman appeared.
'Hello,' she said.
'My name is Spenser,' I said. 'I'm working on the shooting case and wondered if I might come in and look around.'
'Are you a policeman?' the woman said.
'I'm a private detective,' I said. 'Jared Clark's grandmother hired me.'
'May I see some identification?'
'Sure.'
I showed her some. She read it carefully, and returned it. 'My name is Sue Biegler,' she said. 'I am the Dean of Students.'
'How nice for you,' I said.
'And the students,' she said.
I smiled. One point for Dean Biegler.
'What is it you wish to see?' she said.
'I don't know,' I said. 'I just need to walk around, feel the place a little, see what everything looks like.'
Dean Biegler stood in the doorway for a moment. 'Well,' she said.
I waited.
'Well, I really don't have anyone to show you around,' she said.
'That's a good thing,' I said. 'I like to walk around alone, take my time, see what it feels like. I won't steal any exam booklets.'
She smiled.
'You sound positively impressionistic,' she said.
'Impressively so,' I said.
She smiled again and sighed.
'Come in,' she said. 'Help yourself If you need something, my office is here down this corridor.'
'Thank you.'
Inside, it smelled like a school. It was air-conditioned and clean, but the smell of school was adamant. I never knew what the smell was. Youth? Chalk dust? Industrial cleaner? Boredom?
I had seen enough diagrams of the school and the action in the newspapers to know my way around. There were four offices, including Dean Biegler's, opening off the central lobby. The rest of the school occupied two floors in each of two wings that ran left and right out of the lobby. The school gym was behind the rest of the school, connected by a narrow corridor, and beyond the gym were the athletic fields. There was a cafeteria in the basement of the school, along with rest rooms and the custodial facilities. A library was at the far end of the left wing. Stairs went to the second floor in stairwells on each side of the lobby. On the second floor above the lobby were the teachers' lounge and the guidance offices. I began to stroll.
They had come in the front door, apparently, and past the offices in the lobby and turned left down the long corridor that ended at the library. Each was wearing a ski mask. Each was carrying two guns. Each had a backpack with extra ammunition in magazines, color-coded to the guns they had. They shot the first teacher they encountered, a young woman named Ruth Cort who had no class that period, and who had probably been on her way from the teachers' lounge upstairs to the library. She had bullets from two different guns in her. But there was no way to say if she had been shot by one shooter with two guns, or two shooters, one gun each. In fact, they had never been able to establish who shot whom. The guns and the backpacks were simply left on a table in the library when Grant came out, and no one could identify which had been used by whom. The cops had tried backtracking, establishing who had what color coding on which gun, but the eyewitnesses gave all possible versions, and it proved fruitless. There was powder residue on two coveralls that the shooters had discarded in the library, but none on their hands, because they wore gloves. The gloves, too, were discarded, and there was no way to establish which pair belonged to whom. Both had powder residue on them.
The Norman Keep conceit ended in the lobby. The cinderblock corridor was painted two tones of green and lined with lockers, punctuated by gray metal classroom doors. I went into the first classroom. The walls were
