And part of him said he was a selfish, insensitive jerk. Robert Staines might have gotten laid more times than he could count, but he didn’t know everything about women. Thomas had hurt Hesta, hurt her inside, and he hated knowing that.
He was confused and guilty about everything. When he would stop thinking about Hesta, he would start thinking about Staines, and that would tear him up, too. He tried to explain it to Greg somewhere around 1:00 in the morning.
“I feel terrible because I don’t feel sad enough,” he said.
Greg said to try that one again.
“The guy’s dead. He was my teammate and my neighbor and my classmate, and you’d think I’d feel sorry about it. I don’t, though. With him being dead, my life gets a lot easier. I don’t have to testify against him to the councilmen, I don’t get accused of being a narc.”
Greg said that was understandable.
“I even wish I hadn’t turned him in now,” Thomas said. “If I’d just waited, the problem would have taken care of itself.”
“Then your conscience would have hurt you.”
“I guess. I just feel like I ought to be reacting differently.”
“Like what?” Greg said. “Bursting into tears? Starting a memorial fund for him? Dedicating the rest of the basketball season to his name?
“Yeah.”
“I’m supposed to be a good Christian,” Greg said, “but I’m glad that bigoted bastard is off my dorm.”
That helped.
But Greg had nothing to say about his treatment of Hesta.
SCENE 36
Eldridge Lane returned Felix Grayson’s long-distance call at 11:05 P.M. and reviled Carol Scott on the telephone five minutes later.
“Angus Farrier has been an employee of this school for forty-eight years,” said Lane. “He started working here when he was fifteen years old. Do you realize how many alumni know him? Are you absolutely certain he’s your man?”
Carol Scott told Lane to judge for himself.
“I’ve heard from the police in New York,” she said. “They have matched the cash register receipt with the sample from your school store. We’re not talking about coincidence anymore.” The psychologist she’d consulted had told her the behavior they were witnessing was impossible to predict, but that it appeared someone was on a random killing spree. She wanted to ask Mr. Farrier about the so-called hunting trip he went on over the holidays.
Eldridge Lane declared he trusted Angus Farrier unconditionally.
“We searched the desk down in that lair of his,” said Carol Scott. “We found a used ticket from an Amtrak Metroliner, New York to Washington, for Sunday, November 28. That puts Angus Farrier in New York on the day the kid died in the movie theater.”
Lane shifted gears immediately.
“Then why haven’t you found him?” he said. “We can’t have a lunatic roaming free throughout the campus or the surrounding countryside.”
She said they were looking.
“You should have the state police here, the FBI, anybody who can help,” said Lane.
She said he’d be surprised to know who was working on it. And then she hung up.
SCENE 37
Benjamin and Cynthia Warden walked back together from the gymnasium. It was long past midnight. The rain had stopped, but the weather was colder. Two police cars remained on the campus. All the buses had left, and the van carrying the body of Robert Staines, as well.
“Angus. I still can’t believe it,” said Cynthia.
“Nothing’s definite yet. They still have to find him.”
They walked in silence for a way.
“He could have killed me,” she said. “He could have strangled me in that very room.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” said Warden.
“How do you know?”
“Obviously he was only interested in killing boys.”
Cynthia wept for the fifth time that night. “So he killed the first boy, the Phillips boy, too,” she said.
“Apparently.”
“He’s been here forever and ever,” she said. “Why would he suddenly crack? Why now?”
“Who knows?” said Warden. “Some little blood vessel in his brain broke open. Some little gland produced too much of its chemical. It could be anything.”
“So if he’s crazy, then how is he smart enough to get away? If his car’s in the parking lot, how did he get off campus?”
“He could have called a cab. There were plenty of cabs going back and forth taking students to dinner in town. Or he could hitch a ride.”
“Why would he hitch a ride? Why not just drive himself?”
“I can’t answer that, Cynthia. The man is insane, if he’s the one who’s guilty.”
“He’s the one,” said Cynthia. “He sneaked up on me in the wrestling room. I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t turned around and seen him.” The more she considered the implications, the more horrified she became. It was as though the truth were being revealed to her gradually, like a photograph slowly developing.
“What if he’s still on campus?” she said.
“Then they’ll find him.”
“What if he’s hiding somewhere? He knows the school better than anyone. What if he’s here on campus in some obscure cubbyhole?”
Warden reminded her that the police were efficient. “Don’t start rumors about obscure cubbyholes,” he said. “The boys could panic.”
“Poor boys. And poor Angus, I suppose.”
“Poor Montpelier School,” said Warden. “This is going to be a tough one to weather.”
He reached over and wiped her tears with his gloved fingers.
“I don’t feel safe,” said Cynthia. “I’m assaulted from within and from without.”
Warden took her hand.
“If Angus can go mad, then anybody can,” she said. “There’s nothing reliable anywhere anymore.”
“Calm down,” said Warden. “It will seem better in the morning.”
“I can’t calm down,” she said. “Nothing is stable. I can’t count on anything to be the way I left it.”
“You can count on me,” he said.
“I can’t,” she said. The tears resurfaced. “I needed you tonight, and I came home to get you, and you weren’t there.”
“When?” said Warden. “I was at home writing. You know that.”
“You weren’t home at 9:15,” she said. “And you weren’t home at 10:00 when I tried to phone you.”
“No?” he said. “I
