Carol Scott asked the policeman who had brought the shoebox whether he had seen any sign of dirty dishes in Famham’s apartment. He had not.
“I always do my dishes immediately after I use them,” said Farnham.
“You went back to the theater, you made a pass, you were rebuffed, you lost your temper, you killed her. Isn’t that what happened, Mr. Farnham?”
Farnham said no.
“Mr. Farnham, I should advise you at this point that you have the right to remain silent,” said Carol Scott. She recited the standard list.
“Hold on,” said Farnham. “This is all going too fast.”
“Mr. Farnham,” said Carol Scott, “I would like for you to come with me to police headquarters.”
“No,” said Farnham. “This is a mistake.”
Carol Scott held out the shoe box they had found in Farnham’s apartment. “The Staines boy’s shirt was missing a button,” she said. “The Phillips boy’s body was missing the socks. These are souvenirs.”
Farnham had an immediate reply. “Angus must have planted them there,” he said. “He could have. I never lock my apartment.”
“You were in New York over Thanksgiving,” said Carol Scott.
“Yes, I was,” said Farnham. “Anyone at the hotel could vouch for me.”
“The police in New York found a receipt from the Montpelier School Store on the floor of a pornographic movie theater last week. It was lying near the body of a boy whose neck had been twisted one hundred and eighty degrees.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Farnham.
“Your school chaplain told me last week that he was concerned over your violent outbursts,” said Carol Scott. “Psychosexual, he called them.”
Daniel Farnham’s teeth ground against one another so hard that the others in the room could hear them. Then he opened his mouth as wide as a baby bird’s and screamed one loud continuous inarticulate noise.
Carol Scott produced a set of handcuffs, and two of the uniformed policemen took hold of Farnham’s arms.
All at once he collapsed into limpness and began to sob. “Heilman,” he said. “That son of a bitch betrayed me.”
Carol Scott held the shoebox out for McPhee to see. “Don’t touch,” she said. “Just look. Do you recognize that ring?”
“Yes,” said McPhee. “It was Angus’s.”
“Then we’re still looking for Angus Farrier,” she said, “only now we’re looking for a corpse.”
SCENE 14
Richard waved the edge of his Reuben sandwich as if it were a weapon.
“I’m telling you, I was onto the guy from the beginning,” he said. “Didn’t I tell you he was crazy?”
“I’m the one who told you,” said Thomas. “Remember, I’m the one who saw him pounding the floor in the tech room last week.”
“Pass the salt,” said Greg. They were sitting at lunch on Tuesday, the day after Cynthia Warden’s death. It had been a busy morning. Right after breakfast the whole school had met in the chapel once again; special assemblies were becoming part of the daily routine. Heilman had read some stuff from the Bible, and then Dr. Lane had talked to them about how sad all these events were and how it was important not to let their grief for Mrs. Warden and Robert Staines get the best of them. He had also stressed how it was better not to talk to any reporters who might visit the campus. Richard had asked Thomas whether that meant he couldn’t talk to his own father.
“I already have,” Thomas had said. “I talked to him last night.” It had been great to talk to his parents. They had offered to come and get him on the spot, and while it was tempting, he didn’t want to miss any of the excitement here. Now that they had caught Farnham, the campus was in an uproar. Montpelier was much more lively than Cathedral Academy ever would have been. His parents were coming down this weekend to see his basketball game and to take him home Saturday for an overnight.
“Won’t Lane get mad that you spoke to your dad, since he works for a newspaper?”
“He’s not writing a review of this stuff, Richard.”
Mr. Warden was gone from the campus, and Mr. Farnham was of course also gone, but they couldn’t cancel classes, not at the fabulous Montpelier School for Boys, not even just for one day. The teachers, however, were being cool about it. Mr. Carella had held biology class, but he hadn’t made his students take any notes. He’d let them discuss the events of the day before.
“It’s better to talk now and get it out of your systems right away,” he had said. “It’s not healthy to store things up.”
Richard was still on the subject at lunch.
“I was lucky not to get killed when he caught me downstairs making those telephone calls during your rehearsal Sunday,” said Richard. “He would have wasted me if he could have.”
“You’re just trying to get your name in the paper,” said Thomas.
Dr. Lane, exempting himself from his own injunction, had been talking to reporters all day. Television stations from Washington and Richmond had sent film crews, and a few more parents had withdrawn their sons from the school. For most, however, it was considered the end of a string of bad luck. The only missing piece was Angus, and the police were now saying that he was probably dead.
“I’d like to think he’s still alive,” said Greg. “He might be, you know.”
“Farnham probably cooked him and ate him,” said Richard. “It’s a good thing he’s not in charge of the dining hall.”
“I wish we could get him back,” said Thomas, “Since he’s been gone, our locker room has started to stink.”
“That’s what happens to you athletic types,” said Greg. “All those stinky clothes get ripe.”
Richard started to laugh.
“Maybe there’s more to it than just clothes,” said Richard. “But don’t blame me. I don’t know anything about a dead squirrel getting thrown down the ventilator shaft outside McPhee’s apartment.”
Thomas said Richard was the most vindictive person he’d ever seen.
Richard looked at Thomas impatiently. “You’ve turned awfully outspoken lately,” he said.
“I have
