The Night Gardener

Ramone dragged a chair over to her desk and had a seat.

'Careful with that,' said Ms Cummings. 'It's gotta be sixty years old.'

'They should put some of this stuff in a museum and get it out the classroom.'

'Please. We're out of paper and pencils right now, too. I buy most of the supplies you see here with my own money. I'm telling you, someone is stealing. Whether it's lawyers or contractors or just management, someone is lining their pockets, and it is straight theft. They're stealing from kids. You ask me, whoever it is, they oughtta burn in hell.'

Ramone smiled. 'Say what's on your mind.'

'Oh, I've never had a problem with that.'

'You from Chicago?'

'You know I can't lose that accent. I grew up in public housing, taught in my neighborhood my first couple of years out of Northwestern. The facilities were well below average, but I have never seen anything like this.'

'I bet your students like you.'

'Hmm. They're starting to. My philosophy is, scare them in the begi

'What about Asa Johnson? Did you have a good relationship with him?'

'As a was all right. I never had any problem with him doing his work. His behavior was fine, too.'

'Did you like him?'

'I cried when I heard the news. Any time a child is killed you can't help but be moved.'

'But did you like him?'

Ms Cummings relaxed in her seat. 'Teachers have favorites, the way parents have favorite kids, even if few want to admit it. I can't lie and say he was one of mine. But it wasn't because he was bad.'

'Did he seem happy to you?'

'Not particularly. You could see that something was weighing on him just by looking at his posture. Plus, he rarely smiled.'

'Any reasons you can think of?'

'God forgive me for speculating.'

'Go ahead.'

'It could've been his home life. I met his parents. Mom was quiet and deferred to her man. The father was one of those macho dudes, trying to overcompensate. I'm just being honest. Couldn't have been any fun for Asa to live in that house, you know what I'm saying?'

'I appreciate your honesty,' said Ramone. 'Do you have any reason to believe that he was into any kind of illegal activity?'

'None at all. But then, you never know.'

'Right.' Ramone looked at the blackboard. 'I wouldn't mind getting a look at that journal of his, if you have it.'

'I don't,' said Ms Cummings. 'They turn it in at the end of the semester, and when they do I just check to see if they've made an effort. I don't read the journals, is what I'm saying. My job is to make sure they're doing some work. They do that, they've accomplished something.'

Ramone extended his hand. 'It's been a pleasure to meet you, Ms Cummings.'

'You, too, Detective,' said Ms Cummings, reaching across the desk. 'I hope I've been of some help.'

Ramone left the building, went out to his Tahoe, and extracted a pair of latex gloves, stowing them in his jacket pocket. He returned to the school, revisited the administrative offices, and, accompanied by a security guard, walked to Asa's locker. The security guard read off a piece of paper and executed the combination of the built-in lock. He stepped back as Ramone, now wearing the gloves, inspected the locker's contents.

A couple of textbooks sat on the top shelf. There were no papers wedged between the covers of the textbooks and no loose papers or anything else lying on the metal floor. Middle school kids typically taped photos of sports heroes, rappers, or movie stars on the inside of their locker doors. Asa had taped nothing to his.

'You done?' said the security guard.

'Lock it up,' said Ramone.

He had hoped to find the boy's journal, but it was not here.

CHAPTER 21

Terrance Johnson opened his front door to let Ramone in. Johnson's eyes were rimmed with red, and he reeked of hard liquor. Johnson shook Ramone's hand and held it too long.

'Thanks for seeing me,' said Ramone, drawing back his hand.

'You know I'm go

'I need you to be just as cooperative with Detective Wilkins, Terrance. We're all working together on this, and he has the lead.'

'If you say it, I'll do it.'

The home was eerily quiet. There were no human voices or sounds from the television or radio.

'Helena in?'

Johnson shook his head. 'She's staying with her sister for the time being. Took Dea

'There are stages of grief. It'll get better.'

'I know it,' said Johnson with an a

'You need to take care of yourself, too.'

'I'll rest easier when you clear this up.'

'Can I have a look at Asa's room?'

'Follow me.'

They went up the center-hall stairs to the second floor. It was a typical colonial for the neighborhood, three bedrooms and one full bath upstairs. Johnson led Ramone into Asa's room.

'Who's been in here since his death?'

'Me and Helena,' said Johnson. 'Dea

'Good. I'm also thinking about the days leading up to Asa's death. Did he have any friends or acquaintances in his room that you can remember?'

Johnson considered the question. 'I was at work during the daytime, of course. I'd have to ask Helena. But I can say almost certainly that the answer is no.'

'Why are you so sure?'

'The past six months or so, going back to the end of last school year, I guess, Asa wasn't hangin with anyone special.'

'He wasn't tight with anybody?'

'He'd drifted apart from the ones he used to hang with. You know how kids do.'

Girls do that more frequently, thought Ramone. Boys tend to hold on to friendships longer. But he knew that what Johnson was saying about his son was true. Diego and Asa had been friends once, to the degree that they saw each other almost every day. Diego had not even spoken about Asa, until he was killed, for a long time.

'You need me here?' said Johnson.

'That's okay,' said Ramone. 'I'll be fine.'

Johnson exited, and Ramone had a look around as he removed his latex gloves from his jacket pocket and fitted them on his hands. The bedroom was cleaner than Diego's had ever been. The bed had been made. One poster, the obligatory Michael Jordan in a Bulls uniform, hung on the wall. Asa's few football trophies, sitting atop a freestanding shelf filled with a surprising number of books, had been awarded for team accomplishment, not for individual effort.

Ramone went through the dresser drawers. He looked in Asa's closet and searched the pockets of his jackets and slacks. He ran his hand beneath the lower edge of the dresser and underneath the box spring of the bed. He did not find anything that Asa might have been concealing. He did not find anything that he thought would be pertinent to the investigation.

Ramone went through Asa's book bag, a one-strap Jan-Sport. Inside were a day pla

Ramone tried to put on a left-handed baseball mitt he found in the closet, but he could not fit it.

A computer monitor sat atop Asa's desk. Ramone settled into the chair and pulled out a drawer on rollers that held a keyboard, mouse pad, and mouse. He moved the mouse across the pad, and the monitor's screen lit up. The screen saver was a plain blue field, and the icons were numerous, with Microsoft Outlook, Word, and Internet Explorer among them. Ramone was not an expert with computers, but there were PCs in his home and office, and he was familiar with these programs.