Chapter 43
JUSTINE AND PRIVATE investigator Christian Scott were in a fleet car on their way to Our Lady of the Pacific, the sixth on their list of ten schools within a five-mile radius of Jack’s house. They had been canvassing schools all morning and it was now almost two in the afternoon.
Scotty wasn’t surprised that they hadn’t turned up any leads.
“When I was a motorcycle cop, things were black-and-white. Speeding. DUI. Collisions. This is so…random.”
Justine said, “It’s a place to start, Scotty.”
“Ah. The famous square one.”
“You got it. And psychologically speaking, I agree with Sci. Teenage boys like fire. It’s sexy. It’s exciting. They set fire to buildings, to their enemies, to toilets—you name it, a boy has set a match to it. A car-bomb spree is more sophisticated than the norm, but it fits the profile. And that’s why we’re going where boys are.”
The private high school on Winter Canyon Road was surrounded by grassy hills and native foliage. The buildings were plain stucco over cement-block construction with attached pergolas supporting large, blooming bougainvillea.
Justine parked in the faculty-only lot, then she and Scotty crossed the busy school yard and entered the cool of the main building. They found the headmaster’s office at the end of a long, sky-blue corridor.
Father Joseph Brooks was stocky, balding, smiling, and he was expecting the investigators. He shook their hands, asked them to sit down, and offered coffee.
When they were settled in, Justine told the headmaster why they were there and asked, “Can you think of a student, or maybe a group of kids, who would have the competence and the anger or brio to go on a rampage like this?”
“Oh, man,” said the headmaster. He ran his hand over his head. “You think any of our kids could be such out-of-control lunatics? We have our share of cocky, rich-kid idiots, but this is over the top. In my opinion.”
The headmaster’s office faced south and had a sunny view over the valley. He kept bonsai trees in clay pots, and they crowded the windowsills. Justine wondered what this painstaking hobby meant to the man, reducing large plants with the potential to be huge into living miniatures, collecting them in rows.
“They might be chemistry buffs,” Scotty said. “Your science teacher might be able to give us a lead.”
“Mr. Peter Tong. I can tell you that Mr. Tong is a pretty traditional educator. Nothing radical or Fringe Division about him.”
Justine smiled at the reference to the sci-fi TV show and asked when they could speak with Mr. Tong.
“We’d like to ask him about the chemical composition of the explosives our lab turned up in the gas tank of one of the cars. Also, we have a list of your students who’ve been in trouble with the law.”
Father Brooks was examining the list when Justine’s phone rang. Seeing it was Jack, she answered it.
“Justine,” Jack said. “The cops were just here asking me where I was at six this morning. Another car went boom about two miles from my house. Look, in case it’s relevant, last night I got into a fistfight with Tommy.”