Bennett sat down in the pew and rubbed his hands together as if they were cold. “So what’s this about? More meetings?” His manner was hearty but cautious.

Leaning back, Hawthorne put his arms on the top of the pew. He tried to make himself appear relaxed, though he didn’t feel relaxed. “Have you seen Chip?”

Bennett looked puzzled. “Campbell? I’ve run into him in Plymouth.”

“Was that where you were yesterday?”

Bennett made an expression of mock sorrow. “I had a dentist appointment. Looks like I have to get a crown for one of my molars.” He tapped his cheek to show Hawthorne the location.

“Isn’t Chip a friend of yours?”

“We’re friendly, that’s all. I don’t drink, which limits the number of possible meeting places. And he’s unhappy with his friends at Bishop’s Hill. He thinks we should have defended him more.”

The notes of the organ reverberated through the chapel. The high notes made Hawthorne think of wind blowing down a chimney. “Why did you tell Mrs. Hayes that I meant to fire her?”

“I never did any such thing.”

“That’s not what she says.”

Bennett stared at him with a fixed smile. “Then she’s not telling the truth.”

Hawthorne was surprised at the repugnance he felt for the other man. “Stop it. I know perfectly well that you told her several times, as did Chip Campbell.”

“Is that why you asked about him? You think we’re in cahoots?”

“And I know of other things you’ve done—spreading gossip and terrifying Clifford Evings. Don’t you feel any responsibility for what happened?”

Bennett’s smile seemed to tighten. “If you’re going to abuse me, then we’ll have to discuss these matters through my lawyer. You’re still mad at me for knocking you down in basketball. I’ve told you over and over that it was an accident.”

“Why is it so important to you to destroy the school?”

“You’re mistaken. I love Bishop’s Hill.”

Hawthorne leaned forward and put one hand on Bennett’s knee. “Roger, let me tell you something. I know exactly what you’ve been doing and I can prove it to the board of trustees. Your position at Bishop’s Hill is no longer secure.”

“You’d fire me?” Bennett opened his eyes wide, which made him look owl-like.

“Just like you say I fired the others.”

Ten

Jessica didn’t like the way LeBrun drove: too fast and jerky, turning the wheel abruptly and swerving, coming down hard on the brake. And in some places there was ice on the road. The car was a four-wheel-drive Chevy pickup and the front tires were out of line, or at least Jessica guessed that was what made it shimmy. The radio was busted and they mostly rode in silence. For a while LeBrun had been telling jokes but at last Jessica asked him to stop. Why do Canucks wear hats and why are Canuck women like hockey players? Then she had to beg. It was Friday evening, just after nine. For the past three days the police had been at the school driving everybody crazy. Dr. Hawthorne had announced that the school would be closing early for Christmas vacation, next Friday instead of the week after. Kids were calling their parents and trying to get their plane tickets changed. People couldn’t stop talking about Scott’s death. And when they weren’t talking about it, you could tell they were thinking about it because their faces looked so serious. Somebody had murdered Scott and thrown his body into the pool. He hadn’t been drowned after all. Had it been someone at Bishop’s Hill or someone from outside? Several students said they had seen a suspicious man sneaking around the campus: tall and very thin and dressed in black. And then there was Larry Gaudette, who was still missing.

LeBrun had driven down to Concord on the interstate, then had cut across to Northwood on Route 4, heading toward Durham, then had turned south again. He seemed to know the roads and didn’t need to look at a map. Jessica knew he was from Manchester but she didn’t know much else. Questions irritated LeBrun. If he offered information, then she could ask a question—a “follow-up,” she called it. Otherwise she let him alone. Twice she had begun to ask him about Lucky being thrown in the pool, then she had thought better of it. Even asking LeBrun to stop telling his jokes had been a mistake. But it was either ask him to stop or go crazy, Jessica had no doubt about that. One more joke and she would have jumped out of the truck. Jessica needed him; there was no one else to help her. But the sooner she was out of his company, the happier she’d be. She thought how in September she had seen LeBrun as easygoing and a little edgy—but not in a bad way. Then, scratching deeper, she had found someone who frightened her.

In the lights from the dashboard she watched his profile and at times she could see his lips moving and his cheeks going up and down as if he were arguing with himself. And his forehead would wrinkle. He drove with both hands at the top of the wheel and he tapped his fingers. He wore a dark hunting coat and a baseball cap. Now and then he glanced at Jessica but didn’t say anything. Whether he was worried or angry, Jessica didn’t know, though she could tell that something was bothering him and she thought it had to be the jokes, the fact that they had upset her.

“D’you think it’s going to snow more?” asked Jessica at last, just to break the silence. Heaps of snow on either side of the road shone in their headlights.

“Snow? Sure, it’s going to snow. It’s not even winter yet. It’ll snow for months. Everything’ll get buried. A fuckin’ graveyard of white stuff, that’s New Hampshire in a nutshell.” He spoke quickly, without looking at Jessica. She heard the irritation in his voice.

“Did those cops talk to you?”

“’Course they talked to me, they talked to everybody. More’n once, too. They kept coming into the kitchen. I’m surprised they didn’t poke their fuckin’ heads in the oven. I would of given them a push and cooked them. Wouldn’t that be a surprise. Baked cop.”

The police had talked to everyone who had been at the school over Thanksgiving. It turned out that Scott had cut his classes on Tuesday and his roommate said that he had left their room only to go to the bathroom. And Scott had asked him to bring food from the dining hall. He said he was sick but he didn’t want to go to the infirmary. Then his roommate had left on Wednesday, going down to Quincy to spend Thanksgiving with his family. Scott asked if he could come along but his roommate hadn’t wanted to make his father angry. Now his roommate regretted it, of course. Jessica had heard that Scott had called Miss Sandler on Thanksgiving but she didn’t know about what and she didn’t know if Scott had been seen after that.

“Do you think the police have any ideas?” asked Jessica. She didn’t want to keep asking questions but it was like a sore place and she couldn’t stop fussing with it. She wanted to hear what LeBrun had to say. She wanted him to tell her something that would prove that he hadn’t been involved, that he hadn’t thrown Lucky into the pool.

“Sure they have ideas, they think Larry did it. That’s why they’re looking for him. Why would they be looking for him if they didn’t think he did it?” Again LeBrun sounded exasperated, as if Jessica was just too stupid to understand.

Jessica watched LeBrun in the glow of the dash lights. It looked like he was angrily chewing something. “Do you think he did it?”

“He didn’t tell me,” LeBrun said, raising his voice. “Larry didn’t tell me fuck. What d’you think, he’s going to tap me on the shoulder and say he just killed the kid? You think he’s going to wear a fucking sign? Or maybe it was that queer Newland. He’s gone too, right? Or maybe it was that old bag who used to work in the office. Or maybe somebody snuck into the school, like a bandit. But I think it was Larry. It stands to reason, right? He must of killed the kid. I mean, he’s disappeared.”