Steven Havill: Convenient Disposal

The hat pin rolled easily, six inches of steel shaft with a black plastic head on one end and a filed needle point on the other. Posadas County Undersheriff Estelle Reyes-Guzman nudged it back and forth with her right index finger while the three other people sitting at the conference table waited.

Estelle wasn’t paying attention to the weapon. Instead, she watched fourteen-year-old Deena Hurtado. The girl sat between her mother, Ivana, and the middle-school principal, Tessa Dooley.

Deena’s mother was trying not to cry, a wadded tissue in both hands. As a longtime District Court employee, she would know something about the law, would know what was coming. As a mother, what she knew would be turning her insides to pudding.

Estelle wished that she could read Deena’s mind, but the teenager’s face was a mask of studied indifference. Deena never looked at her mother, and Estelle decided that, despite the girl’s feigned calm, she didn’t enjoy seeing her mother in misery.

“Deena,” Estelle said, “you came to school this morning as usual, and then were called out of math class by Ms. Dooley and charged with carrying a concealed weapon on school property. Is that correct?”

“I guess.”

“Why would you do that?”

Deena shrugged as if the incident were no more important to her than tossing a gum wrapper on the school parking lot.

“It’s my understanding that you were involved in a fight after the volleyball game Tuesday night. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And were suspended for three days? Thursday, Friday, and yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“Do you feel good about coming back to school this morning?” The girl shrugged. “Did you want to come back to school, Deena?” The eyes rolled. “Deena,” Estelle persisted, “do you understand the school’s policy about bringing weapons on campus?” Deena grimaced at the notion that there might be something that she didn’t understand, but didn’t answer. “Do you realize that the school’s policy is that you be expelled for the rest of the school year? That it’s automatic?”

A tiny chink formed in the girl’s armor, and she blinked.

“And that you will not be allowed admission to any other school in the state during that time?”

Deena sighed with brave boredom. Her mother dabbed at a fresh flood of tears. “It’s not a weapon ,” the girl said to the ceiling.

Estelle picked up the hat pin by the center of its shaft and spun it slowly between two fingers. “Mobsters used to use these things,” she said, still watching the girl. Deena slumped a little further down in her chair. “It’s as effective as a stiletto, if you know how to use it.” She paused. “Do you know how to use it, Deena?” The middle schooler didn’t reply.

With her index finger, Estelle tapped the end of the pin gently. “Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to file this really sharp,” she said. “That’s an odd thing to do for a hat pin, don’t you think?” She placed the pin on the table. “Ms. Dooley called the police because she had apprehended a student carrying a concealed, deadly weapon. Deena, you had this in the inseam of your jeans, is that correct?”

When Deena remained silent, Tessa Dooley said, “Worked into the jeans’ inseam at the thigh, Undersheriff. We had a bulletin at an administrators’ conference a while ago that this was a new fad in some of the city schools.” She shook her head sadly. “First time for us…that we know of.”

“How was it discovered?” Estelle asked.

“One of the other students saw it and told her math teacher. That’s the class Deena was in at the time. Algebra II, I would like to point out.”

“You’re a smart girl, Deena,” Estelle said. “Do you understand that carrying a concealed weapon onto school grounds is more than just a violation of school policy?”

“Yes.”

“Do you understand that it’s a fourth-degree felony? That’s how serious the state considers the offense.”

“Not if you’re a juvenile,” Deena said. A trace of gloat touched her eyes, and when Estelle glanced at the principal, she saw the flush of anger run up Tessa Dooley’s cheeks. Deena was a smart girl, evidently. And she was correct as well. If Estelle had asked her what the procedure was, the girl could no doubt have outlined it succinctly-referral to Juvenile Probation, conferencing, counseling, warm fuzzies, admonition to keep the nose clean, and a clean record after a time judged appropriate by the court. In short, nothing. And with more than half of the school year remaining, the expulsion meant a nice vacation besides.

Estelle let the silence hang for long enough that Ivana Hurtado had time enough to change tissues.

“Mrs. Hurtado, I’d like permission to talk with your daughter alone,” Estelle said finally. “You don’t have to agree to that, but I think it might help.”

“Of course,” Ivana replied. “Of course, Sheriff.” She gathered up her jacket and handbag.

“We’ll be just outside,” Tessa Dooley said. She heaved her chair backward so that her considerable bulk would clear the edge of the table. In a moment, the door thudded behind the two women. Estelle snapped open her briefcase, found a plastic evidence bag, and dropped the hat pin inside. She jotted a note on the cover tag, her motions not lost on Deena.

“So,” the undersheriff said, and closed the briefcase. She leaned forward, folding her hands together. “I’ve known your mother for a long time.” Deena didn’t respond. “I remember you and your sister playing around the court offices when you were little. That’s a long time ago, huh?”

Deena cocked her head and looked down at her hands. She picked the cuticle of one of her nails, and Estelle saw that they were gnawed raw.

“Tell me about the fight.”

“No big deal,” Deena said and shrugged. “It was a fight, that’s all. Like no big deal.”

Estelle ruffled back several pages in her small notebook. “You and Carmen Acosta, with a little help from friends. Carmen was suspended for six days. She started it?”

“Am I under arrest, or what?” Deena said wearily.

“‘Detained’ would be a better word, Deena.” Estelle regarded the girl across the table. She was attractive, fine-featured almost to the point of delicacy. Her light brown hair was cut short enough to see the five gold rings marching up the curve of her right ear. “Have you and Carmen been enemies for a long time?”

“No.”

“This a recent thing?”

Deena looked heavenward, and then studied the poster on the wall that listed 101 ways to praise a child.

“Did you make a pass at Paul?” Deena’s eyes flicked to Estelle, and her eyebrows furrowed. “Paul Otero is a good-looking young man.” Estelle watched the blush work its way up Deena’s neck. “You showed him some attention, and Carmen took offense.” The fight had hardly been a private affair; half a hundred spectators found the fight more entertaining than the middle-school volleyball game. Two of those spectators had been willing to tell the off-duty deputy who was working security what had happened. Apparently handsome Paul had enjoyed the brawl as much as anyone.

“Soooo stupid,” Deena said.

“The taking offense is stupid, or something else?”

“I just said hello to him. It’s not like we ran off into the bushes or something.”

“And Carmen took offense when you spoke to her boyfriend? Well, that happens.”