Harlan Coben - Fool Me Once

The woman at the reception desk spoke in a hushed voice. “May I help you?”

“Maya Burkett here to see the headmaster. I’m sorry, I don’t have an appointment.”

“Please have a seat.”

But it didn’t take long. Maya had learned online that the headmaster for the past twenty-three years was a former graduate and then teacher named Neville Lockwood IV. With a name and pedigree like that, she expected a certain look — ruddy face, aristocratic features, receding blond hairline — and she got not only that from the man who greeted her now, but also wrap-around-the-ears wire-rimmed glasses, a tweed jacket, and, yes, an argyle bow tie.

He took both her hands in both of his.

“Oh, Mrs. Burkett,” Neville Lockwood said with that accent that again said more about class than geographical location, “all of us here at Franklin Biddle are so sorry about your loss.”

“Thank you.”

He started to show her toward his office. “Your husband was one of our most beloved students.”

“That’s kind of you to say.”

There was a large fireplace stacked with gray logs. To the side was a grandfather clock. Lockwood sat behind his cherrywood desk, offering her the plush chair in front of it. Her chair was set slightly lower than his, and Maya figured that was no accident.

“Half the trophies in the Windsor Sports Hall we owe to Joe. He still has the career scoring record in soccer. We were thinking... Well, we were thinking of doing something in memoriam to him in the field house. He loved it so there.”

Neville Lockwood gave her a somewhat patronizing smile. Maya returned it. These sports reminiscences could be an entry to an ask for money — Maya wasn’t good at picking up on such things — but either way, she decided to push ahead.

“Do you know my sister, by any chance?”

The question surprised him. “Your sister?”

“Yes. Claire Walker.”

He considered it for a moment. “The name does ring a bell...”

Maya was going to say that Claire had visited here approximately four or five months ago and was then murdered not long after, but something that serious would stun him and probably close him down. “Never mind, it’s not important. I wanted to ask you some questions about my husband’s time here.”

He folded his hands and waited.

She had to tread gently. “As you know, Headmaster Lockwood—”

“Please call me Neville.”

“Neville.” She smiled. “As you know, this academy is a source of both great pride... and tragedy for the Burkett family.”

He looked appropriately solemn. “You’re talking about your husband’s brother, I assume?”

“I am.”

Neville shook his head. “Such a terrible thing. I know the father passed away a few years back, but poor Judith. Losing another son.”

“Yes,” Maya said, taking her time. “And I don’t know how to raise this exactly, but with Joe dead, well, in terms of this school, that’s three members of the same soccer team.”

The color in Neville Lockwood’s face started to drain away.

“I’m talking now about the death of Theo Mora,” Maya said. “Do you recall that incident?”

Neville Lockwood found his voice. “Your sister.”

“What about her?”

“She came to campus asking about Theo. That’s why the name was familiar. I was off campus at the time, but I heard about it later on.”

Confirmation. Maya was on the right track.

“How did Theo die?” she asked.

Neville Lockwood looked off. “I could send you away right now, Mrs. Burkett. I could tell you that the school has strict privacy laws and that it would be against school policies to reveal any details.”

Maya shook her head. “That would be unwise.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because if you don’t answer my questions,” Maya said, “I may have to involve less discreet authorities.”

“Really?” A small smile toyed with his lips. “And that’s supposed to frighten me? Tell me, is this the part where the evil headmaster lies to protect the reputation of his elite institution?”

Maya waited.

“Well, not me, Captain Stern. Yes, I know your real name. I know all about you. And not unlike the military, this academy has a sacred honor code. I’m surprised Joe didn’t tell you about it. Our Quaker roots call for consensus and openness. We don’t hide things. The more one knows, we believe, the more one is protected by the truth.”

“Good,” Maya said. “So how did Theo die?”

“I will ask, however, that you respect the family’s privacy.”

“I will.”

He sighed. “Theo Mora died of alcohol poisoning.”

“He drank himself to death?”

“It happens, sadly. Not often. In fact, it was the only time in the history of this campus. But one night, Theo binge-drank. He was not known as a partier or anything like that. But that’s often how it happens. You don’t know what you’re doing and you overdo it. Theo probably would have been found and saved in time, except he ended up stumbling into a basement. A custodian found him the next morning. He was already dead.”

Maya wasn’t sure what to make of that.

Neville Lockwood put his hands on his desk and leaned forward. “Could you tell me why you and your sister are asking about this now?”

Maya ignored the question. “Did you ever wonder,” she began, “about having two students from the same school and on the same soccer team dying so close together?”

“Yes,” Neville Lockwood said. “I wondered about it a great deal.”

“Did you ever consider the possibility,” Maya continued, “that there could be a connection between Theo’s death and Andrew’s?”

He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “To the contrary,” he said, “I don’t see how there could not be a connection.”

That was not the answer Maya had been expecting.

“Could you elaborate?” she asked.

“I was a math teacher. I taught all kinds of courses in statistics and probabilities. Bivariate data, linear regression, standard deviation, all that stuff. So I look at things as equations and formulas. That’s how my mind works. The odds that two students from the same small, elite all-boys prep school die within months of each other are very slim. The odds that those two boys were in the same grade make the odds slimmer still. The odds that both played on the same soccer team, well, again, you can start to rule out coincidence.” He almost smiled now, raising one finger in the air, lost as though back in the classroom. “But when you add the final factor into the equation, the possibility of coincidence is lowered to almost zero.”

“What final factor?” Maya asked.

“Theo and Andrew were roommates.”

The room fell silent.

“The odds that two seventeen-year-old roommates at a small prep school would both die young and not in some way be related... I confess that I don’t believe in odds that long.”

In the distance Maya could hear a church-like bell sound. Doors began to open. Young boys began to laugh.

“When Andrew Burkett drowned,” Neville Lockwood continued, “an investigator came by. Someone from the Coast Guard who dealt with any sort of deaths at sea.”

“Was his name Tom Douglass?”

“Could have been. I don’t remember anymore. But he came to this very office. He sat right where you are now sitting. And he too wanted to know about the possibility of a connection.”

Maya swallowed. “You told him you saw one.”

“Yes.”

“Could you tell me what it is?”

“Theo’s death was a tremendous shock to our community. How it happened was never reported in the papers. The family wanted it that way. But as much as we were all shocked by what happened, Andrew Burkett was Theo’s best friend. He was devastated. I assume that you met Joe well after Andrew died, so you didn’t know Andrew, did you?”