George Chesbro - Two Songs This Archangel Sings

Garth bowed his head, sighed heavily, then leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees. "Mr. Holmes," he said softly, "two nights ago three young people just past high school age were murdered in Seattle, along with their parents and grandmother. They were all blown to pieces."

Holmes frowned. "You suspect Veil Kendry?"

"No, sir. But he's definitely connected to it somehow, and more people-young people-may die unless we find him soon. The information you have in that file in front of you could be important."

"But I don't see how."

"That's why you're an educator and I'm a cop. Let me decide if it's important. I give you my word that the information won't be used if it's not necessary; if it is used, nobody will be told where we got it from. Please, Mr. Homes. Lives are at stake."

Holmes considered Garth's words, finally nodded. "According to these records, Veil Kendry was a very disturbed and violent young man, Lieutenant; the reason he was living with his aunt was because he was thrown out of his own home at the age of fourteen by his parents, who could no longer tolerate his bizarre behavior. He was twice committed to a mental hospital, once by his parents and once by the courts."

"What's the name of the facility?"

"At the time it was called Rockland State Hospital. It's downstate, and I'm familiar with it. Now there's a separate facility for kids, called Rockland Children's Psychiatric Center, but it still serves the same purpose. Children usually aren't committed there unless they're homicidal or suicidal-sometimes both. He did attend Colletville High otherwise, but there's no record of his having graduated. That's about it, Lieutenant."

Garth and I looked at each other, and I wondered if disappointment was as clearly etched on my face as it was on his. The trail in Colletville was more than two decades old, and there was nothing left here but the cries of a tormented young man still echoing in a musty, yellowing school file.

"Thanks, Mr. Holmes," Garth said, rising and shaking the other man's hand.

Holmes read my brother's voice and face. "I was right. It isn't any help, is it?"

Garth shrugged. "It sheds light on a few things, but it won't help us find him. We very much appreciate your cooperation."

"Wait," Holmes said as Garth and I headed for the door. We stopped, turned back. "Jan Garvey, one of our social studies teachers, graduated from Colletville High. I don't recall exactly when she graduated, but she's been teaching here for quite a few years. I think there's a good possibility she was a contemporary of this Veil Kendry, or at least may know something about him."

"We'd very much like to talk to her," Garth said quickly.

"I don't want to disturb her during class, but if you'll wait a moment I'll check her schedule and see when she has a preparation period."

"No. We'll wait until after school. I don't want her to feel rushed."

"That will be fine. Naturally, I have to get her permission. School is dismissed at three fifteen. If Ms. Garvey agrees, you can see her then."

Garth nodded. "Thanks, Holmes. When you get your school in New York City, you look me up. Having good contacts with the cops won't hurt you in trying to run a school in the South Bronx. Consider me a good contact."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Holmes said, smiling. "I appreciate that. I'll see you later. Come here to my office, and I'll introduce you to Jan Garvey."

Something had come up to prevent Holmes from meeting with us again after school, but his secretary told us that Jan Garvey was expecting us, and we should go up to her room on the second floor.

The social studies teacher turned out to be an extremely attractive woman, close to six feet tall in her heels. Her hair was auburn-colored, graying nicely at the temples to give her a ripe, sexy look. Her features were accented by dark, soulful eyes. She projected an aura of toughness with dignity, like someone who had known much suffering but come back from it a deeper and better person than she had been before. She was, I suspected, a survivor, and probably an outstanding teacher, one with the sensitivity and intelligence to comfort and counsel those students who needed it, yet at the same time be able to back the biggest bad-ass in class right up against the wall.

At the moment, the woman's dark eyes were shadowed with anxiety, and she looked shaken as she stood in the doorway of her brightly decorated classroom and greeted us. "Hello, Lieutenant," she said to Garth, then looked at me. "I've read a great deal about the colorful Dr. Robert Frederickson, also known as Mongo. It's a pleasure and honor to meet you."

"I'm flattered," I answered with a smile. "I've been called a lot of things, but this is the first time I've ever heard myself described as 'colorful.' I'm going to have to note that in my diary, Ms. Garvey."

"Call me Jan, please."

"I'm Mongo, as you mentioned, and the lieutenant's name is Garth."

"I understand that you want to talk to me about Veil Kendry," the woman said as she ushered us into her room and closed the door behind her. The warmth in her voice had been replaced by wariness and tension.

"Yes," Garth replied.

"What is it you want to know?"

"Anything and everything you can tell us about him."

"How is he?"

"He's in a lot of trouble, Jan."

Again, shadows moved in Jan Garvey's eyes, and she shook her head sadly. "I'm very sorry to hear that. I thought he was doing so well. I've read articles about him and reviews of his work. Once, I made plans to go to New York to see one of his exhibits, but I backed off at the last moment. I… I'm not sure why. I guess I was afraid that being that close to Veil would remind me of too many things I don't want to be reminded of."

"Then you did know him well?" Garth said carefully.

The woman's thin laughter was laced with sadness. "Yes, Garth, I'd say so; I'd certainly say so. Can you tell me what he's done?"

"He hasn't done anything, Jan," I said, knowing that Garth would probably take strong exception. "Some other people are trying to do things to him-and us. For your own protection, we can't tell you much more than that. But it's very important that we find him, and soon. Lives could depend on it. We're asking you to trust us. You're the last person we know to speak to, the last hope we have of finding out things about Veil which we need to know."

The woman studied me for some time before speaking. "Then you're not looking for him because of some crime he's committed?"

"No. But he's disappeared, and something in his past is the key to why-and maybe where-he's gone. We're not exaggerating at all when we tell you lives are at stake. We're hoping that something you know might be of help."

Jan Garvey turned away quickly. "It all seems so long ago," she said in a small voice. "I haven't seen Veil in more than twenty years. How could anything I say be of any use to you?"

"Jan," Garth said with more gentleness in his tone than I'd heard from him in a long time, "we're not sure just what it is we're looking for. The only thing we know for sure is that you're the last link to him we know of. We'd like you to tell us everything you know, or have heard, about Veil Kendry, and let Mongo and me filter and weigh the information. It's obvious that you cared deeply about this man at one time, and still care. I give you my word that nothing you say to us will be used to hurt him."

"I believe you," the woman said with a catch in her voice that was close to a sob. "But it hurts me so much to remember." When she turned back to look at us, tears suddenly sprang to her eyes, and she bolted for the door. "Excuse me," she called back over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, but I have to get some coffee. I'll be right back."

"What the hell are we still doing here?" Garth asked almost an hour later as we stood by the classroom windows staring out at the gathering dusk. A storm was on its way, making the sky even darker. There were snow flurries in the air, harbingers of the much heavier flakes that would begin falling soon.