The Word of a Child

“Do they pay any more attention to him than the students down the hall—” Connor nodded toward the next classroom “—are to that young blonde?”

Mariah started to rise to her feet. “Is she having trouble?”

He waved her back. “If you mean, are they rioting, no. Are they hanging on her every word? No.” He told her about the activities he’d seen going on.

Sounding rueful, Mariah said, “Karen is a student teacher. She probably won’t be alone with the class for more than a few minutes. When Rich Sadow pops back in, the cards will vanish.”

“Ah. The substitute syndrome.”

“Exactly.”

“To get back to the point…” he prodded her.

“Gerald? He is new this year, remember. But I’d say the kids are pretty enthusiastic. He brought some very cool programs with him, I understand. Stuff that’s way beyond the school budget.”

Glancing around the classroom, Connor muttered, “Is there a budget?”

She wrinkled her nose. “No, now that you mention it. But, to get back to Gerald, he seems passionate about computers as tools, and that kind of enthusiasm almost always gets through to kids. Besides,” she added, “they like computers these days. They’re a lot cooler than books.”

“Does he always dress so…” He hesitated.

“Yes.” She frowned, as if annoyed at herself. Firming her mouth, Mariah said, “I don’t see what his choice of clothing has to do with your investigation.”

“Just trying to…create a picture. See the whole man, so to speak.”

“I honestly don’t know him very well.” Ms. Stavig sounded very businesslike this afternoon. “You’re going to have to look elsewhere for help with your portrait.”

Was she unable? Or unwilling? Connor couldn’t tell.

“All right,” he said agreeably. “On to Tracy. I took a look through her school record.”

Some of Mariah’s visible tension dissipated as she sighed. “It’s full of ten-inch-tall warnings, isn’t it? Here’s a girl who needs lots of attention, who is lacking positive reinforcement at home, who will get lost if you ignore her. And then what did half her teachers do but ignore her.”

“I noticed that,” he agreed. “She yo-yoed—is that a word?—from year to year. Her sixth-grade teacher downright disliked her, I’d say, reading between the lines.”

Mariah nodded. “Roberta Madison has, um, a reputation for doing better with boy students. The good little girl who can sit quietly in class is okay with her, too. A Tracy Mitchell apparently offends her sense of what’s right.”

Connor shook his head. “Okay. Let’s go back through your talk with Tracy.”

He had Mariah repeat yet again every word as close to verbatim as she could recall. She had a good memory—perhaps photographic, as she would pause, gaze into space with those tiny puckers gathering her brow, and then give a line of dialogue or describe an expression with certainty.

As she thought, Mariah Stavig seemed unaware that he was watching her. He found his mind drifting more than it should from what she was saying.

Light didn’t play off her hair the way it normally would. The texture wasn’t sleek and smooth, but more…downy, he decided. Connor imagined her hair loose, a fluffy, soft cloud like cotton candy, but less sticky.

Or he’d contemplate her long, slender neck, bowed gracefully when she gazed thoughtfully at her desktop. He liked her carriage, too; her back was always elegantly straight, her shoulders squared, as though someone in her childhood had impressed on her the importance of posture.

Mariah Stavig was a fairly tall woman, five-seven or -eight, he guessed, but slender. She was small-breasted, but he wasn’t a man who liked more than a handful, anyway. Her fingers were long, her wrists narrow, her legs… Well, with her sitting behind the desk, he couldn’t see them, but once, three years ago, when he had come to her house she’d been wearing jeans and he’d seen despite himself how long her legs were. A man’s fantasy, those legs.

Mariah would have been too tall to be a ballerina, but that’s what she made him think of. Delicacy and strength mixed together, grace coupled with innocence and unconscious sexuality. That’s what he saw when he looked at her.

Which he had no damn business doing, he thought in exasperation. Connor moved restlessly and the desk creaked beneath him. Mariah, pulled from a momentary reverie, cast him a surprised glance with those catlike eyes, as if she’d forgotten he was still there.

“So you mentioned the possibility of her having to testify in court,” he said gruffly. “And Tracy didn’t like the idea.”

“No.” Mariah’s brow crinkled again. “It obviously had never occurred to her that her complaint might go that far. ‘Can’t he just be fired?’ she asked.”

Mariah went on to tell him what she’d explained to the girl. Connor tried hard to listen and get his mind above his belt.

What in hell was he thinking? Mariah Stavig hated him! He’d broken up her marriage. She despised what he did for a living and was cooperating now only reluctantly, because of a sense of duty and a knowledge of the law. He hated to imagine how she’d react if she knew how intensely he was aware of her.

“Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll be talking to her again this evening. We’ll see whether she’s forgotten any of her story, or decides to embellish it a little.”

“Do you think she’s lying?” Mariah asked.

“At the moment, I have no idea,” Connor admitted.

“Has she, um, been examined by a doctor yet?” She sounded timid. “I know it’s probably not any of my business, but…”

“No, it’s okay,” he said. “Yeah, she had the works. Looks like she did lose her virginity in the past few days. No bruising or obvious signs that force was used. It was probably too long ago to recover DNA, assuming a condom wasn’t used.”

“She was afraid of being pregnant.”

“She’s thirteen years old,” he said bluntly. “When I asked whether he might not have put on a condom before they had intercourse, she stared at me with complete blankness. In theory she knows what one is. Unless it was neon-green, I’m not convinced she’d have noticed if he put one on quickly, with his back to her.”

The distaste and even embarrassment on Mariah’s face might have been comical, under other circumstances. “She was probably trying not to…look.” She was being very careful to keep her gaze fixed on his face, too.

A fact that stirred him uncomfortably.

Frowning, he said, “Exactly.” Looking at the bank of windows, he made himself think about Tracy Mitchell, not the prim teacher behind the desk. “I need to start talking to kids. Hard to do without lighting a bonfire of rumors.”

“Impossible, I imagine.” Mariah looked worried. “If word gets out to parents, they may want Gerald suspended.”

“Unfair as that could be,” Connor acknowledged, “I’m hoping to find answers soon. Dragging this out will only make it uglier.”

“You’re mostly counting on her making a mistake, aren’t you?”

“Or confessing all to a friend who has more conscience than she has.”

Mariah didn’t like that. “What if it’s the truth?”

“Then my guess is we find that Tracy Mitchell isn’t his first victim.” Connor’s voice hardened. “I’ll be talking to his former colleagues, students, neighbors… You name it. If he’s a pedophile, he’ll have offended before. And found he liked it, which would explain his taking a job where he’d be working with all these young girls.”

“Oh.” Her eyes were huge and alarmed, making him wonder how feral his expression had become.

He rose to his feet. Time to get out of here and do his job, not hang around wishing for the impossible.

“If I have more questions, I’ll be in touch, Ms. Stavig. Thank you for your help.”