Part 15 (1/2)

”Thanks,” I said, and I turned and walked the half-block that took me to Chaplin School and into the not-so-simple life of Carolyn Atcheson.

She must have seen me coming, because she had the door open before I knocked. She looked like teachers I could remember from my childhood: big, over six feet, and ample, not fat, but what another generation would have called a fine figure of a woman. Her hair was salt-and-pepper grey and cropped short. She did not look pleased to see me, but she was of the old school. No matter how she felt, she would not be rude.

”Come down to my office, Mrs. Kilbourn. You'll be more comfortable there.”

”You know who I am.”

”I watch television,” she said.

As I followed her down the empty hall, the years melted away. The princ.i.p.al was taking me to her office. She was not happy, and I had to think quickly.

Carolyn Atcheson's office did nothing to put me at ease. It was a no-nonsense place. Barren of photographs, plants, or personal mementoes, her oak desk gleamed. On the wall behind her was a bra.s.s plaque. KNOWLEDGE IS POWER, it said sternly.

Carolyn motioned me to the chair on the student's side of the desk; then she sat down. She didn't waste time. ”I'm surprised to see you, Mrs. Kilbourn. From what I've read and heard, I thought the police had cleared you.”

”They have,” I said. ”But I still have questions.”

”About Maureen Gault,” she said.

”About Maureen Gault, and about someone else, too,” I said. I pulled the copy of Prairiegirl from my bag, found the page I was looking for, and slid the book across the desk to her.

”I need to know about this girl,” I said. ”What can you tell me about her?”

It had been a shot in the dark, but it found its mark. Carolyn Atcheson's face went white, and she grabbed the edge of her desk as if she needed something to hold on to. Outside in the hall, the bells announcing a cla.s.s change rang and the sound echoed hollowly through the empty school. Carolyn Atcheson didn't move.

”I need to know about her,” I repeated.

”She was a student here,” Carolyn Atcheson said.

”And a friend of Maureen Gault's,” I said. I reached across and turned to the photo on the last page of Prairiegirl. ”Look,” I said.

She turned away. ”I've seen the picture,” she said.

”Have you seen this one?” I asked, and I slid the Santa Claus picture across to her.

Carolyn's face seemed to grow even paler. Her dark eyes burned across the s.p.a.ce between us. ”What are you after?” she asked.

I looked at the plaque on the wall behind her. ”Knowledge,” I said. ”I'm after knowledge. Tell me everything you know about the girl in those pictures and Maureen Gault.”

She stared at me.

”Maybe your files would help,” I said.

”I don't need files,” she said thickly.

”Miss Atcheson, this is very important. A woman's life is at stake.” As soon as I said the words, I knew they were true. The life that was at stake was my own.

What I said seemed to jolt her. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. Then she leaned towards me. ”I a.s.sume Hilda McCourt told you something of my history with Maureen Gault.”

”Yes,” I said, ”she did.”

”In all the years I've taught, Maureen was the only truly evil student who ever crossed my path.” For a moment Carolyn Atcheson seemed stunned by the enormity of what she had said, then she straightened her shoulders and continued. ”My mother used to tell us that nothing is wasted. Maureen inspired me to do a great deal of reading in psychology. If I ever meet another student like her, I'll know what to do. But I didn't know what I was dealing with in that girl, and that's why I failed everyone so badly. Maureen Gault should have been stopped years ago.”

”Yes,” I agreed, ”she should have been.”

Carolyn half turned her chair so she was facing the window. As she leaned forward to watch the snow, her voice became almost dreamy. ”From what I've learned, Maureen could be cla.s.sified as a primary psychopath. She truly believed she was superior to everyone around her. The guiding principle of her life was to force others to recognize and acknowledge her superiority.”

”Hilda told me that Maureen was very popular when she started high school.”

Carolyn Atcheson seemed to find it easier to talk without facing me. ”Her leaders.h.i.+p skills were remarkable for a girl her age. I've read since that this is not atypical of her illness. At any rate, as long as everyone accepted her as leader and did her bidding, Maureen functioned. It was when the other girls got sick of being manipulated and dominated that the trouble started.”

”That's when the attacks on the other students began,” I said.

Carolyn's voice was sad. ”Yes, and that's when she began her relations.h.i.+p with poor Kevin.”

”He was the only one who stuck by her,” I said.

”No, not the only one,” Carolyn said. ”That girl in the picture was Maureen's best friend. She never gave up on Maureen either.”

”Who was she?” I asked.

”Her name ...” Carolyn stopped speaking for a moment. Then, shoulders sunk in defeat, she murmured, ”Her name was Jenny Rybchuk.”

My heart was already pounding, but I had to know more. ”What was Jenny Rybchuk like?”

Carolyn turned from the window, and I saw that there were tears in her eyes. ”Innocent. Sweet. No matter what Maureen did, Jenny always forgave her, tried to understand. They'd known each other since they were babies. The families lived next door to one another. Henry was so erratic ...”

”Henry,” I repeated, remembering the man who had sought Ian out at the Legislature the night before he died.

”Henry Rybchuk,” Carolyn said. ”Jenny's father. When Jenny was growing up, her friends were afraid to go into the Rybchuk house because Henry was so unpredictable. When he was sober, he was decent enough, but when he was drinking, he could be violent.” She hesitated. ”There were rumours that his feelings for Jenny went beyond what a father should feel for his daughter. It must have been a terrifying life for a child, and lonely. Of course, Maureen went there. That one was never afraid of anything. She spent so much time with the Rybchuks that I think Jenny came to look upon her as a kind of sister.”

”How did Maureen look upon Jenny?”

Carolyn laughed bitterly. ”I'm sure she thanked her lucky stars that fate had sent her a friend as compliant and as needy as Jenny. I suppose when they were children, Maureen didn't mistreat Jenny any more than any strong-willed child mistreats a more pa.s.sive friend. In my experience, children are as fond of power as anyone a and as easily corrupted by it. But eventually I think Maureen's role in their relations.h.i.+p became more sinister than deciding which game the two of them would play ...” Carolyn fell silent.

”Maureen used Jenny,” I said.

”Oh, yes,” Carolyn agreed. ”Maureen used Jenny. That girl knew how to use goodness.”

”How did she react to Jenny's pregnancy?”

For a beat, Carolyn was silent. Finally, she said, ”Jenny didn't tell her until after the baby was born.”

”If she didn't tell her best friend, whom did she tell?” I asked.

Carolyn looked away. ”I don't know.”

I didn't believe her. ”Did Jenny tell the baby's father she was pregnant?”

Carolyn's voice was edgy. ”I told you I don't know whom else she told.”