Page 6 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective

Road Kill

Knowles, student body president and varsity letterman in two or
three sports, made a show of relinquishing his charge to a lesser
protector. “Go ahead, Sherrie, honey,” he cooed, as if to a small
child. “I’ll be waiting for you at Burger Palace.” He hitched his
canvas gym bag over his shoulder and bounded off the bus.
By contrast, Labelle Gramercy, a tall dark-haired co-ed wearing
jeans and a sweatshirt, had not stirred from her seat. I had talked with
her once or twice before in the course of my duties, and hadn’t
noticed any particular reticence or lack of desire to interact with her
fellow students. Was she in shock? Her bright green eyes were staring
straight ahead beneath dark brows. She wore little makeup and
certainly didn’t need much.
“Labelle?”
She snapped out of it. “Yes, Mr. Holloman. I’m coming.” Her
voice was level, the same as I remembered it. She stood up and
gathered her things. The bus suddenly seemed rather cramped.
The three of us stepped out into the late morning sun and headed
silently for the administration building. I noticed a car with city plates
parked in the visitor’s space; so did Labelle.
“Will there be an official police investigation, Mr. Holloman?” She
did not seem at all upset by the possibility.
“Well, they have certain procedures to follow in cases like this.
Nothing to worry about, girls: I’ll be with you.” This seemed to
satisfy Labelle; she nodded thoughtfully. I was glad she didn’t want to
enter into any sort of discussion. Then I glanced at Sherrie Cook.
She had begun crying again, softly but steadily. A small group of
students eyed us with curiosity as we crossed the quad and went
inside.
The school secretary handed me a message on the threshold of the
administrative offices. On it was written ‘Brad Fassner, WVPD.’ She
looked at us apprehensively. “He’s waiting for you.”
By the time we arrived at my office, the tension in our little group
had mounted considerably. “Please wait out here for a minute, girls,
and I’ll see what is required of us.” They sat down outside my door
on hard wooden armchairs, Sherrie biting her lip and Labelle sinking
back into some sort of reverie. I opened the door and went in.
Captain Fassner had installed himself at my desk and was
drumming his meaty fingers on the blotter. His bulky body, tightly

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