FBI was already here. I’m not sure what more I can tell you. Or should.” She had short, white hair in a boyish cut and the tan of someone who’s outdoors a lot. Given the profusion of house plants in the office I was guessing gardening over triathlons, though she had a nice enough figure. She was dressed professionally, even with school out, in a sleeveless patterned blouse and white slacks. No wedding ring. Her tone was cool and guarded, as if I were an errant teacher begging to be rehired despite a file full of student grievances.
“Whatever you’re able to answer,” I said, trying to decide where to start. My eyes strayed across her desk. Beside a pile of manila folders sat a copy of Dreamland. She followed my gaze.
“It’s a book about the opiate epidemic,” she said, taking her time pronouncing ‘opiate.’ “There’s several chapters about Ohio.”
“Yes. I’m reading it myself.”
“You are?”
“That’s right.”
“Is it for a class, or, or something?”
“Actually, I’m just reading it. You know, for pleasure, so to speak. It’s good, don’t you think? But quite disturbing.” I waited a moment, but she didn’t respond.
I said, “Don’t worry. I have a friend who helps me sound out the really big words.”
“I’m sorry. I just didn’t think—”
I waited, watching her blush. I felt bad, but it was worth seeing. It made my embarrassment at owing Bonnie money literally pale in comparison. Plus, the color didn’t do any harm to her features.
“I meant—”
“Don’t worry about it. Sounds like a topic we’re both interested in. I imagine it’s a big concern in a school. Maybe we could talk about it sometime over tea and crumpets. But right now I’m here about Abdi Mohamed. I guess I’m wondering if anyone here has any idea where he might have gone. And if these accusations are a surprise in any way.”
“Yes,” she said, recovering. “Yes, I mean they are a surprise. A huge surprise. You think you know the students, and then something like this. It’s hard not to wonder now, with his brother and all. But Abdi was a good kid. We didn’t suspect anything like this. None of his teachers did.”
“And no idea where he is?”
“Of course not. We would have told the authorities.”
“His family says he was on the way to work. After school got out?”
“That’s right. He always had a job of some kind. Very hardworking. Not like—”
“Not like Hassan?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “They were very different young men, despite the fact they were brothers. Hassan was a real troublemaker, to tell you the truth. We have a gang problem here, and he was headed in that direction. That’s what made his turnaround so surprising.” She paused. “And frankly, a little hard to swallow.”
“What do you mean?”
“He just traded one set of problems for another, in my opinion. Instead of just, I don’t know, doing the right thing in the first place.”
“In my experience, doing the right thing is a high bar for a lot of people.”
“Is that so?”
“Present company excepted, of course.” The expression on her face told me I hadn’t won any favors with the remark. I smiled, hoping to tone it down a little. The smile wasn’t returned. I forged ahead anyway. “So was there anything about Abdi that might have signaled a change?”
“Like what?”
“I’m not sure. A difference in his mood, maybe. Something suggesting he was subject to, I don’t know, some kind of outside influence. Going down his brother’s path.”
“Not at all. His grades were fine. He wasn’t an ‘A’ student or anything like that, but he was no slouch. There were no signs of a senior slump.” She sighed. “Not like a lot of the kids in his class. He was upset after his brother left town, of course. I talked to him briefly a few times. Barbara would know more of the details, but I can’t really say I noticed a big change.”
“Barbara?”
“Barbara Mendoza. One of our counselors. She worked closely with Abdi. She helped him apply to Ohio State, and look for scholarships. She has—”
“Yes?”
“She has a different opinion, I guess. I believe she told the FBI it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that Abdi could have, well, turned.”
“Sounds like you disagree.”
“I wouldn’t say that. She knew him much better. I’m not in a position to second-guess her. She’s a veteran counselor.”
“Is she around?”
“She’s off for the summer.”
“Is it possible to speak with her?”
“I’m not sure. I suppose I could ask. She was very upset when this happened. Still is. I think she—”
I waited while she gathered her thoughts. She said, “It’s almost as if she took it personally. After all the time she spent with him.”
“She feels betrayed?”
“Something like that.”
“I think she’d be good to talk to. If you could reach out to her, maybe, let her know my interest. That I’m trying to help. Maybe explain I’m an OK guy. That I read books from time to time.”
“There’s no need to be rude, Mr.”—she put her index finger on my card and raised a pair of readers onto her eyes—“Mr. Hayes.”
“My apologies. I was aiming for impertinent. And call me Andy.”
Her face reddened again, but not from embarrassment this time. “Maybe you’re accustomed to this kind of thing, Mr. Hayes. In your line of work.” Her tone implying septic tank cleaning might be a step up in the world. “But this has been utterly traumatic for us. Especially now, after Hassan, and happening right at the end of the school year.”
“I can imagine.”
“I doubt it.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. So. The counselor?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you.”
When I didn’t go on, she said, “Was there anything else?”
“Could you ask her now? The sooner I can get some answers, the better.”
“Now?”
“No
