I knocked four times with no response. Between the third and fourth knocks, I turned to look back toward Estelle. At first it was difficult to see what she was doing through the tinted glass of the truck, but then I realized she was using my binoculars. I kept them in the truck out of habit, hanging them by their strap over the barrel of the shotgun, which was secured with electric locks against the dashboard.
Estelle was looking at something down the apartment complex. I knocked one final time, avoiding the temptation to stare in the direction Estelle was scanning.
Satisfied that either no one was home in 104 or that I was being ignored, I trudged back to the Blazer. By the time I was settled in the seat, she had hung the binoculars back over the shotgun.
“What gives?” I asked. “You bird-watching now?” I gestured at the two ravens that were sitting on a telephone cross-tree at the end of the parking lot.
“You were being watched, sir. Look at the back of the school and count four basement windows.”
“What are you talking about?” I squinted and leaned forward. The gymnasium back wall was solid red brick, decorated here and there with graffiti dating back to Ruby’s first date with Howard in 1959. In another fifty years, the place would be a historical landmark like the National Park Service’s Inscription Rock up north.
The only windows in the wall were a row of six small, rectangular openings that extended below ground level. A small well around each one provided access and drainage.
I looked at the fourth window. “You’re kidding,” I said. I couldn’t tell if the window even had glass, much less see a face. “They’re all barred, aren’t they?”
I reached for the binoculars and had to monkey with the adjustment before the wall jumped into focus. “You certainly messed these up,” I said as I squeezed the tubes together to fit my tired eyes.
Estelle ignored the barb. “I don’t think you can see anything when the window is closed,” she said. “I saw motion earlier. That’s when I looked.”
I looked over at her with skepticism. “You saw motion, Estelle?”
“Yes, sir. When the window swings open from the bottom, the line of the window breaks the sharp shadow line created by the well around the window. It was really obvious.”
“Right.”
“The whole time you were at the doorway, the window was held open. When you turned around to come back to the truck, it closed.”
“Must be Quasimodo,” I said. “One of the janitors is poking around. Either that or you’re imagining things.”
“A janitor down in the back of the basement, behind the boilers? During Christmas recess?”
“Maybe the janitors work during vacations. I don’t know what’s down there. And I didn’t know you spent your early years down there, either.”
Estelle smiled. “I didn’t. But I do remember that the locker rooms and all the offices in that building are at the west end…this end. And that means all the plumbing. The only things at the other end are the foyer, the concession stand, and all the trophy cases.”
I turned in my seat and looked hard at Estelle. I squinted my eyes, trying to see into her brain. She grinned and shrugged. “Sorry. I saw it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Claro.”
“This is ridiculous,” I said and started the Blazer. I backed out onto the street, drove a quarter block and turned into the high school’s circular driveway. “If we don’t check, neither one of us will get any sleep,” I said.
Estelle grinned. “When did you start sleeping, sir?”
“Heh, heh.”
I parked next to a late model Caravan with a bumper sticker on the back that read MY SON IS AN HONOR STUDENT AT POSADAS MIDDLE SCHOOL. It was the only vehicle in the lot, parked in the slot nearest the cafeteria wing between the gymnasium and the office.
“Let’s save some steps,” I said and picked up the mike. I called in the license plate of the van, and in four minutes we knew that it was registered to Elwood Kessel. Kessel was one of the assistant football and basketball coaches. He taught science and civics on occasion. Not surprisingly, no one had filed a want or warrant for him through the National Crime Information Center.
I reached down and slid my heavy flashlight out from under the seat. “You might want to grab the one in the glove box. Basements are dark places, assuming we get in. The door to the coaches’ office is over on the west side of the gym,” I said. “Best bet.” And it was. We rounded the corner of the gym just as Kessel was in the process of turning the deadbolt behind him.
“Jesus, you startled me,” he said. He pulled his key out of the lock and shook the handle. He was young, twenty times fitter than I ever was, with brown hair that he probably had to work on for an hour to make it look so casually unruly. “Who can I help you find?” He might have found it odd to meet two people holding flashlights in the bright sunshine of afternoon.
“Well, you, for starters,” I said. And even though I said it as casually as I could, I saw the flicker of uneasiness that most civilians feel when they have to talk with uniforms. I introduced us, although that was hardly necessary since my name tag on the uniform shirt was clearly visible, and Kessel’s eyes had strayed there first.
“What can I do for you?”
“Is there any one else in the building besides yourself, coach?”
He had thrust his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and he leaned forward as if he hadn’t heard my question. “Excuse me?”
“Is there any one else in the building?”
“No sir. Not that I know of. There shouldn’t be. Why?”
“Are this and the front door the only two means of entry?”
The coach frowned. “What’s this all about, anyway?”
“We’re not sure. Probably nothing. But it would help if you’d answer my question.”
He blushed. “Sure. There’s another door on the east side. It exits out of the back of the snack bar.”
“That’s it? The three doors?”
“Yes.”
“Were you downstairs just a few minutes ago?”
“Downstairs? No. Why would I go downstairs?” He tried for a chuckle. “The boiler is the janitor’s problem, not mine. But they all went home at four.”
I moved toward the door. It was heavy steel. “Would you mind?”
He hesitated. “Uh-”
“Coach Kessel, we’re not executing a warrant or anything like that. Let me tell you what happened.” I put a hand on his shoulder, father to son. “Detective Reyes-Guzman and I were in the parking lot of the Casa Del Sol apartments just now.” I waved a hand. “Other business. She said she saw one of the basement windows open. Someone was looking out.”
Kessel turned and looked at Estelle. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he shrugged and held out his hands, palms up.
“We’d like to take a look. And I’ll be honest with you. We’ve got a couple reasons other than being concerned that someone’s in your building after hours. But I really don’t want to go into that now.”
I took my hand off his shoulder and put it on the door handle. “Would you?”
“Sure.” He pulled the wad of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. The effluvia was instantaneous, even though the nearest locker room was fifty feet down a hallway and through two more doors. Maybe coaches got used to the continuous smell of socks, uniforms, mildewed towels, and decaying sneakers. “Through here,” he said and I started to follow him. Then I remembered the person behind me.
“You want to stay with the truck? In case someone needs to reach us on the radio?”
“No.” Estelle had the courtesy not to tack “foolish old man” to the end of her remark.
I nodded. We wound through first the boys’ locker room and then the girls’; neither was a pretty sight. I wondered what microbiologists would find if they took cultures of the things growing on the shower stall walls.
“Right here,” Kessel said. “This is one of two doors downstairs.” He hesitated. “At least I think there’s two. Obviously I don’t go down there much.” He didn’t look like he wanted to go down this time, either.