Are You Nuts? by Mark Richard Zubro

night?”
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œWhat time did you leave? Did anybody see you go?”
    â€œDid I miss something? Are you on the River’s Edge Police Department?”
    â€œNot yet.”
    â€œNor will you ever be.”
    â€œMy friend is accused of murder.”
    â€œYou want to be an amateur sleuth? Please, leave that Jessica Fletcher crap alone. I’m not answering any of your questions.”
    An unpleasant impasse if I ever heard one.
    He got up from his desk and walked toward the door.
    â€œYou’re just walking out?”
    â€œI’m going to the bathroom.”
    â€œIn the middle of a conversation?”
    He simply left.
    I hunted down the new head custodian in the district, Robert Tusher. He was a short, roly-poly man. All the custodians wore brown uniform pants with a brown work shirt. Probably from the same company that made Frank Murphy’s suits. I asked if anybody had been in my room this morning.
    â€œYou’re the guy from TV talk shows with the baseball player?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œYour room in the west wing of the old high school?”
    â€œYes.”
    He thought a minute. “Wasn’t supposed to be anybody in there. Except for a couple community service kids, we were all over at the new school getting it ready for the big meeting Friday. We’re setting up tables and chairs in all kinds of different places. Those community service kids don’t do the slightest thing more than what they are told. You’ve got to watch them every minute.”
    I believed that.
    He gave me more details than I needed for the next few minutes about opening the new building, difficulties with teenagers on probation, and impossible teachers. I let him talk. It’s always a bright idea to keep on the good side of a custodian. After the school secretaries, they are the most powerful people in a school. He finished, “Didn’t you have some kind of trouble yesterday afternoon?”
    â€œYou heard about that?”
    â€œMy staff has to report any problems to me at the end of the day. One of the kids said you talked to him.”
    A snarling but loquacious teenager. I asked, “Which of your people were on duty last night?”
    â€œI heard Meg Swarthmore is a friend of yours. You worried about her being accused of murder?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œI already talked to the cops. They’ve cleared my people. They were in each other’s presence the whole night.”
    â€œThey went to the john together?” I asked.
    â€œMy folks vouch for each other. Do you have somebody to give you an alibi?”
    â€œI was home.”
    â€œAlone?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI was with my wife. Sounds like you’ve got more to worry about than I do.” He walked away.
    Working with the list I had gotten from Carolyn, I returned to the high school and went in search of people to question.
    First, I stopped outside the library. The light inside came from several skylights they’d installed in the roof in the past year. Warm sunlight flooded the room. Police barrier tape covered all the entrances. I had to do all my observing from the doors. I could see nothing of significance from my vantage point.
    At the entrance to the old wing, I saw a few people sitting in folding chairs outside the science office. These must be people waiting to be interviewed. A young cop near the door said to me, “Can I help you, sir?”
    â€œI wanted to talk to a few people.”
    â€œWere you at the PTA meeting last night?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen if you could leave, sir, that would be a help to the police.”
    There was no point in crossing her. I retreated. The school was starting to heat up in all its unair-conditioned splendor. I supposed I could simply wait around the corner for people to come by.
    Lydia Marquez came trundling down the corridor toward me. Not often in our lives do we get to see evil incarnate