Fatal Shadows

The answering machine was signaling disaster when I finally got in. Some impulse made me hit Play despite my exhaustion.

“Where the hell are you?” Riordan sounded … angry wasn’t quite the word. “Call me when you get in. I don’t care what time it is.” He recited a couple of new numbers to phone.

I didn’t think he meant five-thirty in the morning, and I didn’t have the energy to deal with him right now anyway. I stripped, dived into bed, loving the cool kiss of my own sheets on my nakedness. The bed did a spin. I closed my eyes. Passed out.

I was surprised when Mr. Atkins called. He said he always enjoyed meeting with former students, and we arranged to meet for lunch at the Denny’s on Topanga Canyon.

I recognized him immediately in blue-tinted spectacles that matched a baggy sleeveless sweater. I recalled that he had a sleeveless sweater in every shade of blue. His hair was thinning but still longish. It occurred to me that while he had seemed ancient and venerable to my 11th grader eyes, he couldn’t have been that old. He was only about sixty now.

“I come here for the early bird specials,” he informed me with a wink, and poured a second packet of C&H into his tea. “That’s the beauty of early retirement, son. You’re still young enough to enjoy life.”

We ordered, and while we waited to be served Mr. Atkins said, “I was very sorry to hear about Robert Hersey. I told my wife when I read the story in the paper what a waste it was. Such a bright, handsome kid.”

“This may sound crazy,” I said, rearranging the salt shakers. “But I’m afraid Robert’s death could have something to do with what happened with the Chess Club.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Mr. Atkins pushed his glasses back up his nose and frowned at me.

“No. Rusty Corday’s dead too — also under suspicious circumstances. Both Rusty and Rob were found with … well … chess pieces.”

“What do you mean “found” with them?”

I explained what I meant. Mr. Atkin’s eyebrows shot up. “Well of course the whole school knew about Corday, but Hersey. I just can’t believe that. Hersey a queer?” He considered me, and I saw the light dawn. “Ah, I see,” he said regretfully.

Maybe at some point that doesn’t sting any more. I said stiffly, “The thing is, two people dead out of such a small group seems like too much of a coincidence.”

“Don’t get me wrong, son,” Mr. Atkins said. “Moralizing went out with Henry James. But it’s an unhealthy way to live, isn’t it?”

There were a number of responses to that. None conducive to getting more information.

she was out of range, Mr. Atkins said, “I think you’re wrong, though. I admit at the time there might have been reason for murder, if you listen to the talk show hosts. There’s nothing more unstable

“What actually happened?”

were there. Oh, that’s right. You came down with

you had quit

to the All City Tournament, and Grant Landis, the big doofus, cheated. Tried to cheat anyway. Knocked the board after making an illegal move or some such crap. You can’t

“What happened?”

kids were humiliated and angry. Landis was — well, I felt sorry for the kid. Poor bastard. All he wanted was to fit in. You know the kind of kid who tries too hard to be

and I had gone over to his house once or twice for study groups, but I couldn’t put a face to the name. Dark, I thought. Bushy dark hair when nobody

quit sponsoring the club? Why not just throw

uncomfortable at some memory. “Kids are merciless. One of the pack shows weakness and the

They drove Landis out and you quit sponsoring

Atkins ate another french

there? Can’t you tell me? It

a long time ago,

Landis? I don’t remember him my

the blue shades his eyes met mine

“Mr. Atkins, it’s not curiosity.

seemed

a gang of them. Anyway, they held him down, shaved his entire body, smeared make up all over his face, and

silent trying to imagine

high heaven. We had everyone from the

have known who

lying. I think he knew who it was, but what the hell. It wouldn’t have made his life any easier to finger them.” He added caustically, “Nowadays he’d have just come

Chess Club? It sounds more

on the tennis team. So were you for that matter. Felicity, or whatever her name was, was the

“What about Rusty Corday?”