WITH THE TRAFFIC in the Loop, I barely had time to make it back to the school a half an hour before classes let out. I hoped that would give me a chance to visit the principal. I didn’t want to make an appointment; I wanted this to look more impromptu than it was. I wanted to make sure of a few things. I wanted to make certain that Franklin hadn’t done anything rash. I also wanted to know if the principal was aware of what occurred at the hotel next door. And finally, I wanted to know what he planned to do about the problems, if anything.
I drove around the block once, just so that I could take a look at the Starlite in the middle of the day. The hotel looked unassuming, a rundown building that had once been a showplace.
The restaurant gave it all the veneer of dying old money, a swanky location that was swanky no longer.
No wonder I hadn’t really noticed it. It was designed to disappear in the daytime.
The school’s front door was just off the parking lot. At least twice a week, I walked the kids through the lot, up the long
stairs, to those double blue doors, but I hadn’t been inside in more than a year.
I parked as close as I could get, got out, walked up the stairs, and pulled one door open, surprised that no one greeted me. I thought we had set up some kind of security system with the school after the gang incidents last year. If I remembered correctly, there should always have been a teacher or an assistant near the door, making sure that someone who did not belong could not get in.
I had liked the teacher security system, because, theoretically, they would know who had graduated or been expelled and no longer belonged. That was especially important since there was a junior high attached to this grade school, and some of the kids in the junior high—the boys especially—looked particularly grown-up.
That thought made me wince. Lacey had been going to the junior high, not the grade school, and she also had looked particularly grown-up.
I went through the second set of doors, which had not been placed there for protection from outsiders but for protection against the shocking deep cold of winter. The doors blocked the frigid air from getting into the hallway. There were no heaters until a few yards inside that wide hallway, so that the school saved some money on its power bills.
The school had to save money wherever it could. It had half the operating budget it needed. The principal had allocated most of the money toward teachers, which I appreciated, but that meant the inside of the school looked more like a derelict building than a place to study.
I couldn’t remember if it had looked this bad when I first enrolled Jimmy here nearly two years ago. Both he and I had been suffering from culture shock then. We had come to Chicago to escape Memphis, and this city was frighteningly different. Everything looked odd, or rundown, or dirty because we had come in April, when there was slush everywhere and the remains of the Westside fires after the riots sparked by Martin’s assassination.
I had noticed the condition of the school last year, when we dealt with the gangs, but I didn’t remember it being this bad. Locker doors hung off their hinges; some doors were even missing. Boards crossed others, and as I stepped inside, I shivered, realizing that the expected heat was not on at all.
No wonder Jimmy had been so happy to get sweaters for Christmas. The fury that had dissipated somewhat since last night rose again. And again, it was at myself. I was neglecting the kid I had sworn to protect, and for what reason? Stubbornness? Money? Pride?
I let out a small breath, startled that I could see it, a small white fog in the air. I clenched my fists, and then unclenched them one finger at a time. I had to be calm for this meeting, because no matter what happened, I couldn’t change Jimmy’s circumstance quickly.
I didn’t even know what I wanted to do.
I pivoted, and headed down the narrower hallway that led to the principal’s office. It was even colder here, with frost on the inside of the windows that lined the hallway’s left side.
The principal’s door was closed. The word “Administration” had been stenciled on wood so old that it had
split at the bottom. Well, the principal wasn’t keeping any of that money for himself, that much was clear.
I pushed the door open, startling the heavyset secretary behind the desk. Unlike the women in Laura’s office, she wore no makeup and she didn’t have her hair in the latest style. In fact, I had a hunch she hadn’t changed her look in twenty years. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, and covered with straightener, which made it shine in the fluorescent lights.
“Yes?” she asked blandly. She hadn’t remained startled for long.
“My name is Bill Grimshaw,” I said. “I would like to see the principal.”
Her expression softened. “You’re related to Lacey? I was so sorry to hear what happened.”
I resisted the urge to close my eyes. This was precisely what Franklin hadn’t wanted; he hadn’t wanted anyone to know what happened to Lacey. But I supposed, it was inevitable. If he had come to confront the principal, then the principal would tell his secretary.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You do know that Franklin Grimshaw, your—”
“Cousin,” I said.
“—was here this morning. He’s Lacey’s father.” She said it as if I didn’t know that. Or perhaps she was trying to point out that Franklin’s appearance was more germane than mine.
“My son, Jimmy, was the one who figured out what was going on, and called for help.” I kept my words deliberately
vague, in case Franklin hadn’t told the staff here all of the details. But I also wanted everyone to know that Jimmy had been in danger as well.
“Oh, my,” the secretary said. “And he’s such a sweet thing.”
I was surprised that she knew Jimmy, and she saw the surprise on my face.
“He came in here last fall to find out what he needed to do to get into Yale,” she said. “I thought it was very cute and a bit premature.”
To my surprise, a lump rose in my throat. That damn kid. Used to doing things on his own, and getting them done. I had told him not to worry yet about Yale, so he had come here to find out what else he could do.
“May I see the principal?” I asked.
She sighed. “He’s had a busy day.”
“I’m sure,” I said.
She leaned over and spoke into the intercom. “Bill Grimshaw is here to see you. He’s James Grimshaw’s father.”
I couldn’t hear the garbled answer, but she nodded at me.
“He says go right in.”
I did. The heat was on in here, making the room stuffy. I hadn’t noticed the temperature in the reception area, so it had to have been warmer than the hallway.
The principal stood over his desk, moving papers. He
looked up at me, and his gaze went to the scar on my cheek.
But he didn’t look frightened or even worried by it. He had probably seen a lot worse down here.
He extended his hand over the desk. “Gerald Decker.” I took his hand and shook it. “Bill Grimshaw.”
“Franklin was here,” Decker said. “He told me what happened. I’m very sorry.”
“I’m very worried,” I said. “It was easy for Lacey’s attacker to target her. I’m convinced he’s done this before.”
Decker sighed. “I called the police again this morning. I’m aware of that hotel and its clientele, and I want something done. Even though they took my name and put the complaint on file, I’m sure nothing will happen.”
“Then we need to do something,” I said.
“I’m open for suggestions.” He finished stacking a pile of papers. He glanced at them, then back at me. “I’m sorry. I’m distracted. I was up well after midnight last night. The upcoming strike vote has me concerned.”
I didn’t care, at least at that moment. I had cared two days before, but a strike was the least of my concerns at the moment.
“Franklin approached you about the gang troubles we had a year ago. He told me that you had set up a plan for teachers to monitor the doors during their off hours.”
Decker sighed and sat down. “I did. But in this cold, I can’t have anyone sit in our hallways. It’s either pay the heat or pay four teachers. I opted for teachers. That’s what the teachers
don’t understand. We don’t have the money to pay them more.”
I sat, too. This man was exhausted, overworked, and given an impossible task. I didn’t want to feel sympathy for him, but I did.
“Look,” he said. “We’re dealing with the gang problem every day, particularly in the junior high school. I’ve expelled half the eighth grade class. I’d love to have guards. Then kids wouldn’t show up with guns or knives or brass knuckles. I have kept the heat on in those hallways, just so that teachers can report the drug deals if they see any, and they do, almost every day. Some of the teachers are scared to tell me about it, because they’re afraid of retaliation.”
I clutched my knees. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
He opened his hands, and shrugged. “We’re in the middle of the Mighty P. Stone Nation here. Kids think it’s glamorous to join, or they need money to help their parents pay rent. Or they see their siblings getting support from the gangs. It’s a lot to fight, and I don’t have the resources. So I’ve concentrated on keeping the gangs out of the grade school.”
“I don’t remember this from last year,” I said.
“It has gotten worse in the past year. I’m sorry, Mr. Grimshaw. I thought the hotel was the least of our problems. I believed that the men stayed at the hotel and we only had to worry about drugs moving over. I had no idea they were preying on our girls. I’m not even sure what to do about it.”
He looked defeated.
“My kid wants to go to Yale,” I said, surprising myself. “We were visiting campus last summer, and it’s become a goal for him.”
Decker smiled. “I remember. Mrs. Helgenstrom sent him in here one day to talk about it.”
“If he stays here, he’s not going to be able to achieve that goal, is he?”
Decker’s smile faded. “Not all the schools in the Chicago Public School District are equal, as you probably know. I understand that you and Franklin have started an after-school program. That’s a smart move.”
It was a long way to say that Jimmy had no hope of Yale if he stayed here. And Decker couldn’t keep the gangs out of the junior high. Or the drugs.
Franklin was right: Lacey had to stay away.
And I had to do something—not for the school—but for Jimmy.
I nodded. “Thank you for your honesty.”
I stood and was about to leave, when I remembered my other reason for coming. Decker wasn’t the only one with a sleep deficit. Mine had slowed me down all day.
“If Jimmy and Keith hadn’t called me,” I said, “Lacey might have disappeared.”
Decker moved some of the papers. He wouldn’t meet my gaze. “I know.”
“You know I am an investigator.”
He nodded.
I continued, “I would like to see your records. How many girls around Lacey’s age have gone missing in the last few years?”
He rubbed his mouth with his right hand, then leaned back. “It doesn’t mean anything, you know. Girls, going missing. I hate to sound crass, but we’re in gang territory. The girls get pregnant, they drop out and move in with their boyfriends. And for the past three years, a lot of them have headed to San Francisco or Madison or Ann Arbor or other hippy places, thinking that they’ll find a better life.”
Exactly what Mrs. Pellman had told me. I wondered if she had gotten that response from Decker.
“How many girls have you lost?” I asked.
“We didn’t lose them,” he said somewhat defensively.
“I mean, how many no longer attend school,” I said.
“I assume you mean girls that no longer attend and we don’t know why,” he said.
I nodded.
He slid more papers around. “We lose about twenty a year. They hit puberty, and then they’re gone.”
“From the junior high,” I said.
He shook his head. “From each class. In the sixth grade, we lose about two or three, but when you get to the seventh grade, we’re losing at least ten out of a class of four hundred. By the eighth grade, we can lose as many as fifty.”
“Fifty,” I said. “Girls?”
“A fourth of the class if we’re talking girls and boys. The boys drop out sooner, because they usually have to earn money for the family.”
“A hundred kids stop coming to school by the eighth grade.”
He shrugged, as if he didn’t care. But he looked away from me, and then glanced back to meet my gaze.
“I don’t know what to do, Mr. Grimshaw. Seriously. We don’t have the money for extended outreach programs. We don’t have the staff to search for them. We contact the parents, but often the parents aren’t at the last known address. We have to give up on them and concentrate on kids like your son, the ones who want to learn. We have to hope they’ll get enough out of class to continue forward.”
He sounded doubtful. Hell, I was becoming doubtful.
“Let me see what you have,” I said. “Girls only. Girls who have truly gone missing, where you know someone is looking for them and can’t find them.”
He pulled open a drawer, and gave me a folder. I opened it. It was full of hand-drawn flyers. I didn’t recognize any of the names, but Jimmy might.
“Can I keep this?” I asked.
He nodded. “Maybe you can find them.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
“Oh, believe me,” he said. “I gave up holding my breath years ago.”