Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [86]
Oliver came into the room and Marge made the introductions. He handed each of the boys a bottle of water. “Sometimes the tap gets a little nasty after all this rainfall.”
The boys nodded and cracked open the H2O.
“Is it raining now?” Scott asked.
Beezel said, “Drizzling.”
Joey said, “Supposed to kick up tomorrow. I hate driving in the rain.”
“Not to mention how funky the school smells,” Mikey said.
“B and W leaks?” Marge said.
“Yeah, B and W’s got some real roof issues,” Mikey answered. “Mr. Hinton’s classroom really stinks.”
“Moldy,” Beezel said. “My allergies are going nuts.”
“Fisher auditorium is like a sieve,” Joey said. “You’d think with all the tuition our parents fork over, the school would take better care of the facilities.”
Marge said, “I’m really surprised. I always thought that B and W was . . . kind of a country club in the form of a prep school.”
The boys smiled without joy. Beezel said, “Not any country club I’d ever belong to. I keep telling my parents they’re getting ripped off.”
Oliver said, “It’s got a great reputation . . . B and W.”
Joey said, “A mile wide and an inch deep.”
Beezel said, “It accepts smart kids, so it does well as far as placing them in universities. But smart kids would do well anywhere.”
“So why are you there?” Marge asked.
Mikey said, “Public schools in my district are a joke. Besides, the counselors at B and W have the connections to the top-tiered colleges. That’s where they have their rep. Getting their students into the elite universities.”
“Yeah, that part is pretty good,” Joey said. “The counselors know how to pad the application to make us all look good. It’s really stupid, though. ’Cause all the private school applications are padded in practically identical ways.”
Marge said, “So what do you do to stand out?”
“It’s hard,” Beezel said. “Even the standardized test scores don’t mean much.”
Mikey said. “Either you’re the president of everything or you’ve got a particular skill that no one else has—like you’ve owned your own artisan cheese factory since you were nine.”
“Or you’ve done cancer research,” Joey said.
“And you’ve published a paper on it,” Mikey said.
Marge said, “So how does a guy like Dylan Lashay get into Yale?” Three sets of eyes took in her face. The boys suddenly went mute. The seconds ticked on in silence. She said, “What just happened?”
The boys eyed one another. Joey said, “What does Dylan have to do with Greg?”
“We’re not assuming he has anything to do with Greg,” Oliver said.
Beezel said, “So why bring him up?”
“We were talking about kids getting into good schools,” Marge said. “We happen to know that Dylan Lashay got into Yale. I was just wondering if he was an artisan cheese maker or the president of everything.”
Mikey smiled. “The president of everything.”
“He’s also a legacy,” Beezel said. “His stepdad is.”
Mikey said, “He also happens to be a smart guy.”
Marge said, “Not that smart if he needed Greg to edit his papers.” Joey’s eyes widened. She said, “Isn’t that what you told Lieutenant Decker?”
“Not exactly,” Joey stammered out.
Beezel came to his rescue. “Greg was an exceptional writer. He edited lots of papers for a lot of people.”
“That he did,” Mikey said. “It bought him a lot of . . . goodwill.”
“Dylan and company left him alone,” Oliver said.
Mikey shrugged.
Marge said, “Does he bother you?”
Beezel said, “We’ve all become pretty adept at staying out of his way.”
Mikey said, “Excuse me, but what does this have to do with Greg’s suicide?”
“You know what I’m going to do?” Oliver said. “I’m going to tell you exactly why we’ve asked you here and take all the guesswork out of the equation. We’d like to close out Gregory Hesse’s file.”
“Why does Greg have a police file?” Joey asked.
“Every unnatural death has a police file,” Marge said. “Greg’s file would have been closed a long time ago, but we’ve hit a few snags. First thing is the stolen gun that Greg used in his suicide. He didn’t seem like the type to break into houses