Without Mercy - Lisa Jackson [139]
What was it his wife had said the night that Jules had listened at the preacher’s door?
You seem to gain some perverse pleasure in persecuting and torturing me.
Now Jules understood.
Insides quivering, she scanned the burned pages quickly, gently swiping away ash, reading what she could, stacking the information in piles. Despite the papers singed in the fire, there were enough legible documents to paint a sick, almost diabolical picture of Blue Rock Academy.
“This is a little scary,” she whispered to Trent, who was tossing another log onto the fire as she looked at a file that proved even more disturbing. “I think I’m beginning to understand what’s going on around here.”
He stood and dusted his hands, the fire burning even brighter. “So show me what you’ve got, Nancy Drew.”
“Very funny.”
“I know, but humor me.” He stood behind her, reading over her shoulder.
She reached for her coffee, and cradling the mug in her fingers, she said, “You’re not going to like it.”
“I figured that much.”
She took a sip, turning her attention to the information in front of her, and summed up what she’d found. “From what I can decipher, Lynch kept a file for each student and teacher, separate from the administrative files Charla King locks away in a file cabinet in her office at the admin building.” She motioned to the blackened documents in front of her. “These files, or dossiers or whatever you want to call them, are separate and hold very different information such as personal material, arrest records, and psychological data that’s been collected on the kids. These”—she tapped a finger on a blackened page with the name Bernsen, Zachary typed across the top—“are not your standard personnel files. That’s why they were locked away.”
He was listening, his brow furrowed as he scanned the documents. “There’s no crime in keeping a second set of more detailed files.”
She nodded, ignoring a gust of wind that rattled the windows and caused the fire to dance. “No crime in that, right, but here’s the kicker: These files contain information deliberately excluded from Charla King’s computerized files. For example, if you look here”—she indicated a few pages that, aside from singed corners, were intact—“we have a psychological profile for Eric Rolfe. Right?”
“Yeah?”
“Here are his test scores and grades, all neatly computerized and printed out. There’s even some sketchy information about his family and a quick assessment of his social problems.”
Trent nodded, eyes dark, as he studied the printout.
Jules said, “I’ll bet this is what shows up in Charla King’s files, what the parents or prospective colleges or doctors or lawyers see.”
He took a sip of coffee. “So?”
“It doesn’t even scratch the surface.” She felt that buzz of adrenaline zinging through her veins, nervous energy that came with discovery. “Look here.” She flipped open another page, written in Lynch’s handwriting. “This is a different report. Not even typed, and it goes into much more detail. Rolfe’s psyche is dissected and studied.”
He shrugged. “Again, not illegal. Looks normal to me.”
“Except that it was kept from the main files. What if…what if Lynch was taking those kids with the raw proclivity for violence, you know, picking them and culling them out, for something other than to help them.”
“What?” He eyed her as if she were sprouting a third eye. “Why?”
“Because no one else will take them,” she said. “Because this would keep them out of institutions or psych wards in hospitals and because their parents will pay him well to take them off their hands.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Okay, let’s start with Eric,” she said, pushing Rolfe’s file to one side of the table. “He’s a good one to think about, because he’s so antisocial, his feelings right out in the open.”
“For which he’s being counseled,” Trent argued, but scooted out a chair and straddled it as he gently lifted the pages and read the notes,