On Harrow Hill

From the lobby, he led Gurney down a high-ceilinged corridor to a corner office. Its oak door had a smoky glass panel and a brass knob. Gurney felt like he was walking into the dean’s office back at his college. The furniture inside was simple in an old-fashioned, classy way. There was a mahogany desk in the center of the room. Mason motioned Gurney to a chair in front of it. Gurney sat. Mason remained standing. Perhaps, thought Gurney, he’d read an article on power dynamics.

“So,” said Mason with a less-than-warm smile, “what’s this all about?”

“Billy Tate.”

The smile vanished in a flash of revulsion. “Is this about the accident at the church?”

“I’d like to know whatever you can tell me about him.”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“You could begin by telling me why you had such a negative reaction to his name.”

Mason folded his arms. “You won’t find many people here with positive reactions.”

Gurney waited for him to go on.

“Billy Tate was the most troubling—and most troubled—student we’ve ever had in this school. At least, during the thirty years I’ve been here.”

“What was your worst experience with him?”

“Lord, so many to choose from. You mind telling me why you’re asking?”

“Some questions have been raised by the incident at St. Giles. I’m trying to find out as much as I can about him. Your name was mentioned as someone who could be helpful.”

Mason hesitated, appearing less than satisfied by Gurney’s answer, but in the end, he sighed and sat down in his desk chair.

“The striking thing about Tate was the combination of his God-given ability and the evil way he chose to use it. He was a natural athlete. Wiry, fast, incredibly strong. Fifty, sixty push-ups without breaking a sweat. Impervious to pain. I persuaded him to try out for the school wrestling program. I sensed there was too much ego in him, so I paired him up with a bigger, more experienced wrestler. The star of the team. The challenge brought out something frightening in Tate. He broke the bigger kid’s arm. And it wasn’t an accident. He knew what he was doing. He seemed to think it was funny.” Mason’s mouth tightened in an expression of contempt. “That’s partly what led to his detour into the juvenile justice system.”

“Partly?”

“There was an initial intervention by our guidance counselor, who happened to be a skilled therapist and, in the interest of full disclosure, my wife.” Mason produced an awkward smile. “Now my ex-wife.”

He straightened a stack of index cards on his desk before continuing. “Tate made what Linda considered to be threats on her life. They were vivid, detailed, and disgusting. She did not take that lightly. She had recordings of her sessions with him and filed an official complaint. Appropriate hearings were held, and Tate ended up spending six months in a juvenile detention facility. All this happened when he was barely fourteen years old.”

Gurney found nothing surprising in the age factor. He had no illusions about the so-called “innocence” of childhood. In his NYPD days, he’d investigated premeditated murders committed by kids a lot younger than fourteen. One gruesome assassination of five family members was carried out by an eight-year-old, whose calm stare—coming from an otherwise cherubic face—was more unnerving than that of any mob hit man.

“Was he close to anyone in school?”

Mason shook his head. “Tate’s evil streak was pretty near the surface. Even the rough kids kept their distance. The only one who seemed comfortable around him—odd as it may seem now—was Lori Strane, legal name Lorinda, now Mrs. Angus Russell.”

That got Gurney’s attention. “How do you mean, ‘comfortable’?”

“I’d see her talking to him, sometimes smiling. She definitely wasn’t afraid of him, not like everyone else was.”

“Interesting. What else can you tell me about her?”

“Nothing.”

“You said that very quickly.”

“Rumors are a form of social poison. I refuse to repeat them. Whatever I may have heard about her would fall in that category.”

“Like her relationship with your former principal?”

“No comment.”

“Okay. Just tell me what she was like, the way you might describe any other student. I’m not recording this, and I won’t quote you.”

Mason gazed off into the middle distance, as though he might be evaluating a tricky bit of terrain. He cleared his throat. “She was an astonishingly beautiful young woman. The boys were obsessed with her. I think half the men in Larchfield would have left their wives for her, if they thought they had a chance.”

Gurney smiled. “So, everyone was in love with the unique Lori Strane and scared to death of the unique Billy Tate.”

“That’s a reasonable summary.”

“Did Tate have any redeeming qualities?”

“None that I was aware of. I may be prejudiced due to the threats he made to my wife, but I can’t recall ever hearing a good word about his character or behavior.”

Mason joined his hands together on the desk in front of him, interlocking his fingers tightly. “I suppose his upbringing played a role in how he turned out. Are you aware of his family situation?”