Joceline told her how to input the information, but long after Phyllis went back to her typing chores, Joceline sat quietly in her chair. She felt vaguely uneasy about the young woman. Was it normal to enjoy looking at crime scene photos? They made Joceline very ill. Once she’d even thrown up when she saw one in a file that involved the vicious killing of a young woman who’d threatened Senator Will Sanders. The woman had been brutally killed, a crime for which Jay Copper was charged. But Phyllis liked them?
There was no accounting for taste, she supposed, and there was the notorious forensic investigator, Alice Mayfield Jones Fowler, who really got into her work at crime scenes and never seemed to be bothered by what she had to see. On the other hand, Alice didn’t find murder scenes exciting, either.
“I’ll never fit in this modern society,” Joceline muttered to herself. She didn’t understand the fascination with death, with zombies, with vampires …
Well, she loved the very popular vampire movie trilogy, so that wasn’t quite true. Perhaps Phyllis was just exaggerating. She might have never seen a crime scene photo. She was working in an office that dealt with violent crime, so perhaps she felt being excited by the process of crime-solving was expected.
Joceline shook her head and went back to work.
When quitting time came, she grabbed her purse, called good-night through the closed door and almost ran out of the building. She’d had enough for the day, after Phyllis’s strange questions.
Even the fact that she had a worrisome meeting with school officials next was less disturbing than her boss’s odd behavior. Joceline kept dark secrets. She had no wish to ever display them, least of all to Jon Blackhawk.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE HEAD OF the school, Mr. Morrison, and Markie’s teacher, Ms. Rawles, were very nice about it. But they were emphatic that Markie’s antics were disruptive and that he needed medication to prevent him from being a distraction to the other students.
Joceline just looked at them. She didn’t agree or disagree.
“We would like your assurance that this matter will be resolved,” Mr. Morrison said kindly. “Your pediatrician can put Markie on a medication to control his outbursts.”
She smiled blankly. “In other words, you want me to go to my doctor and order him to put my four-year-old son on drugs?”
There were shocked, indignant looks.
She stood up, still smiling. “I’ll have a long talk with my son. I’ll also speak with our family physician. We don’t have the funds to afford a pediatrician, I’m sorry to tell you. Markie’s hospital visits are expensive, and we have an allergist in addition to a family physician, but we’re rather limited in our budget. I have to have medical care for both of us, and a family practitioner is the best we can do right now.”
They were still speechless.
“I will, however, speak with my family doctor about your insistence that Markie needs to become drug dependent. And if my physician agrees with you,” she added sweetly, “then I will find another family physician.”
“Uh, Mrs., that is, Miss, I mean Ms. Perry,” Mr. Morrison stammered.
“I believe the politically correct designation is Ms.,” she said helpfully.
“We only think Markie, being so young, requires some help with his difficulty in focusing …”
“That’s right, sir, make sure that every child obeys without question so that teachers don’t have to deal with any behavioral problems.”
He glared at her. “Ms. Perry …!”
“In our defense,” Ms. Rawles said gently, “our class has thirty-five students. We’re much in the same boat as many other schools where teachers have to manage classrooms with thirty to forty students. We do the best we can. We really care about our students. But it’s so hard to teach when we have children who simply can’t pay attention. Markie is disruptive. He can’t sit still, he talks out of turn, he gets into things …”
Joceline studied her. “Do you have children, Ms. Rawles?”
“I’m not married. I certainly wouldn’t put the stigma of illegitimacy on my child,” the other woman said at once, and then flushed, because she realized that Joceline had a child out of wedlock.
Joceline smiled, but she wasn’t happy with the remark.
The principal cleared his throat. “I’m sure that whatever you and your physician decide will be fine with us.”
“Of course,” Ms. Rawles said, obviously distressed. “I’m very sorry. I never should have said such a thing to you!”
Their attitude took the edge off her temper. She could see their side of the issue, as well. “Actually Markie likes you very much, and so do I,” Joceline cut her off. “It’s all right. A lot of people have said worse things to me. His father was a very good man. We had too much to drink and did something out of character for both of us. He went missing in action overseas on duty before we could get married,” she added gently, telling the falsehood with the confidence of years of secret keeping.
The two school officials looked guilty.
“A tragedy,” Ms. Rawles spoke for both of them. “The world is changing very quickly. Sometimes new concepts are difficult.”
“I go to church, and take Markie, every Sunday,” she told them with a quiet smile. “Everybody makes mistakes. Some are more difficult to live with than others. But I love my son. I feel blessed to have him.”
They both brightened. “He’s a smart little boy.”
“That’s why he’s into everything, he’s curious,” Joceline replied. “And I have already discussed this with our doctor. He’s researching medicines, but he says that discipline might be a better choice than drugs in Markie’s case. I don’t mean hitting him with a bat to get his attention,” she added. “The doctor says that overactive children need consistency and routine and a limit to the number of toys they play with to keep them from being overstimulated. There are many new studies on both sides of the issue, but I would prefer to at least try the least drastic measure first. If it doesn’t get results, then I’ll have to consider other options. Compromise,” she added with a smile, “is the foundation of civilization.”
“It is,” Mr. Morrison agreed, rising. He seemed to relax a little.
Ms. Rawles stood up, too. She smiled. “I apologize again for my remarks.”
“It’s all right,” Joceline said again. “You’ll let me know if the situation doesn’t improve?” she asked the teacher.
Ms. Rawles nodded. “Yes, I will. And thank you for coming in to talk to us. I know your job requires long hours.”
“Your job?” Mr. Morrison asked curiously.
“She works for the FBI,” Ms. Rawles said with a grin, glancing at Mr. Morrison’s shocked face.
“My goodness!” he blurted out. “I had no idea.”
“I’m not involved in enforcement of federal laws,” she said. “I only do the paperwork that helps get criminals convicted. I keep the gears oiled.”
He chuckled. “How interesting! We’re having a Career Day here in November. Perhaps you might like to speak about your duties?”
“I would,” she said, “but my boss is very strict. He might not like it.”
“We wouldn’t want to get you in trouble with him,” he replied. “But think about it.”
“I will. Thank you both for being so understanding.”
“I have two daughters in high school,” Mr. Morrison said. “I do know how children can be.” He was very quiet. “One of my daughters took Ritalin for ADD,” he added, referring to attention deficit disorder.
Joceline wanted to ask, very badly, how that had turned out. But there was something in the man’s face that deterred her. She thanked them again, said her goodbyes and went to pick up Markie at day care.
The next day she mentioned the principal’s remark in passing to Agent Blackhawk.
“Morrison. Yes, the school principal. Sad story.”
“Sir?”
