Free Privileged to Kill by Steven F. Havill Page B

Hyde?”
    “Sir?”
    “Where would she get the forms? Here in the office?”
    “Of course.”
    “Anywhere else?”
    Patricia Hyde looked perplexed. “No. I mean, they’re not confidential or anything until they’re completed and become part of the student’s file.”
    “So she could have just walked in and requested a set of paperwork?”
    “I suppose. That’s not normally the way it’s done. Usually the parents come by and request all the information.”
    Estelle Reyes-Guzman reached for the folder and gently leafed through the papers until she extracted one that listed the girl’s schedule. “Maria was taking regular eighth-grade courses, plus art and Spanish II?” she asked.
    “That’s right.”
    “Did she speak English, Ms. Hyde?”
    The counselor shook her head. “Very little.”
    “But she wasn’t enrolled in the bilingual program?”
    Hyde shook her head. “She wanted to take Spanish instead.”
    “Is that usual?”
    “No, it’s not. But she seemed very bright. She was also very outspoken…and that’s unusual for Mexican children in our schools. Usually they’re quite shy at the beginning.”
    “And she told you that she had attended school previously in Las Cruces?”
    “Yes.” Patricia Hyde leaned forward and tapped a blue form. “We haven’t sent the r-f-r form yet.”
    “Request for records,” Estelle prompted.
    “Right. Normally we have everything sorted out by about Christmas.” Ms. Hyde’s smile was tight and humorless.
    “Ms. Hyde, did Maria ride a bus to school?”
    “No. She told me that her uncle brought her and picked her up.”
    Estelle frowned. “And the uncle lists a post office box in Las Cruces as an address. Had he moved here, do you know?”
    “I don’t know that. I guess that I just assumed that he had.”
    The counselor’s voice had taken on an edge and Estelle held up a hand. “Please, I’m not being critical of your procedures, Ms. Hyde. I understand that this is a public institution.” She smiled that wonderful, warm, electric smile that lit up her otherwise dark features. “What was it that Mr. Gordon used to say to all the kids who tried to ditch his American History class…‘If you don’t walk through the door, I won’t have to try to teach you.’”
    Ms. Hyde almost smiled, and so did I. Every one of my own four children had suffered through Wyatt Gordon’s classes. If they ever ditched, they had the sense not to tell me.
    “The only paperwork that a student absolutely has to have before they’re allowed to continue coming to school is their immunization record. That’s state law.”
    “Maria had hers?”
    Ms. Hyde shook her head. “She said that her other school had the copy and would be sending it.”
    “Is that something that you check up on fairly quickly?” I asked.
    “Dawn Paddock would.”
    “We’ll check with her,” I said, then added, “in the few days that you’ve had the opportunity to work with her, did Maria seem to have any particular circle of friends? Anyone she talked to?”
    “No, and that’s something we work on. The person who could tell you more is Maria’s Spanish teacher, Roland Marquez.”
    “Do you want me to call him in here?” Archer said, rising from his chair. A knock interrupted us, and Archer crossed to the door and opened it. “Ah, good. Thanks, Denny,” he said, accepting the parking book and copies from the office aide. He closed the door and handed the copies to me.
    “Yes,” I said. “We’d like to meet with Mr. Marquez briefly. But before we do, I have a request.”
    “Sure.”
    “I don’t mean to be unreasonable, but when we request information, would it be possible for it to go directly from you to us, rather than by way of the students?”
    Archer frowned and looked perplexed. “I don’t follow.”
    I held up the copies. “The young man who made these. I assume he’s a student?”
    Archer opened his mouth to say something, and before any sound came out, the light came