The words hung heavy in the air.

“I have another thought,” Claire said.

“Go on.”

“If Aimee was pregnant—God, I can’t believe I’m talking like this—she would have gone to a clinic of some sort.”

“Could be. Maybe she’d just buy a home pregnancy test though.”

“No.” Claire’s voice was firm. “Not in the end. We talked about stuff like this. One of her friends got a false positive on one of those once. Aimee would get it checked. She’d probably find a doctor too.”

“Okay.”

“And around here, the only clinic is at St. Barnabas. I mean, that’s the one everyone uses. So she might have gone there. We should call and see if someone could check the records. I’m the mother. That should count for something, right?”

“I don’t know what the laws on that stuff are now.”

“They keep changing.”

“Wait.” Myron picked up his mobile phone. He dialed the hospital’s switchboard. He asked for Dr. Stanley Rickenback. Myron gave his name to the secretary. He pulled onto the circle in front of the high school and parked. Rickenback picked up the phone, sounding somewhat excited by the call. Myron explained what he wanted. The excitement vanished.

“I can’t do that,” Rickenback said.

“I have her mother right here.”

“You just told me she’s eighteen years old. It’s against the rules.”

“Listen, you were right about Katie Rochester. She was pregnant. We’re trying to find out if Aimee was too.”

“I understand that, but I can’t help you. Her medical records are confidential. With all the new HIPAA rules, the computer system keeps track of everything, even who opens a patient’s file and when. Even if I didn’t think it was unethical, it would be too big a personal risk, I’m sorry.”

He hung up. Myron stared out the window. Then he called the switchboard back.

“Dr. Edna Skylar, please.”

Two minutes later, Edna said, “Myron?”

“You can access patient files from your computer, can’t you?”

“Yes.”

“All the patients in the hospital?”

“What are you asking?”

“Remember our talk about innocents?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to help an innocent, Dr. Skylar.” Then, thinking about it, he said, “In this case, maybe two innocents.”

“Two?”

“An eighteen-year-old girl named Aimee Biel,” Myron said, “and if we’re correct, the baby she’s carrying.”

“My God. Are you telling me Stanley was right?”

“Please, Dr. Skylar.”

“It’s unethical.”

He just let the silence wear on her. He had made his argument. Adding more would be superfluous. Better to let her think it through on her own.

It didn’t take long. Two minutes later, he heard the computer keys clacking.

“Myron?” Edna Skylar said.

“Yes.”

“Aimee Biel is three months pregnant.”

CHAPTER 36

Livingston High School principal Amory Reid was dressed in Haggar slacks, an off-white short-sleeve dress shirt made of material flimsy enough to highlight the wife-beater tee beneath it, and thick-soled black shoes that might have been vinyl. Even when his tie was loosened, it looked as though it were strangling him.

“The school is, of course, very concerned.”

Reid’s hands were folded on his desk. On one hand he wore a college ring with a football insignia on it. He had uttered the line as though he’d been rehearsing in front of a mirror.

Myron sat on the right, Claire on the left. She was still dazed from the confirmation that her daughter, the one she knew and loved and trusted, had been pregnant for the past three months. At the same time there was a feeling akin to relief. It made sense. It explained recent behavior. It might provide an explanation for what had been, so far, inexplicable.

“You can, of course, check her locker,” the principal informed them. “I have a master key to all the locks.”

“We also want to talk to two of your teachers,” Claire said, “and a student.”

His eyes narrowed. He looked toward Myron, then back to Claire. “Which teachers?”

“Harry Davis and Drew Van Dyne,” Myron said.

“Mr. Van Dyne is already gone for the day. He leaves on Tuesdays at two p.m.”

“And Mr. Davis?”

Reid checked a schedule. “He’s in room B-202.”

Myron knew exactly where that was. After all these years. The halls were still lettered from A to E. Rooms beginning with 1 were on the first floor, 2 on the second floor. He remembered one exasperated teacher telling a tardy student that he wouldn’t know his E hall from his—get this—his A hall.

“I can see if I can pull Mr. D out of class. May I ask why you want to talk to these teachers?”

Claire and Myron exchanged a glance. Claire said, “We’d rather not say at this time.”

He accepted that. His job was political. If he knew something, he’d have to report it. Ignorance, for a little while, might just be bliss. Myron had nothing big on either teacher yet, just innuendo. Until he had more, there was no reason to inform the school principal.

“We’d also like to talk to Randy Wolf,” Claire said.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not?”

“Off school grounds, you can do whatever you want. But here, I would need to get parental permission.”

“Why?”

“That’s the rules.”

“If a kid is caught cutting class, you can talk to them.”

“I can, yes. But you can’t. And this isn’t a case of cutting class.” Reid shifted his gaze. “Furthermore, I’m a little confused why you, Mr. Bolitar, are here.”

“He’s my representative,” Claire said.

“I understand that. But that doesn’t give him much standing in terms of talking to a student—or, for that matter, a teacher. I can’t make Mr. Davis talk to you either, but I can at least bring him into this office. He’s an adult. I can’t do that with Randy Wolf.”

They started down the corridor to Aimee’s locker.

“There is one more thing,” Amory Reid said.

“What’s that?”

“I’m not sure it relates, but Aimee got into a bit of trouble recently.”