Matthew Levy, the math teacher, took the lead. "I spoke to your colleague about this yesterday, but I suppose I need to say it again. The girls didn't really fit into any one social group. I had both Kayla and Emma in my classroom. They tended to keep to themselves."
Faith asked, "Did they have enemies?"
There was a series of exchanged looks. Levy replied, "They were picked on. I know the first question that comes to mind is how we could be aware of that and still let it continue, but you have to understand the dynamics of the school situation."
Faith let them know that she did. "Kids don't tend to report bullies for fear of reprisal. Teachers can't punish activity they don't see."
Levy shook his head. "It's more than that." He paused, as if to gather his thoughts. "I taught Emma for two years. Her aptitude wasn't math, but she was a good student—really, a lovely girl. She worked hard, she didn't make trouble. She was on the fringe of one of our popular groups. She seemed to get along well with other kids."
One of the Asian women, Daniella Park, added, "Until Kayla showed up."
Faith was startled by the teacher's sharp tone of voice. Park seemed unfazed by the fact that the girl had been savagely murdered. "Why is that?"
Park explained, "We see it all the time. Kayla was a bad influence." Confirming nods rippled around the room. "For a long time, Emma was friends with a girl named Sheila Gill. They were very close, but Sheila's father was transferred to Saudi Arabia at the beginning of term last year. He works for one of those soulless multinational oil companies." She dismissed this with a wave of her hand. "Anyway, Emma didn't have anyone else in her group to turn to. There are some girls who gravitate toward one particular person rather than a group, and without Sheila, she didn't have a group. Emma became more introverted, less likely to participate in class. Her grades didn't slip, they actually improved slightly, but you could tell that she was lonely."
"Enter Kayla Alexander," Levy interjected with the same rueful tone of voice as Park. "Smack in the middle of the school year. She's the type who needs an audience, and she knew precisely who to pick."
"Emma Campano," Faith supplied. "Why did Kayla transfer in during the middle of term?"
McFaden chimed in, "She came to us through another school. Kayla was a challenge, but at Westfield, we meet challenges head-on."
Faith deciphered the code. She directed her next question toward Levy, who seemed to have no problem criticizing the dead girl. "Kayla was kicked out of her last school?"
McFaden tried to keep spinning. "I believe she was asked to leave. Her old school was not equipped to meet her special needs." She straightened her shoulders. "Here at Westfield, we pride ourselves on nurturing the special needs of what society labels more difficult children."
For the second time that day, Faith fought the urge to roll her eyes. Jeremy had been on the cusp of the disorder movement: ADD, ADHD, social disorder, personality disorder. It was getting to be so ridiculous, she was surprised there weren't special schools for the boring, average children. "Can you tell us what she was being treated for?"
"ADHD," McFaden supplied. "Kayla has—had, I'm sorry—a very hard time concentrating on her schoolwork. She was more focused on socializing than studying."
That must have made her stick out like a sore thumb from the rest of the teenagers. "What about Emma?"
Park spoke again, none of the earlier sharpness in her tone. "Emma is a wonderful girl."
More nods came, and she could feel the sadness sweeping through the room. Faith wondered what exactly Kayla Alexander had done that made these teachers choose sides against her.
The door opened, and a man wearing a wrinkled sports jacket and holding an armful of papers came into the room. He looked up at the crowd, seemingly surprised they were all there.
"Mr. Bernard," McFaden began, "let me introduce you to Detectives Mitchell and Trent." She turned to Faith and Will. "This is Evan Bernard, English department."
He nodded, blinking behind his wire-rimmed glasses. Bernard was a nice-looking man, probably in his mid-forties. Faith supposed he could easily fit a stereotype with his scruffy beard and generally disheveled appearance, but something about the wariness in his eyes made her think that there was more to him than that.
Bernard said, "I'm sorry I'm late. I had a parent meeting." He pulled a chair up beside McFaden and sat down, a stack of papers in his lap. "Do you have any news?"
Faith realized that he was the first person to ask the question. "No," she said. "We're following all investigative leads. Anything you could tell us about the two girls will help."
Underneath his beard, he bit his bottom lip, and she could tell that he had seen right through her bullshit as easily as Faith had seen through McFaden's.
Will picked this moment to speak up. He directed his words toward Bernard. "We're doing everything we can to find out who killed Kayla and to bring Emma home safely. I know that doesn't sound like much of a comfort, but please know that this case has the full focus of every member of the Atlanta Police Department and every agent with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation."
Bernard nodded, gripping the papers in his lap. "What can I do to help?"
Will didn't answer. Faith gathered she was to take the lead again. "We were just talking about Kayla Alexander's influence over Emma."
"I can't tell you anything about Kayla. I only had Emma, but not for class. I'm the reading tutor at Westfield."
McFaden provided, "Mr. Bernard does one-on-one sessions with our reading challenged students. Emma is mildly dyslexic."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Can you tell me—"
"How so?" Will interrupted. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, to look at Bernard.
Bernard sounded puzzled. "I'm not sure I understand the question."
"I mean. .." Will seemed at a loss for words. "I don't quite understand what you mean by mild dyslexia."
" ‘Mild' isn't really a term that I would use," Bernard countered. "Generally speaking, it's a reading disorder. As with autism, dyslexia has a full spectrum of symptoms. To classify someone as mild would be to put them at the top level, which is more commonly called high functioning. Most of the kids I see tend to be at either one end or the other. There are various symptomatical iterations, but the key identifier is an inability to read, write or spell at grade level."
Will nodded, and Faith saw him put his hand in his jacket pocket. She heard a click, and had to struggle to keep her expression neutral. She'd seen him transfer the digital recorder to that same pocket in the car. While it was perfectly legal in the state of Georgia for a person to secretly record a conversation, it was highly illegal for a cop to do so.
Will asked Bernard, "Would you characterize Emma as slow or. .." He seemed hesitant to use the word. "Retarded?"
Bernard appeared as shocked as Faith felt. "Of course not," the man replied. "As a matter of fact, Emma has an exceptionally high IQ. A lot of dyslexics are incredibly gifted."
"Gifted in what ways?"