“Are you often absent?”
The smile broadened.“Hardly ever.”
“Well, then.”
Santopietro introduced the man with him as Patrick Elgot, who taught phys ed and a few other subjects that washed over me without leaving a trace.Elgot said hello but didn’t hang around.Renders, by contrast, gave every indication of wanting to remain, but Santopietro told him that he’d take things from here.We watched Renders retrieve his briefcase and walk to one of the cabins.It wasn’t much of a show, but it was all there was.
“Were you and Mr Renders arguing?”Santopietro asked.“You gave that impression.”
“A difference of opinion.”
“On what?”
“On whether I should be here,” I replied, “and on what more might have been done to prevent Scott Theriault’s death.”
“It’s been very difficult for us all, staff and students alike.”Then: “Are you recording this conversation, Mr Parker?”
I showed him my phone so he could see I was not.
“We’ve taken legal advice, obviously.We have to protect ourselves, and the school.”
“Neither Mr Vose nor his lawyer has given me any indication that they’re contemplating suing.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Santopietro.“However, it pays to err on the side of caution.As for Scott’s death, I will say only that the loss of any child is appalling, and we should have done better by him—would have done better, given time, but that was denied us.Scott did not want to be here, and short of physically restraining him, which was not an option, we could not prevent him from trying to leave.This is a school, not a prison camp.To prove it, I’d like to show you around, if you’re willing.”
I told him I’d be happy to take a tour, and over the next half hour Santopietro guided me through a pair of classrooms, a small but well-equipped science lab, and a gym marked out as a basketball court with some benches and free weights at one end, the weights either very well used by the students or acquired after heavy use by others.In the kitchen, two women prepared pasta and Bolognese sauce for the evening meal, and I smelled cookies baking.In the dorms, boys sat around in groups or on their beds, most staring at phones or screens.One or two of them acknowledged us, but only briefly.We were of little interest.
“Do they have internet access?”I asked.
“Only after the first two weeks, if they behave: one hour a day, in the afternoon, and longer on weekends.But the content is restricted, and the phones and tablets, which are school devices, can be taken from them if they misbehave.Of course, they canask to borrow someone else’s device, but if you have only an hour’s screen time, you may be reluctant to share.”
“And they can call anyone?”
“Each student has five contacts,” said Santopietro, “agreed in advance with the school.If they want to call anyone else, they have to ask permission to use a school phone.”
We left the students to their screens and walked to the back of the main building, where there was a football field, a track, and a large section of furrowed ground, cordoned off with rope.The smell of compost came from the rows.Next to them was a trio of high tunnels for growing plants, a greenhouse, and a toolshed with its door standing open.A long line of plastic milk jugs by the greenhouse had been filled with earth in preparation for winter sowing.This was how one cultivated produce in a state that could be fierce with cold.
“We try to produce as much of our own food as we can,” said Santopietro.“We have spinach, lettuce, and kale planted, some cabbage and broccoli too, and we’re hopeful for carrots and beets.We’re also overwintering scallions and leeks.The greenhouse is mostly herbs.We grow enough to supply some of the local stores, and a few restaurants in Madison and Skowhegan.We encourage the boys to get involved, and they share in the proceeds of what we sell.It supplements their pocket money and aids their personal development.They can also earn extra cash by taking on chores, like painting and maintenance, even cooking if they’re interested enough.”
“I thought a lot of them came from wealthy families,” I said.“Is pocket money an issue?”
“Comfortable,” Santopietro corrected, “not wealthy, or not all, but the well-off can be funnier about money than the poor.We don’t want competition or envy among the students, so each boy receives an appropriate amount weekly, based on age.I know it may not look like it from the outside, especially to you, but everything we do, we do with the welfare of the students in mind.”
“And to make a profit?”
“Less of one than you might think, but yes.We don’t takestate funding, so if we start losing money, the school will close.I don’t want that to happen, for professional and personal reasons.This industry has an unfortunate reputation, some of it deserved.There are bad actors out there, but we’re not among them.So far, we’re in the black, and I plan to use those profits to expand the facility.Over the next five to ten years, I intend to double our intake, hire a full-time therapist, and expand the curriculum.”
I watched six teenagers take a soccer ball onto the playing field and begin passing it between them.
“How many of those kids are here for the long haul?”
“If you mean for a full academic year,” said Santopietro, “probably a quarter.The rest vary, but our minimum period of residence is a month.If they’re flirting with rebellion, that’s typically long enough for them to see the error of their ways.As for the more recalcitrant, we make it plain that, if they fail here, the next step down can be a steep one.The first thing we do when they arrive is show them a film of what the alternatives may involve.Nobody here has their head forcibly shaved, or is punished with severe physical labor or weeks of mandated silence for breaches of discipline.We have to remind them of how lucky they are.”
I walked the cordon of the farm, Santopietro following a short distance behind.I looked at the wooded hills and thought of Scott Theriault’s final moments, when he realized too late the mistake he’d made.I thought of Mallory Norton and the conversation with her parents that lay ahead of me.I fought the urge to retreat south to the safety of Portland, leaving Ward Vose to his guilt and the Nortons to their pain.
I glanced into the toolshed, because that was rule number one in the private investigator’s handbook: If a door is open, look inside; if a door is closed, open it, then look inside.It worked on both a literal and metaphorical level, as long as you accepted that most of the time, the door, actual or otherwise, would be closed to you.Things worth knowing, meaning anything that someone didn’t want you to know, were often hidden.Sometimes, though, they were hidden in plain sight.
“Tim Sadlier, our custodian and groundsman, works out ofthat shed,” said Santopietro.“It’s his den.He’s running errands at the moment, otherwise you’d have met him.”
