Pocket-47 (A Nicholas Colt Thriller) Read Free Page B

a different principal than when Mr. Clark was employed here. Do you want to speak with her?”
    “No, that’s okay. Could you give me the name of the principal who was there the same years as Mr. Clark?”
    “That would have been Mr. Tsirulnopolis.”
    “Could you spell that for me?”
    She spelled it. “Everyone called him Mr. T, because his name was so hard to pronounce.”
    “Yeah. It’s all Greek to me. What was his first name?”
    “You know, I don’t even remember. Everyone just called him T. We do miss our Mr. T.”
    She started sounding all gushy and nostalgic, so I figured it was time to hang up. Rule #216 in Nicolas Colt’s
Philosophy of Life:
Things twenty years ago weren’t all that goddamn great either. “Did he wear a lot of heavy gold chains around his neck?” I said.
    “Pardon?”
    “Never mind. Thank you very much.”
    I clicked a few keys and found Tsirulnopolis’ phone number and address. My lucky day. He was the only person named Tsiulnopolis in the entire state of Florida. I called, and he picked up on the first ring. I heard a television blaring in the background.
    “This is T,” he said.
    I decided to be myself this time. “My name is Nicholas Colt. I’m a private investigator, and I’m trying to get some information on a man I think you worked with previously. His name is Kent Clark.”
    “Is he in trouble again?” Mr. T said.
    “Not that I know of. I was hired to find a fifteen-year-old runaway, and he’s her tennis coach. I was just trying to get some information before going to talk with him.”
    “Can’t help you. He was never convicted. Anything I say would, in essence, be slander.”
    “Never convicted of what? You can tell me the arrest charges. That’s not slander. It’s a matter of public record.”
    “Actually, he had it all expunged. You won’t find it in any public records, Mr. Colt.”
    “A fifteen-year-old girl is missing,” I said. “With all due respect, that’s serious shit. My client wants to avoid getting the police and the court system involved, but if I need to get a subpoena—”
    “I’d like to help you, but—” He sighed. “I’m retired from the school system, Mr. Colt. The only repercussions I fear are from Kent Clark himself. He could sue me if he found out.”
    “He won’t find out,” I said. “My word.”
    He hesitated. “All right. Mr. Clark was terminated for inappropriate behavior with one of his female students. Criminal charges were filed, but he beat them in court. I’m sure he’ll never teach school again. He got off light if you ask me.”
    Bud put his head on my lap, started nudging my elbow with his muzzle. He was telling me to get my ass off the phone and get him something to eat. I ignored him, and he finally went back to the couch.
    “What was the ‘inappropriate behavior’?” I said. “Could youturn your television down a notch?” The Beverly Hillbillies theme song was playing, and I wasn’t in the mood for a story about a man named Jed.
    He ignored my request. “One of the girls claimed that he fondled her. Sexually. He denied it, but the girl had a witness so we had to believe her. It’s never easy firing a teacher, Mr. Colt, but I think we did the right thing where Kent Clark was concerned.”
    “Sounds like it. Thanks for the info, Mr. T. Hope you’re enjoying retirement.”
    Mr. T chuckled. “Well, my golf swing has never been better. I’ll say that.”
    Too bad the same can’t be said for your hearing.
    We said goodbye and hung up.
    I put Kent Clark on my list of probable causes for Brittney’s running away. It was possible he had tried something with her, maybe even succeeded. I’ve seen it happen more than once. A trusted uncle, teacher, priest, whatever, molests a minor and then threatens to do them and their family harm if a word is ever said. It’s a compelling reason for a fifteen-year-old to bolt.
    I opened the pantry door and got Bud a Milk-Bone. He crunched it into small pieces on