“I think if I hadn’t been there to stop him, he would have killed Tommy Crane,” he whispered, glancing over at Dennis as if he were expecting him to leap over the table and charge like a wild animal.

Dennis lifted his head and glared at them, as if to say, “What are you looking at?” then looked down once more at the tabletop.

“That’s some serious rage issue,” Alvarez said. “The kid had blood in his eye, you know? Like a fighting dog.”

Anne knew nothing about fighting dogs. She was beginning to think she didn’t know much about anything. Shouldn’t she have seen warning signs in Dennis Farman? Or had the warning signs been written off to the easy excuses: Dennis is insecure, Dennis is jealous, Dennis is a garden-variety bully? Maybe there was no such thing.

“I don’t know what to say, Paco,” she said softly. “He’s got bigger problems than I’m equipped to deal with.”

The door opened and Principal Garnett came into the room with Detective Mendez and two other men—a redheaded man in his thirties with a badge clipped to his belt, and a tall man in his late forties with chiseled good looks, an air of command, and dark eyes that set their gaze squarely on her.

He broke away from the others and came toward her, holding out his hand.

“You must be Miss Navarre,” he said. His hand was big and warm, and swallowed hers whole. “I’m Detective Leone.”

Anne turned her head to introduce Alvarez, but the gym teacher had moved on to speak with Mendez. They looked as if they knew each other.

“Detective.”

“You’ve had quite a shock today,” he said, still holding her hand.

She didn’t object. He was a big man—on the lean side, but still there was a solidness about him that seemed reassuring. Like he was here to take care of everything—a quality that was very appealing to her at the moment.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m a little shaken up,” she admitted.

“Were you on the field when all this went down?”

“No,” she said, finally slipping her hand from his. “As it happened, I was in Mr. Garnett’s office, having a conversation with him about Dennis. He spent the morning drawing this.”

She angled herself so Dennis couldn’t see the notebook she had been clutching. She opened it to the page of violent drawings.

Detective Leone frowned darkly as he studied the picture. “He drew these today?”

“This morning,” she said. “He’s been agitated all day. He’s one of the children who found the body.”

“Deputy Farman’s son.”

“Yes. I suppose you know him.”

Leone hummed an acknowledgment, but his focus was entirely on the drawing.

“How old is this boy?”

“Eleven. He was held back in the third grade.”