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26
Mia
Bennington Prep
Glenbridge, Connecticut
Wednesday afternoon
Mia canceled her afternoon plane reservation to La Guardia, rented a bright blue Audi after she left Juliet, and drove two and a half hours from Boston down I-95 to Bennington Prep, a half hour north of New Haven. She didn’t expect Bennington to look as glorious as the pictures she’d seen, all taken in the fall to show off the incredible autumn leaves. Now, toward the tail end of winter, the campus looked starker, all the plants and trees hunkered down in survival mode. It was still a marvel in person. Stately was the word that suited it perfectly. Bennington was known to be everything a parent could possibly want for their child, the incredible campus itself, the quality education, and the all-important “snoot” factor. If you went to Bennington Prep, enough said. It was part of the pedigree for politics, for Wall Street, for making it big in whatever you wanted to do.
She drove slowly, admiring the classical-style redbrick buildings, the open vistas. Students weren’t strolling to their classes, they were rushing, it was that cold, the wind sharp as a knife. She drove slowly by thick stands of maple trees, their branches swaying in the wind in a silent winter dance, and parked her Audi in a visitor’s space in front of a state-of-the-art athletic complex. She looked beyond toward a football field surrounded by high bleachers that doubled as their lacrosse field, she guessed.
Is this the beautiful place where you and Kent got started, Alex?
Mia pulled on all her winter gear, braced herself, and walked toward the main athletic building where she’d managed to snag an appointment with one of the two lacrosse coaches at Bennington who’d been there long enough to have coached Alex Harrington and Kent Harper.
She had to get through a department secretary and a student trainee before she was shown to Mr. Hodge Wiliker’s small office that looked toward the tennis courts. He was a big man, well into his fifties, still trim and fit, his black-framed glasses pushed up on his bald head. He beamed at her, greeted her enthusiastically, pumped her hand. Mia imagined he rarely got to take center stage at Bennington Prep, and now he was meeting a reporter who was interested in writing about him and about lacrosse because he’d coached Alex Harrington sixteen years before.
Mia knew the drill. She complimented him on the lacrosse trophies she’d seen on display when she’d walked into the building, admired his family in the photos on his desk. She let him assist her to remove her coat, turned down the offer of a cup of coffee, and settled in. “I was looking at the students and wondering if I’d ever been that young.”
He laughed. “You’re still a young sprout. Imagine what I feel at my age.”
She smiled, leaned forward. “As I told you on the phone, Coach Wiliker, I’m writing a background article on the New York City mayoral candidate Alex Harrington. You were his coach during his years here at Bennington. You may remember you also coached his best friend, Kent Harper, also from Boston?”
Wiliker beamed out a smile. “Yep. They were some of our best years at Bennington Prep, championship years, because of them, especially Alex. I knew that boy would go places. I’m pleased he’s running for mayor of the Big Apple. Now, Ms. Briscoe, what exactly would you like to know about Alex?”
“May I record this, sir? I want to be sure I’m completely accurate.” At his nod, she set up her iPhone. “I hoped you could tell me your impressions of him—his habits, his strengths, his friendships, that sort of thing. Whatever comes to mind about him and Kent, in your own words. I know it’s been a long time, but it seems you have fond memories of both of them. I’ll ask questions if I need more.”
He nodded, leaned toward her, clasped his big hands on top of his desk. “I remember Kent and Alex were the greatest of friends, smart boys from the best families. Both were into those computer games at the time, every spare minute—you know boys—but both were really popular, with the boys and the girls.” A wink. “Alex wanted something, he’d go after it.”
“And Kent?”
“Kent was the more thoughtful of the two, maybe more careful, but Alex threw himself into an activity, his goal always to win. Kent might dip in a toe first, if you get my meaning. I guess I’d say Kent was more the junior partner of the friendship, but again, it was a long time ago, and boys become men and change. I remember Alex was a superb athlete and was one of the most competitive students I’d ever met. I do remember in lacrosse he always took charge, never quit out there on the field; only winning was good enough for him. Of course that rubbed off on his teammates, and that’s why we won those championships. As I recall, both Alex and Kent were looked up to by their teammates for their skill, their desire to win. But maybe it’d be fair to say Kent wasn’t as much in-your-face.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean that exactly as it came out. Alex was—is—as I’ve said, a natural leader, that’s all I meant.”
“Of course. Now, Alex was the captain of the lacrosse team in both his junior and senior years, right?”
“Yes, well, he was named captain his junior year only because the senior-year captain, Jordan Jeffers, was injured in an automobile accident and couldn’t play.” Wiliker shook his head. “An awful thing, I remember it clearly, a hit-and-run, left the boy on the side of the road. He might have died if a jogger hadn’t found him. Broken arm, broken leg, internal injuries, poor kid. It’s a miracle he survived.”
Your work, Alex? Because he had something you wanted?Mia jotted down Jeffers’s name.
“Do you remember if Jordan and Alex were friends?”
“Of course they were. I remember Alex and Jordan’s younger sister were chummy for a while—sorry, can’t remember her name, been too long.”
“Don’t worry about it. Your memory is amazing, Coach. So after the Jeffers boy was injured, Alex became the captain?”
Coach nodded. “I remember how hard he worked out with the trainers in the weight room to improve his strength and endurance, encouraged his teammates to do the same. That and his never-say-die leadership, that’s why we won those championships.”
Mia asked, “Any other girlfriends you knew of, Coach? For Alex and Kent?”
Wiliker tapped the side of his head. “Girlfriends—sorry, it’s impossible to remember the kids’ romances from sixteen years ago. I only remember Jordan’s sister because of the accident. There were probably other girls, sure, since both Alex and Kent were popular. I do remember the boys were always as close as fleas, did everything together.”
Mia said, “And that would include dating, no doubt?”
“Well, probably, but kids even then seemed to prefer going out together in packs. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed.”
Mia had done some research on missing girls from prep schools, and had hit pay dirt. She said, “Do you remember Teresa Jacobs? She disappeared in her senior year?”
