Reynolds flinched.
The girl continued.
“I told her it was the envelope.
She told me to be quiet.
Then she took it to the principal’s office.”
The principal raised a hand.
“This is exactly why children should not be questioned without preparation.
Memories become mixed after traumatic events.”
The girl’s shoulders drew inward.
I felt anger rise through me, but I kept my voice level.
“You called her unreliable before you knew what she had seen.
Now you are trying to frighten her in the same room where Noah was frightened.”
The officer told the principal not to interrupt again.
The girl said she had gone to the office later because Mrs.
Reynolds asked her to deliver attendance sheets.
The door had been partly open.
She heard Mrs.
Reynolds say that Noah had not taken the envelope.
Then she heard the principal answer.
“The report already identifies him.
We cannot rewrite the entire morning.”
Mrs.
Reynolds shook her head rapidly.
“That is not exactly what he said.”
The girl stared at her.
“You told me to forget it.”
The room became still.
I slid the yellow form toward Mrs.
Reynolds.
“Did you write this sentence?”
She looked at the principal.
He gave her no expression at all.
“Mrs.
Reynolds,” the officer said, “did you write that the envelope was recovered from your tote?”
Her face crumpled.
“Yes.”
The principal pushed his chair away from the table.
“This meeting is over.”
The officer remained seated.
“No, it is not.”
Mrs.
Reynolds spoke before the principal could stop her.
She said she had placed the envelope in her tote while moving materials before class.
She forgot it was there.
When she could not find it, she panicked because the money had been entrusted to her.
Noah had been the last student near the desk, so she focused on him.
She admitted searching his belongings in front of the class.
She admitted telling him I would be ashamed.
She said she believed he would confess once he became frightened enough.
When the envelope fell from her tote, she filled out the correction on the carbon-copy form and brought it to the office.
“What did you tell Noah?” I asked.
Mrs.
Reynolds pressed a tissue beneath her eyes.
“I did not speak to him again.”
The words struck harder than shouting would have.
“You knew he was innocent,” I said.
