"Diane, I've just dropped my car keys. It's been raining intermittently since dawn and, you guessed it, they've landed slap-bang in the middle of a sizeable puddle of water. I never even noticed it when I parked the car in this particular spot; my mind was obviously elsewhere. Their landing has triggered miniature tidal waves in all directions, and, rather annoyingly, a substantial splash mark on the bottom of my regulation black trousers. Both are beginning to fade away already, as I stand by the side of the car, wondering whether I've made a mistake in coming here. When I awoke, this forthcoming enterprise seemed a worthwhile endeavour, as I mentioned to you at the time. The memory of using the technique, for the first and only time, up in Oshkosh on that grand piano, was so vivid in its intensity, that it seemed a natural assumption that my mind was irresistibly suggesting that I should try it again, here, in Twin Peaks. Now that I've arrived at the High School, though, I'm having second thoughts. Why couldn't I have had this idea at the weekend? The classroom would've been empty; I could've been all alone with just the desk – now I'll have twenty pairs of eyes on me wondering what I'm attempting to do. I'm not afraid of looking foolish, that's hardly a consideration in my line of work, but … on second thoughts, Diane – maybe I am a little afraid. I attended Laura's funeral yesterday, as did many of her classmates - quite rightfully, they are under the assumption that the F.B.I. agent in charge of the case will be using all of the modern scientific and deductive tools at his disposal in order to find her killer. What will they think when I walk into the classroom, sit down at her desk, and close my eyes for twenty minutes?"
Special Agent Dale Cooper clicked off the recorder, replaced it in his inner coat pocket, and bent down to retrieve his keys. Instinctively he began to pull a handkerchief from his trouser pocket but, thinking better of it, opened the car door instead, to retrieve a piece of rag from the glove compartment, in order to dry them off. After replacing the various items in their correct locations (the rag almost going into his pocket), he looked up at the high school and wondered again just why it was so damn big. It was one of several anomalies he'd noticed in the few days since his arrival – the large school and hospital, the department store, the airfield. The store might well be just an affectation on the part of Benjamin Horne, like his penchant for outsize cigars – but the others? A thought for another time, perhaps, right now he had a job to do, and he couldn't accomplish it if he remained standing in the car park all morning. He looked around, and took a deep breath. Douglas Firs. Their smell permeated everything here. It helped to relax him. He was going to need relaxing; trying to achieve a meditative state in the company of a classroom of teenagers wasn't exactly something he'd ever tried before. At least the rain was holding off for the moment, a blessed relief, and White Tail Mountain was faintly becoming visible from behind the massed shroud of grey-black cloud that had enveloped it all morning. It was supposed to brighten up later, so maybe the weathermen could finally earn their paychecks for once. Flexing his shoulders, to ease a sudden stiffness, he strode towards the entrance, and the Principal's office. What was his name again? Wolchezk – he would be interested to learn the derivation of that sometime, but not today.
-o0o-
Twenty minutes later, he was outside Room 106 with the class teacher, Miss Alice Brady. His talk with Principal Wolchezk had been every bit as tortuous as he had expected it to be, scepticism apparent in every word and gesture. Reluctantly the Principal had given his assent, though that was a goodwill gesture rather than a necessity, and he had escorted Cooper to see Miss Brady. After a vigorous handshake - entirely too vigorous in Cooper's view - Wolchezk had made a hasty departure, leaving him alone with the young teacher. She was a brunette, soft spoken, of medium height, her long hair let loose to flow down her back. He guessed her age to be similar to his, maybe a little younger; he found it difficult to make a completely accurate assessment due to her, somewhat, conservative skirt and blouse. As he'd remarked to Diane on numerous occasions, he was finding it increasingly difficult to judge the age of young people nowadays – not a satisfactory admittance for a Special Agent to make, he knew – but true, nonetheless. Most of the teenagers he'd already met in Twin Peaks, he found hard to believe were actually teenagers. Thankfully, Alice was far more amenable to the whole business than Wolchezk had been and, much to his surprise and pleasure, she seemed genuinely interested with the whole concept, despite her obvious wariness.
She stood with her back to the door, arms folded, though not aggressively so, her expression guarded. "Tell me, Agent Cooper. You say that the technique you want to try isn't exactly conventional, or thought of in high regard by most law agencies – at least publicly. If that's the case, why do you think you need to practice it here, now, in my class?" Her brow furrowed. "And just what exactly do you hope to learn from the whole exercise?"
Cooper thought about it for a couple of seconds, casting his mind back, before smiling. "In all honesty, Alice, I've actually only tried the technique once before – it's never seemed applicable since, until I dreamt about it, this morning." He glanced round, quickly, making sure they were alone. "There had been a murder up in Oshkosh, Wisconsin - a middle-aged music teacher. There was evidence suggesting sexual abuse of her body, before and after death. The brutality of the crime, and its similarity to a couple of our existing cold cases, meant the F.B.I. took control and it became my investigation. I was wandering around her big, old house, not far from the shore of Lake Winnebago, just trying to get general impressions of the person she was, and the life she led, when I saw her grand piano in the conservatory. That's where she took her music lessons, a wonderful location." His voice softened as he lost himself in memories. "It was a bright spring morning; sunlight was pouring in, reflecting off the wooden surfaces. A myriad of dust motes were dancing in the air, the piano being a piece of evidence was untouched, and hence, it was dusty. I had the compulsion to sit down and just run my fingers lightly over the keys. My touch wasn't heavy enough to play any notes, you understand – but before I knew it, an hour had passed. I had no palpable sensation of the passing of time; it was just, suddenly, an hour later. After that hour, I felt I knew her better – not actual thoughts, as such – but a sense that I could picture her as a human being, as a teacher, as a friend. I got nothing concrete, in terms of evidence – I didn't suddenly know who had killed her, but I thought I could tell who hadn't. It's difficult to describe, in words, everything that I learnt in that hour. It was as if all my senses were heightened, able to absorb the slightest remembrance of her existence in that room. For instance, I could smell the lavender that was her main perfume of choice. There was none in the room, but I could distinctly smell it. Eventually I caught the man who killed her, I always do. One of the reasons he gave, for why he did it, was that he grew to loathe her lavender perfume." He took a deep breath and, with a flick of the head, gestured towards the classroom behind her. "That's why I have to try it here, Alice. I need to know who Laura was – and I can't do that just by reading her diary entries, or looking at video footage of mountain-top picnics. I need all of my senses clued in for this case, not just the one. Can you understand that?"
She nodded her head briefly before lowering her gaze, and he could make out the welling up of emotion, the rapid blinking of her eyes and a slight tremble in her lips. "Just find her killer, Agent Cooper. Please." After a sharp intake of breath, she looked up and continued, stronger. "She was among the best of us, our Homecoming queen. I could tell she was a troubled, young woman – behind the façade of perfection, it was clear she was harbouring secrets, a life that no one else knew about - but she was always somewhat distant with me. I could never get her to open up, or allow me to see anything deeper than her surface personality, unfortunately. I love this town, Agent Cooper. I've lived here nearly all my life. In a town this size, Laura's murder could very easily tear it apart – neighbour eyeing neighbour in mutual distrust. I know it isn't perfect, but it's a good town, with good people – and, please believe me, murder is not an everyday event in Twin Peaks. You've seen how it's affected everyone. I saw you at her funeral yesterday, and we both witnessed the irrational behaviour it triggered. I don't want the irrational to become the norm here. Offbeat, and a little eccentric, is how it's always been – and how we like it – with a tacit acknowledgment that there's an undefined darkness always at the periphery."
Cooper looked at her sharply. "What do you know of …" He broke off, realizing he wasn't aware just how pervasive knowledge of the Bookhouse Boys was in Twin Peaks. Just how secret was it?
She answered his unspoken question with a brief, knowing smile. "My father was a Bookhouse Boy. He and Andrew Packard inducted Sheriff Truman and Ed Hurley when they were ready, just as they're now inducting a new generation, namely James and Joey. The Bookhouse Boys have been a part of the town for over one hundred years, Agent Cooper, always trying to guard us against whatever darkness dwells out in the forest. Find her killer, before that darkness pervades the whole town, and violent death becomes an all too commonplace event."
He clearly saw the same lingering pain in the corners of her dark eyes that he'd seen in so many of the town's inhabitants in the last few days – their Homecoming queen was dead. He thought back to the previous morning, briefly holding Laura's hand after the fracas in the morgue. "I made a promise to Laura yesterday that I wouldn't leave Twin Peaks until her killer was behind bars. I'll make the same promise to you, now. I'm not going anywhere. There's a reason why I'm a Special Agent – I don't have cold cases on my file. I hope that doesn't come across as arrogant, it's just a clear statement of fact. I will find the killer, Alice."
"I believe you, Agent Cooper," she replied, a smile bringing a blush to her face. "Twenty minutes ago, I'm not sure that would've been the case, but you have a confidence about you. It's as if you have the utmost belief in your own abilities, an unswerving sense that your methods will lead you onto the correct path. Like this experiment, now." She laughed, hesitantly. "I can't quite picture Sheriff Truman trying something like it!"
"Neither can I," he laughed, briefly, by way of a response, "but Harry's a good man, and I'm sure that if the Bureau wasn't handling this case, he'd solve it – using his own tried and tested methods. Are you certain that I won't be a hindrance to your class? I could always come back later. What is your class, by the way?"
"It's English Literature – we're studying Milton's 'Paradise Lost' at the moment. Are you familiar with it?"
Her question brought a flicker of a smile to his face – it happens to be a poignant favourite. He could picture his well-thumbed hardback edition illustrated by Gustave Dore, back in his apartment. It had been a gift from Albert, in the days following Caroline's death four years ago. It had surprised him at the time, for Albert rarely showed his sentimental side – perhaps that was what made the gesture mean so much to him. "I know it well. Temptation and Sin in the Garden of Eden – it seems somewhat appropriate."
"I'm not sure that many of my pupils would agree with your assessment of Twin Peaks, but thanks for the compliment." She turned slightly towards the door as she continued. "As to you being a hindrance – well, I'm sure you'll be an object of curiosity for a couple of minutes, but I'll try and make sure most of my pupils are more concerned with Milton. Shall we go inside now? I only gave them a dozen pages to read, and we have been out here quite a while now."
He held his right palm up, indicating he had something else to say. "Of course, Alice. Can I quickly mention, before we go in, how grateful I am that you've shown interest these past few minutes? My talk with the Principal left me somewhat wearied, and doubts were beginning to form. I realise that not everyone can have an easy acceptance of the mystical and the esoteric, but the scorn he obviously feels toward this exercise was almost palpable. I doubt I could have achieved anything useful if I'd gone straight from his office to your classroom, the negativity would've completely overshadowed the state of mind I need to be in, right now. So, thank you."
She grimaced slightly, searching for a diplomatic answer. "The Principal can be somewhat, how can I put it – brusque, sometimes. Perhaps it goes with the territory but, yes, I know what you mean. Just make sure that you get something useful from today. That's all I ask."
With that, she opened the door, and Cooper instantly heard the commotion inside diminish. He took a final deep breath, and followed her in – and what little conversation was still going on, instantly ceased, and he could sense every pupil's eye trained on him as he closed the door behind him and stood next to their teacher.
"Some of you already know Agent Cooper …"
As she began to explain his presence there, he felt his eyes drawn, inextricably, to the empty desk towards the back of the class – Laura's desk. Even if he hadn't already been aware of the fact, he would've known instantly that it was hers. It wasn't just the respectful distance between it and the others, or the covert glances he could see many in the class make towards it - but he had the unmistakeable impression that there was a distinct barrier between it and the rest, much as there had between Laura and her classmates. As in life, so in death. It was right there on the very edge of perception, and if he squinted just so, it almost became tangible. He knew that that desk had absorbed and still held secrets, and that he would gain further understanding of them, and of her, by sitting there. He knew it.
"… Don't need to know the specific nature of what he intends to do, it's enough to know that it's important to the ongoing case …"
He lowered his gaze for a second, and instantly the bright red shoes of the girl sat at the front of class caught his eye – as well as her, he had to admit, shapely pair of ankles. He looked up, to see who had the audacity to wear such shoes to school, and was somewhat taken aback to find the impish face of Audrey Horne staring intently back at him. They'd shared a brief breakfast that morning – had she been wearing them, then? He really couldn't say. Had his surprise at seeing her been evident on his face? Her raised eyebrow suggested that it had been.
"Agent Cooper?" His reverie broken, he looked sharply over at Alice, to see the questioning concern in her eyes. "If you'd like to be seated, I can get on with the class."
-o0o-
For the first few minutes, he was content just to sit there, not just in an attempt to regulate his breathing and prepare for the task at hand, but also as a way of disappointing the pupils around him. Eventually he sensed, much to his relief, that he was no longer the main object of interest – their attention gradually drifting back to their literature class.
As instinctively as blinking or breathing, he reached inside his jacket pocket for his trusty recorder – before the realization hit him. Damn. How could he have been so stupid? Why hadn't it occurred to him that an occupied classroom was one place where he couldn't dictate his thoughts and feelings to Diane? Mentally berating himself, knowing that his notebook was back in Harry's office, he searched his pockets for something on which to write. He pulled out a much-folded piece of paper, opened it up, and found himself looking into the possible face of Laura's killer. The long, lank grey hair, the piercing eyes that held intense ferocity and a vulpine-like cunning in equal measure. His dream told him that his name was BOB – but no one in Twin Peaks knew him. How was that possible? The man was unmistakeable, yet dreams and visions had contained his only sightings – in the flesh, he was, as yet, unknown. Staring into those eyes, he had the haunting sensation that this man knew who he was – and was waiting for him.
Shaking those thoughts from his mind, annoyed at himself for giving in to baseless delusions, he turned the piece of paper over and placed it on the desk – and his right hand exploded in a fireball of heat and pain. There was no outward manifestation of hungry flames consuming his flesh, but that was the overwhelming sensation that every nerve, muscle and sinew in his hand screamed at his brain. The intensity was so overwhelming, he could do nothing but sit with eyes tightly shut, teeth grinding together – while his mind fought the imagined agony, reducing it to manageable levels. This wasn't real. He remembered the scene in 'Dune' where Paul was forced to face the ordeal of the Gom Jabbar, and the mantra against fear helped in easing his panic. He was human. When he cautiously opened his eyes again, he could see his hand gripped tightly into a fist, nails digging into the palm, almost drawing blood – and it looked normal. No blackened skin tissue, no singed body hair, no sign at all that anything untoward had just happened – other than a faint tingling in the tips of his fingers.
Uncurling his fist, Cooper sensed a presence by his side and, out of the corner of his eye, saw Alice crouching down next to him, so that their eyes were on a level.
"Are you okay?" she whispered. "You let out an audible hiss, and then appeared to be enveloped in a world of pain."
"I was." Surprised at how hoarse his voice was, he swallowed to ease the irritation in his throat. "I never thought that two inanimate objects could absorb so much energy, and then release it when they made contact with each other. The psychic conflagration, if I could describe it thus, was something so far outside my realm of experience – it was completely overwhelming. Tell me, does the phrase "Fire – walk with me" mean anything to you? A quote from a book, a play – anything you recognize?"
"I'm sorry," she quietly uttered, after a few seconds of thought. "If it is, it's not one I'm familiar with – it's certainly not part of a work on our syllabus. What relevance …?"
He turned his head to look her full in the face. "It's a phrase that connects Laura to her killer. She mentioned it to James, and in her diary. Her killer wrote it, in his own blood, and left it at the crime scene. I also dreamt, it, spoken by a one-armed man." He lowered his gaze and sighed. "I don't know what it means – and I desperately need to." He looked up again and gave her a wistful smile. "So much for trying not to disturb your class – any chance I could borrow a sheet of paper?"
"What about this?" Before he could warn her, she picked up the sheet with BOB's portrait on the other side "This paper, its warm!"
"It was on fire several seconds ago – or so I thought."
She nodded, understandingly, as he took back the paper and placed it in his jacket pocket. "I'll get you something to write on."
-o0o-
After making a few quick notes, he again tried to establish a meditative state. It was a much longer process the second time around, the slight buzz from everyone around him being a constant distraction, despite the best attempts of Alice to continue the lesson. Even though the two of them had conversed in low whispers, several words had been picked up by those pupils closest to them, and he could hear the odd phrase circling in hushed tones, 'Walk with me' and 'One-armed man' especially prevalent. After minutes that seemed like hours, he sensed an, almost, imperceptible dislocation and the familiar sounds and smells of the classroom began to fade away, and in their place, he could hear birdsong and smell the unmistakable scent of Douglas Firs. He opened his eyes … and all around was deep forest – Ghostwood, perhaps? A vision - it was something he hadn't anticipated, and the realization filled him with elation. It was something he had experienced on a mere handful of occasions; each time had been a revelation in terms of thoughts and feelings generated. Even though he knew this was a vision, and that his body was back in Twin Peaks High School, the vivid realism was truly astounding. He could see the intense swaying of the Douglas Firs and the scudding of banks of cloud and mist; feel the keen wind biting at his exposed skin and the give of the mulch under his feet; hear the trickle of water from a nearby stream and the rasping cry of an unseen owl.
The latter, in particular, put his nerves on edge, and he looked around, anxiously, trying to pinpoint its location. He couldn't see it, but instinctively knew it was close – and watching him. Why did that fill him with fear? It was just an owl. He heard it shriek again, closer this time, and the temptation to turn and flee was almost overpowering. He scanned the windswept canopy, to no avail. Something was wrong here – the thought of a nearby owl shouldn't fill him with this sense of dread. A sudden shiver caused him to cross his arms tightly across his chest, fingers digging into biceps, goose bumps visible on his forearms. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his side. Never before had an element of a vision struck him with such abject terror. He scanned the trees again.
Suddenly there it was, bearing down on him, razor-sharp talons outstretched, beak open emitting a shriek that shattered all pretence of normality. In panic, he flew – literally.
He was the smallest of birds – a wren – trying, desperately, to evade the predator. He deliberately made for the densest of thickets, in an effort to thwart his pursuer. It was only in this form that he could see the forest for what it truly was, at turns majestic and terrifying. A mass of impenetrable copses and tangled groves, and he aimed for them all – to little or no avail. It always seemed to find a way around - or over – and, inexorably, it closed the distance between them, its triumphant screams chilling his blood. The forest thinned out, and across a clearing, he saw a large building – The Great Northern Hotel. There was a window – fractionally open - third floor. It was his room. He darted across the clearing, barely ahead of his pursuer, and gained access to the room at the same time as a screech of frustration rustled his tail feathers. He alighted on the bed, breathless – and was himself again. His shoulders felt stiff – was that what it felt like to fly? He stretched his arms behind him, in an attempt to ease his aching muscles.
"Sometimes my arms bend back."
He froze. The female voice came from beside him, on the bed. He recognized it instantly, though he'd never known her in life. Laura. He slowly turned his head, and saw the same warm smile that he'd seen on the picnic video.
"Hello, Dale. It's good to see you again."
Confusion dulled his response. "Again?"
"Oh, Dale. Time is never linear." She stretched out her hand, and pointed. "It doesn't go just one way. Tell me, what do you see?"
He followed the direction of her hand – and saw the owl, perched precariously on the sill outside, watching them intently.
"An owl?" He knew it was the wrong thing to say, but this vision was moving faster than his brain could comprehend and analyze. He heard Laura tut in frustration.
"Don't disappoint me, Agent Cooper."
He looked sharply back at her, and the obvious question rose unbidden to his lips. "Who killed you, Laura?"
She sighed, bowed her head, and her hands dropped to her lap, where they gripped each other tightly. He could barely pick up her resultant whisper. "I'm only supposed to tell you once, and when I did, you forgot about it."
"I'm sorry." His dream. To his shame, he could remember nearly every aspect of that incredible dream he'd had, the red room, the dancing dwarf, everything except the most important part of it - the part where Laura had told him the name of her killer. It was his turn to bow his head.
He felt her hand come to rest on his, squeezing gently. "Don't worry, Dale," she whispered. "You will remember. In time. For some, at least."
"For some?"
"What do you see?" Again, Laura pointed to the window. "And this time, concentrate!"
He stood up, took a deep breath, and took two paces toward the window. The owl continued to sit there, impassively. What did Laura expect him to see? He stared – and a chilling realization began to form. The eyes – they weren't blinking. "It doesn't have the eyes of an owl." He knew, now, where he'd seen those eyes before. "It has the eyes of a killer."
"Very good, Dale."
Smiling, he turned around – and Laura was no longer there. There wasn't even an indentation on the bed to show that she had ever been there. He whirled back to the window, and saw that the owl had also disappeared. He was all alone in his room, much as he'd been this morning, when he'd conceived of this exercise. He crossed to the window and peered out. There was nothing out there – certainly not an owl with the eyes of a killer. He turned around to scrutinise the room. Was it the same here as it was in actuality? Everything appeared to be the same, even personal effects – but something under the bed caught his eye. It looked like a small piece of paper. He began to stride over, when he heard the screech of an owl. He glanced back, just as the window exploded in a deadly shower of shattered glass and bloodied bird feathers.
-o0o-
"Agent Cooper?" He felt a touch on the arm and he jerked awake to see Alice leaning over him. "I'll be finishing the class in five minutes."
He blinked several times, to get her into focus – to get his mind back into focus. "How long…?"
"You've been sitting there for just over thirty minutes. I thought you'd fallen asleep." She gave him a brief smile. "That isn't something I usually tolerate in my classes."
He swallowed, to get some of the lingering dryness out of his mouth. "Can I address the class before I leave?"
"I always assumed you would. Why do you think I woke you with five minutes left?" She stood up. "The floor, as they say, is all yours."
As he stood up, gathering his things – and thoughts – he listened while Alice announced his intentions to the class. He gave her a brief smile and started, intending to pull no punches. "Your classmate, Laura Palmer, as most of you must realize by now, had a drug habit. A large one. Primarily it was cocaine, but there were trace elements of others. She got most of that cocaine here, at Twin Peaks High School." As he spoke, he gradually strolled to the front of the class, eyes roaming over everyone, seeing who could meet his gaze – and who couldn't. "I've tracked the network from the Canadian border, and I know every link in that chain, except one. The final link. The dealer in this school - who sells it to those unfortunates who are addicted, as Laura was. Now I don't expect anyone to volunteer a name, here and now – you have your loyalties, misguided though they might be – but if anyone has anything they'd like to tell me, I can be reached at the Great Northern Hotel." Rolling his eyes, he added, "Well, some of the time, anyway." After a final glance at Laura's desk, he looked at Alice and smiled. "Thanks for putting up with me. I hope I haven't been too much of a distraction."
"To me – no. To them," she said with a trace of a smirk, "almost certainly. I'll see you out." As he turned to open the door, she turned back to the class. "The bell sounds in two minutes, no one leaves before then. Kyle, don't lick the windows."
He stood aside, to let her go first and, as she did so, he looked squarely at Audrey and winked. "Love the shoes." Her resultant smile made his morning.
As he closed the door behind him, he found Alice trying to stifle a laugh. "You know, she keeps them in her locker – changes into them every morning."
He raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise. "Well, that answers one question I had."
"Let me walk you to the entrance." As they walked down the hallway, she turned to him. "Did you find it useful? Those thirty minutes – was it like that experience with the piano?"
He broke into a large grin as the realization of what had happened filled him with elation. "Alice – I actually had a vision. I was hoping for heightened sensory stimulation, as I mentioned earlier, but to get an actual vision ... it was more than I thought possible." His voice softened. "I actually spoke to Laura. She gave me a clue – at least, I think it was. She was … enigmatic. Now comes the hard part – trying to work out what all of the various elements actually mean, and figuring out their relevance, if any, to the case."
They halted at the front entrance and turned to face each other. "By the sound of it, this is the point where you earn your stripes as a detective." She held out her hand and smiled. "It's been quite an experience, Agent Cooper."
He laughed briefly, as they shook hands. "It certainly has. In more ways than I anticipated. I really appreciate everything you've done this morning."
The bell then rang throughout the school and after a brief glance back up the hallway, she turned back to face him. "That's okay. Now find whoever's responsible."
He nodded, understandingly, as she turned, her expression now sombre, and walked back up the rapidly filling hallway. He opened the door and bright sunshine dazzled him, glinting from pools of standing water and the paintwork of parked cars. Things were definitely looking brighter. He pulled out his car keys and, seemingly alive, they made an attempted escape. Only an instinctive, lucky grab saved them from plummeting to another wet encounter and, as he stood there, heart pounding, gulping in air, he couldn't help but break into a laugh. Pulling out his trusty recorder, he started talking. "Diane, you'll never believe what just nearly happened … again."
FIN
-o0o-
Author's note: There appears to be a difference of opinion online as to the names of two minor characters in the pilot episode, one of which I've used extensively in this work. According to the transcripts at Glastonberry Grove, the register reading teacher is Alice Brady and the deposit box clerk is Margaret Honeycutt. In the original script, however (when the sheriff was still Dan Steadman and Josie was named Giovanna) the teacher is Margaret and the clerk is Alice. As I was using the transcripts for information long before being aware of the discrepancy, I've gone with the former – even if it may not be correct.