Crazytown (The Darren Lockhart Mysteries) (11 page)

Chapter 21

Lockhart called ahead to Deputy Lind and asked him to meet at the school for his interview with Dr. Heath. Furthermore, he asked him to call ahead to the school to get a copy of Dr. Health’s employment record, since they could provide any background information that the school had for Lockhart to send to the Bemidji office for a background check.

As he approached the city limits he saw that the “Crazytown” sign had been tagged with a “1” over the “2” in the population number of 642. It was completely tasteless, but it was not unexpected. Kids, let alone kids dealing with a peer’s death, do stupid things.

It was after five in the evening by the time Lockhart made it to the school parking lot, which only held six remaining cars, including the deputy’s police cruiser.

The deputy stood outside the front doors of the school as Lockhart walked up. He had called and informed Dr. Heath of their arrival and subsequent need to talk. The deputy went in to confirm that Heath was in his class room, but he obeyed the special agent’s requirement that he not speak to any potential witnesses or suspects alone. Lockhart made sure to voice his appreciation for Lind’s cooperation.

Dr. Heath’s classroom looked much the way Lockhart expected it to, like pretty much any other science classroom he had seen. There was a wall-to-wall blackboard covered with chicken scratches of scientific formulas and terms; the school system seemed disinclined to upgrade to the more common dry erase boards. Over a dozen two-person lab stations were situated in rows of three. With its prominent collection of diagrams and preserved animals, it could have just as easily been a taxidermy class as a school science lab.

Dr. Walter Heath sat at a desk in the front corner of the room, his back turned to the windows that ran wall to wall lengthwise. As he had been Professor Mendez’s doctoral advisor, Lockhart expected a much older man. Instead, he saw a thin man, about the same age as Lockhart himself, with a full head of wiry—if not frizzy—blonde, hair that puffed out somewhat like an afro. He sat with his head down, focused on papers that he was feverishly marking with a red felt pen.

Lockhart knocked on the door frame of the open classroom door. “Dr. Heath?”

“Yes?” he said, lifting his head hesitantly as his eyes still tried to scan the papers in front of him. “Ah, you must be Special Agent Lockhart. Deputy Lind told me you need to speak with me. Please…” He stood, capped the grading pen and flicked it onto his desk. “Please tell me what I can do to assist in your investigation.” Heath spoke quickly, excitedly, a typical indication of guilt in suspects, though it could have just as easily been eccentricity in the case of Dr. Heath. He shook Lockhart’s hand energetically and shifted almost constantly as he stood across from Lockhart and the deputy.

The deputy closed the door and took a seat at one of the lab stations.

Dr. Heath’s eyes flittered between Lockhart and the deputy. “What can I do?”

Lockhart took his time. He retrieved his notepad and flipped through it. He wanted to make Dr. Heath wait a little bit to help figure out if he moved so erratically because he was nervous or if that was just his way. “Let’s see…” Heath shifted, but it was consistent, as though he could just take off for a run and just as easily answer questions. “Why don’t you start by telling me about Michael Weber, Jr.?”

Special Agent Lockhart had no idea what he was getting into when he asked what he had considered to be a mundane question, but Dr. Heath took the question and ran with it. He went into great detail as he described the results of Mikey’s tests, projects and class participation, seemingly everything he knew about the boy. He repeated constantly how brilliant the boy was and said he had an obligation to see how far the boy could develop mentally. Heath’s voice lowered and became remorseful when he spoke of the public school system: “They are always mistaking intelligence for a learning disability labeling young geniuses as troublemakers because they are just bored with the standard curriculum.” Heath got more excited when he changed the conversation back to Mikey. The man was a soda bottle, constantly being shaken by his own words and waiting to burst its top. Lockhart wondered if his questions were a relief valve or if Heath was always so animated. Later, the deputy would inform Lockhart of all the nicknames the school kids had for Dr. Heath, most of which were carved into the lab tables.

“Did you ever have teacher conferences with Michael’s parents?”

Dr. Heath slowed his side-to-side shifting, and his eyes darted around for several silent moments. “Mr. and Mrs. Weber? Yes, I spoke with them a few times. I spoke with them several years back when their daughter Lisa was a student of mine. I vaguely recall the parents being disinterested at best, though they did seem more involved last year when I first presented the notion of Mikey taking college courses.”

“What do you mean by involved?”

“Well, I recall that the father had no interest in physics, biology or the Earth sciences. It was his opinion that the boy would serve his time better in shop classes and attending a vocational college. Please don’t get me wrong. This country was built on the backs of the blue-collar workers, and they practice a noble trade. However, Mikey was, for lack of a better term, better than that.”

Lockhart looked back at the deputy, who looked as if he could have been asleep standing up. He returned his gaze to Dr. Heath. “And what do you mean by better?”

Again, Heath went off on the different professional careers available for the sort of problem solving mind that Mikey had: advanced cryptography, chaos theory, quantum physics, and astrodynamics, to name a few. Lockhart made sure to note them all. Heath noted that Mikey had an important kind of mind, saying he was the sort of person who didn’t need to bother with creating a theory or hypothesis, then try to prove it because he saw the answer from the get-go. The real trick was to figure out how he got there,” Heath said, growing even more excited. “Actually, come to think of it, Mikey did contact me about a week ago.”

Lockhart saw the deputy’s face rise up and look at Dr. Heath; something had finally been said that had gotten his attention. The deputy started to open his mouth, but Lockhart interrupted him, “What about?”

“He wasn’t specific in his email. See, he was the student of a former student of mine, and I had made the recommendation that Michael audit his classes, though it was something of a formality. There is no doubt in my mind that Michael was at or above the level of most college students. Well, I guess he had taken a test in which he was asked to explain why certain scientific hypotheses—more along the lines of science fiction—were impossible. Something about that had gotten him very excited, and he wanted me to recommend some books.”

Heath rattled off several book titles, authors, and even direct quotes that Lockhart had to have him repeat, slower, even with his ability to write in shorthand. Lockhart wasn’t sure that he wanted to ask any further questions for fear of how long the answer might be and if it would even be relevant, but there was something else he needed to know. “Dr. Heath, just one more question. Knowing Michael as you did, can you think of any reason why anyone would want him dead?”

“Lord no! Want him dead? Absolutely not. I can’t imagine why anyone would want such a thing for another person, let alone a boy of such potential. Whoever it was certainly had no desire to see the advancement of science as we know it.”

Chapter 22

Lockhart left the school with Deputy Lind.

“What do you think, Agent?” the deputy asked.

“I don’t know. It kind of seems like everything is pointing the same direction, huh?”

“Mr. Weber…” The deputy’s voice trailed off, and his face grew cold.

Lockhart snapped his fingers in the deputy’s face. “Hey! Back here. I don’t know where your mind just went off to, but stop it right now. We are investigators. We don’t assign guilt. Our job is to follow the evidence. If the evidence leads to the Webers, I’ll even let you slap on the handcuffs, but until then, you toe the line.”

Deputy Lind’s jaw clenched and relaxed. He seemed to take several seconds to blink.

Lockhart stared at him for a moment, then asked, “Have you been getting any sleep, Deputy?”

Lind shook his head.

“Is Lisa still at your house?”

He nodded.

“Take the night off and go be with your lady. Cook her dinner. If we need you, I’ll call. Otherwise, I don’t want to see you again until tomorrow. That’s an order. Consider yourself under house arrest.”

The deputy’s eyes dropped as though the last of his energy had drained from his body with the permission to take the night off. His shoulders slumped, and he quietly said a humble “Thanks.” He got in his car, and Lockhart watched as he turned right out of the school parking lot, making sure the deputy was following orders; a left-hand turn would have taken him straight to the Weber house.

Lockhart called in to the law enforcement office and was greeted over the phone by Joy. She asked him how his day was going and how his trip to Duluth went. Lockhart chatted with her a few moments until there was a long enough break in the conversation for him to ask about the chief.

“Oh, he’s right here. Do you want to talk with him?”

Lockhart smiled. “Yes, please. Thank you, Joy.”

“Chicken wild rice soup for dinner tonight,” she added.

“I can’t wait. Thanks.”

The phone clicked as the call transferred to the chief’s phone. Donaldson answered and immediately asked Lockhart how Joy was doing. The man was in good spirits, and Lockhart hoped that meant he had gotten some leads from his interviews with Mikey’s friends; the deputy had made no mention of them.

There was a reason for that, as there was nothing to tell. Donaldson had spoken with most of the kids in Mikey’s class—all 20 of them—and no one had much to say. The consensus seemed to be that he had been a little withdrawn lately, but the chief chalked that up to the college courses or figured the kids were starting to ostracize him for being too smart, as kids tend to do with anyone who is different. Evidently, even though he was only taking two science classes, the school had decided he could have his homework delivered so he could otherwise focus on science. The school board was quite excited about the discovery of Mikey’s intelligence and considered it a mark of their success. Their concern over his academic success led them to what Lockhart considered to be a foolish conclusion: taking him out of school altogether.

“You sounded like you were in a good mood when you answered the phone, Chief. I expected a bit more than ‘normal kid stuff’.”

“Oh, there is. That’s just what I got from the kids.”

Lockhart turned his car into the gravel parking lot adjacent to the law enforcement office. “Hold on. I just pulled up. Tell me some good news in person.” Lockhart walked into the office and was immediately greeted by Joy. After a brief exchange of pleasantries with her, he walked over to Donaldson’s desk. “All right, Chief. Give it to me,” Lockhart said as he sat in the chair across the desk from the better half of Crayton law enforcement.

“I think I found a motive,” the chief said with a smug smile.

“Insurance policy?” Lockhart asked without hesitation.

Donaldson looked disappointed, as if Lockhart had ruined the secret of what he was getting for Christmas. “How did you know?”

“Oldest reason the world, right? That or sex, I suppose. How much was Mikey’s policy worth?”

“$200,000.”

Lockhart gave an impressed whistle. “I’ll admit that’s a bit high considering their living conditions. Did you look into when the policy was taken out?”

“No, not yet.”

“I’d bet the policy goes back to Mr. Weber going on disability. Call it demented wishful thinking on their part, but check into it anyway. Though, I still don’t think the motive holds. People around here watch enough TV to know that insurance claims for murders take about a day less than forever to clear. Besides, there are easier ways to kill someone. No sign of an accident here, nor the attempt to stage one.” Lockhart scratched at the five o’clock shadow on his chin. “Seems like a stretch, but until we get more on the policy, we won’t rule it out. We need to get confirmation of Mr. and Mrs. Weber’s whereabouts during the murder.”

“What’s your money on?” the Chief asked.

Lockhart sighed and leaned back on the rear legs of the chair. His head arched back, and he stared at three pencils protruding from the white paneled ceiling. He took it as proof that things must get boring for the Crayton P.D. “I’m guessing that Mr. Weber was at Izzy’s, drunk as usual. The mom was probably at home with their sons—not great for her as far as alibis are concerned because she could tell those eight-year-olds to corroborate anything. Still, we could interrogate the twins.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Not sure yet. Depends on how much more frustrated I get with this case,” Lockhart said through his teeth as he chewed on his lower lip in disappointment.

“So, what’s next in the FBI field manual for homicide investigations?”

“Well,” Lockhart said, standing with a groan and walking toward Joy’s desk, “for now, I plan to escort Joy here back to the delightful bed-and-breakfast for what I can only assume will be the most delicious chicken wild rice soup I’ve ever eaten.”

Joy looked up from her knitting and blushed, “Oh my!”

“Well, with a killer out there we can’t have young ladies going around unescorted.” Lockhart smiled and winked at the B&B’s matriarchal proprietor.

Chief Donaldson wished them both a good night, and Lockhart walked Joy back to her house for what did, in fact, turn out to be the best soup he had ever eaten.