Wednesday – 10:32am
Sheriff Donovan escorted Tyler Quinn through the double glass doors with a firm grip around the PE teacher’s upper arm. There were a few onlookers, mostly from administration, who shifted uneasily as one of their own was taken away. The sheriff had arrived with remarkable speed after Carol Hensley had placed the call. Quinn hadn't offered much resistance after being restrained, though he had refused to say anything until a lawyer was present.
The rhythmic click of boots against the somewhat polished floor drew Theo's attention. Brook approached after having a brief conversation with the deputy who had been first on the scene.
“Sheriff Donovan has agreed to let me sit in on Tyler's interview,” Brook said as she came to a stop. “After reading Sylvie’s text, I think you should stay behind and have a talk with Clyde Weaver.”
Theo had already shared with her what he’d discovered from the married couple, Kyle and Faith Wheat. It wouldn’t be difficult to confirm their recollection regarding the verbal altercation between Heather and Figg Whitlow.
“What's your read on Quinn?”
“Defensive, but not manipulative.” Brook scanned the lobby before gesturing for him to follow her. She put enough distance between them and a few people who lingered so that they wouldn’t be overheard. “Quinn doesn't fit the profile if he's truly an alcoholic like others paint him to be. The unsub is methodical, controlled. Patient. Quinn is...well, a mess.”
“Panic reactions like that aren't born from nowhere, though,” Theo pointed out. “Something about your question regarding how Heather spent her Thursday evenings triggered him.”
“Which is why I’m heading to the station.” Brook glanced at her watch. “Will you pick me up there when you're done with Weaver?”
“Of course.” Theo searched for Principal Watkins, but he must have returned to his office. “Shouldn't take more than an hour.”
“I just need to collect my jacket from the break room,” Brook said as she gestured toward the deputy for him to follow her. “I’ll see you soon.”
Theo shifted his attention back to the school environment around him. Schools always made him uneasy. His father had once told him that schools were microcosms of society, complete with their politics and predators. As a cop's son, Theo had grown up with an uncomfortable awareness of what could happen in places meant to be safe.
He made his way toward the administration office.
Behind a low counter cluttered with permission slips, attendance forms, and a wilting poinsettia, stood a woman in her early thirties. Her nameplate identified her as ‘JaneFoss, Administrative Assistant’, though the polished surface and central position on her desk suggested she was the true gatekeeper of Crescent Ridge Elementary.
Jane gave him a practiced smile, but her inability to meet his gaze told of her discomfort. She wasn’t sure where to look—his good eye or the leather patch. That momentary hesitation was something Theo had grown accustomed to since his injury. Some fixated on the patch, others studiously avoided it. Jane seemed to be in the third category, her gaze settling somewhere in the middle of his forehead.
Before she could speak, an irritated male voice carried from behind a partially closed door labeled ‘Principal’. The volume suggested the speaker wasn't particularly concerned about being overheard.
“…done. I've had it, Barbara. I want him placed on administrative leave, and then we follow the guidelines to have him terminated.” Principal Watkins' voice carried a frustrated edge, suggesting this wasn't his first complaint about the matter. “He comes in hungover and smelling like alcohol every day. He does a half-ass job, and now he ran from the police.”
A brief pause followed, presumably as the person on the other end of the call responded.
“I know they aren't police, police...” Watkins continued, his voice dipping momentarily before rising again with renewed frustration. “But it's the same thing. He created a scene. What if the children had witnessed it? How would I have explained that to the parents? I want him gone, Barbara.”
The sharp sound was no doubt the desk phone being slammed into its receiver. Jane cleared her throat delicately, her discomfort evident in the way she shuffled papers that didn't need shuffling.
“Principal Watkins, one of the investigators would like to speak with you,” Jane called out, not even bothering with the internal intercom system.
The partially opened office door swung the rest of the way to reveal the balding man with a permanent line etched into his forehead. His navy tie was askew, and it was obvious that he didn’t handle the stress of his job too well.
“Mr. Neville, I apologize again for?—”
“We’ve got everything under control, Principal Watkins. My colleague is joining the sheriff at the station to question Mr. Quinn, but I’d still like to speak to Clyde Weaver, if possible.”
“Of course, Mr. Neville. I’ll have him come to my office. You’ll have more privacy than?—”
“I prefer to speak with Mr. Weaver in the breakroom.”
Principal Watkins' eyebrows rose slightly. Theo didn’t bother to explain that the private office could hamper any goodwill that he might be able to secure with the custodian. Watkins was a figure of authority in Weaver’s everyday life, and that didn’t lend itself to a comfortable setting.
“Of course,” Principal Watkins replied with a tight smile. “Jane will see to it that Clyde meets with you in the breakroom. Should you need anything else, please let us know.”
Theo nodded his appreciation before leaving the administration office. Jane was already reaching for the phone, which meant she believed Clyde was somewhere reachable by phone.
As Theo continued to walk down the hallway, his right knee began to ache. He’d believed at the time that he’d softened the impact of the tackle, but the deep throbbing contradicted that notion. In his early thirties, he was still in excellent physical condition, but his body had begun keeping score in ways it hadn't a decade ago.
