Brook refocused, grateful for the distraction from thoughts of Jacob. She studied the painting more deliberately now, taking in the details that had initially registered only peripherally. The painting was skillfully executed—not amateur work—with particular attention paid to the contradiction between the wide smile and the single tear.
“Most people make immediate connections to John Wayne Gacy,” Brook replied, her voice low enough that it wouldn't carry beyond the office. “A serial killer who performed as a clown at children's parties while murdering young men.”
“So, you're saying Principal Watkins could be?—”
“I'm saying that's the automatic association,” Brook corrected, shifting slightly in her chair so she, too, could monitor the entrance. “Psychologically speaking, people who display clown imagery often have a complex relationship with attention. They crave it while simultaneously fearing true emotional exposure. The clown's makeup both draws attention and conceals the person beneath.”
She gestured toward the painting.
“Take the lone tear. The symbol suggests awareness of this contradiction. It acknowledges the pain behind the performance.”
“From how Big T and Little T described Principal Watkins, he’s reserved and practical,” Bit said, his foot tapping in a rapid rhythm against the carpet. “Not someone who'd need to be the center of attention.”
Principal Watkins’ office was neat and organized, with diplomas and awards arranged in perfect symmetry on thewalls. Awards for academic excellence, community service, and educational leadership created a narrative of ambition and achievement.
“That's the interesting part. Sometimes people surround themselves with imagery that represents what they repress rather than what they express. Watkins may be acknowledging parts of himself that he keeps tightly controlled. It could be the reason he was drawn to the painting in the first place.”
“Or maybe he just thinks it's artsy,” Bit suggested with another wary glance at the painting. “You know, being in charge of an elementary school. Some kids love clowns. I mean, not everything has to be a window into the soul, right?”
Before Brook could respond, they heard Jane alert Principal Watkins that his visitors were waiting in his office. Bit straightened abruptly in his chair while Brook stood, mindful of her jacket that she’d hung over the arm.
“Ms. Sloane, I apologize for keeping you waiting.” Watkins closed the distance between them and shook Brook's hand firmly before turning to Bit. His gaze lingered a beat longer than necessary on Bit’s grey knitted beanie. “And you must be Mr. Nowacki. I’m not sure what else I can tell you about Mr. Quinn. I’ve already told Mr. Neville everything that I can…legally, of course.”
“We appreciate your flexibility, Principal Watkins.” Brook waited until he had moved behind his desk before reclaiming her chair. Bit followed suit. “I imagine news of Mr. Quinn’s arrest has made the rounds.”
“Tyler Quinn has been placed on administrative leave pending further investigation,” Principal Watkins replied as he leaned back in his chair. “The school board felt it was the appropriate action given the seriousness of the allegations.”
Principal Watkins’ gaze slid to Bit, whose attention had returned to the clown painting. His expression suggested arenewed analysis of its significance, so Brook maintained a professional demeanor, intentionally bringing Watkins’ attention back to her by explaining the reason for their visit.
“We're actually here about a different matter."
“I’m not sure what other information I can provide you.”
“Our investigation has led us to some connections that require your insight,” Brook explained, noticing how Principal Watkins smoothed his tie in preparation for what was to come. “We’d like to ask you about Loretta Whitlow.”
The mention of Figg's mother had clearly caught Principal Watkins off guard. His expression shifted from surprise to confusion, and finally to a wary understanding as the connection to their investigation registered in his eyes.
Brook immediately nipped his assumption in the bud.
“Figg Whitlow doesn’t fit the profile of the individual who murdered Heather Moore,” Brook explained, noting how she had also attracted Bit’s attention. She technically hadn’t ruled Figg out at all, but she also didn’t want Principal Watkins spreading information about the investigation before she was ready to have it released to the public. “We’re asking about Loretta Whitlow because there is a slim chance that she interacted with said individual during their high school years.”
“I haven’t heard Loretta’s name in years,” Principal Watkins said softly, as if testing its weight after years of disuse. “You do know that she passed away many, many years ago.”
“Twelve, to be exact,” Brook confirmed, noting how Watkins leaned forward to rest his forearms on his desk.
“I’m not sure what I can tell you, Ms. Sloane.” Principal Watkins laced his fingers together. “Loretta was a devoted mother who raised that boy alone. Whatever Figg has become, whatever choices he's made as an adult...they don't reflect on her.”
Watkins was protective of Loretta’s memory. Unfortunately, he was still under the assumption that their inquiry suggested Figg's involvement in the murders.
“Please tell me what you can remember about her,” Brook directed, deliberately steering away from any direct accusations.
Watkins's expression softened, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
“A true teacher. Not someone who simply showed up for a paycheck, but someone who believed she made a difference.” Watkins smiled as he revisited the past. “Loretta taught literature with a passion that made even reluctant students engage with the material. She had high standards but infinite patience.”
“You were colleagues at the high school, correct?”
“Yes, for over fifteen years.” Watkins shifted and studied the bookcase on the left side of the room. “I believe I still have—yes, there it is.”
