Wyatt came out of the gas station and headed for the pumps, his remarkably long legs crossing the small parking area in just a few strides. He handed her a giant cup of sweet tea, extra ice. He held a one-liter bottle of Mountain Dew in one hand, and a Snickers bar in the other. He’d already taken a bite.
“You didn’t get me a Snickers?”
“Why would I do that?” he asked, leaning against the Jeep.
“Because I’m your wife and you’re a gentleman?”
“So I should waste $1.39 buying you a candy bar that you won’t eat.” He took another bite that reduced the Snickers by half.
“It’s a gesture,” Maggie said, giving him a small smile. She knew he knew she was baiting him for some banter they both needed.
“So’s flipping you off, but that doesn’t mean I should do it,” Wyatt said. He crumpled the wrapper, tossed it into the waste can, and pulled the suddenly-silent pump out of her tank.
“You and your vegetables and your obsession with oysters and whatnot,” he said as he closed her gas tank. “You don’t deserve a candy bar. Though you could stand to gain a pound.”
“Are you saying I’m too skinny?”
“You’re sexy as hell,” he answered, kissing the top of her head. “But my left leg weighs more than you do.”
“I know. We need a bigger bed.”
“Ow.”
Maggie took a drink of her tea, then held the cold, sweating cup against her forehead. The mood she was attempting, the few minutes of normalcy she was after, dissipated like dew. She looked out at the bay, then looked up at Wyatt, who was frowning at her.
“We were supposed to be barbecuing with Axel right about now,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Dwight is supposed to be in Fort Walton Beach with Amy. It was a surprise.”
Wyatt put his soda on the roof of the Jeep, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. “They’ll go when he heals up.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you get hold of Amy?”
“Yeah,” Maggie said. She’d returned Amy’s missed call while Wyatt was inside. “Dwight woke up for a minute, but then he got a scared because of the restraints they have on him to keep him really still. They put him out.” She blew out a breath. “Amy said he didn’t realize she was there anyway.”
“Because of the drugs?”
Maggie shrugged and shook her head.
“Listen. He’s a scrawny little cracker, but he’s gonna tough this out,” Wyatt said.
Maggie nodded. “I know.”
She didn’t know, but saying it made it feel like maybe she did.
Ryan’s chemistry teacher, Jason Carpenter, lived less than fifteen minutes away, on Timber Ridge Court. Maggie and Wyatt drove both vehicles out of habit, in case one of them got a call, and parked in the driveway behind a fairly new Toyota pickup. Timber Ridge was mainly new construction, or at least new within the last decade or so. The homes were modest, and kind of cookie-cutter, but they were nice, and had large lots.
When Maggie got out of the Jeep, she could see two little girls playing in a kiddie pool in the side yard. A slightly-built man in his thirties, with sandy hair and wire-framed glasses, stood near the pool, his eyes going from the driveway to the pool and back again.
Maggie waited a second for Wyatt, then they both walked through well-tended grass to the side of the house.
“Mr. Carpenter?” Wyatt asked.
“Yes. You’re Sheriff Hamilton,” the man said. His voice was gentle and pleasant.
“Formerly,” Wyatt said. The man gave half a nod, like that was up for interpretation.
“This is Lt. Maggie Redmond. Hamilton.” Wyatt still got tripped up with that.
Maggie held out her hand. “Mr. Carpenter.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” he said as they shook. “Please call me Jason.” He looked over his shoulder at the two little girls, both blond, las the smaller one let out a shriek. “Kylie, give her back the ball.”
The older of the two girls, maybe four, stuck out her lower lip, but handed a red ball back to her little sister, then sat down.
“Pretty girls,” Maggie said politely.
“Thank you. They’re amazing, but they wear me out,” Jason answered. “Work’s almost a break for me.”
“Is your wife or someone here, that could keep an eye on them while we talk?” Wyatt asked.
“No, I’m sorry, there’s just the three of us,” the man answered. “I can bring them inside if you want to come in the house.”
“No, it’s okay,” Wyatt answered. “We shouldn’t need too much of your time.”
“Have you found Ryan yet?”
“No, we haven’t.” Wyatt pulled out his notepad and pen. “Do you have any thoughts about where he might be?”
Jason shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t. Ryan and I have talked quite a bit outside of the classroom, at school of course, but I don’t really know what he does or where his haunts might be outside of school.”
“What about friends, classmates? Anyone he hung out with quite a bit?” Wyatt asked.
“Daddy, you water me!” the smaller girl yelled behind him, her smile wide and hopeful.
Jason jerked his head for them to follow him, then picked up a hose with a spray nozzle, and aimed it at the water between her and her sister. The spray bounced up and hit their chests and shoulders, and they squealed appropriately. Maggie wanted to climb in with them, for relief from the heat, and a little kid therapy.
Jason kept squirting the girls as he answered Wyatt. “I know he had a few friends he ate lunch with, a couple of kids he talked to in class, but I don’t know who he hung out with.”
“He didn’t talk to you about any of his friends, what he did over the weekend, that kind of thing?” Maggie asked.
“No, not really.” His cargo shorts were getting soaked, but he didn’t seem to mind. “He talked to me more about his family than he did his friends.”
“What would he tell you?” Wyatt asked.
“Oh, stuff like going out fishing with his uncles and cousins. Going to the beach with his mom. He really likes being a few minutes from the beach. He recently moved here from Orlando.” He shrugged. “I guess you know that, though.”
“He seem stressed, happy, angry, sad? What’s his demeanor like?” Wyatt asked.
“He’s pretty laid back, except about his grades,” Jason answered. “Outside of the bullying issue.”
“He talk to you about that?”
“Quite a bit, yeah, but I was the one that first approached him about it.” He switched the hose to his other hand and flexed the one he’d been using. “I could see what was going on.”
“What did you see?” Maggie asked, pushing her sunglasses back up her nose. It was slick with sweat, and they slid back down almost immediately.
“Not a lot, but enough to know they were giving him a hard time,” he answered. “I’d hear smart remarks or see them at the other end of the hallway, kind of crowding him. I’d see the way Ryan went out of his way to avoid them or become invisible when they were around.”
“His mother’s been to the principle’s office three times, trying to deal with the bullying,” Wyatt said.
The man nodded. “Yeah.”
“What’s bully?” the older girl piped up, squinting up into the sun.
“Nothing, sugar,” he answered distractedly. “Let the grown-ups talk, okay?”
“Can I get a snack?”
“In just a few minutes.” He stopped spraying. “Why don’t you put your Barbies back in the pool, let them swim a little?”
The two girls leaned over the side of the pool and picked up fistfuls of naked Barbie dolls and dumped them into the pool.
“They want water, Daddy,” the little one said, and her f
ather started spraying again.
“I know Mrs. Warner tried to get something done about the bullying,” he continued. “Although Ryan really didn’t want her to. It always got back to the other kids, and it embarrassed him. But it was really getting to him. He couldn’t wait to graduate.” At this, the teacher’s face turned grim, as though realizing that graduation day really wasn’t going to mean anything to Ryan Warner anymore.
“I know other officers are speaking with the principal today, but can you kind of give us a synopsis of her take on things?”
“She’s trying really hard to create a good environment for these kids,” Jason said. “She works really hard at it. We’ve all had lots of classes and workshops on bullying and sexual harassment and all of that kind of thing,” the teacher answered. “But between the school board and the State of Florida and the Department of Education and every other CYA organism, we’re kind of crippled when it comes to these things.”
“How so?” Wyatt asked him.
“Everything’s so politically correct, everybody’s all worried about rights and lawsuits and countersuits and media and all this other stuff, and everybody’s so scared of taking action that we’re failing the kids.”
He’d gotten pretty animated during that little bit. Maggie found herself liking him. She hoped he’d still be at the school when Kyle started high school. Clearly, he felt very strongly about kids.
“So what does that translate to?” Wyatt asked, then held up a hand. “That’s not exactly how I meant to phrase that. What I mean is, how does the politics impact what the principle is doing about bullying?”
Jason shrugged. “Gotta have witnesses, preferably adult witnesses. Staff. Even then, it doesn’t always mean expulsion. Sometimes, depending on the circumstances, it’s a suspension first. And even then, if there’s a physical altercation, usually both parties end up suspended. The kids aren’t allowed to defend themselves, either.” He sighed and dragged a hand over his head. “That’s what zero tolerance actually translates to.”
Wyatt nodded. He knew a lot of this, some in abstract terms, some more concrete. His office had been called out to the school to break up fights many times, and most of those times, all they could do was break it up and tell the kids to straighten up. As of last school year, the Sheriff’s Office had two deputies assigned solely to the high school five days a week. They didn’t have metal detectors yet, but they’d been approved and budgeted and were supposed to be in by the fall.
“Mr. Carpenter, why do you think Ryan took that gun to school Thursday?” Maggie asked him.
He looked at her for a long moment before answering. “I don’t know. When I heard that he had, it just blew me away.” He stopped, swallowed hard. “Of course, the shooting. I don’t really know how or why that happened, except that I can tell you that Ryan just isn’t the kind of kid who hates cops or has some kind of vendetta.”
“But he did take the gun,” Wyatt said quietly.
“He did, yeah. And I don’t know why,” Jason said. “Look, as a teacher—as a parent for crying out loud—I can’t excuse what he did. Kids cannot have guns. Kids cannot bring guns to school or try to solve problems with weapons. They can’t. I really like Ryan. I’m sure this isn’t what you want to hear, because your fellow officer was shot, probably a friend, but Ryan really has always been a good kid.”
Wyatt nodded, then looked over at Maggie. “You have any other questions?”
Maggie shook her head. “No.” She looked at Jason Carpenter. “Thank you for your time.” She started to turn away, then looked back at him. “Thank you for teaching.”
He seemed surprised by that. He nodded, shook Wyatt’s hand, then watched them as they walked to the driveway.
Maggie and Wyatt stopped at Maggie’s Jeep. She opened the door to let out some of the death-dealing heat for a minue.
“What do you think?” Wyatt asked as her phone buzzed.
She pulled it out of her pocket. It was Myles. “Hey, Myles, what’s up?”
“Mags, we have a problem,” he said. “The Nichols parents don’t know where Adrian Nichols is.”
“What do you mean? Hold on.” She looked over at Jason and his girls, then up at Wyatt. “Let’s get in the car so I can put him on speaker.
“What’s up?” Wyatt asked as he walked around to the other side.
“I’m not sure.” They both got in the car, leaving the doors open. Maggie turned on the engine and started the air. “Myles, I’m putting you on speaker so Wyatt can hear.” She tapped the icon. “Go ahead.”
“Yeah, so Nichols is missing,” Myles repeated.
“Since when?” Maggie asked him.
“Not sure. The mother went to bed with a stress headache last night about seven. She said the kid told her he was going out. The dad had the shrimp boat out all night and went to bed as soon as he got home this morning. He didn’t wake up till I got here.”
“Was he on foot, with friends or what?” Wyatt asked.
“He left by himself, in his car.”
“If he has a car, why does he ride a bus to school?” Maggie asked.
“Well, he keeps getting grounded from the car, plus he won’t hold a job and the dad’s stingy with gas money,” Miles answered.
“So what are we thinking?’ Wyatt asked.
“I don’t know what we’re thinking,” Myles answered, frustration coming through loud and clear. “I mean, we’re not even charging him with anything. Yet. So why split?”
“Maybe he just crashed at a friend’s house?” Maggie offered.
“So far, none of the friends the mom’s gotten in touch with.”
“Where’s the Newman kid?” Wyatt asked.
“Oh, Quincy just sent his happy ass home,” Myles said. “He and his parents got pulled down to the SO, and Bledsoe gave him the works. Don’t know if he had any legal standing, but he made him take the YouTube channel down. That video’s all over the place, though, you know that.”
Maggie felt sick to her stomach about that. Amy had told her and Wyatt this morning that she’d heard about it, but her father convinced her not to watch it. Maggie doubted that would last long, though. Maggie had unintentionally witnessed her husband’s violent death, but if she hadn’t, and it had been out on some video, she knew she would have been irresistibly drawn to see for herself.
“Okay, well,” Wyatt said. “If anybody knows where this kid is holed up, it’s Newman. We’re gonna take a run over there. Text me the address.”
“You got it,” Myles said, and disconnected.
Wyatt looked at Maggie. “You’ve been a parent for eighteen years,” he said. “I don’t know how you’re not a pill head.”
Maggie followed Wyatt to the Newman residence. She was surprised to find that the Newmans lived in one of the very few wealthy neighborhoods in Eastpoint, right near East Bay, which separated Eastpoint and Apalach.
The house was large, without being grotesque. There was nothing ostentatious about the brick rancher with the white columns, but the professional landscaping, three car garage, and the location made the financial status of the Newman family very clear.
She and Wyatt got out and headed for the house. There was a brick-paved porch that ran the width of the house, with four white rockers that didn’t look like they saw much use. A few large pots of flowers were strategically placed on the porch and near the steps, but the porch felt like it was strictly for show.
Wyatt rang the doorbell. They could hear the tinny chiming inside. After a moment, the door was opened by a man in his late fifties, with a rapidly receding hairline and no discernible chin.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Newman?” Wyatt asked.
The man looked at Wyatt, then Maggie. “Yes,” he answered to Maggie, though Wyatt had asked the question.
“I’m Wyatt Hamilton with the Sheriff’s Office,” Wyat
t said politely. “This is Lt. Redmond.”
Maggie noticed he intentionally used her maiden name.
“Yes,” the man said, his face instantly solemn, and a little nervous. “May I help you?”
“Is your son at home?”
“Well, yes, but we’ve just come from the Sheriff’s Office,” Newman said. “Stuart took that YouTube channel down.”
“Yes, I understand, but we need to speak with him for a few minutes,” Wyatt said, nicely but firmly.
The man hesitated a moment, then held the door open and stepped back. “Okay.”
Wyatt and Maggie entered a hallway with a floor of gray stone, bright white walls, and carefully arranged oddments of furniture. There were a few family pictures on the walls of the long hallway, all of them professionally done, but the majority of the wall art was actual art.
There were several white double doors on either side of the hall, which ended in an open-concept sort of great room. The back of the room looked like it was made up entirely of windows overlooking the bay.
“My wife and son are on the back patio,” Newman said. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his green golf pants, then took them out again. Maggie wondered why he’d been golfing when his son was in the middle of a serious situation.
“You have a very nice home,” Wyatt said politely. Maggie knew he hated it.
“Thank you.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a tax attorney,” the man answered.
“That makes sense.”
They followed the man down the hall and into the large great room. As it turned out, there was a big fireplace in the center of the back wall, with the windows filling in the rest. As they followed the man toward the sliding glass doors, Maggie saw a woman and young man sitting at a white wrought iron table on the expansive back patio. There was a pool beyond it, and beyond that a narrow lawn that led the eye to the bay.
The woman was facing the house, and she looked up as they approached the glass. She had dark red hair, in an expensive-looking bob, and eyebrows that had to consist exclusively of pencil. She was attractive anyway, in a matronly, country club kind of way.
Squall Line (The Forgotten Coast Florida Suspense Series Book 9) Page 7