The Tear Collector

by Shawn Burgess

  “Can I speak to Chief Barton then?”

  Detective Holt expels a deep breath in the receiver. “You could if he wasn’t on vacation with his wife in Hawaii.”

  “I want an exclusive,” the reporter blurts out.

  “And I want a cigarette. But I assure you, both aren’t going to happen!”

  “What were the circumstances surrounding John Watson’s…”

  “Enough! This phone call is over. Goodbye.”

  Detective Holt bangs the phone on the receiver. Pools of hot blood puddle below the skin in Detective Holt’s face; his pulse is racing, his heart a stamp press, imprinting anger, pumping it into his bloodstream with each successive beat. He’s accustomed to doing the interrogating. His blood steams like saltwater meeting lava flow.

  “Marccccy!” Detective Holt’s voice booms out.

  “Yeah, Holt?”

  “I need that Myron Thompson kid ASAP!”

  “I’ll get some people on it, Holt.”

  A goofy grin spreads on Officer Clancy’s face. “Was that Kasey Norton?”

  “Yeah, damn reporters!”

  “Oh man, she’s hot.”

  “Keep it in your pants, Officer Clancy. Let’s keep our mind on the task at hand.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”

  “It’s fine. But I need you to stay focused. I want you to authorize that chemical analysis Mr. Latrell recommended. Also, I want you to send the blood we found to Lexington or Knoxville, whichever’s going to be faster. Get a rush DNA test on it. And check with Morrow. I think he’s got some connections.”

  “No problem. I can do both.”

  Detective Holt rubs his temple for a moment. “What do you make of Latravious Wadlow?”

  “Oh man, I haven’t heard that name in years.” A sliver of a smile slides onto Officer Clancy’s face.

  “So, what do you make of him?”

  “Oh wow. You’re serious.”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.” Detective Holt’s face hardens. Officer Clancy takes a moment to gather himself.

  “Sorry. I thought you were joking. The guy’s a total shut-in. Never leaves that house. I mean, I grew up on High Street. My parents knew his parents, but he was long gone by then. You know, local boy makes good. Became a hotshot Ivy League professor or something. Supposedly brilliant, that is until he went crazy. Lost his job. Ended up back here. He moved into his parents’ house on High Street. They’d passed a few years earlier. He’s been a recluse ever since. Wait, why are we talking about him, anyway?”

  “Why do you suppose a recluse would show up to a search party for a little girl with dozens of people around?”

  Officer Clancy’s lips separate. “What? Are you sure? You mean you saw him today?”

  “I’m positive. When Sammy Needles was breaking into those cars a while back, we had a call for one on High Street. I went to all the neighbors’ houses to see if anyone had seen anything. Latravious Wadlow’s house was one of them.”

  “You got him to answer his door?”

  “Yeah. Well, yeah. After I rang his doorbell about twenty times and kept banging on the door.”

  “You think he’s got something to do with Margo’s disappearance?”

  “I don’t know. But that’s what I intend to find out.”

  Officer Clancy shakes his head. “Could this week get any weirder?”

  “Just get me that analysis and that DNA test. I think I’m going to need to have a discussion with Latravious Wadlow.”

  Chapter 20

  Search Engine

  ROBBY HUNCHES OVER the laptop keyboard. “How do you spell it?”

  “I think it’s just like it sounds, Wad-low. W-A-D-L-O-W.” I draw out the letters slowly.

  Robby types the name into the search engine. We huddle around the laptop at the small kitchen table in Robby’s house. As soon as he punches enter, a flurry of results come rushing to the screen.

  Devin peers over Robby’s shoulder. “Is it Robert Wadlow?”

  “Ha! I don’t think so. Says this guy’s 8’11”. Also known as the Giant of Illinois.” A grin sneaks across Robby’s lips. “Like your cousin or something, Tee.”

  “Ha, ha. Very funny, dick.”

  Devin narrows his eyes on the results. “Yeah, there’s like over a million results. You have to narrow it down, guys.”

  “I think his first name starts with L.” Does it? I don’t know. Seems right for some reason.

  Robby types L Wadlow and presses enter. Robby shakes his head.

  “Still over a half million results.”

  Tee jockeys for position. “Try Wadlow. High Street.”

  Robby types it in and presses enter. Tee pushes a blast of air through his lips.

  “Damn. Still this Robert Wadlow guy. What’s with this dude?”

  I tap Robby’s shoulder. “Try Wadlow, Harper Pass.”

  Robby types it in, and we all wait for the screen to refresh. Tee rolls his eyes.

  “Are you kidding me? This guy’s everywhere!”

  “Wait.” Devin points to the screen. “There’s a lot less results. Scroll down.”

  “James Wadlow, High Street.” Robby’s eyes light up. “I bet that’s it.”

  “Click on it.” Tee rises on his toes. Devin cranes his neck.

  “It’s an obituary. For James Wadlow.”

  Tee continues shifting, searching for a better angle at the screen. He huffs in frustration. “Read it.”

  Robby clicks on the read more button and reads aloud.

  “‘James Herbert Wadlow of Harper Pass passed away peacefully on Friday, February 7th, 1997, in the company of loving family and friends. He was born to Erdis and Kermit Wadlow on January 18, 1928. He was a longtime volunteer and parishioner at Christ United Methodist Church. Jimmy, as he was known to his friends and family, will be sorely missed. He was always known for having a big smile on his face and growing the most beautiful rose bushes in Harper Pass. He’s survived by his loving wife, Agatha Wadlow, and their son Latravious Wadlow.’”

  “That’s it! That’s his name. Latravious.”

  Devin sniggers. “That’s a weird name.”

  Tee nods. “A weird name for an even weirder dude.”

  “Put in Latravious Wadlow.”

  “Yeah, I’m on it, Dev.”

  This time the computer returns four results, and all of them appear related to the Latravious Wadlow we’re searching for. The first result mentions Princeton in the header. Tee bounces behind us, pointing.

  “Click on that one.”

  “Seriously, Tee?” Robby clicks on the link and shakes his head. “Relax, man.”

  The newspaper article features a picture of a much younger version of Mr. Wadlow. The headline reads, Renowned Princeton Molecular Biologist and Professor, Latravious Wadlow, Discovers Promising Break Through.

  “Holy crap! This guy was a professor.”

  Devin gives Tee a wide-eyed nod. “Yeah, and at Princeton.”

  “What’s molecular biology?” I ask.

  Tee nudges Robby’s shoulder. “Look it up, man.”

  Robby opens another internet window and searches molecular biology.

  “Says it’s the study of biology that deals with the structure and function of macromolecules.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “I think it means like DNA. Like genetic code or something,” Devin replies to Tee.

  I point to the screen. “Go back to the article.”

  “Says here he was being cited for groundbreaking research on transient properties in DNA. ‘Professor Latravious Wadlow is a pioneer in the field of DNA research and has uncovered that there can be naturally occurring transient structural distortions in DNA.’”

  Tee’s face goes blank. “What in the hell does that mean?”

  I shake my head. “You got me.”

  “Keep reading.” Devin leans in closer to Robby’s chair.

  “‘Professor Wadlow hypothesizes that these occurrences could theoretic
ally cause mutations in an organism and that these mutations might be repeated and honed in future offspring to the benefit of the organism in its environment. Because of his leading-edge findings, Professor Wadlow has been given a $500,000 federal grant to continue this research.’”

  “Wow.” Devin’s head springs upright. “This guy’s crazy smart.”

  “Or just plain crazy,” Tee quips.

  Devin’s squinty-eyes scroll the screen. “What’s the date on that article?”

  “September 4, 1996. Less than a year before his father died.”

  My eyes meet Robby’s. “What you think, Robby?”

  “I think we need to check out these other articles.”

  “Hey, you don’t think he could like do the DNA on me and find out I was in his house, do ya?”

  Devin grins as Tee bites his bottom lip. “No, not without knowing who you are. They have to have two samples to match DNA.”

  Tee lets out a big exhale as Robby readies another article.

  “Look at this one. It says, ‘Controversial study marginalizes promising professor. Once lauded as a leading mind in his field of research, the scientific community seems to be in nearly unanimous agreement on Professor Wadlow’s latest work. Peers in the scientific community have been vocal about discrediting Professor Latravious Wadlow’s latest research. Some are going as far as to call it junk science. Professor Wadlow insists the research is valid and contends that it’s possible for certain species to consciously modulate their DNA structure, thereby modifying the characteristics of the organism or even its own species entirely. Professor Wadlow contends that not only may an organism mimic the DNA structure of another organism that already exists in nature, but he goes further to suggest that the organism might even go so far as to create something entirely new and do so intelligently. Scientific peers haven’t been able to replicate or verify his findings. Due to the firestorm of criticism surrounding this study, Latravious Wadlow’s federal grant for his research has been revoked. Additionally, Professor Wadlow has been summoned to appear before the Princeton Board of Trustees.’”

  “Whoa.” The word slips out of my mouth on an exhaled breath. “That’s crazy.”

  Devin leans over Robby’s shoulder. “What was the date on that one?”

  “December 10th, 1997.”

  “Sounds like he was already going nutty.” Tee’s jovial tone departs. “What’s that next one?”

  “Looks like another obituary. It’s for his mom, Agatha Wadlow. Looks like she passed away in March of 1998.”

  “I kinda feel sorry for him.”

  Tee whips his head to Devin.

  “Seriously, Dev? And I was just beginning to like you.”

  “It just looks like he had to deal with so much with his dad dying and his job going south. And then his mom dies. It’s a lot.”

  I nod at Devin. “Yeah, no wonder he lost his marbles.”

  “What’s that last one?”

  Robby obliges Tee and clicks on the last link.

  “It says, ‘Professor Latravious Wadlow forced to resign in disgrace. Princeton Provost Charles Langley announces the resignation of Latravious Wadlow following a lengthy review of Wadlow’s controversial research. The Provost was quoted as saying, ‘Princeton University prides itself on exemplifying the highest academic standards, both in the classroom from our students and from our research personnel and from our fully tenured faculty. This tradition of excellence will not be compromised by the actions of any individual. After a thorough examination of Professor Latravious Wadlow’s research by the Board of Trustees, a just decision was reached to ask for Latravious Wadlow’s immediate and full resignation. Professor Latravious Wadlow has tendered his resignation effective immediately.’”

  Devin breaks the heavy silence. “Holy crap. They really stuck it to him.”

  Tee nods agreement with Devin. “Yeah, man. That’s harsh! Even for this crazy.”

  “What’s the date on that?” I ask.

  “January 7th, 1999.”

  A car pulls into the driveway.

  “Somebody’s here.” Tee hurries over to the blinds, cracks them and peeks through. “It’s your mom, Robby.”

  “Crap! I didn’t realize it got so late. Bet she’s here to get changed for her night job at Frogg’s.” Robby shuts the laptop.

  I back away from the table. “I gotta get home, anyway.”

  Tee directs his wide eyes to Robby. “What are we gonna do?”

  “Let’s meet up in the morning and make a plan.”

  Tee nods. “I’m in.” He looks to me.

  “Me too.”

  “If you guys want me to come, I can—”

  “Shut up, Dev.” Robby grins at him. “You’re in, man.”

  “Cool, man. Yeah. Sounds awesome. I’m in, then.” Devin flashes a big smile.

  “I’ll catch you guys tomorrow. Let’s meet up at Brooks’ house at nine.” Robby fist bumps each of us.

  Robby’s mom rushes through the door. She’s wearing a faded red blouse and a wrinkled black skirt that’s endured too many wash cycles. Large, dark bags sag the skin beneath her eyes and her hair looks disheveled. She rushes through the kitchen, oblivious to our presence, and disappears into one of the bedrooms.

  “So, we’ll see you tomorrow, Robby?”

  “Yeah, your house. Nine o’clock.”

  Chapter 21

  Close Call

  TEE, DEVIN, AND I gather in Robby’s yard. Fallen into a state of disrepair, the house seems to lean on its footings. Tall weeds stand like stanchions, the grass long dead, replaced by large areas of bare dirt and clusters of clover patches. The dull, yellow paint on the house is flaking off in large chunks revealing the bare, wood siding beneath. The once black shingles on the roof show the effects of the seasons, faded to porpoise gray, several clusters of shingles having fallen away, accumulating in the corners of the gutters. Two tall, bright green weeds sprout from the gutter like tiny spruce trees.

  The humid air coats our skin in a salty slime, like the sticky residue of saliva-emulsified cotton candy. Less than a minute outside and my forehead trickles with beads of perspiration. The sun hangs low on the horizon, the storm clouds from earlier in the day having pushed through the area, revealing a sky painted in orange pastels.

  “I can’t believe Mr. Wadlow’s a professor.”

  Tee cuts eyes in my direction. “Was a professor.”

  “Yeah, well the guy’s smart,” Devin says.

  I nod. “That’s what worries me.”

  Tee paces the yard. “He did something to Mysterious Margo. I know it.”

  Devin exhales as his eyes meet Tee’s. “Does seem like too much of a coincidence with the way you guys said he was acting earlier. First, he takes a finger and runs off. And now we know he was already crazy.”

  “Certifiably! If they were handing out crazy awards, he’d be the first guy in line. They’d be like, ‘and here you are good sir, here’s your crazy certificate.’” Tee’s overplayed British accent ignites me and Devin into a giggling frenzy.

  As the laughing dies, I grab my bike. “We best get headed home.”

  “Yeah, moms probably thinks I ran away or something. But I had fun, guys. Truly, I had fun. Thanks.” A warm smile gathers on Devin’s lips.

  “Me too, Dev.” I give him a fist bump.

  “Oh, you know it’s true.” Tee’s eyes sparkle.

  Tee and I hop on our bikes. Devin grabs his skateboard and jumps aboard. We pull out of Robby’s driveway and make our way to Jennings Pike.

  Robby lives on the outskirts of town. The sparse population on this stretch of Jennings Pike means there’s rarely any traffic. Other than a couple of streets like Robby’s with a few houses, it’s nothing but thick woods on Jennings Pike between Robby’s road and Chambers Road. Tall oak trees line the roadways, casting black shadows onto the asphalt. The woods here grow thick, the canopy from the trees above so complete that this late in the day scant sunlight filters through the l
eaves to the forest floor below. From the road, you can only see a few feet into the woods before shadow overtakes form and structure, surrendering the beyond to your imagination. It always gives me an eerie feeling, my mind creating monsters who lurk on the edge of the darkness, waiting for an opportunity to pounce. A shiver scales my spine as I peer into the woods, half-expecting some horrid creature’s eyes to meet my own.

  I’ve fallen behind Devin and Tee. Devin jumps something laced across the roadway with his skateboard, and Tee rides over it. Tee’s voice echoes from ahead.

  “Sweet jump, Dev.”

  As I get closer, the definition of the rope comes into view. It stretches perpendicular to the street and feeds into the woods on both sides. Without warning, the rope rises off the ground and snaps tight. I scream as it collides with my chest and flings me backwards from my bicycle. I fly through the air before crashing to the pavement. My scalp hits the asphalt with a thud, and my vision goes blurry. Waves of pain ripple through me. My body seizes with uncontrollable coughing, the force of the rope colliding with my chest ripping the air from my lungs, leaving me wheezing in agony. My scalp pulsates with a warm sting of blood. And my elbows burn from grinding to a halt on the asphalt, leaving me with large scrapes from the massive impact.

  “I got you now you son of a bitch!” Sammy Needles emerges from the darkness of the woods.

  “You’re a dead man, Raker.” I roll my head in the other direction as Bo Swindle tears out of the woods on the opposite side of the road.

  Tee circles on his bike and shouts. “Brooks! Run!”

  Survival instinct kicks in and I drive my palms into the pavement, pushing myself up through the pain with every bit of strength I can muster. I stagger to my feet as Sammy and Bo converge on me from opposing sides of the road. A menacing smile snakes across Bo’s lips, and he hulks his muscles, accentuating his 5’11” height and his imposing muscular frame. Oh god! I’m dead! My body tenses like a wounded gazelle surrounded by a pride of hungry lions. Bo’s a dropout. What’s he got to lose? Probably a killer like his moonshining daddy.