Crazytown (The Darren Lockhart Mysteries) (20 page)

Dr. Heath moved the coin to his thumb and flipped it to Lockhart, who snatched it out of the air with one smooth movement.

“What’s this?” Lockhart asked as he turned the coin over in his hand.

“Proof.”

“Of what?”

Dr. Heath smiled thinly but said nothing.

Chapter 39

The night was cold and still. Lockhart watched Agent Her put Dr. Heath in the back of the transport van.

As Her pushed on the top of Heath’s head to make sure it didn’t bump against the top of the doorway, Heath pushed back to resist for just a moment. His eyes met Lockhart’s. “Welcome home,” he said as Agent Her pushed him into the van.

The car pulled away, and Special Agent Darren Lockhart watched it until the red taillights shrunk to specks and disappeared into the night. He stood there for a moment. He felt empty. So much of his life had been spent tracking the work of that one man, Jack the Shooter, and now it was over and a chapter in his life had closed. Lockhart decided it was time to have a drink. In the morning, he would file his official report, and he was debating exactly how he would write it up.

In a strange way, it had all started to make sense in the end. Assistant Director Chalmers had sent him into the town alone because of Dr. Heath. Lockhart didn’t know if the FBI had expected Dr. Heath’s involvement in the crime, but because of his government clearance and research, they were worried that his knowledge might have been leaked. By sending a single agent in to investigate, they were able to keep a lower profile and thereby make it far easier to dust under the rug. He was sent in because they were ready to force him into early retirement or transfer him to a desk. He was low risk. Maybe they never expected to actually catch the killer, but none of that really mattered. It didn’t change the fact that he was going to be leaving a life that he had known for almost two decades. Nothing was going to change that, but he decided the next best step was to have a drink.

At The Pit Stop, Lockhart raised a toast to the Weber family, Chief Donaldson, and the town itself. It was a solemn moment that offered only subtle accents of relief. The killer had been caught, but the victory came at a price. It was late at night, and a weekday, but the bar was full. The word that Lockhart and Deputy Lind had caught Dr. Heath had spread quickly, though no one really knew the extent of it. People wanted to know if it was true. They wanted details and were eager to tell tales and spread gossip. A murderer had been caught in their tiny town—not just any murderer, but a murderer they had lived with, one who had been responsible for teaching their children.

Several rounds were bought for Lockhart, who happily accepted them. Deputy Lind had stayed for a drink, but he left quickly to be with Lisa, to tell her in person that her little brother’s killer had been brought to justice. Even Joy and Jill were there for a round, before he walked them back to the bed-and-breakfast.

As they passed by the boarded-up windows of the “Instant Cleaners” behind Izzy’s Bar, he apologized several times for using their house as the location to bait the killer. They kept saying it was fine, and he just kept on apologizing. The drink had taken a firm hold. It took him a little while to get up the stairs and undress, but he felt good. His job was done, he was a bit buzzed, and in the morning he could finally go home.

As he removed his sidearm and badge, he also pulled out his wallet, car keys, and change. In his hand was Heath’s Liberty head silver dollar. Lockhart turned it over a few times, just looking at it. He would have to file the coin into evidence in the morning, but for now, it would just have to sit with the rest of his change on the table.

Lockhart sat down on the bed and stretched his arms out wide. His back felt tight, and his age caught up to him a little more every day. Once more, he looked at the coin in his hand, before flicking it in a low arch onto the table next to his bed.

The coin was gone before it landed.

Epilogue

Special Agent Lockhart sat in the terminal of the Duluth Airport. His flight had been delayed due to inclement weather, and he decided to bide his time by reading the newspaper. He leafed through the sports, local and business sections, hoping that it would help time move a little faster. It had been a long week. Never before had he fired a shot that killed a man. It was a hard thing to deal with, even when it was someone as deranged and sadistic as the man they called The Taker.

It had all been so much to absorb. The death of Mikey Weber that brought him to Crayton, Minnesota in the first place unfolded itself into a disgusting web of lies and confusion that also resulted in the revelation of a local science teacher being connected to child kidnappings and murders. The teacher, a Dr. Walter Heath, had committed suicide—found dead by his own hand—as Lockhart’s investigation found its way to his door. The same gun that had been used to kill Mikey Weber was found in his hand.

He had almost missed the connection between The Taker and Dr. Heath. If it weren’t for one of Mikey’s teachers at UMD, a professor Mendez, the link would have been overlooked entirely. Word was that the professor was to be recognized by the city and state for his assistance in the investigation.

Lockhart had been sitting for over an hour, waiting for his flight to be rescheduled, and he decided to get a drink at the airport bar, quaintly named The Afterburner Lounge.

As he sat down, the bartender sauntered over with the same sort of bored look that Lockhart no doubt had on his own face. “What’ll ya have?” he asked.

Before Lockhart could answer, his phone rang. It was Assistant Director Chalmers. Lockhart had no doubt read his report and had a bevy of follow-up questions.

The Special Agent held his phone between his shoulder and ear as he reached for his wallet. “Lockhart.”

“Congratulations on a job well done, Special Agent.” Chalmers’s voice sounded as flat and even as ever.

“Thank you, sir.”

“I wasn’t sure if I would reach you before you left, but it looks like your flight is delayed.”

“Yes, sir, for over an hour now. Frankly, I can’t wait to get back to DC, sir.”

“About that, Special Agent…”

Lockhart sat in silence as his assistant director spoke. There wasn’t a moment for him to contribute to the conversation, which wasn’t really a conversation, as much as a lecture. Lockhart sat and listened as the director explained to him the results of a recent psychological evaluation, the one he’d been a part of just prior to his trip to Crayton. It revealed high levels of stress that suggested his current course of work was taking an extreme toll on him both physically and psychologically. Given his current state, the recommendation was that he be assigned to restrictive duty. Lockhart took that to mean he was destined for a desk job, and his heart dropped at the thought. “Am I being reassigned to a desk, sir?” Lockhart asked as he lowered his eyes down to the bar.

“In a manner of speaking. It would seem you impressed some people who were able to pull some very complex strings. Given the nature of your evaluation your options in the department would have been limited. The sensitivity of federal work is that any risk to an agent’s mental state must be viewed with the utmost importance.”

Lockhart shook his head. “I don’t understand, sir. Am I being fired?”

“Look at it as a reassignment.” Lockhart thought for a moment that he could hear Chalmers smiling. “Reassigned where?”

Lockhart’s shoulders slumped. He didn’t remember what else he said before hanging up his phone, but it couldn’t have been much in the way of presenting an argument, because before he knew it, he was en route to his new assignment, like it or not.

The weather had broken by the time Darren Lockhart’s car reached the Crayton, Minnesota city limits. The white spray paint that had once spelled out the name “CRAZYTOWN” on the city limits sign had been washed away by rain and wear.

In the parking lot next to the law enforcement office, a black sedan sat idling. Next to it leaned Agent Her, a man Lockhart only had a brief introduction to while getting the autopsy done on Mikey Weber’s body. To Agent Her, Lockhart surrendered his sidearm and federal identification.

“So that’s it?” Lockhart asked.

Agent Her shrugged. “Well, that and about a mountain of paperwork I would guess considering the circumstances.”

Inside the law enforcement office, Lockhart greeted Joy, who handed him a gold badge: his new identification as the Crayton chief of police, since the unfortunate passing of the former chief, due to coronary artery disease. He had passed away in his sleep two days earlier. It wasn’t much of an option, but it was an assignment that would at least allow him to remain active in law enforcement.

His options had been limited and someone decided to pull strings to make sure he would stay put in northern Minnesota, someone powerful. The director had even told him that his mother would be moved to an assisted living home in Bemidji, an idea that seemed to elate her and one she excitedly talked to Lockhart about for hours on end during his drive back to Crayton. Evidently, she had lived there with Lockhart’s father for a time, and the place brought back good memories.

More than anything, his mother made the decision for him. He could have stayed in Washington and found his way to a desk. He could have toed the line and been just another clock-watcher. He could improve his mental standing with the analysts and maybe someday be assigned to fieldwork again. But it was all speculation. In Crayton, he had a job. The people seemed to like and trust him, and his mother showed more life than she had in years.

Still, as Lockhart stood on the sidewalk, he couldn’t help but shake a feeling that something was wrong. It was more than the manipulation of the system to get him out of the FBI and into Crayton, there was something going on that he was involved in, but Lockhart just didn’t know what it was.

As he looked down at his new badge, Deputy Lind and his fiancée Lisa Weber walked by. They were headed toward their new residence at the law enforcement office, where they had been living since the explosion at Deputy Lind’s house. It looked like Lockhart would be spending a bit more time at the bed-and-breakfast.

Lisa and Freddie walked arm in arm and didn’t seem to notice the cold wind blowing. Lockhart saw strength in them both. Lisa had lost her brother to a murderer and her father to the house explosion, but remained strong and supported her family. The deputy had seemed a bit edgy at first but proved to be a more than competent officer. All in all, things could have ended up much worse.

Just a few steps past him, Lisa turned around, still holding Lind’s arm and with a big smile said, “Welcome to Crayton, Chief.” She giggled, exchanged a glance with Lind and kept walking.

Lockhart shook his head. Word sure did travel fast in small towns.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jon currently lives in Minnesota with his wife and son, where he continues to think about Darren Lockhart’s broken circle.