Chapter 11
Brooklyn Sloane
The fluorescent lights overhead hummed with the tired persistence of aging ballasts, one flickering every seventeen seconds.
Brook had counted the rhythm while sitting in the molded plastic chair, her muscles protesting after the forty-minute drive on icy roads.
If she were being honest with herself, the aches were due to getting about seven hours of sleep.
Her average was four to five, but exhaustion had taken its toll lately.
The teacher's break room at Crescent Ridge Elementary carried the competing scents of microwaved leftovers, industrial cleaner, and the burnt coffee in Carol Hensley's mug. The former colleague of Heather Moore clearly hadn’t appreciated her daily routine being interrupted, and Brook stemmed her own irritation to get through the next few hours.
“We won’t keep you too long, Ms. Hensley,” Brook said, carefully positioning the coffee she acquired from the café down the road on the scarred tabletop.
If she could have purchased twenty to take back to Harrowick with her, she would have done so in a heartbeat.
Theo, on the other hand, had left what remained of his smoothie in the SUV.
“We understand you're on a tight schedule.”
Carol smoothed an invisible wrinkle from her knee-length navy skirt. Her brown hair was perfectly even against her shoulders, and the lenses in her glasses were as thick as the old-fashioned Coke bottles.
“I can give you twenty minutes. The third and fourth graders have a field trip to the ice rink this morning, and I’m expected on the bus in twenty minutes.
” Carol's voice carried the practiced patience of someone who had spent decades managing children and their parents.
“Principal Watkins asked me to supervise since I have the most experience with these outings.”
Theo shifted in the chair beside Brook, the cheap plastic creaking under his weight. He'd draped his jacket over the back before making himself comfortable. Brook recognized his subtle posture change. It was his way of letting her know that he’d rather observe than lead the interview.
“We’ll get right to it, then. We're investigating the murder of Heather Moore,” Brook said, monitoring Carol's eyes and mouth for any micro-expressions. “You taught with her at Harrowick Elementary before the consolidation, correct?”
“I haven’t heard Heather’s name mentioned in a very long time.” Carol's fingers flexed against her mug, as if unsure about the upcoming conversation. “I thought the two of you were here to discuss the brawl that broke out between two parents at the last PTA meeting.”
“No, ma’am,” Brook replied softly as she allowed Carol a moment to mentally adjust to the sensitive topic.
An interesting detail to note was the limited resources the Harrowick gossip mill had for spreading rumors to neighboring towns.
“Some new information has come to light in the Moore investigation, and we’d like to ask you some questions about Heather. ”
“I’m not sure what I could add,” Carol said with a frown. “Heather was a nice colleague. Professional. The children adored her. I’m not sure what else I can say. Eleven years is a long time to recall pertinent details.”
“Could you give us specific examples of your interactions with her?” Brook asked, ignoring Carol’s attempt at dodging the interview. No one reveled in recalling unsettling memories. “Daily routines, conversations you remember?”
Carol's gaze shifted to Theo, then back to Brook. The woman's short but even nails tapped once against her cup before going still.
“Heather kept her personal life separate from work,” Carol replied, settling her shoulders into a posture Brook recognized as defensive. “She was conscientious about art lessons, always prepared for parent-teacher conferences. She baked cookies for staff birthdays.”
“That doesn't tell us much about her as a person, though,” Brook pressed gently. “Did she confide in anyone at the school? Share personal struggles?”
Carol's lips thinned. The fluorescent light above flickered again, casting momentary shadows across her face.
“No, she didn't. In fact, her uncle passed away about a year before…well, you know. Anyway, she didn't tell anyone. I wouldn’t have even known had I not run into her mother at the bakery.” Carol's voice held a trace of disapproval. “She could have asked for bereavement leave.”
“Any other examples that stand out?” Theo asked as he continued to jot notes on his small pad of paper. “You still live in Harrowick, correct?”
“Yes, I do. And there was that incident with her car. Flat tire on the way to work one morning. I wouldn’t have known about that, either, had Tyler not said anything about it.
” Carol seemed to realize that she needed to follow up with a more detailed explanation.
“Tyler Quinn is our PE teacher. He gave her a ride, though it was her father who drove out to change the tire for her later that day.”
“Were Heather and Tyler close?”
Given that Tyler Quinn and Clyde Weaver were next on their list of individuals to speak to this morning, Brook used the PE instructor’s name to steer the conversation in another direction.
“Heather and Tyler?” Carol shook her head at the thought, as if such an idea were ludicrous.
“Colleagues, at best. Tyler had a drinking problem back then. Who am I kidding? He still does, though he’s learned to hide it better.
He works, goes home, takes care of his brother, and then repeats it all over again the next day. ”
Brook let the silence stretch, knowing it would compel Carol to fill it.
“I don’t like to talk out of turn, but I do believe his drinking started after his football injury in college.
Some say it was after his mother’s death, but I don’t buy that.
He was headed for a professional career until his knee gave out.
Came back here to teach, but never really got over it.
” Carol waved a hand in what appeared to be empathy.
“When his mother passed away, it fell to him to take care of his brother. That man just couldn’t catch a break. ”
“Would you say Tyler had anger issues due to his drinking?” Brook asked, wondering just how much information Carol would supply them about Tyler Quinn. “And if so, did the administration ever ask for him to seek help?”
“Tyler might show up hungover, but that’s where it stops,” Carol said in disapproval of Brook’s question. “If you’re suggesting that Tyler would hurt anyone, especially a woman, then you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“You sound very certain about that,” Theo commented, most likely to pull Carol’s attention away from Brook. The two of them had conducted many interviews like this one, and they were able to strike a good balance automatically. “Were you friends with his parents?”
“I've known Tyler all his life,” Carol replied, her voice softening with something that might have been affection or pity. It was difficult to discern. “He was a sweet boy whose life went off the rails. His drinking was his way of medicating his disappointment, and I don’t have a problem with it, as long as it doesn’t affect the students. ”
The break room door swung open with a soft hydraulic hiss, revealing a broad-shouldered man who filled the doorframe with his presence. His tracksuit, school colors of maroon and gold, stretched tight across his chest.
Tyler Quinn.
Brook noticed his thinning hair, which was styled to disguise a receding hairline. A faint network of broken capillaries across his nose and cheeks was evident, confirming Carol’s opinion of long-term alcohol abuse. He couldn’t quite mask his surprise at finding Carol sitting at the table.
“Sorry.” Tyler’s voice carried a slight gravel of someone who'd had one too many cigarettes with last night's drinks. “Principal Watkins said someone was waiting to speak with me. I assumed it was the sheriff wanting a statement about what happened at the PTA meeting last week.”
Theo stood, his movement fluid and purposeful.
“Mr. Quinn, I'm Theo Neville. This is Brooklyn Sloane.” He then gestured toward the empty chair beside Carol. “Please, have a seat. We were just finishing up with Ms. Hensley.”
“They aren’t here about the commotion last week, Tyler,” Carol warned him as she pushed her chair back. “They’re private investigators wanting to ask questions about Heather.”
“Thank you for your insights, Ms. Hensley,” Brook replied as they both stood. She extended her hand, forcing Carol to take it. The woman’s fingers were cold despite having just held a warm cup of coffee. “We won't keep you from your field trip.”
Carol walked over to the kitchen sink and rinsed out her mug. She then placed it in the basin while Tyler seemed to consider waiting for her to exit the break room completely before joining them.
“One last thing,” Brook said, having not touched upon Heather’s secretive Thursday night outings. “Do you happen to know what Heather did every Thursday night?”
“Thursday night?” Carol turned to face them, her expression one of open curiosity. “No, I don’t. She never mentioned any plans that—”
The reaction was instantaneous, but it hadn’t come from Carol.
Brook happened to glance Tyler’s way when his face drained of color so rapidly that the web of broken blood vessels across his cheeks stood out in sharp contrast. His eyes widened, pupils dilating in what Brook recognized as pure fight-or-flight response.
Unfortunately, he chose flight.
The tracksuit-clad figure pivoted and bolted from the doorway, the man’s athletic shoes squeaking against the polished corridor floor. Brook exchanged a split-second glance with Theo before they immediately moved in tandem.
“Stay here,” Brook called to Carol over her shoulder, already accelerating toward the door.
Fortunately, the hallway was empty save for the retreating figure of Tyler Quinn.
Morning classes were in session, the corridor eerily silent but for the slap of their footsteps against the floor and the ragged sound of Tyler's breathing up ahead.
The smell of floor polish and school disinfectant filled Brook's lungs as she ran, all the while attempting to calculate angles and distances.
“He's heading for the gymnasium exit,” Theo called out, his longer stride keeping pace with their target.
Tyler's knowledge of the building layout gave him an advantage, but panic made people careless. Already, his movements betrayed desperation rather than strategy. His shoulder clipped the edge of a bulletin board, sending papers fluttering to the ground behind him.
Ahead, a library cart laden with textbooks stood outside an open classroom door.
Tyler's hand shot out as he passed, pulling the heavy cart into their path.
Books cascaded across the floor, forcing Brook and Theo to navigate the sudden obstacle.
Theo hurdled a small stack of tumbling hardcovers while Brook sidestepped, her boots finding purchase on the slick surface.
She instinctively veered right into a connecting hallway. While waiting to meet Principal Watkins, she had noticed the school's floor plan hanging beside the administration office doorframe. If her memory of the school’s blueprint was correct, both paths converged at the gymnasium's rear exit.
The side corridor was dimmer due to a section of burnt-out fluorescent bulbs. She passed by several sets of lockers and a couple of display cases filled with athletic trophies.
Brook pushed harder, her legs burning with exertion as she calculated Tyler's speed. She emerged into the intersecting corridor just as Tyler rounded the corner. The sudden sight of her caused him to immediately stutter to a stop.
Theo rounded the far corner, and Tyler's hesitation was his downfall. The tackle was textbook perfect. Low, controlled, and with enough momentum to bring Tyler down without causing unnecessary injury.
Both men hit the floor with a heavy thud, the impact reverberating through the corridor. Tyler thrashed beneath Theo's weight as he tried to twist free.
“Stop fighting,” Theo directed, his voice level despite the exertion. He shifted his weight, using his leverage to pin Tyler's upper body to the ground. “You're only making this worse for yourself.”
“I didn't do anything,” Tyler gasped, his face pressed against the polished floor. His earlier panic had morphed into desperation. “You can't arrest me. You're not even cops.”
“We're not arresting you, Mr. Quinn. At least, not yet.” Brook said as she closed the distance between them. She crouched to meet his gaze. “Tell me…what was so special about Thursday nights?”