Crazytown (The Darren Lockhart Mysteries) Read online

  “They said I should—”

  “I said go sit down and order another!” he yelled and slammed the fryer basket back onto its rack.

  “Hey, calm down.” Lockhart set his plate on the line. “All I want is what I ordered.”

  The chef grabbed the plate and hurled it down the line toward the other cook, who dove out of the way just in time for the plate to meet its shattering demise against the wall. The chef then grabbed the cutting board that ran the length of the line and began to slam it up and down with every syllable he said. “I-said-or-der-it-a-gain!”

  Outside the kitchen, the café went dead silent.

  “Whoa, spaz. Settle down!” Lockhart pulled his suit coat to the side, revealing his badge and gun.

  The chef looked at Lockhart’s belt and said, “So what? I got one of those too.” He reached back under his coat, Lockhart’s hand moved quickly and instinctively to his gun. The chef slammed his hand down on the line, leaving a silver police badge on the counter.

  As Lockhart stared at the badge, a chuckle came from behind him. He had not heard Chief Donaldson come into the kitchen behind him.

  “Special Agent Darren Lockhart,” Donaldson said, “let me introduce you to Deputy Fredrick Lind.”

  Lockhart turned back to the chef/deputy, who was still breathing hard with a restrained scowl.

  “Deputy Lind? Perfect.”

  Chapter 9

  The other cook took over the kitchen for Deputy Lind, but it was obvious that he didn’t have nearly the same talent on the line.

  When the police chief, deputy, and Lockhart exited the kitchen, the café seemed to let out a simultaneous collective sigh and a groan.

  “What’s wrong with them?” Lockhart asked, nodding his head back through the diner doors.

  “That’s why it’s so busy in here. Besides the fact that people want comfort food, it’s because of Freddie. Had you eaten your food instead of provoking him,” Donaldson said with a controlled smirk, “you would have seen he’s just about the best chef in Minnesota.”

  It was no time for debating the man’s culinary skills. “Regardless,” Lockhart said, “he’s got a bit of a temper and a mouth on him, especially for being in law enforcement. Don’t you think?”

  “Not really. He takes his cooking seriously, but he’s a good guy. You’ll see.” The chief sounded sincere, but Lockhart was far from sure.

  The three men walked outside, where Freddie immediately lit a cigarette. He took a deep drag with his eyes closed before releasing a slow, long exhale of secondhand smoke. Deputy Lind was a tall, lean man in his late-twenties or early thirties. He wore his hair short, almost in a crew-cut. He had narrow shoulders and long, thin, veiny forearms that seemed to just hang out of his shirt sleeves. Slanted burns from hot sauté pans were etched into his forearms. He certainly didn’t look like the sort of man who would pitch a fit like the one Lockhart had just been on the receiving end of.

  He opened his eyes, revealing a new found sense of calm and release that only nicotine could afford. Lockhart knew the feeling well, and Lind offered him a smoke from the open pack of Marlboros.

  “No thanks. I quit.”

  The deputy put his pack back into the breast pocket of his white chef coat. Lockhart waited for an apology, to no avail. Instead, the deputy turned to Donaldson and asked, “So, what’s going on, John?”

  “Well, I had been planning to introduce you to the special agent after your shift, but it seems that you two have already taken care of that.”

  The deputy eyed Lockhart, and Lockhart returned the glare as he said, “A boy is murdered in the forest outside your town, less than two days ago, and you spend all day in a kitchen?”

  The deputy squared himself to Lockhart. “I like cooking.”

  “You like cooking? That’s all you have to say?”

  The deputy took another pull off his cigarette. “No, that’s not all. The boy’s body was found forty hours ago by a couple of hikers. The forest ranger services were called, and I was called in as a backup. The area was sectioned off, at which time the area crime scene unit and the county coroner were called. Every house within ten miles of the body was visited by myself, the chief or scene investigators. I spent the next twenty hours in those woods looking for anything that might resemble a footprint, drag mark, or tire track, until John finally ordered me to leave the scene. He knew of my relationship to the family and that I would push myself too hard. Those were his words, not mine. Besides, I’m only on the force part time, so get off my ass.”

  Lockhart was impressed by the deputy’s resolve, but immediately concerned about what he referred to as his relationship with the family. “Relationship to the family? What does that mean?”

  The deputy turned and looked at the chief. “You didn’t tell him?”

  Donaldson shook his head.

  “I’m engaged to the Weber’s daughter, Lisa.”

  Chapter 10

  It had not been the best day for Special Agent Lockhart. His crime scene was basically non-existent, he had no suspects, the family was uncooperative, the deputy of the town had a conflict of interest, he had hardly eaten all day, and he had sap on his suit. The last two were smaller details, but they were enough to send him past the veil of professionalism.

  He took the deputy and chief back to the police station. The two men sat at their respective desks as Lockhart paced back and forth. Joy was just leaving for the night and informed Lockhart that his room was ready. Evidently, Joy had volunteered a room at the bed-and-breakfast she ran with her sister, Jill, a place for Lockhart to stay in during his investigation. Even in his foul mood, Lockhart could not be anything less than polite to her. He thanked Joy for her graciousness and assured her that he would be in later. She left the address and phone number on a Post-It note at her desk and departed for the day as all the men wished her a good night.

  Lockhart turned to the two men and started to pace again. “So just what are we going to do about this?”

  “About what?” Deputy Lind asked. He was leaning back lazily in his chair and the slow, lazy creak of the hinges emphasized his disinterest in Lockhart’s presence and authority.

  Lockhart was no stranger to hostile feelings and dealt with them directly. “Are you familiar with the term ‘conflict of interest,’ Deputy?”

  “What conflict? I want to catch a killer, just like you do—maybe more than you do in this case.”

  “You mean the killer of your fiancée’s little brother? Your involvement jeopardizes this investigation. Any evidence obtained by you will be promptly thrown out by any lawyer who’s worth a damn because of your relationship with the family.”

  “Maybe…if it gets to court.”

  Lockhart didn’t want to guess what he meant by placing such emphasis on the “if,” but he didn’t have to think too hard to figure it out.

  “I mean,” the deputy continued, “sometimes these guys run or shoot at cops, right? If he died, there wouldn’t be any need for evidence, right. Just sayin’.”

  “That was the wrong answer, Deputy,” Lockhart said. “As of this moment, you will no longer be involved in this investigation in any capacity. Understood?”

  The deputy leapt from his chair and circled around the desk to stare Lockhart sternly in the face. His eyes burned with intensity. The man was a clenched fist. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  The chief stood up as well and did his best to move between the deputy and Lockhart, but the two men were so close together that all he could manage was to make it look like he could stop the situation from escalating any further.

  “You are of no use in finding evidence or interviewing witnesses. I’ve personally experienced that inflated temper of yours—over some mushrooms of all things—and you just implied a willingness and maybe even an intention to kill anyone you suspect to be involved in Michael Weber’s death.”

  “Mikey,” the deputy corrected. “No one calls… called him Michael. And do you really think yan
king me off this case will help your chances? Do you know how many square miles Chippewa Forest is? Do you know anyone in this town? How many of these people trust you anyway? You think they’re really going to tell the feds anything?”

  The deputy had made some valid points, things Lockhart already realized, but he was wrestling with the deputy’s involvement versus investigating the crime with just himself and Donaldson. Calling in additional federal agents to be active in the investigation would most likely cause a shift in any cooperation from the town, and if the killer was still around, it would no doubt provoke him to run—not to mention the fact that it was Assistant Director Chalmers’s prerogative to make the case as low-profile as possible.

  Lockhart chewed his lip as he thought. “So be it, but you have no official capacity here. You are not to interview potential witnesses alone or handle any evidence. Any evidence found will be attributed to Chief Donaldson. If I find you are doing any investigation that I’m not made aware of, I’ll arrest you on the spot. If you make any attempt to approach a suspect on your own, I’ll arrest you place federal charges against you, deputy or not. Do you understand?”

  The deputy made no sign of hiding his contempt, but he nodded his acknowledgment.

  Lockhart shook his head. “That’s not good enough, Deputy. Tell me in your own words that you understand these warnings, under penalty of federal prosecution.”

  “I understand, under penalty of federal prosecution.” The way the deputy said it sounded an awful lot like he said “persecution” instead of “prosecution”, but Lockhart accepted it anyway.

  “Now, if you want to help, you can tell me where you’re fiancée is.”

  “She doesn’t know anything,” the deputy replied rather defiantly.

  Lockhart shook his head again, his eyes closed in utter frustration. “See? There you go again. That would fall under refusing to cooperate with a federal investigation. She wasn’t at her parent’s house when we went there, so where is she?”

  The deputy gritted his teeth. “She’s at my house. She’s been there since she heard about Mikey.”

  “Fine. Then you drive.”

  The three men sat in silence as Deputy Lind drove to his house, which was only a mile or so from the police station, set back amongst a grove of trees. It was a small, two-story house that looked to be in dire need of repair like most of the other houses in the area. The wood panel siding was flaking off like wet cardboard. A cracked walkway with tufts of grass growing through the seams led to the front door, a door that had become warped and required an added shove to open and a slam to shut. The inside was well kept, juxtaposing what the exterior seemed to suggest. It was obvious that the deputy was a man who wanted things in order.

  Two couches formed an L on the main floor, facing a small combo TV/VCR, an outdated relic that Lockhart didn’t even know was still in use. There was a small dining room containing a round table with four place settings. Stairs leading to the second floor ran across the sidewall. The air was clean and still despite the deputy being a smoker, and the slight scent of vanilla wafted around the men.

  “Lisa?” Deputy Lind called as he walked over to the stairway.

  “Yeah?” a feminine-sounding response came from upstairs. “Freddie, you’re home early. I thought…” her thought process stopped as her bare legs appeared from upstairs. She paused on the steps and looked at the three men. Lisa Weber was an incredibly attractive young woman. She was in her mid-twenties, wearing a beat-up pair of Daisy Dukes and a t-shirt with no bra; her brown nipples stood out against the white fabric. She had a towel half-wrapped around her head, drying her long, wet, blonde hair, as if she’d just stepped out of the shower. She had large almond-shaped eyes just like her mother and brothers, and she stared down at the visitors with a questioning look on her face.

  “Jesus, Lis,” Deputy Lind scoffed, “put on some clothes.”

  “I wasn’t expecting company,” she huffed and disappeared back upstairs.

  “Sorry about that. She hasn’t been out of the house for a while,” The deputy said with a strange air of finality to his statement.

  There was something in his tone that rubbed Lockhart the wrong way. He wasn’t sure if it sounded more like he was stating absolute, unquestionable fact or more like an order that she had to abide by.

  After a few moments, Lisa returned wearing a University of Minnesota-Duluth sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. “What’s going on?”

  “Lisa, this is Special Agent Darren Lockhart, with the FBI,” Freddie introduced, nodding over his shoulder without actually turning toward Lockhart.

  “FBI?” she asked.

  Lockhart stepped forward and shook her hand. She had a firm, sure grip and obviously carried herself with strength and confidence. He then explained the nature of his jurisdiction. “Well, the suit should have been a dead giveaway, I suppose, but you don’t look like you are with the FBI. Aren’t you all supposed to be super serious or really quirky, like all the ones on TV?”

  It always came back to television with people. “No, ma’am. Most of us are regular guys. Some can actually be down-right charming,” he said with a casual smile.

  Lisa smiled in return, and out of the corner of his eye, Lockhart could see the deputy shifting nervously from foot to foot.

  “So, you’re a special agent, huh? Does that mean you are better at catching killers than a regular agent, or…” She turned and looked at the Crayton police force. “Or local law enforcement?”

  “More experienced at these things, that’s all.” Lockhart had no need to rub in his familiarity with the case, or—more importantly—the local police’s lack of it. Deputy Lind was already on edge, and the chief seemed content to stand in the background.

  Lisa kept her eyes on Lind and Donaldson as she spoke. “Special Agent—” she started.

  “Please, call me Darren.” Lockhart felt no need for formality when it came to the siblings of victims.

  “Okay. Darren,” Lisa repeated and turned to look him in the eyes, “can I get you anything to eat or drink?”

  Lockhart hadn’t eaten since the overpriced snack pack on his flight to Minneapolis, and his empty stomach was starting to voice its displeasure, but he declined. “No thank you, ma’am.”

  “Lisa.”

  “Lisa,” Lockhart repeated with a polite smile.

  “Can we get on with this?” Deputy Lind interjected.

  Lockhart took out his notepad. “Lisa, when was the last time you saw your brother?”

  “Two nights ago, when I ate dinner at my parents’ house,” she said as she took a seat on the couch and motioned for the men to do the same.

  “Was there a fight between anyone in the family?” Lockhart asked.

  “Why would you ask that?” Deputy Lind asked.

  Lockhart ignored the deputy. He needed to know if Mikey had left the house on his own accord in order to determine if the Webers themselves were suspects. What he didn’t need was the aggravation of giving someone leading questions. He could draw his own conclusions.

  “Yeah,” Lisa answered. “There was.”

  “What was the fight about?”

  Lisa closed her eyes. “The same thing as always—Mikey.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She leaned back into the couch and slouched. “My parents didn’t like that I left home to go to school at UMD. Dad’s been on disability for his back for a long time, and Mom only works part time so she can be home to take care of the twins. I think Dad looked at my going away to get a degree as my abandoning the family, and I think he thought Mikey would do the same thing because of his starting college classes already.”

  “But you came back,” Lockhart said. “What did you study?”

  “Education. I teach at Crayton K-12.”

  It seemed strange to Lockhart that there were schools so small that they could house every area student from kindergarten through their senior year in high school. Lockhart had turned his tassel and tossed his m
ortarboard among almost 600 graduating seniors, nearly the population of Crayton in just one graduating class. He continued without holding back, “During the fight, did it ever escalate to violence?”

  Lisa wasn’t fazed and answered as if it were the most normal question in the world. “No, nothing like that. It was just the same yelling about stupid things.”

  “When you left, was Mikey still there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Around what time was that?”

  “Um, we ate at six, so it was probably around seven-thirty.”

  Lockhart looked down at his notebook for a moment and hesitated. He had danced around the question, and he realized he had to be more direct. “Lisa, I apologize for the curtness of this question, but has your father ever physically abused anyone in your family?”

  The deputy moved quickly off the couch and stood close to Lisa, “You don’t have to answer that.”

  “Deputy!” Chief Donaldson barked.

  “Outside,” Lockhart commanded. He raised his eyes to the deputy, but stayed seated. He had had enough of Freddie Lind’s insubordination and interference. He managed to keep his tone flat as he glared at the deputy, awaiting his compliance and silently daring him to disobey.

  The two stared for a moment before Deputy Lind turned to Lisa and whispered, “You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.” Then he walked out the front door, slamming it behind him.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Lisa said, her face flushed crimson. “He’s just trying to protect me. I think he’s really scared about what happened.”

  Lockhart decided he’d deal with Lind later. For the time being, he knew his focus needed to remain on Lisa, because her parents had clearly left out some important detail. Lockhart scooted forward in his seat and leaned closer to Lisa. He kept his look as soft as he could. “He’s right, Lisa. You aren’t under arrest, so you don’t have to answer anything, but I promise you that my questions are only intended to help catch your brother’s killer.”