Chapter 22

John Bowman reared back on the couch, placed his hands behind his head and his feet on the coffee table. He was about to put together his plans for the remainder of the afternoon when the phone rang. It was Flint.

"Bowman, you got anything?"

"Nope, how about you?"

"I'm loaded. How about seven o'clock tonight for the meeting with Womack?" Flint asked.

"That's great."

"I'll be by for you about 6:30."

Bowman dropped his feet to the floor and hunched over the phone. "That's fine. Did you meet him?"

"Sure, how else do you think I got the appointment?"

"Did you say or do anything to cause him to feel threatened?"

"Bowman, this guy would be suspicious of a Fuller Brush salesman. I was so tactful and such a sweetheart, you'd think I was runnin' for office." he laughed. You can't realize how tightly wound this guy is. I'd love to get him in an interrogation room. He'd either have a heart attack or become hopelessly psychotic in five minutes."

"Start making your list of questions," Bowman said. "I expect you'll get your wish. I just want a chance to play my games first to see if I can get a feel as to whether or not he had anything to do with this. Just give me a few days, then you can have him. Did you get anything on his background?"

"Aubrian told me he was owed a favor by the Superintendent of Education, so he made the contact for me. He went by and met with him this afternoon. I haven't been able to catch up with him yet, but he left photocopies of some things in my box - a resume, a college transcript and reference letters from high schools in California and Georgia. Places where he taught. Want me to bring 'em by now?"

"Have you digested them yet?"

"I've scanned it."

"Just give me a brief sketch and I'll study all that later." Bowman answered, catching himself chewing on his thumbnail, he looked around then wiped it on his jeans.

"I know from the transcript that he finished high school at a military academy in Florida. Guess what his father's name is listed as - Gen. Samuel L. Womack, USA Ret."

"Where did he go to college?"

"University of Florida, one semester. Flunked out and transferred to some school I've never heard of - Peabody College in Tennessee."

"I've heard of it, but I don't know anything about it. They probably don't have a football team or I'd know more. Seems like it used to be known as a teacher's college, but that's all that comes to mind. Wonder how he was able to get in there?"

"Who knows? But like I said his father was a general. Maybe he was a contributing alumnus."

"You're probably right."

"Anyway, his grades were pretty marginal at first, but he picked it up and, overall, they were respectable. He graduated in five years, including the time in Florida. Had a major in Anthropology and a minor in History. Then he spent about fifteen years teaching at three high schools in southern California, I have reference letters from two of the three. They're fairly cautious. Nothin' negative, but I can't wait to check behind them."

"Go ahead and do that now. No reason to wait. I just don't want him to know we're checking for a few days. See what you can learn from the military school, too. They probably won't have records back that far, but it's worth a try. How old is the guy, anyway?"

"Wait a minute and let me figure. Flint paused. Fifty years old. Oh, I forgot to mention, he taught anthropology in California. When he left there, he took a two year break. Then he taught history in Georgia for two years. Next he transferred here and taught history for six years and then moved up to administration three years ago at his present assignment."

"Moved up, or moved out to administration, I wonder?" Bowman mused.

"Don't know yet," Flint responded. "Also don't know anything about the two year break, but there's sure a lot of smoke, isn't there? What do you make of the switching from teaching anthropology to history?"

"Probably nothin'. They likely don't offer anthropology at the high school level in Georgia or Louisiana. Didn't when I was in high school."

"That's about all I have. I'm goin' to hang around here in the hope Aubrian'll come back. While I'm waitin' I'll call that military school."

"Sounds good. I'll look for you about six thirty. Oh, by the way, Yvonne Arceneaux is comin' by there to deliver a report to the Captain. If he's not there, would you take it from her and see that he gets it, with my recommendation that he furnish a copy to every detective in the division? I think it'll be helpful. Also, make her a copy of the artist's renderin' of the carvings, will you?"

"Bowman, I can't keep up with your mind swings. I thought you were disregarding that."

"I can't keep up with my mind swings either, Flint. It's one of my many problems."