Juji -- Teen Investigator

Chapter 3 - "Halls Of Pixley"

    Calculus homework given at the end of class was not a surprise. Dr. Leonard loved dropping “the bomb” after the first bell when students were loading their backpacks.

    “I want the entire class to use Newton’s Calculus method to approximate the root of five point two, the definite integral. You must all understand the calculation and origin of this equation. This assignment is to be handed in tomorrow, and it could be a big portion of your midterm grade.”

    “Awww…” Much of the class cried out in rebellion. But I was not surprised, or disappointed. I had always looked at five point two as a complex measure of the second fundamental theorem of all calculus problems.

    I took a photo of the assignment written on the board and entered additional information on my phone as students were filing out. It was a struggle just to resist the temptation of beginning the calculations.

    The classroom was nearly empty when I finally got up. Dr. Leonard looked up from his desk and said politely, “Juji, if you have other commitments and can’t complete this calculation, I will understand.”

    “No. It’s not a problem,” I responded. “I believe I can solve this equation tonight. It will be fun”

    Dr. Leonard continued, “You know, there are several other problems that you could help this entire school to resolve.”

    “School problems?” I was confused by this comment and stopped. I then turned to Dr. Leonard and walked curiously towards his desk. “What school problems are you referring to?”

    “Well,” he responded as he examined an assortment of papers on his desk. “There are a few struggles facing certain students in one of your other classes that I’ve heard about. It would be common courtesy for you just to offer a little aid. You are certainly capable of reaching out to help students at a time like this.”

    “I am?” I said in a state of confusion. Could that mean what I suspected?

    Dr. Leonard continued, “One of the students in your history class has a lot riding on tomorrow’s exam. The whole school has a lot riding on that test, and there are many things you could do to help.”

    “Yes,” I replied. “I know about the importance of Freddy’s History exam. He could miss a very important football game, even if he just gets a ‘D’. The test is on the fifteenth century in Europe. I think he could do just fine if he studies. I can only wish him good luck.”

    I then turned and continued heading towards the door. I was uncomfortable when Dr. Leonard stood up and followed me. “You know? I knew your father a long time ago. We were both brilliant mathematicians at one time.”

    “Yes, my Dad loved math,” I replied as I slowed before turning around.

    Dr. Leonard continued, “I used my math to solve numeric puzzles, and your father used his calculating skills to solve criminal cases. I don’t care what the records say, your father was a true hero in my book. He solved every puzzle he had to face, and computed every legal question like no one I’ve ever known.”

    “Yes, he did.” I replied. I knew my father was a college acquaintance of Dr. Leonard, and he always took credit for introducing my parents in college. But I was uncomfortable discussing legal activities that my parents were involved in. There were many unresolved investigations and many unproven accusations of criminal offenses of both my parents after they died.

    My father was a deputy police officer for the city before starting a private detective agency. He would investigate cases by uncovering new unsuspected evidence and validating suspicions leading to confrontations and arrests that would be surprising to victims, their families, and the local D.A.'s office.

    My mother was a police officer that was also blessed with the amazing talent of uncovering hidden evidence behind every crime. When I was just five years old, I remember seeing them working together at home. They would discuss cases over dinner and go over clues on their own time. They would study alibis and motives of every suspect, with documentation that would be pinned up and moved around the wall for weeks.

    I witnessed interviews with criminal suspects in our living room, and dangerous confrontations, which often ended with a police invasion and arrests. I remember being curious about the questionable alibi’s and suspicions of possible misconduct.

    No matter the investigation, my questions were discouraged because of my young age and sensitivity to violent crime. Nevertheless, my parents were finally both killed after an investigation of a d**g exchange involving the county sheriff’s office.

    One deputy was arrested and put on the stand to face allegations of illegal activities. He made accusations about my mother and father before US Secret Service officers stepped in. The case was resolved and closed without prejudice.

    I remember very little, and not much detail was ever revealed. But I know that after the trial, both my parents’ names were removed from the Memorial Wall of the local Police Department. Despite their exceptional service, they were not honored as heroes; and the classified information of their investigation was never revealed.

    As I looked at Dr. Leonard, I wondered how much he could be trusted and what he might be asking me to do. “Thank you for your concern,” I answered. “I will do what I can,” I then turned and headed for the door. “And I will solve this Calculus puzzle the same way my father would have.”

    Dr. Leonard’s comment about Freddy’s grade seemed suspicious. Everyone wanted Tommy to pass the test, including me. But there was nothing I could legally do to help. I would proudly volunteer to help him study, but unless he was willing I had no further options.

    I carried my books straight to my locker, then entered the long five digit combination keeping an eye on the digital time on my phone. I slid in my History and Calculus books and took out my book of English Literature. When I closed my locker door, I didn’t bother to roll in the first four numbers. I only did that before I left for the day.

    As I passed the principal’s office, I was very surprised by who I saw sitting in the chair next to the desk of Principal Ivan’s secretary, Miss Dana.

    He was a boy in his mid-twenties, a few years older than senior students at the school. I stopped and calmly walked over to one side of the glass wall. I suspected he may be the driver of that sports car that forced me off the road and was parked in the school parking lot before school. Although the boy was not wearing the red baseball cap, I could see he had the black shirt. He was about six feet tall, one hundred sixty-five pounds, with blonde hair.

    Miss Dana seemed upset. She pointed her finger as she asked questions. The boy looked annoyed by the conversation and did not answer. He moved around in his chair and only seemed to occasionally shrug his shoulders.

    I moved in closer and listened carefully for bits of the conversation, but with doors closed audio from the office was just not accessible from the hallway. The natural sounds of students talking and closing locker doors were too loud anyway. Nothing could be discerned.

    My first thought was to record video and maybe try and read Miss Dana’s lips on my computer screen when I got home. But shooting video now might create suspicion, and the mouth of Ms. Dana and the boy were not directly visible from the hallway.

    In spite of the danger, I first had to document my sighting with a few photos. I pulled out my phone and without creating attention walked as far across to one side as possible. I then snapped a profile photo of the boy looking down. In spite of the missing cap and angle, I still felt I might have recognizable evidence for proper identification.

    I then stepped back and continued studying motions of Miss Dana. I didn’t need new photos of her but wanted to theorize possible motivation for her emotional reactions. Holding the camera phone at my waist, I snapped photos of the upset secretary intensely questioning an uninterested boy.

    My mind was filled with questions. Was there more to his school involvement than talking to students in the school parking lot? Did he have friends or relatives at the school? Was he a friend or relative to Ms. Dana? Why was she so angry? And why was he ignoring her? How could I uncover new information about this boy, and still follow all rules of the school and the city?

    I checked the time on my phone and noticed exactly one minute and seventeen seconds to make it to English class, which meant excess time for walking to class and sitting. I started to put the phone back into my pocket when the driver suddenly got up, walked over, and opened the door. I could suddenly hear voices more clearly. I again pulled my phone out and leaned up against the hallway lockers. I reopened the program and began recording both audio and video.

    “What business is that of yours?” said the driver standing in the doorway.

    Mrs. Dana replied, “You can’t just stroll onto the school parking lot like you own the place. This school is for students and faculty. You don’t work for the school, or go to the school.”

    “I’m friends with Hank. He lets me drive into the parking lot without a problem,” answered the boy. “I don’t see why you have to get all worked up. You should just mind your own business.”

    “Your personal business could cost me my job. We all must follow rules around here.”

    “Fine,” said the boy as he walked out with a smile. “But if security lets me on campus, it’s none of your business.”

    “I’m telling you, Winston,” yelled Miss Dana. “If you cause any trouble like you have in the past, I’m calling your mom! And I know you don’t want that!”

    I continued shooting video from my phone. I was unnoticeably holding the phone behind my backpack and looking the other way. Miss Dana looked down at me with a confused face, but when I pretended to be holding my ankle she walked over. I looked up and smiled politely while continuing to record Winston walking down the hallway.

    “Are you okay?” asked Ms. Dana.

    “Yes,” I replied. “I’m fine.”

    I then got up and walked with a slight limp down the hall.

    Before I stopped recording, I spun around and got one last look at Miss Dana closing her office door and walking back behind her desk. She appeared distressed before finally turning on her computer and typing unseen information.

    My first thought was to move closer, and maybe try to see pages opening on her computer. I had many questions about the situation. What was Miss Dana looking for, and what might those internet pages reveal? Why was Winston in the school parking lot? And could I somehow confirm it was him in the car in the parking lot? And was it his car driving recklessly?

    Again, I looked down at my phone and saw the time. I couldn’t wait any longer. Getting to my English class and sitting down before the bell was now down to seconds.

    The halls were emptying out, and doors were closing. I began a fast walk, which turned into a jog, and then a full sprint. Although I was running late, I knew I would still make it with time to spare.

    When I sat down, Mr. Nolan was in his usual bad mood. It was not uncommon that he would simply assign everyone the job of reading English literature while he sat at his desk reading posts from the internet. I knew this reading assignment would not be included on the exam so I immediately opened my phone.

    Information and photos I had gathered in this investigation so far needed to be labeled, documented and filed. As I typed names and dates into my phone, I attached clips of video I had shot from the parking lot and outside the principal’s office.

    On top of the list were the photos and video of the wrecked bicycle and distant shots of the black car. By using freeze frame and zoom effects, I started a new file. There was not enough evidence to prove it was the same vehicle identified in the school parking lot, as the faraway shots of the car driving on the street.

    I then added closeup pictures of individual students surrounding the car with identification of each student taken from online yearbook photos and documentation of participation in school activities..

    I then laid out the entire confrontation outside the principal’s office with photos of the boy wearing the black shirt, plus additional video of the principal’s secretary, Miss Dana. I had a variety of pictures of a heated conversation inside. And finally, I had a strange-angled shot of the boy leaving the school as Ms. Dana yelled from her door.

    All this documented information was interesting, but not enough for confrontation, principal involvement, or simple questions.

    “Okay class,” announced Mr. Nolan. “Put your phones and personal items away. I want to discuss the importance of schoolwork and dedication. I just read in a Pixley High School posting that our quarterback for Friday may be withheld from participation in Friday’s game.”

    Mr. Nolan and several students seemed to look my way in a disapproving glare. I was fully in favor of Freddy’s Friday Football participation, but I didn’t see why any other student or teacher should even be involved.

    “Every student must remember,” continued Mr. Nolan’s announcement. “Any encouragement or aid in this time of crisis will be fully supported by the teaching staff and the school. If you can do anything to help Freddy, you will be rewarded.”