“He’s fine.” There was a pause. “Rachel, you’re aware that Dr. Malenko has got to know pretty soon.”
“I know that,” she snapped. “We’ll talk about it when I get back.”
“Well, I’m just saying. He’s pressed for time.”
“Look, stop pressuring me. This isn’t something I’m going to rush into.”
“We’ve been thinking about it for weeks. I mean, how much more time do we need?”
Her voice tightened. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’ve got enough on my mind.”
Shit! “Well, think fast because he’s leaving the country in a couple weeks.”
He looked across the room at the sleeping figure of his son. It struck Martin just how much he looked like him when he was young. In fact, he could have passed for seven-year-old Martin on a pony in the photograph sitting on the fireplace mantel.
“Then if we do it, it’ll have to be when he gets back.”
Martin did not say anything more about it.
According to Malenko there would be a three-to-four-week recovery period, which meant that if they waited too long, Dylan would miss the first weeks of school in the fall. But if they did it soon, he could stabilize and miss nothing. Then over the next few months, he would begin to show signs of improved cognition. It would be subtle and progressive, which meant that by next year at this time, Dylan would have begun to plateau. Then by the fall of that year, they could enroll him in a different school where nobody would know his academic history, which, in this state, was confidential—a fancy private school whose entrance exam he’d ace. Not like what he did on the Beaver Hill qualifiers.
As Malenko had said, he would by then have grown into his own new mind.
And what happens when he’s suddenly brilliant and Uncle Jack, Aunt Alice, and Granny come to visit? How are you going explain the fact that Dylan’s a little whip? How he’s reading Dr. Seuss on his own when just last year he couldn’t get through the alphabet? Whatcha gonna tell them, huh? That his new tutor is something else? Or that the school he’s attending has some great new breakthrough strategies on learning? Or that they put him on an all-ginkgo biloba diet?
None of that.
Well, you see, we found out about this secret little brain operation that jacks up IQs?
Not that either, because Dylan was still young. And because Jack and Aunt Alice and Granny knew little about his cognitive status. Rachel had mentioned how Dylan hadn’t passed the Beaver Hill entrance exams, but she hadn’t gone into detail. She had not told anyone his IQ. It wasn’t anybody else’s business, even family. So all they knew was that Dylan was a sweet, handsome little boy who hit a mean T-ball and who sang like a bird. Sure, he had some language problems, but many kids do. And he just grew out of them like millions of other slow starters, that’s all. Like his old man, for instance.
After they hung up, Martin walked over to the couch and looked at his sleeping son for a long moment. Even his profile resembled Martin’s. Like father, like son.
Yep, just grew into his own mind.
52
It was almost too easy how Greg found the Nova Children’s Center.
He got the name from information and discovered that it was located in Myrtle, Massachusetts, just twenty minutes northwest of Hawthorne.
Around noon on Monday, he drove to the place, which was a grand old Gothic Revival building with turrets, a dunce-cap roof, and fish-scale slate shingles. He wouldn’t have known that from Disney, except that Lindsay had been interested in architecture.
He went inside, uncertain what he was looking for, uncertain if he was pursuing a bona fide lead or more white rabbits. His only certainty was his suspension if Lieutenant Gelford learned he was here. And that was the reason he didn’t contact the local police. If he asked the investigator on the Watts case to keep their exchange quiet, that would make the officer suspicious of Greg’s credibility.
The receptionist said the person to speak to was Dr. Denise Samson. However, she wouldn’t be back until after lunch, about one. That was cutting it close, since it would take him almost two hours to get back to the office, and for this week he’d been rescheduled to start at three because of vacation absentees. Unfortunately, he’d be about half an hour late.
So he sat in the waiting room and thumbed through magazines. At onethirty, Dr. Samson called the secretary to say she’d be late. That made Greg’s stomach leak acid. With the traffic, he wouldn’t get to the department until after four. That would not look good.
At two-fifteen, Dr. Samson came up the stairs. She was a tall stately woman with short reddish hair and dressed in a moss-green dress. He asked to speak with her in private, and she led him to her office.
He did not tell her about the skulls. Instead, he mentioned how one of his cases involved a child who had been evaluated on a SchoolSmart test, and wanted to know about that.
“Well, in addition to offering tailored learning programs, we have a diagnostic service that designs, administers, and evaluates tests used in different school systems nationally. SchoolSmart is one of them and is sponsored by private benefactor organizations as well as some colleges and universities that offer scholarship incentives to extremely gifted children from low-income families.”
Greg noted that on his pad.
“As you can imagine, many such kids either quit school at sixteen to work or, if they graduate, they take the first job that comes along and almost never go on. What SchoolSmart offers is full-tuition scholarships for select students if they remain in school through the twelfth grade. And we administer the tests as early as the first grade.”
“An incentive to remain in school.”
“Exactly, and a just reward.”
“And the only qualifications are smart and poor.”
Dr. Samson smiled. “That’s putting it bluntly, but yes. And that they complete their schooling,” she said. “But I should add that our tests are not the standardized group intelligence tests, but ones specially designed as individualized evaluations for young children identified by their teachers as gifted. They’re more accurate, and we make certain they’re administered by licensed psychologists.”
She would have gone on, but Greg cut to the chase. “I’m wondering if you could check your database for a Grady Dixon.”
Her fingers flew across the keys. “Grady Dixon … Yes, from Cold Spring, Tennessee.” And she gave the date of his evaluation.
Greg felt a little electric thrill run through him. He was tested just three months before he was kidnapped. “Can you tell me where exactly he was tested and who administered the test?”
The woman looked a little flustered. “Well, I can tell you he was tested at his school, the Michael Lowry Regional, and the local psychometrician was Dr. Maxwell Barnard from Signal Mountain, Tennessee.”
That did not seem helpful. “Can you run a database cross-reference to see if this Dr. Maxwell Barnard conducted tests on any other SchoolSmart candidates?”
Dr. Samson started the search when she suddenly stopped. “I can do that, Officer, but I’d like to know why you’re asking. I’m concerned that we’re going to violate a contractual agreement with our clients.”
He saw that coming. “Dr. Samson, I’m looking into a possible connection between some past kidnappings and children who might have been tested by your organization.”
Dr. Samson looked worried all of a sudden. “You mean a criminal investigation?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m sure you understand, but I would have to consult with the directors before I can divulge any more information—unless, of course, you have a court order.”