“Okay class, can I have it quiet please, can I get everyone to settle down so we can get started,” a pause, chairs sliding, books dropping on tables, then quiet. “Thank you, I know this is the first time that we’ve met since the Thelma Riddle story broke. We’ll take a few minutes to talk about it and see what you think and do some comparisons,” said Mrs. Ella Pinkerton Wild.
Mrs. Wild taught the ‘Deviant Behavior’ course in the department of Criminology where Seymour was taking classes. She was a direct descendant of Allan Pinkerton of the legendary Pinkerton Detective Agency. The agency was formed in the mid 1800’s and the founder gained fame when, in 1861, he uncovered and foiled an assassination plot against Pres. Abraham Lincoln. The agency continued to make headline for years with their exploits, tracking the likes of Jesse James, The Dalton Brothers and the Wild Bunch.
Ella had worked at the Pinkerton Forensics Lab in Atlanta for 25 years, long enough to draw her retirement, but was too young to actually retire. She and her husband, a former Georgia State Trooper, had settled on Valdosta when Ella heard through the grapevine that the university was expanding its criminology department. The dean could hardly contain himself when he learned that an actual ‘Pinkerton’ would be applying for the job. The decision to hire her had been made, at least in his mind, before the interview began.
Mrs. Ella Wild, or ‘Pink’ as she was known by friends and family, was a no nonsense woman in her late 50’s with a wry sense of humor, warped by too many hours staring through a microscope and dealing with materials directly related to death in one way or another. Her sense of humor was, more than likely, a defense mechanism but it was endearing to her students who thought the world of her.
Not overly attractive but not ugly either, just kind of plain in her own unique way, she wore round glasses with a prominent bifocal line bisecting the lens over each eye. Her skin was pale, chronically clammy, with age spots forming on her hands, neck and face. The sun was not her friend and she knew it. Most days she wore clothing not characteristic of those living in the South, which seemed a trifle odd. While weather and community standards called for short sleeves, tanks and shorts, she wore long sleeves and slacks with her silver-streaked hair wound into a ponytail.
Her frame was ‘thick’, not unfeminine, but just thick and sturdy; however, this was not to say that she was in poor physical condition. Every Wednesday night she and her husband taught, as volunteers, a free self-defense course for anyone that wished to learn a thing or two about the art. She excelled at chokeholds and groin kicks where Dave, her husband, was the boxer.
Today, ‘Pink’ had her hair in the traditional ponytail but wore an Atlanta Braves baseball hat with the ponytail dangling out the back. Her countenance was pleasant but focused.
“I trust you each had a good weekend and are ready to get back to work. Mr. Rickert, I saw your rugby game on Saturday, you played well, need to learn to avoid those elbows.”
Mr. Rickert replied in the affirmative with a very nasty looking swollen, black eye and bruised cheek.
“Let’s put aside what we were dealing with last week to take a closer look at this newspaper report that had you all abuzz this morning,” she said, turning to the overhead which she illuminated, projecting a copy of the newspaper article onto the wall.
“What’s your first impression?” There was a long minute without any volunteers. “Come on now, surely there is someone brave enough to express their opinion.”
Seymour slowly raised his hand. “There was a follow up to the first article this morning, don’t know if you’ve seen it yet, but the police are playing it down and saying that it was just a prank. I don’t know if I’m buying that but they said Mrs. Riddle was back in her home and there have been no further problems. But it did say she’s sleeping with her shotgun.”
Laughter drifted throughout the classroom and brought a smile to Ella’s face.
”Rightly so, rightly so!” she said. “Son of a bitch better not try the same thing in my bedroom!” she barked, bringing more enthusiastic laughter from the students. “So Seymour, what’s your take on this guy? Is he a deviant? Is he a prankster or is he just a really bad thief?” she questioned, moving across the room to stand in front of her student.
“Well, I’m not really sure, my gut feeling is he’s a trickster just trying to get his jollies. Obviously has a thing for wearing women’s clothing so I would think that would place him into a deviant category, but the fact that he didn’t take anything, even left behind the underwear, is kind of weird. I guess it’s possible that he’s actually a student or someone that was dared to do it, like a frat thing or something similar.”
“Good thought, let’s expand on that.”
“Mrs. Wild, it doesn’t sound like the police department is going to pursue this any further. Why aren’t they sending the underwear or other possible clues to the state crime lab or the FBI?” a young female piped up from the back of the room.
“Let me turn that around on you. How many of these little ‘victimless’ crimes take place in Valdosta, Lowndes County or Georgia for that matter every single day? Any takers?” Pink wandered back to the other side of the room, tapping a pointer in her palm.
“Nobody? Well I’ll tell you,” she quipped, returning to the projector, she removed the initial image and placed a transparency on the overhead.
A chart of numbers and titles covered the opposing wall.
“All right, these number are for 2005 alone and were provided by the GBI. You should all know what that stands for. Who can tell us?”
Mr. Rickert raised his hand.
“Yes,” aiming the pointer in his direction.
“Georgia Bureau of Investigation,” he said.
“Thanks, correct. They have a statistical division that generates this database every year. So let’s take a look,” and she pointed at each column and read aloud:
“Murder — 526, Rape — 2086, Robbery — 13,800, Aggravated Assault — 22,409. Bringing the total violent crimes in the state of Georgia for one year to 38,821. Anyone surprised?” She paused then continued. “Okay then, let’s take a look at the property or more victimless crimes. Burglary — 79,834, Larceny — 234,436 and yes that comma is in the right place, Auto Theft — 43,411, Arson — 1130, Total Property Crime — 358,811. What do you think of those numbers?” Without waiting for anyone to answer, Pink questioned, “Do you think the GBI or the FBI has time on their hands to process DNA on every case that involves some pervert taking pictures of a sleeping woman in little old Valdosta, Georgia? Don’t think so. Nope don’t think they’ll be wasting thousands of your taxpayer dollars to track down every two-bit peeping tom or night crawler that makes the paper. I could be wrong, does anyone else have an opinion?”
The same young lady that posed the initial question asked, “But what if he does it again and someone gets hurt or even killed?”
Ella’s face almost appeared a bit sad when she replied, “That’s the heartbreaking part, isn’t it? So often these types of people do a harmless little ‘prank’, if you want to call it that, but they get hooked on the adrenalin rush and can’t stop. They’re always looking for the next opportunity to fulfill some inner need, some fantasy, and unfortunately we know from experience that it often escalates and someone does get hurt. In the event that there is substantial property loss and certainly physical harm or death, the state is then obligated to get involved and put forth their resources. But in cases like this there aren’t enough dollars to go around and the local police just have to do the best they can with what they’ve got. You just gotta know hindsight is always 20/20 so if this 'nut job' does hurt somebody down the road, you can sure as hell bet there will be those wanting to know where CSI was. Sadly, that’s just the reality of the job. Often times, someone does have to get hurt before anything gets done.”
Pink turned off the overhead, the whir of the fan still going as she addressed the class.
“I’d like you each to look a little more carefully at this case as a way of understanding deviant behavior. Perhaps it was just a prank, at least this incident, but do some research and see what you can dig up on individuals that started their criminal careers with similar events and see if you can document any patterns or known profiles. In the few minutes we have left today I want to introduce the topic of deviant behavior and brain dysfunction.”
Having completed her thought, she started into a brief lecture, explaining chemical imbalance, learned behavior and the road to deviant criminal behavior. Seymour was pumped about the assignment and as the instructor droned on in the background he put pen to paper and was quickly writing down all the things that came to mind and the possibilities that he could explore. The library would be a great resource for the assignment both in terms of material available at hand, the time he could put into researching while getting paid, and the prospects of roping Blanche into helping him. It had been a few days since they’d worked together and he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Granted, she was a decade older than him but there was something about her that he couldn’t shake. She had filled his dreams the past few nights, where he had been so debonair and self assured, sweeping her off her feet with his style and charm.
“Why can’t I be that guy for real?” he thought, as the period ended and the students gathered up their things and exited the classroom. Seymour sat for a few more minutes jotting down his last minute thoughts, then stuffed his backpack full of his belongings and hurried out the door.
Forensics would have to wait; first he’d hit the school library before his classmates cleaned it out. He didn’t think he could rely solely on the public library for insight but the idea of asking Blanche for help was both exciting and nerve racking for the young man, who needed the hours between class and work to build up his courage. However, courage would not be the only thing he would need to win over the strawberry blonde’s heart.