Thursday morning Beverly Davis sat at her kitchen table enjoying a cup of her favorite coffee, she’d had another sleepless night. The loss of her husband eight years ago and the ongoing battle with his stepson, Jeremy, was adding pounds and wrinkles to the middle-aged woman. Her Day-Timer was open before her, nothing too pressing, needed to talk with Blanche Delaney about a couple of condos that just went on the market in the new area south of the base, also needed to check the status of the estate sale. She was anxious to get her hands on the money after so many years of legal battles but she was certain the war was not over. The coffee was just what she needed to get going this morning. Taking another drink she let it swirl around in her mouth before swallowing it down.
“Wish I had a donut to dunk in this,” she thought.
Her cell phone rang and ‘Dixie’ played, she flipped it open, “Good mornin’, this is Bev,” in her sweetest, what the hell do you want already this morning, accent.
“Morning Beverly, this is Earl Tidball, I’m calling on behalf of the Okala Development Group.”
Her ears perked up. This was the group that had been in negotiations in regards to a large tract of land, that she had the realty rights to, a few miles from Moody Air Force Base. She was sure it was a done deal and was waiting for the finalization of some paperwork, title searches and such.
“Yes, Mr. Tidball, I’m well aware of who you are. How are you this morning? I was hoping we might wind things up this week and get that property transferred to your group.” She always tried to put a positive spin on every deal, even if it wasn’t a firm offer yet.
“Yes, well, that’s why I’m calling. We, or shall I say, the purchasing department, is having second thoughts about the timing of this transaction. In the past week alone we’ve seen the number of condominiums on the market skyrocket in the properties adjacent to this particular section of land. The group is concerned that perhaps the area is already saturated and our intent would be to put more multiunit housing projects in place. We’ve also noted a downward trend in the real market values of the homes in that particular area as well. This is a difficult trend for us to navigate when considering a purchase so very close to this unusual local phenomenon.” Not allowing Ms. Davis a chance to ask any questions, he pressed on, “I’m sure you’re well aware of the problems they’re having, which seem to be escalating, and we realize it could all well be over within a day or two but there is the remote possibility that it could be years. We are just not willing to assume the risk, at least not at this time. We are terribly sorry, we understand that you’ve put a great deal of work into the sale and our negotiations, but we are well within our legal rights to withdraw our offer, which is what we intend to do, in writing, this morning.”
It felt, to Beverly, like someone had just run a dagger through her heart, chest pain, unable to breath, anxiety and anger rising, “I thought, I mean, this is coming out of left field. Just yesterday we were on track and there were no problems. Surely the little blip in condo prices is not enough to pull out of such an amazing opportunity. This is literally one of two parcels of land that will ever be available to develop in the Northern Valdosta Region. The upside is huge! I can’t believe you’re considering withdrawing your offer. Perhaps if we just met this morning and addressed your concerns we could….”
He cut her off, “Ms. Davis, unless you can assure us that the serial predator stalking the people and homes in that area can be stopped before we sign on the dotted line, it’s just not going to happen.”
“What are you talking about? You mean that thing with the guy that did those break-ins over the past couple weeks? He’s harmless, a prankster, hasn’t hurt anybody. The cops think it’s just a couple of kids playing games. You are seriously going to cancel a multimillion dollar deal because of that?” she incredulously asked.
“Ms. Davis,” he said, in a stern, attention getting voice, “Have you not seen the news this morning or read the paper? This guy is for real, no college prankster; the police are issuing warnings for people living in that entire region. It’s just more than we wish to engage at this time. Our lawyers will be in touch with your office later this morning. Again, we are truly sorry, but business is business. Good day.”
She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard, another nail in her financial coffin. The sale of the property would have meant hundreds of thousands of dollars in fees she would have collected, the largest sale of her career, now squashed by some pervert getting his jollies. “Shit, shit, shit,” she hammered out with increasing volume, “Why now?” She circled the table talking to herself, “I can’t frickin’ believe this, not now, not when we were so close. Now what the hell am I going to do? I’ll never find another buyer like Okala.” Her mind going a hundred miles an hour, she tried to focus. What had he said about the news, what news? She switched on the local broadcast.
A strikingly beautiful blonde in a business suit, just cut low enough to entice the male audience, sat upright behind a large, expansive desk, computer monitor to her right and a stack of papers in her hands. She looked to be all business this morning, no sweet, sheepish grin, no funny banter with the co-anchor, just right to the facts. “Again, the Sheriff’s Department, by way of Sheriff Lupo himself, has issued a strict warning to the people living in the area south and west of the Air Force Base. There is a very real threat, as they’ve concluded a serial predator is working the aforementioned area and every caution should be taken to secure your safety and the safety of your home and family.”
“What has happened?” she thought. “Come on, tell us what the hell has happened since yesterday!” Bev screamed at the television.
As if the female anchor had heard her, she continued, “Let’s recap that story again for those just joining us. Last night a house on Lori Street was broken into while the owners were out. The home appeared to be ransacked in a search for valuables and the couple has identified numerous items missing from the premises. Based on evidence at the scene, the authorities believe the couple returned home while the perpetrator was still inside. Fortunately there was no confrontation, but significant damage was done to the home and the department was unable to release more details this morning. They will be holding a press conference later in the day to keep the public apprised of the investigation, however, they did specify that this latest break in is a significant escalation in the violent nature of the crimes to date. They are asking the public to report suspicious individuals or behavior, particularly in the area we’ve been talking about. The Sheriff’s Department has set up a hotline that you can call and we’ll put that on the screen for you momentarily.”
Beverly sat back in her chair staring blankly at the woman on the screen. She was lost for words. She had worked her ass off the past ten years, married a husband with a defective heart, inherited a jackass of a stepson, gained fifty pounds, given up every opportunity for another man in her life, and for what? To have it all pulled out from underneath her by a little prick breaking into people’s homes. “Damn it!” she yelled, sweeping her arm across the table sending the now empty coffee cup sailing through the air, shattering on the kitchen wall.
Blanche casually swung back and forth on the porch of Caroline’s B amp;B enjoying the light early morning breeze as it helped dry the droplets of perspiration that were still forming on her skin. She’d kept her promise to herself to get out and run this morning, had been more difficult than expected but still felt great to stretch out and feel the sun on her back as she maneuvered the sidewalks, for three miles, that felt like ten. She had only been enjoying the porch swing for a few minutes before Mrs. Muir joined her.
“Room for two?” she asked.
“Sure, if you don’t mind sitting next to me while I sweat like a pig,” Blanche said, with a smirk.
“Beautiful morning, just love it when there’s enough of a breeze to dampen this stifling humidity. Too bad the news this morning is such a downer,” Mrs. Muir said, trying to read Blanche to see if she’d heard the latest details.
“Yeah, it is beautiful this morning, but what news are you talking about?”
Happy that she got to be the bearer of the bad news, Mrs. Muir expounded, “Well, you know what’s been happening in those homes up by the base, right?” She didn’t wait for Blanche to reply. “There was another one last night and they almost caught him. Was in the house when the couple got home. The Sheriff isn’t saying much but I phoned that friend of mine, you know the one I was telling you about? Anyway, she said, and she has very good connections, don’t you know. Well, she said that the home of Mrs. Criddle, the lady with the fake leg and the mustang, she said, there was some warning written on her living room wall in pig blood. Can you imagine?” she said, excitedly.
“I hadn’t heard that, are you sure?” Blanche questioned.
“Oh, I’m sure, she’s very reliable. Then last night, and don’t tell anybody, cause this isn’t supposed to be out, but last night he killed something with a butcher knife and a carving fork, I think she said it was a pig, then wrote another warning on the wall. Is that creepy or what? Don’t know what this world is coming to.”
Blanche, at this point, had stopped the leisurely sway of the swing and listened intently to what the older woman was saying, knowing to take it for what it was, as she considered the source. “Was anybody hurt, do you know?” she said, staring into the street ahead of her.
“Sounds like the pig didn’t fair very well,” she replied
“Those poor people, must have been such a shock to them when they got home. What kind of a person does this kind of stuff? It sounds to me like he’s getting bolder with each outing.” She nailed it without knowing.
“Lots of f….ing punks out there, that’s for sure,” the older woman said, followed by, “Excuse me dear, don’t normally like to use that word but sometimes I just get so riled up.” They laughed as Blanche reached over and patted Mrs. Muir on the knee, assuring her it was understandable.
They started up the swing again, swaying back and forth in silence, each putting into perspective the information they had just shared. A few minutes later, Blanche noted a small truck motoring down the street in front of the B amp;B, the driver blasted out a recognizable greeting with the horn and Blanche stood and waved as Jasper sailed by.
“Alright people, hold it down, quiet down. Quiet down!” the Sheriff elevated his voice above the commotion in the main level conference room. “Let’s have it quiet so we can get started.” He waited for the chairs to fill and order to be restored to the adrenalin filled room. “Thank you, I know we’ve all been up long hours already,” he said, looking at his watch, 1:00 p.m. “I’d like to start with an overview of where we are with the first two cases before we jump into the one from this morning.”
“Arlene, I know you’ve been compiling and coordinating the information as it’s come in, where do we stand?” Sheriff Lupo directed his question to the woman seated directly to his right with laptop computer open, frantically taking notes. Not accustom to having to speak to such a large group of people, she tried to ignore that anyone else was present, and looked directly at her friend ‘The Wolf’ and spoke.
“I wish I could tell you that we know more today than we did a few days ago, but the truth of the matter is, we don’t. The hotline has provided leads but most resulting in dead ends or nut jobs reporting their disgruntled neighbor as The Stalker. We’re checking them as fast as we can but no solid leads yet.” She turned her attention momentarily to the group around the table. “I just want to thank ya’ll for your hard work and for putting up with me calling at all hours of the night. I appreciate your cooperation.” She returned her remarks to the Sheriff, “We were able to get a good casting of the prints left in the backyard of the Criddle woman’s home. Forensics should be able to tell us more on that.”
“Ricky, you in here?” Sheriff Lupo said, looking around the room for the forensics' specialist.
“Yup, right here.” The Sheriff could see a hand sticking up above the heads of the others at the back of the room; they parted as Ricky wiggled his way between them to stand at the end of the table across from the big man. “Yeah, we got a really good impression on the tracks both right and left feet, but we are unable to identify manufacturer or model from the tread.”
Disappointed, 'The Wolf' inquired, “And why is that?”
“Because there ain’t any,” Ricky said, looking around to see if anyone would snicker. “I believe The Stalker filed the tread down to nothing to make it impossible for us to identify them. There is some good news though; we think we can accurately identify the type of file that he used. It’s not your typical file, like you’d use on your lawnmower blade, but a specific type that is used to file down the hoof of a horse when they are being shoed. It’s called a rasp; a farrier would use it to prepare the horse’s hooves before the shoes go on. These are common for the profession and most farmers probably have one but I think it’s quite likely that we’re looking for a country person.”
The room spontaneously erupted with applause and some scattered cheers. “Finally something we can go on!” the Sheriff approvingly said. Good work there Ricky, I can tell you’ve done your homework, well done. Okay, that gives us something to work on, anything further on the shoes?”
“Is it okay to talk about this morning yet?” Ricky asked, “Cause I already got the castings from this morning done and we got a footprint.”
“You got a what?” the large man asked, scarcely believing what he’d just heard.
“I know it’s crazy! We got an actual impression of the guys foot, right foot to be exact. It fits perfectly with what you thought happened last night when we were at the scene. They got home, scared him, and he had to make a hasty exit. We weren’t able to get started with the castings until this morning because of the poor lighting out there but we got some really good ones after the sun came up. Should I go on?” he asked his boss.
“Hell yes, let’s hear it all.”
“Good, so we kind of expected some more of those treadless imprints, which we did find, but even those are different.”
“How so?” the Sheriff asked.
“The sole is a different width and the deflection of the angle from the heel to toe is different than the first pair. Anyway, back to the footprint. Let me tell you what we think he does first. He climbs the fence, all three places had fences if you’ll remember, has his shoes on at this point, then when he gets to the backdoor, he takes them off, maybe he thinks it’s going to be more quiet or something, but he definitely takes them off and leaves them outside on the porch. Last night in his mad dash to get out of there, he doesn’t have time to put them on, so he grabs them, runs to the fence, throws them over along with his stuff and then scales the fence in his stocking feet.”
Ricky Dean was getting more excited as he laid out the work that his team had done that morning, and he’d not gotten to the good stuff yet. He had a hard time not just blurting it out but was enjoying being the center of attention, if only for a moment, in this important investigation. He continued, reminding himself to slow down and make sense, “We know he was in his stocking feet because the fibers we found inside the house match some of those we found stuck on the wood slivers on the fence, black, wool stockings. We’re working on the type of dye now that may give us the manufacturer.”
“Damn good work, Ricky. Your team is giving us some excellent information to go on. About the footprint….”
Ricky jumped in to tell the rest of his findings, “Yeah, this is the best part, I ‘bout pissed myself when I saw it this morning, right there at the base of the fence just as clear as it could be. I think it’s where he stood to throw the stuff over, cause he would have come to a complete stop, for just an instant, before he hurled the stuff over, and in doing so put enough force on the right foot to push it into the dirt.” He stopped talking long enough to demonstrate for the team what he was talking about. Ricky motioned with his hands for the other unit members to part and give him a clear isle. He started from the side of the room, took a couple quick steps as if running, something in both hands, stopped and went through the motion of throwing the items over the imaginary fence. As he demonstrated the motion he explained, “If our perp is right handed he would have stopped short of the fence leading with his left leg and bracing himself with the right. To get enough leverage to throw over something heavy he would shift his weight from the left foot, to the right, and then back to the left, as he followed through with the throw, like this.” Again he confirmed his theory by demonstrating it to those watching. “We got lucky, I think the owner was trying to fix a patch of sparse grass and had put down a little topsoil and seed in that particular area.”
“So we, I mean, the forensic bunch of us, also think he’s right handed,” he smiled, his mustache twitching ever so slightly.
“Outstanding, absolutely outstanding! You’ve earned your pay this week. Is everybody getting this? I don’t see many pens moving take this stuff down. I don’t want anybody out of the loop,” the Sheriff instructed.
Ricky, however, wasn’t done; he still had a couple of important cards up his sleeve to play. “Okay, okay Sheriff, there’s a bit more. So we, so we got the casting of the foot, absolutely perfect, like I said,” he was speaking so fast now that he was tripping over himself.
“Ricky, slow down, for heaven’s sake we’ve got time, just slow down and tell us what you’re trying to say.”
He stopped, put both hands on the table in front of him, and took a couple deep breaths before he continued, “Thanks Sheriff, I’m okay now, I’m okay. So we know he threw the shoes over the fence, right?” He paused, “The forensics God’s were with us last night is all I can think. We got the footprint, you’re gonna love the way that set up, we’ll know exactly the size of his foot right down to his bunions and corns, but we also know he was wearing Nike’s.”
“Ricky!” Deputy Guest interjected, “How the hell can you tell what kind of shoes he was wearing based on the footprint? You’ve already said the tread was no help.”
“This is so good I can’t believe it myself,” he said. “You ready for this? When he tossed the shoes over the fence, the soil on the other side was just moist enough from the humidity that it left an impression where the shoes landed.” He stopped talking and looked around the room for effect. “The bag full of stuff left a pretty big dent where it landed but the shoes, one landed on the sole, so it was no help, but the other landed heel down.” He looked over his shoulder to the back of the room. “Becky, you got that picture we took out at the house this morning, the one from the orchard?”
A stout woman stepped forward taking some papers and pictures from a file folder she held. She quickly rifled through the material and extracted an 8x10 glossy photograph and handed it to Ricky. Without saying a word he flicked the photograph into the air, it spun, rotating a couple of times before it drifted to a stop in the middle of the large conference table. There, staring back at them was the undeniable impression of the Nike logo, taken from the soft mud, just over the fence of the latest victim’s home.
The Stalker’s drive from the chapel to his house had been almost as frantic as the run from the orchard. Sheriff units had responded much quicker than he had anticipated, causing him to drive thirty miles out of his way, in a very indirect path to his home. He was happy with the haul and was anxious to see what was hidden in the lockbox, but other than that the ‘outing’ was a total pooch screw. He was angry with his employers for pushing him beyond what he had agreed to do, each job was to be well laid out, planned and methodical, with very little risk. He’d just about got caught last night and was sure there was ample evidence left in the wake of his speedy exit. He wouldn’t be doing another one of those again without talking to ‘the man’ first, the cost of doing business just got more expensive.
‘Rob’ gathered up his things, the shoes, socks, anything that would have left fiber evidence and walked down the trail that led from his house to the fishing shed where the 50 gallon drum was that he used to burn garbage and evidence. Tossing the items in, he doused them with gas and ignited it with the strike of a match. He stood looking into the flames for a moment knowing that he’d have to give it a stir in a few hours and ignite it again with another liberal sprinkling of accelerant. Nothing could be left to chance. Confident that the materials would burn on their own for a time, his attention was drawn back to the strongbox and the unknown contents.
On the way back to the house he stopped by the barn and grabbed a small sledgehammer, perfect for delicate work like he had in mind. There was not another house within earshot so he didn’t worry about the noise when he brought the hammer down on the box for the first time. Crash! The box bounced off the cement slab he was using as a backstop, landing on the grass. “Damn!” He lined up the lock again and repeated the strike directly on the face with the same result, but a bigger bounce. It was much more durable than he had first thought, a third and fourth slam of the sledge did nothing but distort the box’s shape but did not reveal the contents. Frustrated he left the sledge on the ground near the damaged container and headed to the barn. A moment later he returned, pulling a small, portable acetylene torch.
He was careful not to heat up the metal box to the point that paper items inside would ignite but he used the torch in conjunction with the sledge to persuade the assembly to give up its contents. The heavily damaged lockbox finally popped open with one last swing of the hammer.
“Damn, lookie here! What we got?” he said, looking at the items as they gleamed back at him. It was obvious to him that the wife kept the good stuff under wraps and hidden away but the old man had some nice things too. Two Rolex cases sat at the bottom of the chest but only one contained a watch. He continued his search undiscouraged. Lying underneath the watchcases and the gems was a rectangular package, folded and wrapped like a Christmas present, but in newspaper. Rob’s hand shook in anticipation. He gently laid the other items aside and pulled the bundle from the bottom of the box. He had hoped a gold brick but much too flexible. Taking the tape from the bottom of the parcel, he uncovered a pile of US $100 bills almost too thick to hold in one hand. The thief, in all his years of taking what was not his, had never encountered such an awesome prize. Returning the items to the box he went inside and began counting, 700, 725, 750, and placed the last, crisp bill on the table. He sat back in one of the chairs, ran his fingers through his dark hair, while staring at the eight small stacks of hundreds that he had organized on the table.
“Who in the hell, keeps $75,000 in cash in their desk drawer?”
The first thing that came to mind was the mob. Maybe a drug dealer, but after much self-debate he decided he’d found somebody’s stash, money the private citizen did not want to declare to Uncle Sam for tax purposes. Most likely he wouldn’t report it to the police either. That would create all kinds of questions from the IRS, the jewelry would be replaced by the insurance so he didn’t feel the least bit bad about that, he never did. The money, however, gave him a boost in self-confidence and made him think that perhaps the risk had paid off. Anyway, wouldn’t be long before he’d be cashed out and on his way.
“Should have spent one of these hundreds having the box properly installed, jackass!” he said, mocking the absent victim. “I’m making a call but they ain’t gonna hear about this cash,” he laughed to himself, as he retrieved the untraceable phone from his jacket, dialed and waited.
“Lester, what’s up my friend?” Felix was in an especially good mood after the reports of the morning. “Your work last night was brilliant! Absolutely brilliant, could not have done it better myself.”
“Yeah, I know, that’s why you hired me, remember?” Lester responded. “I thought we weren’t supposed to use our real names in our correspondence, even on the phone?”
“Pshaw, that Jeremy, he’s wound so tight he farts diamonds. There's not going be anybody listening to this conversation. These phones are solid don’t worry about it. Have you given any thought to where you’ll hit next? One more this week will put us over the top, my man.”
“Why was this guy talking like we’re best friends? I probably wouldn’t be doing this if he wasn’t a friend of a friend of an acquaintance but we ain’t friends,” he thought, but did not say. “I’ve got a couple ideas for tomorrow but I’m laying low today. Too much police activity to be out, especially if somebody ID’d my van in the area.”
“I see from the reports that you were able to search the place for valuables. Come up with anything?” Felix asked, expecting a cut if there was anything of significance.
“Naw, not really, a couple necklaces and a watch but I think it’s a Chinese knock off,” Lester said, keeping the money, gun and valuable jewelry to himself.
“Too bad, would have been more worth the risk, I guess. I’m meeting with the other guys tomorrow to see where we go from here, but you’re doing great. I’ll report that to them,” the low level wise guy indicated.
“Okay, but I feel like I should be brought up to speed on where this is all headed, I get the fact that you want the people in that area to panic and have it affect the real estate market but there has to be a bigger picture. I just feel that I should be brought in, you know have a bigger piece of the pie,” he said, trying to feel his way through the conversation. “Like who is this Jeremy guy, what has he got to do with anything? That’s the first I’ve heard you even mention his name.”
“Jeremy who? You didn’t hear me say anything about any Jeremy. I’ve said enough, just keep doing your job and don’t get greedy,” Felix indicated, getting a bit annoyed with the thief.
“Okay, okay, hold your horses, I get the picture, but let me tell you this all stops right now if I don’t see another 5 G’s in that envelope dropped in my mailbox tomorrow. You understand? And don’t YOU get greedy. I’m the one assuming all the risk! I’m the one creating the panic! Without me you got nothing! You hear me? You got that, Felix?” Lester exaggerated his inflections into the small cell phone mouthpiece and promptly clipped it closed. “If that money isn’t there tomorrow I’m done, I’m done,” he said, tossing the phone on the table, knocking bills everywhere.
Mrs. Ella Wild was exhausted. The Wednesday evening self-defense class the night before had been more than she or her husband had counted on. There were too many people to work with in one session, so they ended up having most of the newcomers wait until the first class was over, then taught it all over again to everyone that had patiently waited, which was significant. The majority of those present were women and most of those spurred on by the recent activities of the predator. Pink and her husband, Dave, understood the insecurities and fears of those they taught so they were happy to help, but it had taken its toll. Ella ached in every joint and the pain medication taken with breakfast had not fully kicked in yet. Standing before her students she struggled to stay focused and hoped the class would be able to carry the discussion so she didn’t have to.
She had not had time to review and mark the assignment given out a few days before but she was impressed with the dozen she had evaluated. “I take it many of you are quite interested in the recent events north of the city?” she said, more as a question than a statement. “I’m intrigued. Why is that? Why would you be so interested in the acts of a degenerate and the suffering that he causes? Granted, I sort of get it, after all this is the Deviant Behavior Course, but I think it goes beyond that. I think for many of you it’s like a train wreck, you just can’t help yourself, you just can’t help but having to look. Am I right?” No one volunteered an answer; afraid they might get their head taken off with the mood she seemed to be in this morning.
“While you are sitting there trying to decide if you have the courage to answer, let me say this, I love it, to a degree that is. I hate the pain and suffering these people cause, the loss of life, the uncertainty they create, the fear they instill, but I love studying their deviant minds and what it is about them that makes them tick. It is people like you and me that have the capacity within us to stop these beasts and bring them to justice. That’s why I teach this course. That’s why I push you to learn more than I know. To understand them in ways that I cannot, you need to be better than I ever was. I believe some of you will get there and make me proud, and the rest of you, well, the world needs ditch diggers too, my dad always used to say.”
This drew some laughter from the uneasy students, but those who connected with her on the level she intended, knew she was talking to them, Seymour Wood was one of them. Most of the students had seen the news that morning and were curious what Pink would do with the story during class today.
“Let’s do something different today, shall we?” she inquired. “I want this half of the room to be the Sheriff’s Office.” She waved her hand indicating the right half of the room. “And you,” waving her hand to the remainder of the group to the left, “will be the predator or stalker as you like.” The students taunted and jeered at each other across the classroom. “Okay now, settle down a bit, I’m going to give you a few questions to consider. Work together as a unit and come up with some concrete answers.”
“Sheriff’s, okay this morning you’ve had your third B amp;E within three weeks with an increasing propensity towards violence. The populous is scared, housewives are buying handguns, you have little if no clues, what do you do?” Ella asked.
“Serial predators, you have successfully claimed three victims in three weeks and your confidence is soaring. What do you do now? What’s your agenda? Why are you doing what you’re doing? Who are you?” she asked the other half of the class.
She gave the group about ten minutes to discuss the questions among themselves and asked them to assign a spokesperson for their side. Seymour was chosen to represent his side of the discussion, the Sheriff’s Office, and a heavy set black girl, named Tequina, was chosen as the representative for the degenerates.
“Okay Seymour, let’s start with you. First let’s see what you’ve got to say, then we’ll have the predators ask any questions they may have, then we’ll switch. Sound good?” Pink directed and the students listened.
A nervous Seymour walked to the front of the class, a pad of paper held with their ideas in hand. “A couple of us went to the press conference the Sheriff’s Office did this morning and they still claim they have very few clues. We think they are just telling the public enough to keep them happy but they are not releasing everything they know. Mrs. Wild, I think you would consider that SOP, right, Standard Operating Procedure?”
“I’d say you are right on there. There will be things they’ve discovered that they will hold back to strengthen their case once they bust somebody and have to prosecute,” she agreed.
“With three crime scenes behind them, we were in agreement that they would be looking for similarities between those three, and trying to connect them to any known criminal behavior or patterns. Forensics would be scouring these places for clues and trying to confirm that the same person is responsible for each. Sheriff Lupo is not denying that at this point, and he’s given up the theory that it’s a prankster or one of us.” His fellow students laughed.
“Good, but what would you be doing now, this afternoon after the press conference, what do you think the officers were assigned to do?” Pink pushed him.
“I’m sure they were back in all three neighborhoods going door to door interviewing people, trying to draw information out of neighbors that think they don’t know anything. Somewhere out there someone has seen this guy or his car or noticed something out of the ordinary and it’s the officer’s job to drag it out of them. We didn’t think he was selecting his victims at random, however, we think there is some sort of a pattern to his work. We also think he’s a local boy, knows the area and knows his way around. Bottom line, he likes what he is doing and is learning to love it.”
“I’d tend to agree, good work. Okay predators, any questions for Deputy Seymour and company?”
A few questions were offered and discussed but nothing Seymour couldn’t handle. The floor was then given to Tequina and she did the same for the other side of the room. They offered some good suggestions but Ella wanted them to see inside the guy's head. “What is his motivation? Why is he doing this?” she asked.
“We talked about that but couldn’t reach a consensus. Some of us thought he was doing it as some kind of a sexual release but he hasn’t accosted any of the victims, at least not yet. The others think it’s a material thing, like most B amp;E, just looking for items he can steal,” the female student offered.
Pink paced the floor and instructed the young woman to take a seat. “All good ideas and insights, but to be successful at this game you have got to learn to think like a predator. I know it’s kind of creepy, but you have to learn to get inside their head, walk around in their skin and see what makes them tick. You can’t beat a serial predator or killer if you can’t put yourself in his situation. Good work today, I’ve had some fun with this and I hope you have. See you Friday. If you think of anything in regards to this case write it down and we’ll talk about it then.”
Blanche thought for sure she would hear from Beverly Davis sometime throughout the day. By the time she got to work at noon she had still not heard anything and was hoping that perhaps she had found some housing options. That did not seem to be the case, so at lunch she phoned Bev’s cell, but was directed to her voice mail where she left a message. It was unlike her not to return calls, the librarian had been impressed with how quickly she’d helped her in the past and it was a bit troubling for Blanche. She tried to put a positive spin on it, thinking that she must just be busy with other things, closing a deal, but a feeling kept tugging at her that something was not quite right.
It was nothing more than a typical day at work, steady flow of people in and out of the library. The students that normally helped out had the day off. School would be starting soon and they needed the time to shop and register for classes. Although the library seemed quiet, Blanche found herself more on edge than usual. Each patron that walked through the door she sized up as a threat or not. The news from the morning, she suspected, had everyone paying more attention to his or her surroundings. Probably would not have been as big a deal if she had not looked through the material the other night in an effort to help Seymour.
“He must be reveling in this stuff,” she thought, and then realized he would be in to work shortly and her sympathetic nervous system responded. She suddenly felt anxious to see him, her palms were instantly moist, her face felt warm and she detected the slightest increase in her breathing and pulse rate. “What’s the deal?” she thought. “I’m not a school girl any more, for heaven’s sake, get a grip Blanche.”
The rest of the afternoon passed much slower than she would have liked. She looked at her watch often, counting the hours, then minutes, until 6:00 p.m., however, the distraction and her excitement over the arrival of Seymour had eased her tension over the predator, until at half past five, a gentleman walked into the library that gave Blanche pause.
He walked through the entry, waited for the door to close behind him, then just stood and surveyed the library from that vantage point. A straw trilby hat sat atop his head with a red checked band running around the circumference. He was unkempt, dressed in a flowered shirt from the 60’s and a pair of grubby jeans that had not seen the inside of a washing machine for far too long, but it was more than his appearance, something just didn’t feel right to the librarian. As he took in the main floor, eyes moving over every shelf, patron, and finally the main desk, his eyes locked on Blanche and he grinned, noting that the shapely librarian seemed to be staring at him.
“That face, I’ve seen that somewhere before, I know I have.” Her mind went into overdrive, sorting through memory banks in an effort to remember how she knew him. If he’d just take off the darkly tinted glasses she’d have a better idea if she knew him, and there was something odd about his hair, just couldn’t quite put her finger on it but it was somehow unusual. “Or maybe he just has one of those familiar faces,” she ultimately reasoned.
When he finally moved away from the entry and appeared to be browsing, like most people do when they get their bearings, she breathed a sigh of relief. A few minutes later she saw him again, this time ignoring her. His brown shaggy hair was hanging over his ears, as he moved in and out between the shelving units, but not really looking at the titles. She looked at her watch again, quarter till, she’d be glad when Seymour got there. This guy was making her very nervous. He passed by the desk, nodded his head as if to say hello but did not open his mouth, rather moved up the elegant staircase to the second floor. She stared after him wondering what his game was.
At exactly six Seymour burst through the main doors as he always did after a spirited run from the bus stop. Blanche was so relieved to see his smiling face, more than she dared to admit. He acknowledged her from the doorway with a wave and quickly moved to the desk. The anxious librarian scooted from behind the large desk to meet Seymour in the empty space at the bottom of the stairs. She grasped his arm, pulling him close to her, cradling his arm between her breasts as she pulled his ear low enough for her to whisper into.
“I am so glad to see you today,” she quietly spoke, her breath raising the hair on the back of his neck.
He turned his face to look into her eyes, she was beautiful, and having her so close made him feel warm all over. “And I you, is there something wrong?” He could see the worry in her face.
“I don’t know, I’m just a little freaked out by the stuff that is going on, you know The Stalker and all,” she said, not letting go of his arm, her lips moving dangerously close to his. “A guy with a straw hat came in about a half hour ago, kind of gave me the creeps and he’s upstairs doing something, I don’t dare go up and see.”
“Would you like me to take a look?” Seymour offered, wanting to shorten the distance even further and pull her into his arms.
“Could you? It would make me feel so much better if you would just see what he’s up to.”
He loved coming to her rescue, made him feel like her knight in shining armor, but he was sure he’d find the guy just reading a magazine or surfing the net on one of the many computers on the second floor. “Sure, your wish is my command,” he said, bowing before her as if she were a queen.
“Okay, knock it off and get your butt upstairs,” she said, with a girlish grin.
Seymour bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and was gone from Blanche’s view. She returned to the desk and the work she had been putting off all day. A few minutes passed, then a few more, Blanche anxiously looked up the stairs but could see no one. Fifteen minutes later she felt she could wait no longer. “What is taking him so long, it’s not that much space. Must have found him and is having a heart to heart, or — or else…” Her mind ran wild with possibilities. “I’ve got to know,” she thought, anxious and trembling as she started up the stairs.
Half way up, she saw Seymour coming down. He lifted both hands, signifying empty, and met her in the middle of the staircase. “There’s nobody up there, I looked everywhere and then some. You sure he went up there?”
“I definitely saw him go up and it was about 30 minutes ago, I’m sure of it. I guess it’s possible that he came down and left the library when I was distracted, but I really haven’t left the desk.” She thought for a moment, running the past half hour through her mind. “That’s really the only logical explanation, I did step to the back for just a quick minute to get a box of tissues, he must have come down the stairs then and I didn’t notice.” Relieved she again took his arm and led him down the stairs to the desk. “I do appreciate you doing that for me, I’ve been a nervous wreck this afternoon. I feel so much better now that you’re here, thanks.”
“Glad I could help. Can I tell you something, and I hope it doesn’t sound corny to you.” He mustered up the courage to speak from his heart.
“Sure, what’s up?”
“I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m a little awkward around girls, I mean women.”
Blanche interrupted him with a little white lie, “No, no, I don’t think you are.”
“Well I am, anyway, I just wanted to tell you that when I’m with you I don’t feel that way. I feel like I can just be myself and you’ll still like me,” he managed to say, moving his eyes from his feet to her eyes as he expressed himself.
She wanted to pull the young man to her and hug him. She could tell this was difficult for him and she wanted to let him know that she felt the same way, but the words of his mother kept ringing in her ears, “Don’t hurt my son.”
“What I’m trying to say, I guess, is I really like you more than I think you know and I was wondering, and I know we work together and everything, but I was wondering if you would have dinner with me tomorrow night so we could be together someplace other than here,” he said, looking around the library.
Blanche’s heart skipped a beat and she wanted to enthusiastically say yes, but she hesitated for numerous reasons and moved her eyes away from his, as she dipped her chin to her chest. Seymour read the gesture as a no, and was almost sick, until she raised her head with a twinkle in her eyes and a beautiful smile across her lips.
“There is nothing I would like more than to spend an evening with you Seymour, when will you pick me up?”