Lester rolled out of bed early, fixed himself some pancakes and eggs, while thinking about the day ahead of him. Monday mornings were no different for him than any other day of the week, but for most, it meant the beginning of a long workweek and the grind of day-to-day living. He suspected it might prove to be a bad day for some, a very bad day indeed. He sat before his television set and watched the morning news while he ate his breakfast. His thoughts wandered back to yesterday and his encounter with the officer and her mutt. After this morning he hoped to no longer be a blip on their radar. The newscaster talked of a few national items before she turned her attention to the unfortunate shooting at The Dixie Diner. The police had not released any information, other than a brief statement, indicating the shooting was most likely drug related, and the department had assigned a couple of senior detectives to the case.
“Maybe I’ll be able to give them a hand,” he mused to himself.
He looked outside to see what the weather had in store, overcast and a thick layer of misty fog hung low to the ground. The weather would certainly create problems for him if it didn’t clear up before he started shooting pictures. The camera, with large lens, still went into the backpack, as well as two old, textbooks and lastly, the stolen.38 caliber pistol that he’d used to shoot Jasper, the spent shell casing still held within the cylinder of the gun.
The perpetrator tried to remember what students were wearing on campus these days. He settled on a logo emblazoned t-shirt, blue jeans, with an appropriate number of holes in them, sandals, and a windbreaker, in case some rain blew in off the ocean. Lester stood in front of the mirror, assuring himself that he looked the part, pulled a ball cap from his bedpost to complete the ensemble, and left his home for Valdosta University.
“First things first,” he thought, after arriving at the campus.
The university was already quite busy with students hurriedly moving from one building to the next. By the time he’d arrived, the fog had all but lifted, burning off with the arrival of the sun. He removed his light jacket and stuffed it into the backpack, trying to blend in as much as possible. Over the years, he had spent some time on the old campus, great place to look at girls, but times had certainly changed, most young women wore sheer blouses or tight T’s, and in some cases a swimsuit top instead of a shirt.
“I think I’m going to enjoy today,” he said to himself, as he studied the layout of the central grassy area outside the library.
Some students, near the library, were congregating on blankets spread out on the dew-covered grass, eating donuts and drinking coffee. Lester located a pay phone just outside the library doors, looked at his watch and the number he had written across the palm of his left hand. He dialed.
A familiar voice answered the phone at the other end. “Good morning, Valdosta Public Library, how can I help you?” Blanche said.
“Hi, yeah, I was in there last week and a really nice guy helped me find a couple of books, and he said to call if I thought of anything else I needed. Anyway, I was wondering if I could speak to him.”
“Do you remember his name? We have a number of students that help us out.”
“No I don’t, but it was in the evening and he’s about six feet tall, kind of thin, brown hair,” he described him, trying not to be too specific.
“Okay, that would be Seymour.”
“Right, right, ah Seymour ah……,” he waited for her to fill in the blank.
“Wood, Seymour Wood. He’s not working this morning, only works a couple of nights a week. Can I take a message for him?” she said, trying to be helpful.
“No, I’ll just drop by the library later and talk to him. When does he work next?”
“I don’t think he works again until tomorrow night, but I’d be happy to help you if you wanted to come in today, I’ll be here until 6:00 p.m. and my name is Miss Delaney.”
“Thanks for the offer, you wouldn’t happen to have a phone number for Seymour would you?” he pressed for that last bit of information he needed.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have his permission to provide those specifics over the phone, but like I said he’ll be here tomorrow night.”
“Okay, well thanks anyway. Have a good day, bye.”
Lester pulled the phone book from underneath the payphone and looked through it until he came to the W’s, 132 listings for Wood. That would take all morning and he didn’t have enough change to make that many calls. He thought a moment before picking up his bag and heading to the administration building.
The line to the reception desk was short. As he waited, he could see a half dozen women tapping away on keyboards situated behind the main reception desk, each with a name placard displayed prominently on their desk. A large clock hung on the wall over a bank of windows that were open, allowing a slight breeze to drift through the office. The woodwork and building itself were turn of the century but the remainder of the office was state of the art, with computers, servers, and monitors galore.
He finally made his way to the front of the line where a young woman, most likely a college student, greeted him. “Good mornin’, what can I do for you'?” she said, with a delicate Southern drawl.
“I’m looking for a friend of mine, we were supposed to meet by the library this morning, but I’ve missed him. I was wondering if you could tell me what class he might be in right now,” he said persuasively, leaving his hat and sunglasses on.
“The name please?”
“Oh, right, Seymour Wood.”
“Thanks.” She went through a number of keystrokes, waited only momentarily before looking at her watch, then back to the screen. “Okay, let’s see here, looks to me like Mr. Wood should just about be finishing up his racquetball class over at the gym. If you hurry you might be able to catch him there.”
“Thanks so much. How would I get there from here?” he asked.
She handed him a map and used a well-manicured nail to trace out the path to the gymnasium.
Lester sprinted across the campus, dodging coed’s as he went. He couldn’t miss his opportunity this morning; the last thing he wanted was for that deputy to show up with a warrant. He had to make it happen this morning, without fail. The gym was a large, prominent structure in the northern part of the campus. It took him almost five minutes to get there, moving as quickly as he dared, without sending up too many alarms. He was glad to see that he was not the only one running, looked like being late was not uncommon.
Once at the gym he looked around but with no obvious signage he finally asked a student where the racquetball courts were. He had little trouble finding them once he was pointed in the right direction. The time on his watch showed just before 10:00 a.m., he knew his chances were slipping away with every tick of the clock. The courts were laid out, side-by-side, with glass enclosures and seating at the end for spectators. He could hear footsteps and the squeaking of gym shoes on wooden floors, racquetballs being slammed against walls, and the occasional grunt from tired participants. Lester walked along the back of each unit, peering inside to see if he could recognize Seymour, he appeared to be gone. As he contemplated his next option a glass door opened and two young women stepped out from the closest racquetball court.
“Hey, you don’t happen to know a Seymour Wood do you? He’s a friend of mine, thought I might catch up with him here.” He was sure he was playing the role successfully.
“For sure, he just finished up, probably in the locker room over there.” The plain one pointed.
Lester moved quickly to the locker area and scanned the rows of grey lockers, looking for his target. On the fourth aisle in, he finally saw him standing, talking with another student, his racquet dangling from his wrist, t-shirt pulled off, and draped over his shoulder. Sweat glistened from his upper body. Lester watched the young man take the shirt from his shoulder and wipe the sweat from his face. The assailant sat his backpack on a bench that extended along the front of each bank of lockers. A central walkway provided a gap of five feet, in between the lockers themselves, each extending from the floor to about the top of Seymour’s head. Other students moved between the lockers and showers before getting dressed.
Wanting to observe Seymour more closely he walked down the row of lockers until he stood directly behind the chatting friends. He opened a locker without a paddle lock and slid the backpack inside, took off his shoes, and laid them on the floor in front of the locker. He could hear the two behind him winding up their conversation and exchanging goodbyes, it had to be now. Lester reached for the outside of the backpack, looked down the row of lockers, in both directions, before he unzipped a pocket and reached inside, felt what he needed, pulled it from the pack and slowly turned around.
Seymour stood before him, only a few feet separating the two. Lester took the pencil and paper in his hands and waited while he looked over Seymour’s shoulder, noting the locker number, and writing it down. Again he checked to see that he was not being watched. Seymour reached for the lock that secured the locker, quickly dropped it, letting it clang against the metal locker door before wiping the sweat from his eyes again, with the stained shirt. He took the paddle lock in hand and spun the dial, right 16, left 9, right 27, the mechanism released the small bolt and access was granted. Lester immediately turned around, repeating the three numbers in his head, sat on the bench looking into his own locker, and wrote the combination down before slipping the paper into his pants pocket. Normally he would not have needed the written copy as a back up, but today there could be no mistakes. He desperately wanted to look over his shoulder to see what Wood’s was up to, but he dared not, instead he tried to make himself look busy by pulling the books from his backpack, and thumbing through one of them. Once Seymour was off to the showers, he stuffed the items back into the bag, put his shoes back on, and walked from the locker area, but he didn’t go far.
A couple of benches were conveniently located just outside the main doors of the gym, offering a perfect place for Lester to wait for Seymour to exit the building. Fifteen minutes passed before the lanky student emerged, books in hand, backpack over a shoulder, and in a hurry to get to his next class. Lester watched him move across the campus until he was sure he would not be coming back.
Now standing in front of locker number 1137, his bag on the floor next to him after removing and putting on his gloves, he spun the dial on the lock, 16-9-27, it opened. The cautious plotter again looked for any sign of trouble before opening the locker and checking out the contents. A white towel hung from one of three metal hooks on the sidewall. From the other two, hung his jockstrap, shorts and smelly t-shirt. Seymour’s wet socks lay in the bottom of the locker on top of a pair of Nike sport shoes. Toward the top, a small shelf separated the locker into two compartments, the top being quite small, but room enough for personal items and toiletries. A clean t-shirt, socks, and trunks were situated behind the deodorant on the shelf.
Lester reached into a secure pocket on the inside of his bag and felt for the.38 he’d put there earlier. The feel of the cold steel sent a thrill through him as he considered the results of his next move. Again, he looked side-to-side, content that no one was around; he removed the revolver from its hiding place and held it inside the locker. He wrapped the towel that hung there around the gun, being sure to wipe every surface, before he moved the gun to the top shelf, and carefully slid it under the clothing that was there. Confident that he had not overlooked anything, he closed the locker, replaced the lock, spun the dial to secure it, and left the building.
He chuckled to himself the entire distance walking back to the library. This was going better than he could have ever imagined. He did not believe in luck, but he could see his destiny with Blanche laid out before him. Lester returned to the same pay phone he had used earlier to speak to the librarian.
“9-1-1, what is the nature of your emergency?”
“I’m a student at the University, and I think I just saw another student with a gun.”
“Who am I speaking with and are you sure it was a gun, sir?”
“Yeah, I’m sure it was a gun, but I’d rather not use my name.”
“Okay, but do you know the name of the student you saw, and can you describe the gun?”
“I thought I heard somebody call him Seymour, but I could be wrong. I don’t know much about guns, but it was a handgun, not the kind with a clip, I think they call it a revolver, was silver with a brown handle.”
“Sir, if you could just…..” the operator noted the line going dead as the caller hung up. The dispatch system correctly identified the call coming from the campus of Valdosta University.
Mrs. Wild’s class was anxious to hear from the tiny deputy that sat at the front of the lecture hall, her companion, Otis, at her feet. The shepherd eyed each student as they went from the door to their seat, occasionally wagging his tail. Natalie sat quietly waiting for the instructor to arrive, not saying anything, but nervously waiting for the task to be completed. She'd gotten little sleep the night before, Lester Cummings occupying most of her waking thoughts. As soon as she completed her morning assignment the duo would be tracking down the old farmer and taking a detailed statement.
A few minutes before class started at 10:30 a.m., a winded Seymour Wood walked through the door and stopped when he saw the officer and Otis. For a second, he thought he was in the wrong room, until he looked into the seats and saw familiar faces. As he walked passed Deputy Guest, he knelt down on one knee and allowed Otis to smell his hand, before scratching the shepherd with Natalie's permission.
"What's his name?" he asked.
"Otis, but he'll answer to Dopey too," she said, smiling at the handsome student that looked about her age.
"Looks like you'll be speaking to us today. Ya nervous?" Seymour said, smiling back at the attractive deputy.
"No more than I am when responding to a 'shots fired' call," Natalie joked, enjoying the opportunity to take her mind off the lecture.
"I'll bet, I'm sure you'll do fine. Bye the way, I'm Seymour and you are… Deputy Guest," he said, looking for the nametag pinned to her uniform.
"Yeah, Natalie to my family, nice to meet you Seymour. Take it easy on me down here today, will ya?"
"I'll see what I can do," he said, giving Otis one last pat before finding a seat among his peers.
Pink showed up a few minutes later, introduced herself to Deputy Guest, and accepted the apology on behalf of the Sheriff, understanding that he was a busy man. She brought the class to order and made some announcements in regards to final exams and marks, before introducing the speaker and her canine companion.
Natalie took center stage before the young crowd and began by explaining why she wanted to join the Sheriff's Department, the criteria and prerequisites that were necessary, and what her experience had been since joining the force. A nervous tremor altered her speech pattern, but improved as she caught her rhythm. Mrs. Wild was impressed with the young officer and opened the floor for questions once Natalie completed her prepared remarks. Otis continued to be unimpressed, however, patiently waiting at the feet of Mrs. Wild while his handler answered questions from the students.
Seymour raised his hand, and spoke, when Natalie acknowledged him. "Can you tell us where the investigation stands with The Stalker and the recent crime wave?"
"I can't give you a lot of specifics but I can say that we are making headway. A profile is emerging of our perp, and I've been authorized to release the following details to you, in an effort to enlist your help in getting the word out. We believe our man is Caucasian, approximately six feet tall, is right handed and has access to a dirt bike styled motorcycle. He's most likely either living on, or raised on a farm, and is getting more bold and taking greater risks with each new crime."
"There was some talk that it's somehow linked to the Manson Family, is that true?" a girl in the first row asked.
"Some of the evidence has pointed to that, as you've read in the papers, but we don't think there is a direct link with the actual followers of Charles Manson," the deputy clarified for the young lady.
"What would you say to single women about protecting yourself against such a threat?" the same young woman asked.
"That's a perfect question for me to conclude with today and I'll turn the time back to your teacher, I understand she teaches a self-defense course and could give more details than I could about protecting yourself. I will say that buying a gun is probably not the best alternative; too many people accidentally shoot themselves, or a loved one. If you are going to own a firearm, take the necessary instruction to be able to use it wisely. Thanks for letting Otis, and I, speak with you today."
Lester sat in the middle of the grassy area outside the library, with his camera mounted on a miniature, portable monopod, allowing him maximum flexibility and stability for using the large telephoto lens. It had been less than five minutes since he called 911 when the first Valdosta Police squad car arrived. The patrol car rolled up with lights, but no siren, and parked near the administration office. Lester began shooting pictures; he wanted to document this day to enjoy for days and years to come. Suddenly there was a buzz of activity, just under the surface, that could have easily been overlooked, but the amateur photographer knew what he was looking for. Campus Security started popping up all around the area, each armed with a nightstick and Glock 9mm at his or her hip. Two more city police cruisers rolled into the parking lot from where Lester could see them, he suspected there were others at various points around the campus, out of his view.
Before long, the first two officers that entered the administrative wing were now leaving the building, along with a couple campus security personnel. The four men split into groups of two and walked in opposite directions, each headed for a different building. The instigator could hardly contain himself, this was better than any live sporting event he had ever attended. The first pair headed the same direction that he had last seen Seymour moving. He spun and positioned himself to be prepared when they emerged with their catch.
Mrs. Wild was just taking back the lead in her room, when a Valdosta City Police Officer, stuck his head in the door and asked to speak with her. Noting the deputy in the room, he waved for her to join them as well, just outside the classroom doors. The officer was obviously running on adrenalin, he spoke in quick, short sentences; his cheeks were flush and he was sweating slightly. The accompanying security officer looked scared 'shitless', pale as a sheet, and hardly able to put together a coherent sentence.
"Mrs. Wild, we have a bit of a situation and we could use your help, and yours too deputy," the officer said, addressing the two women. "We received a 911 call this morning reporting a student was seen on campus with a handgun."
"Do we know who or where?" Natalie chimed in.
"The caller identified the probable student as Seymour, but that is all. We've identified, through the school administrative office, that there are only three Seymour’s enrolled in the summer semester, and one of them is in your class, Mrs. Wild. We've sent other officers to locate the other two possibilities, but we need to talk to this Seymour Wood. We'd like to do this as calmly and securely as possible so we don't end up with anyone getting hurt," the policeman said.
"I can't imagine that Seymour would be packing a weapon on campus. I know this young man, he is an excellent student and will, one day, very likely, be serving with one of you." Pink found it beyond belief that Seymour could be the one they were looking for.
"I can't say I know this guy, but a Seymour did introduce himself to me before class this morning, and as a matter of fact, he was the only one to do so, he also seemed more than interested in The Stalker case. Officer, let me see if I can talk to him and get him to come out here, so we can process him without making a big scene in the classroom," Officer Guest suggested, noting that the security guard was nodding in agreement, happy that somebody else would be assuming the risk.
"That's fine, if you think he will respond to you, I'll come in with you in case we need any extra fire power."
"Good. Mrs. Wild do you think you should come with us?" Guest asked.
"I most certainly do! It's my class and those students and their safety are my responsibility. I don't want anybody hurt on my watch. Natalie lead the way," Pink said, squaring her shoulders and following the deputy into the room.
The room instantly hushed when the officers and Pink returned, Otis on edge, feeling the energy from the humans. Natalie walked the distance to where Seymour sat, leaned down with her right hand on her service weapon, and whispered into his left ear.
"Seymour, I need you to come with me for a minute, we need to talk with you outside."
He was startled, assuming the worst, "What's happened to my mom? Is she okay? Has there been an accident?"
Natalie detected sincere surprise and concern in his voice, not what she expected from someone carrying a concealed weapon. "No, I'm sure she's fine, we just need to ask you a few questions out in the hall, so if you'll just come with me."
"Sure, sure, no problem, but my family is okay, is that what you are saying?"
He followed Officer guest and the other officer out of the doors. Mrs. Wild stayed behind to calm the class. Once outside, the patrolman asked Seymour for his backpack and sat it aside.
"Seymour Wood?"
"Yes, I'm Seymour Wood. What's going on?"
"We have a report that a student named Seymour; brought a handgun on campus with them today and we are investigating that complaint. Do I have permission to search your person and your backpack?" the officer asked.
"Yeah, please do. I don't have a gun, only gun we've got is an old single shot my dad use to hunt with."
The officer instructed Guest to pat Seymour down while he searched through the backpack. Natalie had him stand against the wall and spread his feet and place his hands behind his head. She carefully moved her hands over his arms, waist, pockets, and anywhere she felt a weapon could be concealed. The young officer wished the exercise was under more favorable circumstances but found no hidden weapons. Likewise, the backpack contained school supplies, textbooks and binders, but no gun.
Natalie was relieved to see that the engaging, handsome man she'd met earlier, did not appear to be the subject in question. She asked, "Do you have a car here Seymour?"
"Nah, I take the bus."
"And you do not own any firearms, is that correct?" she asked again.
"How about a locker on campus, you got one?" the security guard jumped in with a pertinent question.
"It's not an assigned locker, but I keep one over at the gym for my racquetball class," Seymour informed them, unconcerned.
"Would you mind showing us that locker?"
"No problem, can I have my backpack?" he asked.
The four walked together, departed the Robert E. Lee building, and headed for the gym. Lester was thrilled to see the student surrounded by three armed officials and headed for the gym. He took picture after picture trying to be casual about it. When the group was a good fifty yards beyond his location, he picked up his things and moved to a vantage point outside the gym, where he could get some classic pictures of Seymour in handcuffs.
Seymour stood in front of locker 1137; it appeared just as he had left it an hour before.
"When did you last access this locker Seymour?" Natalie asked.
"I had racquetball last period, so just over an hour ago. I came here right after the matches, showered and dressed, locked it up and went to Mrs. Wild's class, where I met you."
"That's fine, just open the locker for us and you can get back to your classes," she assured him.
He spun the dial on the lock, like he'd done a hundred times before, but the mechanism did not open. Seymour laughed nervously, looking back at the officers, as he tried the combination again, this time it opened easily, and he pulled the lock from the locker and stepped aside, "Take a look for yourself, just my sweaty gym stuff."
Natalie deferred to the city patrolman, as she was actually outside her jurisdiction. The city officer opened the locker and noted, just as Seymour had indicated, that it appeared to be gym accessories. He looked through the items at the bottom and acknowledged, along with Officer Guest, that the shoes were Nike's. Changing his attention to the upper shelf, nothing seemed out of place. He withdrew a pen from his shirt pocket and lifted the clothing behind the deodorant so he could see underneath. Seymour stood at such an angle that he could not see into the locker, but was not worried, knowing there was nothing there.
"Seymour Wood, I'm placing you under arrest for bringing a firearm onto a state-run university. Other charges are likely to follow, but please turn around and place your hands behind your back."
Natalie was just as shocked as Seymour, "What you got officer?" she asked, as he cuffed Seymour.
He pushed Seymour over to the campus cop, as if he were to watch him then returned to the locker, and lifted the clean clothing, again with the pen, revealing to Guest the silver revolver underneath. She took a pair of white gloves from her rear pocket, put them on, and removed the gun from the hiding place, a Smith amp; Wesson.38 Special. Natalie lifted the barrel to her nose, a faint smell of gunpowder indicated the gun had been fired sometime recently. Looking into the cylinder, she could see the weapon was loaded.
"Seymour, where did you get this gun and have you fired it recently?" she asked.
"I swear, I've never seen that gun before. How could it have gotten there? I don't even know…." he said, not believing what was happening. "Isn't it obvious that somebody put that there for you to find?"
"Seymour, it's going to go way better for you if you cooperate with us now, and tell us everything you know," the patrolman said.
"But I am cooperating! I have no idea how that got there! I've never seen it before!"
Natalie suddenly got a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach, "Hold on a minute, give me a sec to call in to the Sheriff, okay?" she asked the arresting officer.
"Sure, knock yourself out," he replied.
She keyed the microphone at her shoulder and reached dispatch, "This is Deputy Guest, can you get 'The Wolf' on the horn." A moment later the Sheriff was at the other end.
She explained the situation, the finding of the gun and the arrest of Seymour Wood, and then asked, "Do you remember the make and model of that pistol that was taken from the third of our break-ins?"
"Yup, Smith amp; Wesson.38 Special, why? What you got there?" he asked, excitement unmistakable in his voice.
"The same. I'll go with the officers to booking, then call to get the serial, see if this is really our guy," Natalie said.
"What do you mean, ‘really your guy’? What the hell are you talking about? That is not my gun!" Seymour blurted out, almost in tears.
"Good work Guest, call me when you get there," the Sheriff concluded.
Seymour was read his rights, and the trio again moved together, Seymour in cuffs and the gun being carried by Natalie in a gloved hand. Forensics had been phoned to process the locker, and the campus security individual had been left to secure the site, until they arrived. Lester was absolutely overcome with emotion when he saw the three depart from the gymnasium, click, click, the shutter working quickly. With Seymour, his competition out of the way, almost certainly for an extended period of time, there was nothing more for Lester to do but go home and make the final preparations for his departure with Blanche.
Seymour sat in the back of the squad car, a tear running down his cheek, not understanding what had just happened, but desperately needing someone that would just believe him. He needed to speak with Blanche.