In addition to seeing patients and participating in what seemed like endless safety preparedness lectures for faculty, staff, and students, I did my best to avoid LaBonte, who glowered at me any time we were within eyeshot of each other.
It was impossible to avoid the Unholy Three, and apparently Jackson had shared his desire to ‘cast’ me with the other two, because they also spent time badgering me to ‘bump into’ various girls in various spots. I drew the line at their cameras entering the medical offices, but there were several times I was ambushed by some of the girls with cameras rolling.
Holmes was on campus frequently, as were Straude and Saunders, though she didn’t drop in to see me. I tried not to allow it to hurt my feelings, with limited success. Why it bothered me I couldn’t say, especially since she was cordial when we ran into each other in the halls. She spent quite a lot of time with Mrs. Hudson; they went to lunch together frequently.
Other than a couple of pleasant and unremarkable nights out with Corey, wherein, despite the protests of the Unholy Three to the contrary, we got no women to pay us any mind but did get to make each other laugh, I spent my spare time looking at my file and my appointment book. Holmes had seen something in them that had set her off and I wanted to figure out what.
Per the papers and my own experience, literally every New London student, member of the faculty and staff, including groundskeepers, delivery people, and all of the Campus Queen crew, had been questioned by now, not just by uniformed officers but the detectives in charge of the case. Some, like LaBonte, several times. Nothing.
The usual suspects at the other colleges and universities in the general area—the fraternities and similar groups—had also been investigated. After the second murder, the police had expanded to include all the colleges in the Los Angeles basin, of which there were many. But nothing had popped, and as near as forensics could tell, none of the murdered girls had gone too far from New London when they’d been taken.
LaBonte was still my number one suspect. The girls would trust him implicitly, meaning he could get them to leave campus alone to meet him somewhere. He was certainly strong enough to overpower them. And if drugs were involved in some way, they’d all be more likely to take them from their coach than anyone else.
I also, per Holmes’ odd request, watched Campus Queen. The premise was that the show’s staff spent time at a lucky college chosen at random. Their goal was to choose a set of ‘beauties of all kinds’ via an overly wrought Secret Invitation process which required total secrecy on the part of the recipient and bizarre stunts just this side of hazing in order to pass the show’s approval stage. All filmed for the entertainment of the viewing public.
Once the girls had accepted the offer, and presumably signed all the consent forms, they were put into a competition with each other to see who would earn the title of Queen and a dream week in an exotic location with an attractive male celebrity chosen probably because he had a movie coming out.
Because the most popular portion of the show was the selection process, the crew followed more than just the girls given invitations, which was why there were on campus so much, capturing ‘live’ footage. They’d been at a college in New York prior to ours, and that was what this season was featuring. Other than making me hate everything about reality TV, there was nothing much of interest.
Corey and I had had drinks and dinner earlier, but he’d taken me back so he could get home in time to watch Campus Queen. He claimed to enjoy the show, which was the only thing about him I didn’t like. But it allowed me to watch my assigned homework. This week’s episode finally ended and, as I turned off the TV, my phone rang. The number had a New York prefix. “Hello, is this Sherlock?”
“Yes. Watson, your hazardous materials pickup is tomorrow, correct?”
“Ah, yes, I believe so. Why? And how did you get my number?”
“You believe or you know? I got your number from Lee. And, where are you?”
“I know. It’s always the first Friday of the month. I’ll complain about the police’s invasion of my privacy later. And I’m at home. Just finished watching that God-awful program you told me to, though I have no idea why. Either why I’m watching or why you told me to. Or why you care about my wastes pickup.”
“You’re alone?”
“Yes. Why?”
She heaved an exasperated sigh. “Why do you think? The game’s afoot and our serial killer is going to strike again. Tonight. If you have a gun, get it ready, and ensure you’re in dark clothing. I’ll be with you in ten minutes or less.” She hung up before I could say anything and without answering any of my questions.
Wondering why I was doing what this woman told me to, I got my gun, ensured it had a full clip, shoved a few other clips into my jacket pocket and clipped my holster onto my waistband. There was a soft sound behind me just as I did so.
I spun around to see Holmes standing there, in a dark grey sweater and jeans, woman’s pea coat—dark grey, of course— hair again pulled back into a ponytail. Like me, she had a gun clipped to the waist of her jeans. Unlike me, she seemed intent, almost excited. I managed not to jump or shout, but just barely. “How did you get in here?”
“Through the window. Which is how we’re also going out. Lock up, but leave your lights on, as if you’re home and having one of your many sleepless nights.” She handed me a pair of goggles. “Night vision. Oh, and please assume we’re in enemy territory and trying to avoid being captured.”
“What? You literally don’t speak to me for over three weeks and then just assume I’m going to head out on some weird adventure with you?” She put a pair of goggles on and I followed suit.
“So sensitive. I’ll remember that. And I’m sorry I wounded your feelings. I was working, as were you. Unlike some people, I don’t feel the need to see someone every waking moment to reassure myself of affinity.” We crawled out the way she’d come in.
“How do you know I have insomnia? And yes, fine, I’ll be stealthy. And stop complaining.”
“Good. I could explain my cleverness,” she said in a low voice, “but I know because I’ve been watching the school at night for the past three weeks. None of you have the first idea of what security actually means. There are twenty uniformed officers stationed all over, and yet the entire student body, all of the Campus Queen crew, and half of the staff are doing their level best to ensure that the police never see them coming or going. It’s as if everyone wants to be the next victim.”
“Well, you’re having us avoid them, too; at least, I assume that’s why we left via my rear window.”
We were walking up the hill, towards the dorms, though we were off the paths or main road, moving through the foliage. I’d been trained in how to move without making noise or being seen, as well as how to speak softly enough to be heard by those right next to me and no one else, and I was good at it. The night vision goggles helped tremendously, of course, but if I was good, Holmes was a master. Barring us setting off a motion detector or stepping on an animal, no one would know we were around.
“I’m working for the police, and I’m trying to catch a killer. It’s a tad different.”
“Why are you having me back you up? I mean, I assume that’s why I’m here.”
“Why do you think?”
“The only thing I can come up with is that you trust me. While I appreciate that, I have no idea why you do.”
She sighed. “You see, but you don’t observe. That’s the problem with most people, honestly. However, despite what you may think, we have a lot in common, you and I. We’re both avoiding family we love but don’t like, we’re both loners who don’t actually like being alone, and we’re both protectors. Plus, you speak English properly and you have no idea how refreshing that is.”
We reached the point where we should have turned to get to the dorms, but Holmes kept on going, towards the back of the school.
“Ah. Well, alright then. Speaking of which, shouldn’t we be trying to protect whomever
you think is the next intended victim? As in going into the dorms?”
“No. The idiot will come directly to him. By personal invitation.”
“Then why are we skulking about?”
“Because I need our killer to firmly believe I’m nowhere around and that you’re sitting home alone, making yourself the perfect patsy. You need a roommate.”
“David’s already suggested it. I don’t have a car, however. And you think the killer is trying to frame me? Why?”
“I don’t think, I know. And as for why? Because the killer is doing all of this to hurt you.”
“That’s insane.”
“Most serial killers are.”
“Why would you even think that?”
“Because after we remove the obvious connections of school and athletics, the only thing that the murdered girls have in common is that they all visited you and died a month later.”
“If you know who it is, why isn’t he under arrest?”
“Knowing and proving, Watson, are not the same thing. I’ve already searched and found nothing definitive. If I couldn’t find it, the police won’t, either, and a search warrant would just mean he goes to ground. Right now the only advantage we have is that he doesn’t know that I suspect him.”
“But you said you searched his home or wherever.”
“I did. When I search, you don’t know I’ve done so unless I want you to know.”
“Ah. You’ve searched my rooms, haven’t you?”
“Invading your privacy, one day at a time.”
We reached the main trail that connected the school to the mountains behind. It was there for the fire department, and truly more of a dirt road. There was a main dump about a mile away, and those trucks occasionally used this part of the trail road as well. Sometimes hunters also accessed it. But mostly it was used by our track team for training.
“Are you going to tell me who you suspect?” I whispered, as Holmes once again kept us off the main track and in the foliage.
“I was rather hoping you’d figured it out,” she replied in kind. “You have all the information I do. More, really.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“Well, maybe that’s not a surprise. He’s a clever one, Watson, make no mistake. As clever as he is punctual. But we’re going to be more clever.”
Before I could respond to this, Holmes put her finger to her lips and pulled me down. I heard the sound of someone running. A girl jogged right past us on the path. She had something white in her hand.
I put my mouth to Holmes’ ear. “That’s Alisa.”
She nodded, then nudged me. We followed Alisa, still staying off the main road. The trail forked and she went to the left, meaning she was heading for the dump. The goggles were a blessing—we were having to move quickly to keep her in view, and we wanted to remain unseen.
Alisa wasn’t trying to go too fast, and we reached the dump in about six minutes. As she neared the entrance, car headlights flashed three times. Alisa headed for them.
“Hurry, Watson,” Holmes said, as she took off running.
I’d been fine with all the exertion and the slow jog we’d been at. But my injury didn’t allow me to sprint with ease. And Holmes was absolutely sprinting. If LaBonte wasn’t the killer, he’d want to see if she’d be willing to take a course as a returning student just to get her onto the team.
I lost sight of Holmes, but could still see Alisa and the car she was heading for. The car door opened and someone got out, but he stayed behind the door and I couldn’t tell who it was, only that, judging by his build, this wasn’t LaBonte.
Alisa ran over to him and handed him the white thing she was holding. He stepped around the back of the car, went to the other side, and opened the passenger door. This side was near a pile of garbage that had what looked like a tarp against it.
As Alisa was between the door and the garbage, he grabbed her. I still couldn’t tell who he was. Alisa’s mouth opened to scream, but he stuffed something in it, backhanded her face, and shoved her down, hard, onto the tarp. He was on her in a moment.
And then Holmes was on him.
She body-slammed him off Alisa and they rolled, which put them into the glow of the car’s headlights. They struggled for what seemed like forever, while I ran in what truly seemed like slow motion. He landed some good hits, but Holmes landed more, and she was clearly the more experienced grappler. He tried to hold onto her, but Holmes was able to shove him off and away. She scrambled to her feet and managed a good roundhouse to his head as he tried to stand up. He went down, but got back up again. And he had a gun in his hand. I looked— it was Holmes’.
I had no time to be shocked that she’d let her gun be taken away. I was too busy being shocked by who was in front of me.
There was no time to think, really. He wasn’t going to grandstand. He was going to shoot Holmes dead with her own gun, wipe it, and then still rape and murder Alisa. So I didn’t think. I did what I’d done before, in Afghanistan. I emptied the clip into him.
“NICELY DONE, WATSON, thank you,” Holmes said a little breathlessly, as I reached them and she shoved her gun away from his hand and then retrieved it. “Can you please check on Alisa? I don’t think he had time to drug her, but he did have time to hit her.”
“I’m okay,” Alisa said, sounding shaky, as she joined us. “I thought...”
“That you were the next Campus Queen contestant,” Holmes said. “Yes, I know. You’ve had that invitation for a week, haven’t you?”
Alisa nodded. “I got it last Friday.”
“And you managed not to tell anyone, because if you had, it was goodbye to your shot on Campus Queen. It was brilliant, really. A tour de force example of utilizing all the elements available to you.”
“He’s a murdering rapist,” Alisa snapped.
“Always appreciate intelligence, young lady. It will help you, in your later life. Which you’re lucky to be able to look forward to having. And strictly speaking, he was a murdering rapist; now, he’s a dead monster.”
I flipped the man over, to be sure. I stared, still shocked. David Corey’s glassy eyes stared back at me. “David? But... why? And how?”
Holmes was on her phone. “Yes. Yes, the pharmaceuticals rep. Right, the dump. Yes, thank you, the sooner the better.” She hung up. “Lee’s on his way. Why is simple, Watson. I already told you. He was doing this to hurt you.”
“Why me?”
“You had what he wanted. A medical degree from an extremely impressive university, a job with all those lovely single ladies—none of whom were giving him the time of day, other than when they were waiting to see you—and a hero’s reputation.”
“But... he was my friend. He wanted to room together.”
“No, he was a psychopath who’d created a dangerous and unnatural fixation on you. He wanted to ensure you didn’t somehow take a roommate before he could complete his killing spree and frame-up, because you having an alibi would ruin his plans. Per Mrs. Hudson, Mr. Corey had applied for the position you ended up filling, but since his degree in medicine was from an unaccredited college, New London refused his application.”
“He always visited me the day of my hazardous wastes pickup.”
“Yes, and always took the time to speak to Howard, who is a nice man, though not a very observant one. The used condoms were therefore tossed into a hazardous waste bin, meaning they weren’t going to be found.”
“Did he bring all the girls to the dump to attack them?”
“Most likely. Because of Campus Queen, all the girls were prepared to get bizarre and highly suspicious invitations to go someplace remarkably dangerous alone and, also because of the show’s secrecy policy, without telling a single living soul about it. In other words, he had an open field of choices and an easy way to fool them. Rape and murder her at the dump on a clean tarp, wrap her in heavy duty plastic when done, dispose of the tarp somewhere at the next dump area, transport the girl’s dead body to a r
andom site, and move on to the next.”
“So forensics would only find the tarp traces, nothing else. What about the steroids?”
“That was done to implicate you and LaBonte both, just in case you had a clear alibi. LaBonte wants to win, and all the girls know it. It wouldn’t take a lot to suspect he’d had them juicing, or used it as a way to get them to a secluded place alone. Corey here had access to drugs.” She shrugged. “And for all we know, framing LaBonte was his backup plan. I’m sure he had one. At least one.”
“This car, it isn’t his.”
“He only came to New London in his company car. This one is his personal car that he kept in a garage nowhere near his house. A garage that doesn’t require a code for entry, by the way, just a key. And has no video surveillance.”
“How did you find all this out? You’d had to have had suspicions earlier than today.”
“I knew he was the killer when I met you,” Holmes said. “Howard was a possibility, of course. Only those two were here only at the day and time when one of the murdered girls visited you. You pointed that out to me,” she said to Alisa, as the sound of police sirens reached us. “So thank you.”
“Oh, my God; no, thank you.” Alisa heaved a shuddering sigh. “So, I’m not a Campus Queen candidate after all, am I?”
“You will be,” Holmes said. “I’ve already arranged it. Under the circumstances, I can guarantee that Mister Jackson will have you.”
“You have? Why?” Alisa sounded as shocked as I felt.
Holmes shrugged. “I’m something of a reality TV addict. You gave me the one clue I needed. I’d like to both thank you for that, and have someone I know personally to root for.”
Alisa gaped, then flung her arms around Holmes. “You’re so awesome!”
As they hugged, Holmes caught my eye. She was once again trying not to laugh. “Happier about landing a spot on the show than being alive. Ah, Southern California.”
The police arrived before I could comment.
Two Hundred and Twenty-One Baker Streets Page 25
