“Detective Rime,” Sarah answered as the phone hit her ear. She couldn’t help but think how alien that still sounded to her. Not long ago she was still an officer in the city, now she is three hours north of her home and the lead detective on some crazy murder.
“Rime, where are you?” The deep voice of Captain Harrison pulsed into her ear.
“I’m just leaving the coroner, picked up some evidence from the body.” She wondered if this was how Harrison normally did things, checking in every ten minutes with all his officers, or just the new ones. Would she have to spend her career as a detective being micromanaged? That shit isn’t going to last she thought.
“The media has been on my ass all morning about this case. Now the mayor keeps calling to see what kind of resources and support we are utilizing to wrap this up.”
“What kind of resources do I have?” Sarah figured it was a legitimate question.
“I’m glad you asked.” She could almost hear Captain Harrison smirk through the phone. “Have you ever been to St. Webster’s College? It’s about fifteen minutes west of town. I want you to take a ride out there today.”
Sarah paused for a second. “Captain, I finished my Criminal Justice courses years ago. I don’t think hanging with co-eds and chugging a few beers on a Monday afternoon is going to help the investigation.” Although a beer did sound appealing at the moment.
“Shut up for a minute and listen,” he continued. “They have a professor there who used to be a hell of an FBI Profiler. Now he teaches Criminology and Profiling courses over at the school.”
He waited for an argument and when Sarah stayed quiet, he resumed. “I want you to run this case by him. I have already called ahead for you and let him know you are coming. I had to really pull some strings to convince him.”
“Convince him? Listen, Captain, if this Profiler guy—”
“Booker. His name is August Booker.”
“Whatever, I just don’t think we need to beg some guy to chime in on my case. I haven’t even had a chance to start investigating yet.”
“I get it,” Harrison sounded a bit more authoritarian now. “The case is still yours, but even if Booker doesn’t add to anything, the fact that we consulted with an ex-FBI agent will keep the media wolves at bay. And, more importantly, it’ll keep the mayor from calling me every ten minutes.”
“Yeah, that can be annoying.”
“What?” Harrison snapped.
“Nothing,” Sarah replied. “Fine. As long as it’s clear that I’m the one in charge of this case, I’ll head over and see what this Fed can tell us that we don’t already know.”
Chapter 4- Back to School
St. Webster’s was your typical private college. Nestled into the outskirts of Berksville, the campus was landscaped with green pine trees, most likely Sarah thought, to better survive the Upstate New York winters. The bright blue and orange colored signs emblazed with the St. Webster’s logo were placed conveniently throughout campus, to keep new students and visitors from getting lost. Her motorcycle slid effortlessly through the well-maintained streets. Just passed an intimidating stone chapel, the road dumped off into a large parking lot, full of what appeared to be student cars. Slowing the bike to a stop, Sarah sat straight up and removed her helmet to get a good look around.
As Sarah was getting her bearings, the distinct hum of an electric golf cart filled her ears. Turning, she saw a security guard riding up through the parking lot.
“Can I help you?” The rotund sentry asked as the cart came to an abrupt stop.
“Detective Rime” Sarah fished the badge out from under her leather jacket and flashed it at the officer. “Berksville PD.”
“How can I help you, Detective?” The guard sat up straight and attempted to put on his most professional façade, clearly a little surprised and intimidated.
“I’m looking for Lincoln Hall? I seemed to have been turned around in your maze of perfectly hedged roadways.” She let out a bit of a laugh to try and seem approachable.
Happy to be the perfect man for the job, the guard let loose an oversized smile. “No problem detective, you were almost there.” He pointed two buildings further in the direction she had been heading. “It’s the second one on the left. There should be visitor parking right near the doors.”
Sarah nodded in appreciation and slipped her helmet back over her head. Three minutes later, she was hopping off the bike and heading for the doors of the cement and metal structure—a generic postmodern combination that most college academic buildings seem to display. Lincoln Hall was no different.
Sarah nearly got lost as she paced the halls, looking for room 235. Once she realized the two-hundreds were on the second floor, she began to see a slight glimmer of hope. She passed a few kids on their way out of the building, but mostly it was quiet.“Room 235,” she stated with a slight tone of victory. That was until she tried the handle and found it locked. Huh. She thought. I don’t think I’m that early. Her watch confirmed it. It was 3:58 pm and according to the sweet, older woman at the front office, Professor Booker teaches a class here at 4 pm. As she was fighting the urge to bang the door down, Sarah was interrupted.
“Are you looking for Advanced Criminology?” Sarah turned to see a dark-haired girl, barely five foot tall, bouncing her way down the hall. With each step, her long, dark ponytail swung from side to side like a pendulum. She was wearing a pair of black tights that disappeared into the top of fur-lined boots. Her t-shirt announced in pink letters Cheer or Die!!!
Oh God! Sarah thought, Not an idiot cheerleader. The only thing worse than a cheerleader is a sorority girl, and if this girl is both, I’m in trouble.
Pushing her judgments aside, Sarah said, “The door’s locked. Maybe class was canceled?”
The cheerleader didn’t seem deterred. “No, he’s in there. He gets lost in case files and doesn’t pay attention to the clock.” She handed her large iced coffee to Sarah. “Would you mind holding this?”
Sarah wanted to refuse, but there was a genuine niceness in the girl’s tone. The detective found herself standing in the hallway, holding the cheerleader’s coffee. The petite girl kicked off her boots, revealing her bare feet and perfectly painted purple toenails. Am I being pranked? Sarah thought as she looked around for hidden cameras. Suddenly, the cheerleader leaped up, catching the chair rail with one foot, the doorknob with the other, and then propelled herself even higher. She grasped the exposed sprinkler pipes and hung upside down from them. With her one free hand, she pushed open the transom above the locked door.
“Booker! I’m coming in after you!” And with that brief warning, the nimble young woman disappeared through the small opening.
After hearing her drop to the floor on the other side of the door, Sarah made out the familiar sound of the door unlocking. It swung open, and the smiling cheerleader was already inside, motioning Sarah in. Stepping in, Sarah noticed there was nothing remarkable about the classroom. A number of chairs surrounding small groups of desks throughout the room. At the far end, at a desk full of books and notepads, sat the professor. He was younger than Sarah had expected and more handsome.
Where she had expected a scholarly looking gentleman in his later years, Booker was in his mid to late thirties, having just a touch of gray near his temples, hinting at the world of experience that had caused it. He was also a better dresser than she had assumed. Grey dress pants, with a matching suit vest over a pressed white shirt and blue and green paisley tie looked as though he had been dressed by a magazine editor. Glancing up from the book he was reading, the ex-FBI agent realized he had a guest.
“Professor Booker?” Sarah moved toward the desk but was a little irritated that he made no attempt to get up from the desk. He simply reached out his hand and half attempted to stand from his chair, before returning to his previously held spot.
“Please, Detective Rime, you can call me August, or just Booker.” He cleared a few stacks off the desk so he could clearly see her. “Make yo
urself at home.” Although he wore a welcoming smile, Sarah had this underlying sense that his eyes were analyzing her every body part and motion. She felt as if she were being tested. Suddenly, the door swung open again and two more people came in.
August looked at the clock. “You’re late.” He announced bluntly.
“Well tell grandpa here that he can drive over thirty miles an hour. I swear to God some old lady on a bicycle flew past us.” The first student to respond was a young man, maybe early twenties, slightly darker skin tone. He carried a laptop case and some books.
The young man’s companion was a complete oddity—a man whose deep crevices on his face put him clearly in his seventies, small in stature, wearing jeans, a flannel shirt, and a wool cap set back on his head so that a few gray curls stuck out from the front.
“That’s the problem with all you kids. Always running in such a hurry. You need to slow down and appreciate what you have from time to time,” the old man spoke with a gravelly trait to his voice, as if he had been weathered from his core outward. “Plus you know I’m no damn good without my coffee.” He held up a metal thermos easily older than anyone else in the room. His voice seemed harsh and agitated, but in the middle of his rant, Sarah could swear she saw him give Booker a quick wink.
“Well, everyone is finally here,” Booker addressed all three of the other people in the room. “This is Detective Sarah Rime from the Berksville PD, and I believe she came to ask us for help.” Sarah looked around a bit surprised, especially at the grin on the teacher’s face.
“I came to ask you for help.” Sarah trained her gaze solely on Booker. “I was told you were some super FBI agent.”
“Well, I’m a teacher now, so unless we can turn your case into a teachable moment…”
“I don’t think the manner of the case is appropriate for college kids,” Sarah replied.
“Kids?” the older man grumped.
The young man with the laptop chimed in, “What was the precise manner of death? Decapitation? Exsanguination? Or maybe they were skinned?” He seemed more excited with each possibility.
“Easy Max, take it down a notch,” August said before turning back to Sarah. “These are my three best students, and probably the best profilers in the area. They have spent the last few years studying the cruelest, most disturbed sociopaths in history. They’ll be fine.”
Sarah meant to appeal once again, but the professor cut her off.
“Detective, Marie Curie once said, ‘each of us must work for his own improvement, and at the same time share a general responsibility for all humanity.’ That’s what I’m trying to teach here. Plus, your captain has already given us his approval on it.” He grinned, knowing he had already won the point.
Defeated, Sarah decided not to push the issue. They may be of some help to me anyway, she thought.
It wasn’t until this point that Sarah realized the three others had settled in. The young man Booker had called Max opened his laptop on a desk and was typing away. The cheerleader retrieved her boots but left them off. She was lounging, legs crossed, on an old rocking chair near the professor’s desk, cradling her coffee. And the old man…
“Please let me introduce myself,” he held out a hand that was tanned like his aging face—not like the cheap tans you see from kids in electric beds, or even the spray stuff that is responsible for hordes of Oompa-Loompas on beaches, this man’s hand had the coloring that comes with only years of working outside under the merciless supervision of the sun. “I’m Benjamin Tronski, but most folks just call me Ski.” As soon as Sarah shook his hand, he turned her hand over, and in one unfailing gesture, bowed and kissed her hand.
“Easy, Romeo, I’m on duty.” Although Ski looked like a gruff older man, there was a playfulness in his eyes and a flirtation to his charm. Not as if he were looking to pick Sarah up, she was barely half of his age, but a look that seemed to hint at some secret wisdom or knowledge that he couldn’t share with everyone because they too would have to live it as he had. Ski found a chair next to a table which he had set his thermos on. He took off the wool cap and neatly folded it and placed it near the coffee.
“So, as I said Detective Rime, these are my best students. If anyone can help with your case, it’s our little think tank here.” The professor stood up from his chair, and it was at this point that Sarah first noticed the cane. As Booker stood, he grasped a black, shiny cane in his left hand. The top seven inches or so was a gleaming pewter color with inlays of gold at the handle, which split in a way that almost looked like a very abstract eagle’s head. He got to his feet and began to pace the front of the classroom, favoring his left leg with the cane. Sarah caught herself staring and immediately prompted herself back to the topic at hand.
“I’m not sure what a profiler can do to help at this point, I literally just began the case.” As she spoke, a look of annoyed-amusement crossed Booker’s face.
“Well, that’s your first mistake, Detective. I’m not a profiler. My students are profilers, mainly Kara,” he nodded towards the cheerleader who gave a little wave. “Max is attempting to create a new type of computer profiling,” Max just nodded. “And Ski, well he kind of fills in the blanks. But I don’t consider myself a profiler. I’m a detective, in the purest sense of the word.”
“Interesting. I thought I was the detective,” Sarah chimed in.
Booker gave out a slight chuckle. “No, ma’am. In this case, a detective refers to a practice, not a rank. I practice the art of detection, of observation, and abductive reasoning.” Sarah’s face gave away her lack of understanding, so Booker continued.
“Let me give an example…” Booker held out his hand as if inviting her to stand in the middle of the room. Sarah shrugged and obliged him.
Booker slowly circled the police detective, dependent on the cane in his left hand. Silently, he spent a few minutes just observing Sarah as she stood there. Finally, when she was about at the end of her patience, he spoke. “You are a new detective. Your detective badge doesn’t have a speck of dust or dirt on it, yet it is a badge from New York City, which tells me you have been here less than a week, or you would have already been issued your Berksville Badge. So, not only are you new to the position, but also to the area. You want to be respected. Most of your outfit is comprised of dark colors, from the black leather jacket to the dark jeans and black boots. Dark colors are serious and strong. Also, you are a bit of a loner. Most likely an only child, correct?”
Sarah nodded, “So far, not bad.”
“You drive a motorcycle, a choice that you make to remind everyone you work alone. No place to put a partner on a crotch rocket like the one you rode in on. Yet police work is a team-oriented profession. Everyone works in partnerships and in squads, so you are working against your nature. Why?”
Sarah seemed to open her mouth to answer, but Booker just held up his index finger and shook his head. “Because you were driven into this profession from outside pressure. Not peer pressure, you are too independent for that, and would never have let a friend or lover lead you down a path. No…it was a family obligation. You come from a line of cops, and that’s why despite the clothes and bike, you do take your position very seriously.”
Sarah stood impressed for a moment. “My dad, uncle and grandpa were all cops.”
“Of course they were.” Booker sat down in his chair and rubbed his left thigh slightly. “So can I see what you’ve got?”
Sarah grinned and opened up the file. “The case is a homicide, adult male, body separated into pieces.” She began digging through her file for pictures. “I’ve got some pictures here...”
As she was talking, Max was already furiously typing on his laptop. Suddenly, the projector came on and crime scene photos filled the screen. Max began moving them around for best visual.
“How and the hell did you get my case files?” Sarah yelled as she could see not only photos but her own notes displayed on the screen.
“Berksville PD doesn’t have the
most secure firewall,” Max explained defensively. “In fact, I’d rate them somewhere between a Library and the Office of Parks and Recreation.”
Sarah was still slack-jawed. “You hacked the department!”
Booker interrupted at this point. “Hacked is a very nasty word Detective, I would say we are sharing information in a spirit of transparency and cooperation.” He smiled and limped to the front. Sarah could actually see him get lost somewhere between his own thoughts and the pictures flashing on the wall. His eyes studied every detail. His students followed suit, replicating the deductive stares of their mentor.
“Max,” Booker finally broke the silence. “Fingerprints….what do we have?” Max began typing furiously on his keyboard and clicking his mouse back and forth. In seconds fingerprints and a face popped up on the screen.
Max read it out loud. “Prints belong to a Henry Glazer, 42 years old, his home address is in Pope, just outside of Berksville.” A few quick keystrokes and some more information began scrolling on the screen. “Booker, he has quite the arrest sheet. Three incidents of a domestic disturbance, a few arrests for domestic violence; no charges were pressed though.”
“Of course not,” Kara chimed in with a roll of her eyes, “they never are.”
Sarah had just about enough of being a spectator to her own investigation. “Okay, enough of you people reading each other’s minds. What the hell are you thinking?” She stood in front of the group, arms crossed, and a demanding stare.
The three students looked at each other and then over at Booker, who was leaning against a desk, apparently taking the weight off of his left leg. The professor looked at the cheerleader and nodded. She popped out of the rocking chair and took over. “What we were looking at is the method: chopped body parts, strung together with wire, and I bet if we go back to the scene of the crime, we find that the whole thing had been hanging from a nearby tree.” Kara pointed to one of the crime scene pictures that showed a longer piece of wire trailing off from the body parts.
Killer Curriculum Page 3
