Killer Curriculum

by Douglas Alexander

  Sarah nodded. “Ok, so what about her seems off?” Booker asked. His voice reminded her of a 10th-grade geometry teacher, low, slow, and monotone. “Your subconscious perceived a red flag. You may not have noticed, but something in your brain felt off about her behavior.”

  Sarah shook her head to stop focusing on Booker’s voice. The hazy picture cleared once again. A photograph coming into focus. The dirty blonde hair dangled around Aimee Glazer’s gaunt face, her cheeks looking like billows as she puffed on her cigarette. Streams of tears had marked their way across her skin. Alligator tears. Sarah felt like she was watching a bad actor. Her hands shook as she lifted and lowered the cigarette to her mouth. Wait, did that happen? She asked herself. She replayed it again in her head.

  August’s voice was still narrating, “What is it that you notice?”

  Sarah’s eyes popped open. “It was her demeanor. The tears seemed forced, which makes sense, since Henry was abusing her. At the same time, she was shaking, which seemed like an authentic response to the news.”

  The professor nodded his head as if he had already known what Sarah didn’t like about Aimee Glazer and was patiently allowing her to come to the conclusion on her own.

  “So, what is your conclusion?” Booker asked.

  One of Sarah’s eyebrows raised. “If she truly was relieved, and the tears were for our benefit, why would she be shaking? I wrote it off as grief, initially, but her reactions just don’t add up.”

  “Maybe it was just nerves.” Ski’s gruff voice popped in-between puffs on his pipe.

  Booker stepped away and looked at the whole class, which now consisted of four students instead of the usual three. “So, what would Aimee Glazer have to be nervous about?” He tapped the cane as he waited.

  Max had been typing away but stopped. Looking up with his slightly darker complexion, he rubbed his hand across the shortly groomed black hair on his head. “I would say she is hiding something from the police. What else would she have to be nervous about?” Max looked to his teacher for approval. Booker nodded in agreement and pointed back to the image of the widow on the screen.

  “Make a folder for her in our files,” Booker told the young man. “I don’t think she is our killer, but until we know her whole story, we can’t rule her out completely.” He leaned against the desk and rubbed his eyes. “Well, we have a lot of questions still and not a whole lot of answers.” The students nodded in agreement. “Detective, where would you like to start, it’s your case?”

  Sarah looked at all the things they had discussed on the projection screen. “We definitely need to talk with the Chrome Horsemen. I would say that’s our best lead right now. We can head to the bar this afternoon professor.”

  August looked pensive. “Actually, I’m going to pass on the offer. There are a few things I’d like to do here before moving on.” He saw Sarah’s surprise and added, “I do have a teaching job here, and tons of grading to do.” Glancing at the old man, August said, “You should take Ski with you since he knows this establishment.” Ski stood a bit straighter in agreement.

  After considering it briefly, Sarah’s pride kicked in. “That’s fine. No offense Mr. Tronski, but I’ll be okay on my own.” It was one thing to bring Booker along, since Captain Harrison had insisted, but she didn’t need people in town to think she couldn’t handle an interview on her own. Being the new detective here, she had enough to contend with. She didn’t want people thinking she needed an escort. She could handle more than a few rowdy bikers. Ski looked as though he were about to protest, but she shook her head and he sat back down.

  “Okay then,” Booker began, “Homework time. Ski, since the good detective doesn’t need your services, can you stick your ear to the ground and see what comes up about Glazer and the circles he traveled in?” The old man nodded and emptied the ash out of his pipe.

  The professor looked at Kara. “Kid, I want you to work on developing a better profile on our killer. Cross-reference other known copycat cases as well as what we know of the original Puppet Master killings. I need to know any similarities or differences you can identify.” Kara had returned to swaying in the rocking chair and also nodded her understanding.

  At last, Booker turned to Max. “Max, can you search the Lucky Roll’s system for any other footage of Glazer that could be useful?”

  “They only sent the footage from the day that he fought the bikers,” Max answered reluctantly. “I could get more footage, but I need access to their system.”

  “Can you get access?” Sarah wondered.

  “Well, it would take me days to breakthrough their firewalls and hack the system. Because they deal with large amounts of cash, the security is extensive.” Max was already pecking at the keyboard but was shaking his head.

  “I’m not comfortable with you hacking the system anyway,” the detective commented. “Anything we found wouldn’t hold up in court.”

  “What about if you had the password?” August added.

  “Of course, then I could get in. But I don’t think they just give that information out.” Max quipped.

  August, as always glared with a confident knowing smirk. “Try TIMMYSAPRICK!8 all caps.”

  The young man typed away and a look of surprise crossed his face. “I’m in with admin privileges! Professor Booker, how the hell did you know Sidney’s password?”

  “I watched him type it in when we were at the Lucky Roll.” The professor grinned. “For a security specialist, he doesn’t take great precautions.”

  And then to Sarah, he asked, “I’m assuming that’s ok with you?”

  “Well, technically you had the password. I mean you didn’t have to break in.” She shrugged. “I’m getting out of here before I see anything else.” With that, the detective strolled out of the classroom, followed close behind by Kara and Ski.

  Booker sat behind the desk and rested his right leg on a nearby chair. He laced his fingers behind his head and said, “Okay Max, show me that video with Glazer and the bikers again, from the beginning.”

  Chapter 9- A Quick Drink

  Later that afternoon, Sarah pulled her motorcycle up and parked next to a line of bikes hedging the front of the bar. Dust was still swirling from the packed dirt parking lot, and a neon sign of a cartoon shark with sunglasses on welcomed all visitors to the Sharks’ Cove. There were still a few old pickup trucks and beater cars in the lot.

  Sarah placed her helmet on the seat of the bike and unzipped her jacket, tucking one side of it behind her holster, revealing the pistol to any interested eyes. She placed her badge around her neck, letting it hang in front of the Carl’s Cola vintage design on her t-shirt. She tussled her hair quickly in the reflection from a nearby car window. Satisfied, she strode into the bar.

  The owner of the Shark’s Cove had mounted saloon swinging doors to the entrance to add to what some might call charm. Sarah was not impressed by the attempt, or by the patina of whatever sticky substance had latched on to her shoe with every step. A few feet into the establishment, the stickiness was replaced by the crunch of discarded peanut shells. Sarah noticed the bowls of free peanuts placed every five feet or so along the bar. This was the type of dive bar where customers just shelled the peanuts and let the brittle exteriors fall to the floor. God knew what else covered the floor.

  She saw a classic jukebox against one wall that looked at least thirty years older than she was, and judging by the smashed in glass at the top, it hadn’t functioned properly in at least half that time. The opposite wall was lined by the bar and at least twenty stools in formation. Many of the originals must have broken or been damaged over the years, because there were very few stools that actually matched, some had backs to them, some were three-legged stools, others had four legs and cushions. Apparently, the owner just replaced them with whatever he could get his hands on.

  As Sarah crunched her way to the bar, she sensed hordes of eyes on her. She very rarely considered what people thought of her. She wore jeans and t-shirts when
she could get away with it, and put almost no thought into intentionally drawing the attention of spectators. That being said, Sarah did keep herself in shape, and her body was tight, prepared to respond quickly and effectively if she needed to chase down a suspect or stop someone resisting arrest. Some people liked that in a woman. And as she pulled up a stool, she began to know what a slab of meat hung in a butcher shop window feels like. It wasn’t a feeling she wanted to revisit again.

  Behind the bar stood a large man with a graying beard that crept down his neck and overtook the front of his shirt. Sarah thought it was fitting that his large stomach hung over his belt much in the same way. Sarah had seen his type before. He probably had an ironic nickname, like Slim or Tiny, although he doubtfully knew the proper use of irony.

  The bartender was drying glasses from the bar sink and placing them on a shelf behind him. He didn’t seem to notice or at least acknowledge that Sarah had taken a stool a few peanut baskets down the bar from him.

  “Ahem...” Sarah cleared her throat to get his attention. The bulky man didn’t look up. She cracked a peanut shell and tossed the small nut in her mouth. She dropped the pieces of shell on the bar top, which looked like it was once the lane from a bowling alley.

  Looking up, he sauntered his way down the counter. Draping the towel over one shoulder and leaning against the bar he said, “We don’t serve police in here.” Gesturing toward the door, he said, “There’s a cop bar three miles toward town. I’m sure you will be a lot more comfortable at that establishment.” Dismissively, he turned his back and began walking back to the sink.

  “I’m looking for someone, and I believe they spend time here.” She cracked another peanut, to show she had no plans of leaving any time soon.

  The skin between his brows furrowed and he tensed a bit. “Listen, sweetheart. Maybe you don’t hear so good,” he growled. “This is a private business and you cops can’t just barge in whenever you want. I got rights as a business owner. So, unless you got a warrant stuck in those tight-ass jeans of yours, I’m going to demand you leave.”

  Sarah began to grip the bar. Her teeth clenched, and she began to rise up out of the chair to teach the big man a lesson when a familiar voice interrupted.

  “Now, that doesn’t sound like the way to talk to a lady, Sammy.” Sarah turned to see Ski’s short, thin frame silhouetted in the entrance. The door slammed behind him as he shuffled to the bar and pulled himself up onto a stool. He peeled off his black knit hat and tossed it on the bar.

  “Ski? What the hell are you doing here?” the bear behind the bar growled.

  “Apparently, I’m reminding you of your manners when speaking to attractive women.” The older man opened the left breast pocket of his flannel shirt and pulled out his pipe and a small can that usually holds after-dinner mints.

  “Ski, she’s a cop! I don’t want no cops making a habit of coming in here.” He wiped some of the shells off of the surface in front of the old man.

  Ski opened the tin to reveal pipe tobacco and began packing his pipe. “Look, Sammy, she may be a cop, but she’s with me. So, be a good boy and get me a black coffee and whatever the nice lady needs.”

  “Screw that,” the bartender exclaimed. He stepped back a second as Ski paused from working with his pipe, and gave a disapproving glare at the man behind the bar. He squirmed under the old man’s gaze and when he finally spoke again, his answer was more pleading than demanding. “Come on, Ski. You want the whole town thinking I cater to the police?”

  Lighting his pipe, Ski looked up at the ceiling for a second. “Well Sammy, that does seem like an inconvenience, but since I’ve known you since you were knee-high to a grasshopper, cleaning up back there for your daddy, I think I deserve some damned respect,” Ski’s voice became slowly sterner as he spoke. “And as I just explained to you. She’s a friend of mine. Cop or no cop.”

  Sammy the bartender turned his eyes to the floor and answered a subdued, “Yes, sir.” He gave Sarah a reluctant look, but then turned around and fetched the coffee pot. As he poured a cup for Ski, he looked at her. “How can I help you… Officer?” The words seemed to be fighting to get through his teeth.

  Shocked at the weight that the old man pulled with the bartender, Sarah found herself unable to speak at first.

  Sensing her confusion, Ski leaned toward her and explained, “The Shark’s Cove is not just a biker bar,” he gestured to the tables. “Half these guys are truckers.” He raised his coffee cup and announced, “Trucking till you die!”

  An array of voices cheerfully echoed Ski’s toast and Sarah heard the clanking of glasses and laughs. This exclamation also seemed to put the crowd at ease, who all seemed to stop watching her, and went back to their business.

  “I used to be a bit of a drinker in my younger days, and I spent many nights sitting right here at this bar when Sammy’s dad owned the place.” Ski puffed at the pipe. “I still pop in occasionally from time to time for a cup of joe.”

  Sammy, who had gone back to drying glasses, added, “You don’t stop in as much as you used to Ski.”

  “I’ve been going to college.” He answered.

  The bartender seemed confused.

  “You’re never too old to improve yourself, Sammy. Matter of fact, you should take a class or two. Some business courses could only help you around here.”

  The bartender shook his head and placed a glass on the shelf.

  Sarah smiled and pulled out her phone. “Sammy, I’m looking for this man.” She turned the phone so he could see a still shot from the Lucky Roll’s security feed which showed the bald biker that had fought with Henry Glazer. “I’m told the Chrome Horsemen drink here.”

  “That’s trouble you don’t want, Officer.”

  “It’s Detective, and I didn’t ask your sage advice. Just tell me where to find the bald guy in the picture.” Sarah shoved the phone in his face again.

  Sammy looked at Ski and then back at Sarah. Letting out a slow sigh, he pointed to a door at the back of the bar. “They hang out in the back.”

  Sarah slid off the stool. Ski began to get up and she placed a hand on his shoulder. “I got this. You’ve done enough.” He looked as if he might protest, but she winked at him, spun on her heel, and headed toward the back.

  Opening the door, Sarah found herself looking into a small room with a pool table and a few tables and chairs. It was dimly lit by a few hanging lamps. Two rough looking guys in the black leather vests that donned the insignia of the Chrome Horsemen were playing a game of pool, while a third, the bald man she was looking for, was seated at a table drinking a bottle of beer. From the empties littering the table, it wasn’t his first. All three men looked to see who was coming in.

  “Wrong frickin’ door,” one of the men at the pool table yelled.

  “Yeah the women’s room is down the hall,” his buddy added.

  Sarah, ignoring their statements walked past them and up to the table where the suspect she was looking for was seated. “Detective Rime,” she said as she held up her badge, “Berksville PD.”

  He looked at her sideways and then with a grin held up his beer. “Big Cat Wilson,” and then, “I don’t give a shit.” He laughed to himself, looking past Sarah to the amused faces of his friends.

  “I’m here to ask you a few questions, Mr. Wilson.”

  “I don’t have anything to say to the Berksville Police,” Wilson said. Then, as if he had remembered something funny, he added, “Unless you plan on taking that fine ass for a ride on my bike, honey.”

  Sarah smiled. “Let me make this clear. We can have the discussion here, or I can take you down to the department and we can make this official… honey.”

  Looking around, Big Cat gestured to the room with both hands, “I’m sorry did I miss all the backup you brought with you? Because that’s awful big talk for a tight piece like you.”

  Don’t make a mess here Sarah, you just started this job, she thought to herself. Sarah paused and took a deep breath. Smil
ing, she showed Big Cat the picture from the Lucky Roll and asked, “What can you tell me about Henry Glazer?”

  Suddenly the smile disappeared from his face and his eyes grew wide. Faster than Sarah thought he could move, Big Cat flipped the table over and threw it in Sarah’s direction.

  Caught off guard, she stumbled back just enough for the biker to be on his feet and sprinting toward the door. Recovering her balance, she ran after him, but as he passed the two horsemen playing pool, they stepped into Sarah’s path to allow their friend to escape. Sarah didn’t slow down. As she came upon the two men, who outweighed her by at least three hundred and fifty pounds together, she lashed out with her foot and kicked one of the men in the right knee.

  He crumpled to the floor with a shriek of pain. Spinning around, Sarah snatched a pool cue off the table and caught the second man in the face with a swing that would have made Mickey Mantle proud. When the wooden cue made contact with his face, blood sprayed from his nose.

  The cue snapped in half, but as the second man fell, Sarah knew she had to keep surprise and speed on her side. Still holding part of the cue, she turned and cracked it over the back of the first man’s head, as he was hunched over holding his knee. She then returned to her pursuit through the door.

  Kicking the door open, she saw that Big Cat was already half the way down the bar and barreling toward the front door. As he was about to pass Ski, he looked back to see how far Sarah was behind him. That was his mistake. Ski, holding his cup of coffee with one hand, reached out casually with the other and tipped back the stool next to him. “Woops.” He whispered as he took another sip.

  The biker’s legs were entangled in the stool before he even saw it falling. The bulky man was brought down, hard, face first to the floor. Before Big Cat could get back to his feet, Sarah jumped on top of him, placing a knee directly in between his shoulder blades. Her weight drove him back to the floor. She pulled handcuffs from her jacket pocket and began cuffing his hands behind his back.