The Professor (10 page)

Monday

The Professor watched Meg enter his classroom—the long, fluid strides. His eyes tracked her, then slowly blinked into a private vision.
She was gloriously naked, moving smoothly down the central aisle toward his desk. With a beckoning smile, she draped herself over the wooden surface, inviting his exploration. Slowly, he drew his knife the length of her leg before plunging it into her belly.

Her eyes went wide with terror.

Her scream resonated through his body.

His answering arousal was immediate.

He fumbled with his briefcase, reining in his thoughts, and pulled his lecture notes as a distraction from the fantasy. He quickly sat, hiding the bulging evidence of his need. His hands shook as he realized he’d nearly lost control in front of a classroom full of students.

Control
, he silently chanted.
Control is everything.

He could control anything, he reminded himself. He had control over these students. He gave them a baleful glare. They were swine. What would they do if he let them see his true nature? They’d never understand. They’d merely run screaming with all the other lemmings to the nearest cliff.

Scorn brought his throbbing penis under control. His eyes raked the classroom. He was better than all of them. His gaze caught again on the redhead. Meg sat with the football player who always wore a fraternity jersey. The boy leaned toward her, signaling his interest, but she didn’t respond as the oaf expected.

She was flirting, the Professor decided, not with the jock, but with him. He watched her signals, how easily she manipulated the boy.

A faint smile lit his face, anticipating his own confrontation with her. He had no question about the outcome. She wouldn’t find him so easily swayed. He would conquer her, dominate her.

The victory would be sweet.

The restless craving was building already. He’d spent the weekend with the newspapers— Greenville, Spartanburg, Newberry and Columbia—rereading all of them. He’d lain on his bed and rerun the memory of Emily dying. By Sunday, however, images of Meg and Allison had begun spinning through his mind. Redhead and raven beauties, they rotated in a Technicolor dream as first one, then the other joined him in his desire. He masturbated, feeding his fantasies, until the new ones’ faces replaced Emily’s. Endlessly, they cycled in his mind.

Meg and Allison would color his days and fill his nights in the coming weeks. He’d never followed two women at once. It was exhausting and exhilarating. He couldn’t have managed it if they weren’t on the same campus. Allison facilitated his quest by detailing her life—her public life—in her online journal. Meg was more studious, spending numerous hours in the library. It was a waste, lavishing her time and energy pursuing a field for which her gender made her ultimately unsuited. But it made tracking her movements easy.

He would flaunt his knowledge of their days, showering each chosen woman with a deluge of e-mails. Sharing his erotic visions gave his raging need an outlet, but he knew the women secretly welcomed the attention. And taunting them with his
familiarity—showing them how powerless they were—heightened their fear when the time was appropriate.

He’d sent the first message to Meg right before class began. How would she react? Concern? Fear? He imagined terror in her eyes rather than the amusement he currently observed. Or would she respond to his advances?

The tension in his groin again grew painful. “Control,” he whispered. “Control it.”

Meg rolled her eyes at something the football player said. He liked her dismissing the boy. A private smile crossed his lips. She might be his most delicious opponent yet. He could manage the tension that scratched at him, needing another body, another death. He would savor her, taking his time while he learned her secret.

His instincts were rarely wrong. She had a secret—they all had secrets. He suspected a lover, but he’d found no further evidence. All he had to do was remain patient and she would expose her weakness. They all did eventually. It was a flaw that ultimately doomed them. Their efforts to cover their tracks—to hide their sweet obsession—made them easy targets.

Meg smiled, a brilliant eruption of vitality animating her face. He was captivated. He imagined her sprawled across his bed, her auburn hair fanned over his pillow, sweat glistening her fair skin like morning dew. Tiny drops sparkling like diamonds in a web. She wasn’t smiling. She was caught in his web. Like a fly, she fluttered helplessly against her bindings. Her confidence was destroyed, shattered along with her innocence. Panic widened her eyes. Her lips drew back in a scream of agony. Completely submissive now, she did his bidding in a futile grasp at life.

“Professor?” A boy’s whiny voice intruded. “It’s time to start class.”

Startled, he scowled at the scrawny boy for interrupting his fantasy. For one harsh moment, he considered killing him. The thought carried no sexual pleasure, only anger. He should make the weasel watch while he took his pleasure with the next one. He wouldn’t interrupt
then
.

What would the insignificant toad do? Would he squirm with impotent rage, or would lust pound through his pathetic body, straining for release?

The surge of power that followed the thought gave the Professor pause.

An interesting possibility, he considered as the boy flinched under his unrelenting stare. An audience, someone to appreciate his superiority.

Or even better, a way to humiliate an enemy.

Turning, the Professor favored his chosen with a final, lingering appraisal. Soon, he’d know her, in every sense of the word, until he possessed her, as completely as he owned the others.

He glanced at the boy and smiled. An audience. Yes, an intriguing possibility. Maybe it was time to raise the stakes again.

The OJ guy’s employee badge said his name was Tommy Brice. He was maybe seventeen, skinny and had the worst case of acne Mick had ever seen. Putting sympathy and revulsion in the box he reserved for emotions, Mick explained what they needed. “I’m going to show you some photos. I’d like you to see if you recognize the man you saw with Ms. Geiger last Monday.”

Brice gnawed a ragged fingernail. “Like they do on
Law and Order
?”

“Same general idea.”

“Sweet.”

The kid picked at a crusty spot on his cheek, and Mick turned his attention to the photos in his hands. In addition to Robbie Mahaffey, he’d pulled nine pictures of young black males from the booking photo database. All of them featured the same cropped hair and unsmiling, resentful attitude. He laid the photos in a grid on the counter and Brice leaned over the array, idly fingering a trio of pimples on his chin.

He made a mental note never to eat at the food stand.

“This one,” Brice said. He placed his forefinger in the middle of Mahaffey’s picture.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ve seen him around. I just don’t, like, know his name.”

He pulled out a form and entered the appropriate notations. Sliding the document and photo across the counter, he said, “This says you identified photo number four as the man you saw with Ms. Geiger that Monday.”

Brice signed in the designated places. “Do you think he did it?” Curiosity and maybe excitement tinged his voice.

“No.” He shook his head. “We just needed to clear up who this guy is.”

The kid looked disappointed. “Whatever.”

He returned the photos to an envelope, and tucked them into his pocket. He joined Robbins and they wandered across the food court. “I’m going to get some coffee,” the Newberry detective said. “Want some?”

“I’m good.”

Robbins stepped over to the frozen yogurt stand. He stayed and talked to the clerk awhile. Mick figured he probably knew the teenager. While he waited, he studied the arrangement of the food court, the ebb and flow of foot traffic. The rain wasn’t keeping the crowd away from the mall this evening. When Robbins returned, Mick said, “There’s no way the guy pulled her out of here without someone noticing, especially if she was wobbling like a drunk.”

The tables in the center of the food court were visible to every food stall.

“We don’t know how fast the drugs hit her,” Robbins said. “Besides, not all of the booths open before lunch, and she was at a table over beside that pillar. She wasn’t looking to be noticed when she was with Mahaffey.”

“How would you do it?” It was the question every detective asked when they needed a way into a crime scene.

“Me? Dress up like a rent-a-cop. Either she left her lights on or she’s parked in a ‘no parking’ zone. Walk her out and keep going.” Robbins nodded at the mall entrance. “If the roofies had already kicked in, I’d make it look like a bust.”

“Someone would’ve seen them come through the food court.”

“Maybe he waited until there was a lull or until the guy at the OJ stand was busy.” Robbins shrugged. “How would you do it?”

“Out that corridor.” He gestured toward the service bay. “There aren’t any stores down there, and those food stalls don’t open until later in the day. Straight out the back door and keep walking.”

“There’s an alarm on the door, hotshot.”

“I’d be long gone by the time security showed up. If there was no commotion, they’d write it off as kids.”

“That might work,” Robbins conceded. “It’s still hard to believe no one saw her
leave.”

“One thing I’ve learned is people have an amazing ability to forget.”

“Especially stuff that doesn’t involve them personally.”

An Hispanic man arrived, pushing a cart loaded with cleaning supplies. He raked a few discarded wrappers into a bag and swiped a cloth over the tables, then pulled the trash can from the central enclosure.

“Good catch on the cup, by the way,” Mick said. “What made you look for it?”

“This started as a missing persons case.” Robbins shrugged. “Geiger didn’t come home Monday night. Nothing pointed to her taking off without telling anybody. After we found her car in the mall parking lot, we treated it like a kidnapping. The same thing you asked nagged at me: how’d he get her out of here without a scene? It was either someone she knew, someone like a security guard that she’d trust, or she was drugged. Soon as I talked to the OJ kid Tuesday morning, I went Dumpster-diving. Collected all the OJ cups, narrowed it down to the ones with that concoction she liked and started testing. Number twenty-six had the roofies. We sent that one off for DNA testing. In about a year, we’ll find out if it was hers.”

The state lab stayed backlogged. “You think about a private lab?”

Robbins grimaced. “No budget. In the meanwhile, I knew she was doped. That’s when the chief called y’all.”

Mick nodded, still watching the janitor. “She knew this kid, Mahaffey.”

“Funny, her sneaking around like that. I guess the adventure added to his appeal.”

“Lewis knew a lot about the kid’s background. Why’s that?”

“The family’s only been here a few months, but Lewis has been out there a good bit.”

Patrol didn’t make social calls. He wondered why the young officer had been out there, but figured Robbins would get around to it.

“Mahaffey’s mother’s a local girl. She went to school up north. One of those ‘more’ places: Swath-more, Bren-more, something like that. She married a fellow up there.”

“What brought them back? Her folks need help?”

“No. Her husband forgot the first rule of motorcycling.”

He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“You go up against a car, car’s gonna win every time.”

He’d seen some nasty motorcycle wrecks when he worked Patrol. “How bad was he hurt?”

“Bad. He’s crippled, in a wheelchair, living on disability. He’s not your poster child for overcoming the odds.”

“Oh?”

“Bitter’s a major understatement. The kid’s the same way. With his dad not working, money’s tight. Instead of going to whatever school accepted him up north, he’s down here at Tech, working at the bookstore to help pay his tuition and living at home in a poisoned atmosphere. Lewis has been out there a lot on Domestics.”

“Keep talking,” Mick said dryly. “You’ve about convinced me Mahaffey did it. It makes sense, now, why the local kids don’t know him. He didn’t go to high school with them.”

“I checked with Tech. He hasn’t made many friends. The ones his mother said he went camping with over the weekend are about it. He was supposed to be back from the mountains last night. She’s worried.”

“I asked the sheriff’s department to check the state parks, but he could be anywhere.”

Robbins crossed his arms over his belly and looked sideways at Mick. “He looks good for this, O’Shaughnessy.”

“There are a lot of strikes against him. I want to know why he didn’t come forward on his own, why he hid the relationship. Mahaffey has a temper?”

He glanced at Robbins for confirmation. The older detective nodded.

“Geiger could’ve dumped him Monday morning. He had access to her, to the park. That black Trans Am of his isn’t helping his case. Any way we can get into the trunk for a carpet sample?”

“Let’s see if he volunteers.”

“Yeah, he’s volunteered so much already. With all these questions, he’d be at the top of my suspect list if we were only looking at Geiger. Without the rock, I’d figure him for a copycat. But there’s no way he knew about that detail.”

“So you don’t think he’s the doer?” Robbins asked.

“It doesn’t feel right. He was involved with Geiger, but what’s his connection with the other two? We know the same guy killed all three of them.”

Robbins snorted in agreement.

He watched a girl maneuver a stroller next to a table. She was pretty, blonde and pudgy with residual baby fat. Either he was getting old or she looked about ten years too young to have a child of her own. “Did Ward come up with anything from the sex offenders list?”

“She has a huge list, but until we have a description, nobody can do anything with it.”

“That’s the bottom line, isn’t it?” Mick pursed his lips and blew out a thoughtful breath. He watched a family fill a table with pizza wedges and sodas. Quality family time at the mall. “Where are the earlier victims?” he asked, as the thought slid into his idling mind.