Eye of the Beholder

“The part you played,” Stoletti says.

“I was a witness, Detective. Surely, you know that. Surely, Mr. Riley has carried on at length about his brilliant performance. Everyone hailed the greatprosecutor! Everyone scorned the professor, who had the misfortune of employing a mass murderer.”

Yeah, that confirms my vibe from back then. He felt it, too. We looked him over pretty hard after we arrested Burgos. Checked his alibis, even searched his house, with his consent. In the end, he proved to be a valuable witness for the prosecution, but he didn’t enjoy the guilt by association, and we weren’t exactly delicate with the guy.

“Let’s stay on track here, Professor,” Stoletti says. “Tell me everything Evelyn said to you, and you to her.”

“It was pretty much historical background. I guess that’s redundant.” He waves a hand, but keeps his eye on the desk. “She wanted to confirm dates. She asked me about Terry, the kind of person he was. She confirmed that Cassie Bentley and Ellie Danzinger took my class on violence against women. It was really just a time line and basic confirmation of facts.”

“Nothing else.” Stoletti’s foot wags, but she’s otherwise still.

“It really didn’t take very long at all.” He sighs, then looks at Stoletti. “Oh, she asked me about another man. His name was Fred but I didn’t get the last name.”

“Ciancio.”

“Yes. Yes, exactly.” He seems surprised she made the connection. “She asked me if I knew him or had heard the name. I told her I never had.”

“Was that the truth?”

He pauses a beat, then chuckles. “Well, of course it was. I have never heard that man’s name before she asked.”

Stoletti nods and sighs.

“How was she killed?” Albany asks.

Stoletti takes a moment with that. I decide to keep it between the two of them. Maybe Stoletti has another clever response. “We’re not sure yet. You got any thoughts?”

“Just curious.”

“Why so curious?”

Albany’s eyes flicker to mine, in a way intended to be covert, I think. “I thought it might be an ice pick,” he says.

“Why do you say that?” Stoletti asks. “An ice pick?”

Albany smiles at her, like he might at a student who couldn’t keep up. “Should we say it together, Mr. Riley?” He closes his eyes and recites from memory. “ ‘An ice pick, a nice trick, praying that he dies quick.”’ He opens his eyes and looks at her with satisfaction.

I put my hands together and applaud silently. Albany doesn’t know that Ciancio was first, so he got the ice pick. Evelyn got the switchblade.

“You think this is connected to that song?” Stoletti asks.

“Who can say?” He nods at me. “I assume that’s why Mr. Riley is here. Last I heard, the counselor was doing quite well in the private sector. Evelyn Pendry comes to my door asking about Terry Burgos, then she’s murdered, then here is Mr. Riley himself.”

“You have an opinion on the subject?” she asks.

“Not-I’m a teacher,” he answers. “Terry took the words of a troubled high school student and read into them biblical implications. Is someone else doing the same? I don’t know. I do know there are an awful lot of Web sites devoted to Terry.”

“We’re looking at those,” she says. “Do you? Look at the Web sites, I mean?”

“I’ve seen them. To the extent that what he did to those women has been glorified, it’s part of my class.”

“You’re still teaching that class?” I ask.

He smiles at me. “More popular, and relevant, than ever. You listen to any hip-hop music lately? They talk about beating and sexually abusing women more often than ever. They talk about having intercourse so violent that it destroys a woman’s vaginal walls.”

Stoletti nods at him. “And what do you think about that?”

“I think it’s disgusting. But, I must say from a cultural standpoint, fascinating, too. We focus on the first verse of the song, by the way,” he adds. “The first verse identifies victims-not by name, of course, but how they affected Tyler Skye. Girls who rejected him. Girls who mocked him. The second verse-well, the ice pick lyrics are directed at a man. A couple of them are specifically directed at women. Some of them don’t specify a gender. And none of them explains why he’s killing them. There’s nothing about being rejected or betrayed or insulted. The second verse is simply a description of how the murders will be committed.”

That’s true. The second verse was less personal.

“We’ll need a copy of your course materials.” Stoletti thinks a moment. “And a list of your students for the past few years.”

“Well, the course materials, no problem: ” The professor shrugs. ”The students’ names could be problematic. I think you need to speak with the administration. There are privacy laws, yes?”

Neither of us answers. Albany swivels in his chair and reaches into a cabinet, pulling out three-ring binders, getting together the course materials. Stoletti looks at me with her eyebrows up. Albany slides a course packet across his desk to Stoletti and asks, “Anything else?”

I can see that his initial nerves have subsided and now he’s back to being the arrogant asshole I’ve always known. Good. Now it’s time.

“Yeah, one more thing,” I say. “You can tell us everything that you and Evelyn Pendry discussed.”

He gives me a look, like he already did that.

I fix a look right back on him. He’s no fan of mine, but I’m pretty sure he still has a switch I can flip. “Professor, we have the notes that Evelyn wrote up from your interview. We know what you talked about with her. So let’s hear it.”

Albany looks away, then leans back in his chair and crosses a leg. Then he crosses his arms. A defensive posture. “If you already have her notes, then why are you asking me what you already know?”

“It’s your call, Professor. You can tell us or lie to us, like you already have.”

Albany loses the color in his face. He’s been down the road of accusation with me before. He didn’t like it so much last time.

“Then maybe-” Albany’s throat closes, which betrays his attempt to stay cool. The smirk is long gone. “Maybe I should have a lawyer present?”

“I’m a lawyer,” I say.

“Hey, Professor,” Stoletti chimes in. “It’s your office. You can kick us out. We’ll come back later. Maybe in the middle of one of your classes. I’ll bring my handcuffs.”

“Listen to me,” I say. “You’ve made false statements to a police officer. That’s a felony. But if you come clean with us right now-and I mean right now-you have corrected your statement. No crime. Once we leave, that statement is complete. And false.”

The professor gives a wide, bitter smile, coughs a brief laugh, before getting out of his seat and pacing behind his desk. “You blame me for what happened to those girls.” He looks at me. “I know you do. Everyone does. I taught a class, teaching about the demeaning ways popular media depicts women, and suddenly I’m the poster boy for violence against women. The one person trying to stop it is now the one known throughout the country, throughout the academic community, for sponsoring it.”

He waves his arms angrily. His eyes fill. “Now someone’s doing it again