think of those numbers?” Without waiting for anyone to answer, Pink questioned, “Do you think the GBI or the FBI has time on their hands to process DNA on every case that involves some pervert taking pictures of a sleeping woman in little old Valdosta, Georgia? Don’t think so. Nope don’t think they’ll be wasting thousands of your taxpayer dollars to track down every two-bit peeping tom or night crawler that makes the paper. I could be wrong, does anyone else have an opinion?”
The same young lady that posed the initial question asked, “But what if he does it again and someone gets hurt or even killed?”
Ella’s face almost appeared a bit sad when she replied, “That’s the heartbreaking part, isn’t it? So often these types of people do a harmless little ‘prank’, if you want to call it that, but they get hooked on the adrenalin rush and can’t stop. They’re always looking for the next opportunity to fulfill some inner need, some fantasy, and unfortunately we know from experience that it often escalates and someone does get hurt. In the event that there is substantial property loss and certainly physical harm or death, the state is then obligated to get involved and put forth their resources. But in cases like this there aren’t enough dollars to go around and the local police just have to do the best they can with what they’ve got. You just gotta know hindsight is always 20/20 so if this 'nut job' does hurt somebody down the road, you can sure as hell bet there will be those wanting to know where CSI was. Sadly, that’s just the reality of the job. Often times, someone does have to get hurt before anything gets done.”
Pink turned off the overhead, the whir of the fan still going as she addressed the class.
“I’d like you each to look a little more carefully at this case as a way of understanding deviant behavior. Perhaps it was just a prank, at least this incident, but do some research and see what you can dig up on individuals that started their criminal careers with similar events and see if you can document any patterns or known profiles. In the few minutes we have left today I want to introduce the topic of deviant behavior and brain dysfunction.”
Having completed her thought, she started into a brief lecture, explaining chemical imbalance, learned behavior and the road to deviant criminal behavior. Seymour was pumped about the assignment and as the instructor droned on in the background he put pen to paper and was quickly writing down all the things that came to mind and the possibilities that he could explore. The library would be a great resource for the assignment both in terms of material available at hand, the time he could put into researching while getting paid, and the prospects of roping Blanche into helping him. It had been a few days since they’d worked together and he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Granted, she was a decade older than him but there was something about her that he couldn’t shake. She had filled his dreams the past few nights, where he had been so debonair and self assured, sweeping her off her feet with his style and charm.
“Why can’t I be that guy for real?” he thought, as the period ended and the students gathered up their things and exited the classroom. Seymour sat for a few more minutes jotting down his last minute thoughts, then stuffed his backpack full of his belongings and hurried out the door.
Forensics would have to wait; first he’d hit the school library before his classmates cleaned it out. He didn’t think he could rely solely on the public library for insight but the idea of asking Blanche for help was both exciting and nerve racking for the young man, who needed the hours between class and work to build up his courage. However, courage would not be the only thing he would need to win over the strawberry blonde’s heart.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Over the sound of an audience alternately chanting ‘Jerry, Jerry’ and ‘Take It Off’, he could just barely make out the sound of a ringtone cutting through the melee.
“Shit, where did I put that frickin’ cell phone?” he cussed as pillows; newspapers and a pizza box flew across the room as he searched.
Grabbing the remote he muted the TV to help in his search. The sound drew him to the bookshelf lining the wall adjacent to the entertainment center. Grasping a volume of the Koran on the upper shelf, he pulled, but the book did not budge instead the entire unit began to pivot away exposing a hidden room. He pulled until the opening into the small inner room was big enough for him to pass through. Inside, a makeshift plywood desk lined one wall with a bar stool as a chair. The pictures he’d taken at Thelma’s still neatly arranged on the rough surface, a ringing cell phone laid nearby. On the wall above the desk he had carefully pinned a map of Georgia with some areas circled in red, and Moody Air Force Base deliberately outlined in blue, with the area directly south of the base crosshatched in green. A single yellow-topped pin was stuck in the map on Cat Creek Road. In the corner of the room sat a backpack that appeared to be full, with the metal buckles covered in black electrical tape.
Picking up the phone he flipped it open and lifted it to his right ear knowing that if he placed it to his left he would not be able to make out the muffled voice of the caller.
“Yeah, I’m here,” he pulled the phone closer to his ear and closed his eyes to help focus his attention on the needed sense.
“What do you mean? I thought it went pretty well. Looked like she was scared shitless in that interview.” Again listening intently as the person on the other end spoke and relayed the message.
“I had expected that, lazy stinkin’ cops!” He paused and listened, then reached for a pencil and notepad sitting on the table.
“Hold on, hold on, I’m getting a pencil, (paused) okay, give it to me.”
He wrote an address on the pad and asked, “Same as before. The information will show up in my mailbox sometime this week?”
A response in the positive came from the other end.
“You want me to be creative? Just how creative are we talking? I told you from the start that there’s just some shit I won’t do regardless of how much you’re paying me.”
The tone and volume of the caller noticeably increased and he pulled the phone away from his good ear.
“I know a stupid photo op is not going to cut it anymore but,” he was cut off with the terse interjection at the other end. He waggled his head back and forth and shook his finger in the air as if mocking the unseen caller.
Rolling his eyes and running his fingers through his unwashed hair he finally replied, “Yeah, Yeah, I get it. You won’t be disappointed. Just watch the news.”
Before he could say goodbye there was an audible click at the other end. “Well, that was rude,” he said aloud.
Looking back at the notepad he read aloud, “412 Big Buck Circle,” and drew a dark line around it. Flipping back a page he found the list he had prepared earlier and across the bottom he added:
Trip to library!!!
Then he underlined it twice with bold, menacing strokes of the pencil, breaking the tip of the pencil off with the last exclamation point.
CHAPTER NINE
Having a couple of days off had done wonders for Blanche’s spirits. She had spent most of the time lost in the Deep South, fighting deference and finding passion in the arms of forbidden love. When not reading she napped periodically, enjoying the dreams that floated on the clouds of her imagination as her unconscious mind filled in the details of her dream lover. Not forgetting the events of the day before and the bathroom scramble, she had done her best to avoid the other guests and the awkward conversations that were likely to ensue.
By noon on the second day, she could take it no longer and she made her way to the bathroom, showered and snuck back to her room without anyone being the wiser. She could hear Ms. Carmichael in the kitchen whipping up some of her ‘to die for’ rolls which would accompany some Southern delicacy that she was preparing for dinner. Blanche was well aware of the rule of the house, ‘There is no food except at breakfast and dinner prepared by the proprietor’, but she was hoping she could talk Caroline into making her another one of those incredible peanut butter sandwiches just to hold her over until dinner.
The kitchen was littered with pots and pans', taking up most of the counter space and the marble topped island was covered with flour and a large lump of dough sat in the middle of it. Caroline wore a vintage apron pulled
