acts of a degenerate and the suffering that he causes? Granted, I sort of get it, after all this is the Deviant Behavior Course, but I think it goes beyond that. I think for many of you it’s like a train wreck, you just can’t help yourself, you just can’t help but having to look. Am I right?” No one volunteered an answer; afraid they might get their head taken off with the mood she seemed to be in this morning.
“While you are sitting there trying to decide if you have the courage to answer, let me say this, I love it, to a degree that is. I hate the pain and suffering these people cause, the loss of life, the uncertainty they create, the fear they instill, but I love studying their deviant minds and what it is about them that makes them tick. It is people like you and me that have the capacity within us to stop these beasts and bring them to justice. That’s why I teach this course. That’s why I push you to learn more than I know. To understand them in ways that I cannot, you need to be better than I ever was. I believe some of you will get there and make me proud, and the rest of you, well, the world needs ditch diggers too, my dad always used to say.”
This drew some laughter from the uneasy students, but those who connected with her on the level she intended, knew she was talking to them, Seymour Wood was one of them. Most of the students had seen the news that morning and were curious what Pink would do with the story during class today.
“Let’s do something different today, shall we?” she inquired. “I want this half of the room to be the Sheriff’s Office.” She waved her hand indicating the right half of the room. “And you,” waving her hand to the remainder of the group to the left, “will be the predator or stalker as you like.” The students taunted and jeered at each other across the classroom. “Okay now, settle down a bit, I’m going to give you a few questions to consider. Work together as a unit and come up with some concrete answers.”
“Sheriff’s, okay this morning you’ve had your third B amp;E within three weeks with an increasing propensity towards violence. The populous is scared, housewives are buying handguns, you have little if no clues, what do you do?” Ella asked.
“Serial predators, you have successfully claimed three victims in three weeks and your confidence is soaring. What do you do now? What’s your agenda? Why are you doing what you’re doing? Who are you?” she asked the other half of the class.
She gave the group about ten minutes to discuss the questions among themselves and asked them to assign a spokesperson for their side. Seymour was chosen to represent his side of the discussion, the Sheriff’s Office, and a heavy set black girl, named Tequina, was chosen as the representative for the degenerates.
“Okay Seymour, let’s start with you. First let’s see what you’ve got to say, then we’ll have the predators ask any questions they may have, then we’ll switch. Sound good?” Pink directed and the students listened.
A nervous Seymour walked to the front of the class, a pad of paper held with their ideas in hand. “A couple of us went to the press conference the Sheriff’s Office did this morning and they still claim they have very few clues. We think they are just telling the public enough to keep them happy but they are not releasing everything they know. Mrs. Wild, I think you would consider that SOP, right, Standard Operating Procedure?”
“I’d say you are right on there. There will be things they’ve discovered that they will hold back to strengthen their case once they bust somebody and have to prosecute,” she agreed.
“With three crime scenes behind them, we were in agreement that they would be looking for similarities between those three, and trying to connect them to any known criminal behavior or patterns. Forensics would be scouring these places for clues and trying to confirm that the same person is responsible for each. Sheriff Lupo is not denying that at this point, and he’s given up the theory that it’s a prankster or one of us.” His fellow students laughed.
“Good, but what would you be doing now, this afternoon after the press conference, what do you think the officers were assigned to do?” Pink pushed him.
“I’m sure they were back in all three neighborhoods going door to door interviewing people, trying to draw information out of neighbors that think they don’t know anything. Somewhere out there someone has seen this guy or his car or noticed something out of the ordinary and it’s the officer’s job to drag it out of them. We didn’t think he was selecting his victims at random, however, we think there is some sort of a pattern to his work. We also think he’s a local boy, knows the area and knows his way around. Bottom line, he likes what he is doing and is learning to love it.”
“I’d tend to agree, good work. Okay predators, any questions for Deputy Seymour and company?”
A few questions were offered and discussed but nothing Seymour couldn’t handle. The floor was then given to Tequina and she did the same for the other side of the room. They offered some good suggestions but Ella wanted them to see inside the guy's head. “What is his motivation? Why is he doing this?” she asked.
“We talked about that but couldn’t reach a consensus. Some of us thought he was doing it as some kind of a sexual release but he hasn’t accosted any of the victims, at least not yet. The others think it’s a material thing, like most B amp;E, just looking for items he can steal,” the female student offered.
Pink paced the floor and instructed the young woman to take a seat. “All good ideas and insights, but to be successful at this game you have got to learn to think like a predator. I know it’s kind of creepy, but you have to learn to get inside their head, walk around in their skin and see what makes them tick. You can’t beat a serial predator or killer if you can’t put yourself in his situation. Good work today, I’ve had some fun with this and I hope you have. See you Friday. If you think of anything in regards to this case write it down and we’ll talk about it then.”
Blanche thought for sure she would hear from Beverly Davis sometime throughout the day. By the time she got to work at noon she had still not heard anything and was hoping that perhaps she had found some housing options. That did not seem to be the case, so at lunch she phoned Bev’s cell, but was directed to her voice mail where she left a message. It was unlike her not to return calls, the librarian had been impressed with how quickly she’d helped her in the past and it was a bit troubling for Blanche. She tried to put a positive spin on it, thinking that she must just be busy with other things, closing a deal, but a feeling kept tugging at her that something was not quite right.
It was nothing more than a typical day at work, steady flow of people in and out of the library. The students that normally helped out had the day off. School would be starting soon and they needed the time to shop and register for classes. Although the library seemed quiet, Blanche found herself more on edge than usual. Each patron that walked through the door she sized up as a threat or not. The news from the morning, she suspected, had everyone paying more attention to his or her surroundings. Probably would not have been as big a deal if she had not looked through the material the other night in an effort to help Seymour.
“He must be reveling in this stuff,” she thought, and then realized he would be in to work shortly and her sympathetic nervous system responded. She suddenly felt anxious to see him, her palms were instantly moist, her face felt warm and she detected the slightest increase in her breathing and pulse rate. “What’s the deal?” she thought. “I’m not a school girl any more, for heaven’s sake, get a grip Blanche.”
The rest of the afternoon passed much slower than she would have liked. She looked at her watch often, counting the hours, then minutes, until 6:00 p.m., however, the distraction and her excitement over the arrival of Seymour had eased her tension over the predator, until at half past five, a gentleman walked into the library that gave Blanche pause.
He walked through the entry, waited for the door to close behind him, then just stood and surveyed the library from that vantage point. A straw trilby hat sat atop his head with a red checked band running around the circumference. He was unkempt, dressed in a flowered shirt from the 60’s and a pair of grubby jeans that had not seen the inside of a washing machine for far too long, but it was more than his appearance, something just didn’t feel right to the librarian. As he took in the main floor, eyes moving over every shelf, patron, and finally the main desk, his eyes locked on Blanche and he grinned, noting that the shapely librarian seemed to be staring at him.
“That face, I’ve seen that somewhere before, I know I have.” Her mind went into overdrive, sorting through memory banks in an effort to remember how she knew him. If he’d just take off the darkly tinted glasses she’d have a better idea if she knew him, and there was something odd about his hair, just couldn’t quite put her finger on it but it was somehow unusual. “Or maybe he just has one of those familiar faces,” she ultimately reasoned.
When he finally moved away from the entry and appeared to be browsing, like most people do when they get their bearings, she breathed a sigh of relief. A few minutes later she saw him again, this time ignoring her. His brown shaggy hair was hanging over his ears, as he moved in and out between the shelving units, but not really looking at the titles. She looked at her watch again, quarter till, she’d be glad when Seymour got there. This guy was making her very nervous. He passed by the desk, nodded his head as if to say hello but did not open his mouth,
