Jerry winced.
“Sorry.” Morris grimaced, looking like he wanted to kick himself. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
Jerry didn’t respond. He’d said all he wanted to say about the matter.
His cell phone rang as he was chomping down the last bit of char siu bao. Pulling the phone out of his breast pocket, Jerry checked the screen and saw that it was Torrance. “Sorry, man, I gotta take this.” He turned away from the table and answered.
“Where are you?” The detective’s voice was gruff in Jerry’s ear. “I can barely hear you.”
Jerry glanced at Morris, who was checking out the next dim sum cart and pointing at the things he recognized. “Having lunch. What’s up?”
“We found a hair, and it’s not the vic’s. Want to meet me at the morgue?”
And just like that, Jerry’s appetite was gone. “Sure. I’m on my way.”
“You’re bailing on me?” Morris said when Jerry disconnected the call. “But I just got a bunch more stuff. You have to tell me what’s edible and what’s not.”
“It’s all edible,” Jerry said. “Everything you picked is good.” He reached for his wallet.
“Nah, I got this.” Morris waved him off. “Go on. Save the world.”
Sticking his wallet back in his pocket, Jerry clapped Morris on the back. He was relieved that he and the big guy were okay. Their friendship was important to him, even more so since Annie had left.
“Man, I’d be satisfied with just saving a life,” Jerry said. “Thanks for lunch.”
chapter 22
IF THE EXECUTIVE vice president’s boardroom was designed to be intimidating, it was working. Sheila had never felt so small.
She’d had to cancel her late afternoon class to be at this meeting, and the three faces seated across from her now at the long mahogany table were infinitely scarier than the three hundred faces that would have attended her lecture.
There was the vice provost of undergraduate education (who, though married, had drunkenly hit on Sheila at a Christmas party three years earlier), the young director of human resources, whom Sheila had met with twice after she’d returned to the university following her stay in rehab the year before, and an older woman Sheila knew was high up in the chain of command, but whose specific title she couldn’t remember.
Sheila’s immediate supervisor, Dean Simmons, was seated quietly beside her, and this made her even more nervous. Normally a smiling, cheerful man, the dean hadn’t said anything to anyone once he’d entered the boardroom. He’d brought with him a thick red folder, which he’d placed on the table between them. Sheila had no idea what could be inside, and she was afraid to find out.
The preliminary discussions were over, and all she could do now was sit and listen to what they had to say. Her back ached from the tension, which was so thick in the room it was hard to breathe.
“In light of everything that happened last year with you and Ethan Wolfe, we think it’s best if you leave the university.” Louise Jardin, the woman whose job title Sheila couldn’t remember, was speaking, her thin red lips pursed in disapproval. “PSSU never really recovered from your incident last year, and now, with news of your . . . sex addiction . . .” She said the words with such distaste, Sheila wondered if the old lady would choke on them. Jardin didn’t finish her sentence.
“My incident?” Sheila repeated. “Recovered?” She sat up straighter, trying hard to keep her tone professional and even. “I’m sorry, but what kind of recovery was needed for the university? I was the one who was kidnapped, if you recall. I was held captive for three weeks by a man who turned out to be a serial killer.”
“Yes, but he was your student,” James Schneider, the vice provost, said. His raspy voice reminded Sheila of Jerry, though that was the only similarity. His steely eyes were fixed on her face. “You had an affair with your student, Dr. Tao. That’s not something the board can overlook.”
“With all due respect, sir, you overlook it all the time.” Sheila gripped the arms of her chair, needing the support, though she continued to speak politely and firmly. “I can think of four professors who’ve been involved with their students, and they’ve all received nothing more than slaps on the wrists. I think it’s wholly unfair that you would single me out for making what I fully admit was an error in judgment, and there’s no precedent for firing a professor because of a romantic involvement with a student.”
The board members exchanged looks. “Dr. Tao—” Jardin began.
“Please allow me to finish,” Sheila said. “Ethan Wolfe was my student at one point, yes. He took two classes with me as an undergrad. But at the time we got involved, he was no longer being taught by me. I was his thesis adviser, but he was not technically my student. He was a teaching assistant in my class, whom I supervised. He was twenty-three years old—of legal age—and a fellow employee of the university.”
“Dr. Tao is right,” Lara Duncan, the woman from human resources, said. “What they did, however inappropriate, isn’t technically against university regulations.”
“There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t regret the relationship I had with Ethan Wolfe.” Sheila softened her tone, though it remained professional. “It was a mistake. But you must know I paid for it. I almost died because of it. I don’t believe I deserve to lose my job over it.”
Louise Jardin leaned over, whispering something in James Schneider’s ear. Schneider nodded, then whispered something to Lara Duncan. The exchange went on for a few minutes as Sheila waited in agony. Finally, Jardin straightened up and faced forward.
“Dr. Tao, we don’t disagree that there isn’t a precedent for firing a tenured professor due to inappropriate conduct with a student,” Jardin said. “You’re right, it’s never been done before. But the issue here today is that your face and name are all over the media. It was one thing last year when you were a victim of a serial killer, but now you’re being perceived very negatively by the public. Your affair with Ethan Wolfe made headlines today, and your sex addiction makes it even worse. I’m told that the psychology department has received several calls from concerned parents this morning threatening to withdraw their kids because they don’t feel comfortable with a sex addict teaching them. Isn’t that right, Dean Simmons?”
Sheila looked over at her supervisor, who sat with a stoic face and nodded. The dean would not meet her gaze.
Sheila didn’t have to look in a mirror to know her cheeks were bright red. Reaching into her briefcase, she pulled out two envelopes and placed them on the table. “I have a letter here from my meeting leader at Sex Addicts Anonymous that describes the efforts I’ve made over the past year toward my recovery. I also have a letter from my personal therapist that confirms I’ve been in therapy for sex addiction for the last twelve months, and that I finished an eight-week program at the New Trails Treatment Center in Oregon after I was released from the hospital last year.”
“We weren’t aware you were at a treatment facility last year,” Schneider said.
“That was my call.” Dean Simmons finally spoke up, his voice heavy. “Dr. Tao asked for a leave of absence for medical reasons, and I signed off on that. I saw no need last year to inform anybody as to the exact reason she needed time away.”
“And you’re not obligated to inform anyone,” Lara Duncan said to the dean, her voice reassuring. “Dr. Tao had a note from her doctor, and that’s all you’d need as far as HR is concerned.”
Sheila’s eyes were moist and she willed herself not to cry. “Ladies and gentlemen, please. I’ve built my career here. I want to stay here. I love my job.”
“I believe that,” Jardin said, frowning. “But Puget Sound State enrollment numbers have dropped ten percent this past year. Now while we can’t say it has anything directly to do with last year’s fiasco—”
“If they’ve dropped, they’ve dropped because we had a serial killer prowling the campus,” Sheila said. “Not because I had an affair with said serial killer.”
“The board disagrees,” Schneider said, his face like stone. “In my opinion, you are an embarrassment, Dr. Tao.”
“James, that’s unfair,” Dean Simmons said, and Sheila turned to him in surprise. The dean pushed the thick red folder forward. “I have here Dr. Tao’s student reviews for the past three terms. There are more than three hundred here, and they’re all positive. Every single one. And I spoke to the Student Union this morning. Dr. Tao has received fourteen nominations so far for Professor of the Year. Which, as you may recall, she has won not once, but twice before. I believe strongly that Dr. Tao is an asset to my department, and to this university, and I would hate to lose her.” He fixed his gaze on Schneider. “We all have demons, James. We all have personal problems. We all make mistakes. Dr. Tao’s have unfortunately been made public, and she will be dealing with that embarrassment for quite a while. Rather than punishing her, we should be throwing the prestige of the university behind her. She deserves our full support. She certainly has mine.”
Sheila almost wilted in relief. Underneath the table, Dean Simmons placed his hand over hers and gave it a quick, hard squeeze.
“You should know that I won’t leave willingly,” Sheila said when she found her voice. “I won’t apologize for loving my job, and this university. If you fire me, I will have no choice but to sue.” The words were ugly, and she hated to say them, but at this point, there was nothing left to lose.
“But we would allow you to leave on your terms,” Louise Jardin said, in an attempt to sound reasonable. “You would, of course, finish out the remainder of this term, at which point we would announce that you’ve left the university to pursue other endeavors. We are prepared to offer you a year’s salary as compensation for a quiet departure.”
A year’s salary. Wow. They really wanted her gone. Sheila fought the tears that were threatening to spill over. “I’m sorry, Ms. Jardin, but if you want me gone, you will have to fire me. In which case, I hope you’re prepared for a long and lengthy legal battle.” She made a point to look at James Schneider. “Which, I can assure you, would probably embarrass everyone. My attorney is waiting for my call.”
Schneider’s face reddened. The room went silent. Lara Duncan from HR looked down to hide a smile.
“We’ll need a moment to confer,” Schneider finally said, his voice stiff. “If you could please wait outside, Dr. Tao.”
Sheila stood up, feeling all eyes upon her as she walked around the table and out into the hallway. The door shut firmly behind her, and she leaned against the wall, breathing hard.
Jardin and Schneider were a couple of assholes, there was no doubt about that, but that didn’t matter. Sheila loved Puget Sound State. She was in no way ready to leave. She was only forty, for Christ’s sake, and she’d been planning to teach for at least another twenty years. What the hell would she do if she lost her job? She loved academia, loved being in a grand lecture hall, loved watching the faces of her students light up as a concept that was previously confusing to them finally made sense. She loved the debates, the questions, the exchange of ideas. Who was she if she wasn’t a professor of psychology?
The door opened a moment later and Dean Simmons gestured for her to come back inside. Sheila squared her shoulders and followed him in, taking her place back at the table.
“Okay, Dr. Tao,” Louise Jardin said. Her face was flushed, and it was clear that the discussion Sheila had been excused from had been heated. “You shall remain a professor here at Puget Sound State. But you’re on probation for the next three terms, and should any other incidents occur with students, or should your sex addiction affect your teaching negatively in any way, we will have no choice but to let you go. Long, lengthy legal battle be damned.”
James Schneider nodded. So did Lara Duncan, but the corners of her lips turned up slightly.
Beside her, Dean Simmons touched her arm and smiled.
Sheila let out a breath. “Thank you, everyone,” she said. “I promise I won’t let you down again.”
She exited the boardroom for the last time, keeping her feelings in check until she got back to her office a few minutes later, where she closed the door and slumped into her chair, utterly exhausted.
Sheila had managed to save her job, but barely. Goddamn that Abby Maddox. The psychopath had not only ruined her reputation, she had nearly damaged Sheila’s career, something Sheila had spent half her life working on and which meant everything to her.
She hoped the bitch burned in hell.
chapter 23
JERRY DIDN’T WANT to look, but it was hard not to stare at the body. He’d already seen her at the hotel that morning, but here, under the bright white lights of the morgue, no detail was spared.
Alice Bennett’s nose was broken in two places, eyes swollen shut, lips split, and she was missing two teeth. Both cheekbones were smashed. Her head was split open and there was gray matter and blood matted through her dark hair. The zip tie was pulled so tight she wouldn’t have had a chance in hell of getting the damned thing off, even with scissors or a knife. The skin above and below the zip tie was bloated. Bite marks dotted her torso and neck, and one ear had been chewed off completely, thanks to the damned rat.
Whoever had done this to her had really gone to town. The question was, why? Why bash her in the head and the face, and then strangle her with a zip tie? Why the rat? Why such anger?
The medical examiner was eerily calm as she pointed out the things she wanted them to see. How anybody could do this job was beyond him. Jerry would rather pick up garbage at the side of the road all day than work with dead bodies.
Phoebe Castor, however, seemed to enjoy her job, and even managed to look rather cute dressed in scrubs and a pair of oversized goggles. Bending over the body on the table, she extracted a green pine needle with some sort of tool that resembled tweezers. “Don’t get too excited, boys.” The ME’s dark eyes were bright behind her glasses, her expression serious. “It’s from an evergreen.”
“Perfect, since we live in the Evergreen State.” Torrance jammed his hands in his pockets as if he were afraid to touch something. “There are only about a hundred million fucking evergreens here.”
“But how many are in that area of downtown Seattle where she was found?” Phoebe said, unfazed by Torrance’s gruff tone. Cleary she was used to the homicide detective’s surly demeanor. “Not very many, I think.”
Jerry said nothing. His stomach wasn’t feeling too good. The dim sum was churning in his gut, and the four Tums he’d chewed when he got here didn’t seem to be helping. It wasn’t just the poor girl on the table, beat up and carved up, that was getting to him. It was the smell in the room, a nauseating mixture of formaldehyde, bleach, and decomposing human being. Dead bodies, he was discovering, had a very specific odor, one that was strong enough to seep into the fibers of your clothing and never come out. There was nothing quite like the sweet decay of rotting meat.
“It looks like these carvings were made by the same weapon as what we found on the previous victims,” Phoebe was saying. The body was now turned face down, and the ME’s gloved finger was tracing the pattern of the letters. “Long, sharp knife, maybe not quite at surgical quality, but not far off. But the letters are different.”
“How so?” Torrance stood over the body, his eyes scanning every inch of the victim’s back.
“With the other three victims, the letters were neat and evenly spaced, like the killer took the time to make the carvings legible.” Phoebe peered closer at the body. Jerry turned his face away, content to listen to her voice rather than look. “But this time, they’re messier. The spacing is uneven, and shallower, as if they were done fast.”
“So he was in a hurry?”
“Maybe. Or he was acting on some kind of emotion.” Phoebe straightened up and pulled her glasses off. They left red marks on her cheeks, but she was still adorable. “That part’s up to you guys to figure out.”
Jerry looked down at the folder in his hands, open to show a color print
out of Alice Bennett’s driver’s license photo. Her looks had been far above average, and it was hard to reconcile the DMV picture with the body on the table. Whoever had killed her had wanted to destroy her beauty. Jerry wasn’t a profiler and truthfully didn’t think much of the profession, but any layperson could see that whoever had killed her had wanted to make her as ugly and horrific as possible.
“Four vics,” Jerry said. “Four vics and the best lead we have is a socially awkward teenage freak with a genius IQ and a strange obsession with serial killers.”
Torrance shrugged. “Like I said, if it fits, it fits.”
“Should we go pick him up?”
“Still waiting for the DNA test to confirm that the hair found on her really is Blake’s. Judge won’t sign the warrant otherwise. Soon as we get the call, we’re gone.” Torrance’s face was dour. “I had a tough time getting him to consider this one. Because Blake’s so young. No criminal record, no nothing other than his blog and the posters on his walls.”
The phone rang in the small room, and all three jumped a little. Pulling her latex gloves off, Phoebe reached for the phone. She murmured into it for a few seconds and then hung up. “Guys, the hair analysis came back. DNA is a match for Jeremiah Blake. You’ve got your Jack the Zipper.”
“You did not just say that. That’s gotta be the cheesiest nickname ever.” Torrance groaned. “Which is why it’s gonna stick.”
Jerry was disturbed. “But he’s just a kid,” he said, more to himself than to Phoebe or Torrance.
“Yeah, and the kid’s a killer,” Torrance said. “So let’s go get him.”
chapter 24
IT WASN’T TOO late to turn back. Even though she knew the client had paid and was waiting for her on the other side of the hotel room door, it wasn’t too late to change her mind.
Or was it?
Tammy Kachkowski (professional name: Tara) stood in the hallway of the Watercrest Hotel and raised her hand to knock. But her fist stopped a few inches short of the painted steel door. Shit, she really didn’t know if she could do this. Taking a deep breath, she took one step back, running her fingers through her long, dark hair, attempting to calm herself. Her heart was beating so hard and so fast, she could almost hear it.