With Cruel Intent (10 page)

Laughter drifted throughout the

classroom and brought a smile to Ella’s

face.

”Rightly so, rightly so!” she said.

“Son of a bitch better not try the same

thing in my bedroom!” she barked,

bringing more enthusiastic laughter from

the students. “So Seymour, what’s your

take on this guy? Is he a deviant? Is he a

prankster or is he just a really bad thief?”

she questioned, moving across the room to

stand in front of her student.

“Well, I’m not really sure, my gut

feeling is he’s a trickster just trying to get

his jollies. Obviously has a thing for

wearing women’s clothing so I would

think that would place him into a deviant

category, but the fact that he didn’t take

anything, even left behind the underwear,

is kind of weird. I guess it’s possible that

he’s actually a student or someone that

was dared to do it, like a frat thing or

something similar.”

“Good thought, let’s expand on

that.”

“Mrs. Wild, it doesn’t sound like

the police department is going to pursue

this any further. Why aren’t they sending

the underwear or other possible clues to

the state crime lab or the FBI?” a young

female piped up from the back of the

room.

“Let me turn that around on you.

How many of these little ‘victimless’

crimes take place in Valdosta, Lowndes

County or Georgia for that matter every

single day? Any takers?” Pink wandered

back to the other side of the room, tapping

a pointer in her palm.

“Nobody? Well I’ll tell you,” she

quipped, returning to the projector, she

removed the initial image and placed a

transparency on the overhead.

A chart of numbers and titles

covered the opposing wall.

“All right, these number are for

2005 alone and were provided by the

GBI. You should all know what that

stands for. Who can tell us?”

Mr. Rickert raised his hand.

“Yes,” aiming the pointer in his

direction.

“Georgia Bureau of Investigation,”

he said.

“Thanks, correct. They have a

statistical division that generates this

database every year. So let’s take a look,”

and she pointed at each column and read

aloud:

“Murder - 526, Rape - 2086,

Robbery - 13,800, Aggravated Assault -

22,409. Bringing the total violent crimes

in the state of Georgia for one year to

38,821. Anyone surprised?” She paused

then continued. “Okay then, let’s take a

look at the property or more victimless

crimes. Burglary - 79,834, Larceny -

234,436 and yes that comma is in the right

place, Auto Theft - 43,411, Arson - 1130,

Total Property Crime - 358,811. What do

you 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