With Cruel Intent (33 page)

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&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, rather

moved up the elegant staircase to the

second floor. She stared after him

wondering what his game was.

At exactly six Seymour burst

through the main doors as he always did

after a spirited run from the bus stop.

Blanche was so relieved to see his

smiling face, more than she dared to

admit. He acknowledged her from the

doorway with a wave and quickly moved

to the desk. The anxious librarian scooted

from behind the large desk to meet

Seymour in the empty space at the bottom

of the stairs. She grasped his arm, pulling

him close to her, cradling his arm between

her breasts as she pulled his ear low

enough for her to whisper into.

“I am so glad to see you today,”

she quietly spoke, her breath raising the

hair on the back of his neck.

He turned his face to look into her

eyes, she was beautiful, and having her so

close made him feel warm all over. “And

I you, is there something wrong?” He

could see the worry in her face.

“I don’t know, I’m just a little

freaked out by the stuff that is going on,

you know The Stalker and all,” she said,

not letting go of his arm, her lips moving

dangerously close to his. “A guy with a

straw hat came in about a half hour ago,

kind of gave me the creeps and he’s

upstairs doing something, I don’t dare go

up and see.”

“Would you like me to take a

look?” Seymour offered, wanting to

shorten the distance even further and pull

her into his arms.

“Could you? It would make me

feel so much better if you would just see

what he’s up to.”

He loved coming to her rescue,

made him feel like her knight in shining

armor, but he was sure he’d find the guy

just reading a magazine or surfing the net

on one of the many computers on the

second floor. “Sure, your wish is my

command,” he said, bowing before her as

if she were a queen.

“Okay, knock it off and get your

butt upstairs,” she said, with a girlish grin.

Seymour bounded up the stairs,

taking them two at a time, and was gone

from Blanche’s view. She returned to the

desk and the work she had been putting off

all day. A few minutes passed, then a few

more, Blanche anxiously looked up the

stairs but could see no one. Fifteen

minutes later she felt she could wait no

longer. “What is taking him so long, it’s

not that much space. Must have found him

and is having a heart to heart, or - or

else...” Her mind ran wild with

possibilities. “I’ve got to know,” she

thought, anxious and trembling as she

started up the stairs.

Half way up, she saw Seymour

coming down. He lifted both hands,

signifying empty, and met her in the

middle of the staircase. “There’s nobody

up there, I looked everywhere and then

some. You sure he went up there?”

“I definitely saw him go up and it

was about 30 minutes ago, I’m sure of it. I

guess it’s possible that he came down and

left the library when I was distracted, but I

really haven’t left the desk.” She thought

for a moment, running the past half hour

through her mind. “That’s really the only

logical explanation, I did step to the back

for just a quick minute to get a box of

tissues, he must have come down the stairs

then and I didn’t notice.” Relieved she

again took his arm and led him down the

stairs to the desk. “I do appreciate you

doing that for me, I’ve been a nervous

wreck this afternoon. I feel so much better

now that you’re here, thanks.”

“Glad I could help. Can I tell you

something, and I hope it doesn’t sound

corny to you.” He mustered up the courage

to speak from his heart.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but

I’m a little awkward around girls, I mean

women.”

Blanche interrupted him with a

little white lie, “No, no, I don’t think you

are.”

“Well I am, anyway, I just wanted

to tell you that when I’m with you I don’t

feel that way. I feel like I can just be

myself and you’ll still like me,” he

managed to say, moving his eyes from his

feet to her eyes as he expressed himself.

She wanted to pull the young man

to her and hug him. She could tell this was

difficult for him and she wanted to let him

know that she felt the same way, but the

words of his mother kept ringing in her

ears, “Don’t hurt my son.”

“What I’m trying to say, I guess, is

I really like you more than I think you

know and I was wondering, and I know

we work together and everything, but I

was wondering if you would have dinner

with me tomorrow night so we could be

together someplace other than here,” he

said, looking around the library.

Blanche’s heart skipped a beat and

she wanted to enthusiastically say yes, but

she hesitated for numerous reasons and

moved her eyes away from his, as she

dipped her chin to her chest. Seymour

read the gesture as a no, and was almost

sick, until she raised her head with a

twinkle in her eyes and a beautiful smile

across her lips.

“There is nothing I would like

more than to spend an evening with you

Seymour, when will you pick me up?”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

(Eight Years Earlier)

Jeremy Marshall sat in the office

down the hall from his congressional

boss, head in his hands, trying to weep but

could not. The phone call had come out of

the blue; his father was in the Emory

University Hospital in Atlanta after

suffering a massive heart attack in

Valdosta. Emergency units there had

responded, delivering him to the local

hospital after stabilizing his vitals. The

Valdosta doctors had concluded, under

advisement from a local cardiologist, that

his father’s condition warranted a transfer

to a better-equipped cardiac unit in

Atlanta.

The younger Marshall man had just

celebrated his 28th birthday, but with the

day’s events was feeling much older.

Premature thick, grey hair, cut short at the

sides and swept back, with no bangs,

accentuated his thin face and slightly

furrowed forehead. Green eyes, set back

with narrow fissures, and long lashes

almost made Jeremy look sinister, but a

cosmetically altered row of teeth and a

picture perfect smile, soon overcame most

people’s first impressions. His nose, he’d

inherited from his mother, was slightly

angled to the left with an odd, little cleft