With Cruel Intent (51 page)

thought of anything else I needed. Anyway,

I was wondering if I could speak to him.”

“Do you remember his name? We

have a number of students that help us

out.”

“No I don’t, but it was in the

evening and he’s about six feet tall, kind

of thin, brown hair,” he described him,

trying not to be too specific.

“Okay, that would be Seymour.”

“Right, right, ah Seymour ah......,”

he waited for her to fill in the blank.

“Wood, Seymour Wood. He’s not

working this morning, only works a

couple of nights a week. Can I take a

message for him?” she said, trying to be

helpful.

“No, I’ll just drop by the library

later and talk to him. When does he work

next?”

“I don’t think he works again until

tomorrow night, but I’d be happy to help

you if you wanted to come in today, I’ll be

here until 6:00 p.m. and my name is Miss

Delaney.”

“Thanks

for

the

offer,

you

wouldn’t happen to have a phone number

for Seymour would you?” he pressed for

that last bit of information he needed.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have his

permission to provide those specifics

over the phone, but like I said he’ll be

here tomorrow night.”

“Okay, well thanks anyway. Have

a good day, bye.”

Lester pulled the phone book from

underneath the payphone and looked

through it until he came to the W’s, 132

listings for Wood. That would take all

morning and he didn’t have enough change

to make that many calls. He thought a

moment before picking up his bag and

heading to the administration building.

The line to the reception desk was

short. As he waited, he could see a half

dozen women tapping away on keyboards

situated behind the main reception desk,

each with a name placard displayed

prominently on their desk. A large clock

hung on the wall over a bank of windows

that were open, allowing a slight breeze to

drift through the office. The woodwork

and building itself were turn of the century

but the remainder of the office was state of

the art, with computers, servers, and

monitors galore.

He finally made his way to the

front of the line where a young woman,

most likely a college student, greeted him.

“Good mornin’, what can I do for you'?”

she said, with a delicate Southern drawl.

“I’m looking for a friend of mine,

we were supposed to meet by the library

this morning, but I’ve missed him. I was

wondering if you could tell me what class

he might be in right now,” he said

persuasively,

leaving

his

hat

and

sunglasses on.

“The name please?”

“Oh, right, Seymour Wood.”

“Thanks.” She went through a

number of keystrokes, waited only

momentarily before looking at her watch,

then back to the screen. “Okay, let’s see

here, looks to me like Mr. Wood should

just about be finishing up his racquetball

class over at the gym. If you hurry you

might be able to catch him there.”

“Thanks so much. How would I

get there from here?” he asked.

She handed him a map and used a

well-manicured nail to trace out the path

to the gymnasium.

Lester sprinted across the campus,

dodging coed’s as he went. He couldn’t

miss his opportunity this morning; the last

thing he wanted was for that deputy to

show up with a warrant. He had to make it

happen this morning, without fail. The gym

was a large, prominent structure in the

northern part of the campus. It took him

almost five minutes to get there, moving as

quickly as he dared, without sending up

too many alarms. He was glad to see that

he was not the only one running, looked

like being late was not uncommon.

Once at the gym he looked around

but with no obvious signage he finally

asked a student where the racquetball

courts were. He had little trouble finding

them once he was pointed in the right

direction. The time on his watch showed

just before 10:00 a.m., he knew his

chances were slipping away with every

tick of the clock. The courts were laid out,

side-by-side, with glass enclosures and

seating at the end for spectators. He could

hear footsteps and the squeaking of gym

shoes on wooden floors, racquetballs

being slammed against walls, and the

occasional grunt from tired participants.

Lester walked along the back of each unit,

peering inside to see if he could recognize

Seymour, he appeared to be gone. As he

contemplated his next option a glass door

opened and two young women stepped out

from the closest racquetball court.

“Hey, you don’t happen to know a

Seymour Wood do you? He’s a friend of

mine, thought I might catch up with him

here.” He was sure he was playing the

role successfully.

“For sure, he just finished up,

probably in the locker room over there.”

The plain one pointed.

Lester moved quickly to the locker

area and scanned the rows of grey lockers,

looking for his target. On the fourth aisle

in, he finally saw him standing, talking

with another student, his racquet dangling

from his wrist, t-shirt pulled off, and

draped over his shoulder. Sweat glistened

from his upper body. Lester watched the

young man take the shirt from his shoulder

and wipe the sweat from his face. The

assailant sat his backpack on a bench that

extended along the front of each bank of

lockers. A central walkway provided a

gap of five feet, in between the lockers

themselves, each extending from the floor

to about the top of Seymour’s head. Other

students moved between the lockers and

showers before getting dressed.

Wanting to observe Seymour more

closely he walked down the row of

lockers until he stood directly behind the

chatting friends. He opened a locker

without a paddle lock and slid the

backpack inside, took off his shoes, and

laid them on the floor in front of the

locker. He could hear the two behind him

winding up their conversation and

exchanging goodbyes, it had to be now.

Lester reached for the outside of the

backpack, looked down the row of

lockers, in both directions, before he

unzipped a pocket and reached inside, felt

what he needed, pulled it from the pack

and slowly turned around.

Seymour stood before him, only a

few feet separating the two. Lester took

the pencil and paper in his hands and

waited while he looked over Seymour’s

shoulder, noting the locker number, and

writing it down. Again he checked to see

that he was not being watched. Seymour

reached for the lock that secured the

locker, quickly dropped it, letting it clang

against the metal locker door before

wiping the sweat from his eyes again, with

the stained shirt. He took the paddle lock

in hand and spun the dial, right 16, left 9,

right 27, the mechanism released the small

bolt and access was granted. Lester

immediately turned around, repeating the

three numbers in his head, sat on the bench

looking into his own locker, and wrote the

combination down before slipping the

paper into his pants pocket. Normally he

would not have needed the written copy as

a back up, but today there could be no

mistakes. He desperately wanted to look

over his shoulder to see what Wood’s was

up to, but he dared not, instead he tried to

make himself look busy by pulling the

books from his backpack, and thumbing

through one of them. Once Seymour was

off to the showers, he stuffed the items

back into the bag, put his shoes back on,

and walked from the locker area, but he

didn’t go far.

A couple of benches were

conveniently located just outside the main

doors of the gym, offering a perfect place

for Lester to wait for Seymour to exit the

building. Fifteen minutes passed before

the lanky student emerged, books in hand,

backpack over a shoulder, and in a hurry

to get to his next class. Lester watched

him move across the campus until he was

sure he would not be coming back.

Now standing in front of locker

number 1137, his bag on the floor next to

him after removing and putting on his

gloves, he spun the dial on the lock, 16-9-

27, it opened. The cautious plotter again

looked for any sign of trouble before

opening the locker and checking out the

contents. A white towel hung from one of

three metal hooks on the sidewall. From

the other two, hung his jockstrap, shorts

and smelly t-shirt. Seymour’s wet socks

lay in the bottom of the locker on top of a

pair of Nike sport shoes. Toward the top,

a small shelf separated the locker into two

compartments, the top being quite small,

but room enough for personal items and

toiletries. A clean t-shirt, socks, and

trunks were situated behind the deodorant

on the shelf.

Lester reached into a secure

pocket on the inside of his bag and felt for

the .38 he’d put there earlier. The feel of

the cold steel sent a thrill through him as

he considered the results of his next move.

Again, he looked side-to-side, content that

no one was around; he removed the

revolver from its hiding place and held it

inside the locker. He wrapped the towel

that hung there around the gun, being sure

to wipe every surface, before he moved

the gun to the top shelf, and carefully slid

it under the clothing that was there.

Confident that he had not overlooked

anything, he closed the locker, replaced

the lock, spun the dial to secure it, and left

the building.

He chuckled to himself the entire

distance walking back to the library. This

was going better than he could have ever

imagined. He did not believe in luck, but

he could see his destiny with Blanche laid

out before him. Lester returned to the same

pay phone he had used earlier to speak to

the librarian.

“9-1-1, what is the nature of your

emergency?”

“I’m a student at the University,

and I think I just saw another student with

a gun.”

“Who am I speaking with and are

you sure it was a gun, sir?”

“Yeah, I’m sure it was a gun, but

I’d rather not use my name.”

“Okay, but do you know the name

of the student you saw, and can you

describe the gun?”

“I thought I heard somebody call

him Seymour, but I could be wrong. I

don’t know much about guns, but it was a

handgun, not the kind with a clip, I think

they call it a revolver, was silver with a

brown handle.”

“Sir, if you could just.....” the

operator noted the line going dead as the

caller hung up. The dispatch system

correctly identified the call coming from

the campus of Valdosta University.

Mrs. Wild’s class was anxious to

hear from the tiny deputy that sat at the

front of the lecture hall, her companion,

Otis, at her feet. The shepherd eyed each

student as they went from the door to their

seat, occasionally wagging his tail.

Natalie sat quietly waiting for the

instructor to arrive, not saying anything,

but nervously waiting for the task to be

completed. She'd gotten little sleep the

night before, Lester Cummings occupying

most of her waking thoughts. As soon as

she completed her morning assignment the

duo would be tracking down the old

farmer and taking a detailed statement.

A few minutes before class started

at 10:30 a.m., a winded Seymour Wood

walked through the door and stopped

when he saw the officer and Otis. For a

second, he thought he was in the wrong