Watching

by Blake Pierce

  She hoped Trudy had done as she’d promised and emailed that she wouldn’t be there. So far Kyra hadn’t mentioned anything about Trudy. Riley figured it was best not to say anything about her unless Kyra did.

  Soon Kyra drove into the grounds of the town’s small cemetery and along a winding road until she finally parked her car.

  When Riley and Kyra got out of the car and started to walk among the gravestones, Riley noticed for the first time what a lovely April day it was. There was a pleasant cool breeze in the air and the trees were green and birds were singing. Spring had definitely arrived.

  Soon Riley and Kyra stood in front of a tombstone that looked so new it hardly seemed real. On it was engraved …

  Rhea Thorson

  beloved daughter and sister

  Riley felt a renewed pang of sadness that the word “friend” didn’t also appear there. Below those words were the dates of Rhea’s shockingly short life.

  Riley was startled when Kyra put her hand on her shoulder and squeezed it tightly.

  Kyra said, “You have no idea how much Rhea cared about you.”

  Riley gulped hard. These were words she hadn’t expected to hear.

  Kyra continued, “She’d tell me about you every time she got a chance. She said you were special and smart and strong, and she thought you were going to do amazing things with your life. She didn’t know what those things might be, but she was looking forward to finding out. You were really her best friend, Riley.”

  Riley was staggered with surprise.

  Her best friend?

  Riley had had no idea that Rhea had felt that way.

  The truth was, Riley herself had never felt as close to Rhea as she did to, say, Trudy.

  And she had always thought Rhea had felt closer to both Trudy and Heather than she had to her.

  Now Riley felt like maybe she understood why Kyra hadn’t seemed very concerned that Trudy hadn’t come. Although she had invited both of them, apparently it mattered much, much more that Riley be here.

  Kyra added, “She said she could count on you for absolutely anything.”

  Riley suddenly felt as if she’d been punched in the gut.

  Did Rhea really feel that way about me? she wondered.

  Riley had never known that.

  If she had known, might she have watched over her more carefully that night at the Centaur’s Den?

  Rhea certainly hadn’t been able to count on her then—not when it had mattered most.

  Now Riley had to fight back the tears.

  She remembered some questions she’d left unasked when Kyra had called to invite her here. Now it was time to ask them.

  She said, “Kyra, what have the police been telling you? Surely they’ve been in touch with you. How close are they to catching the man who …?”

  Kyra shook her head and said, “I call them just about every day, and they always say the same thing. The killer was some kind of drifter who came and went. They don’t think he’s still around. He could be anywhere. Maybe he’d committed similar killings elsewhere, and if so maybe the Feds could help track him down. But so far it just sounds like the local cops are getting nowhere.”

  Riley thought back to Dr. Zimmerman’s conflicting theory that Rhea had known her attacker, and her own deep hunch that he was still watching girls on campus, waiting to kill again.

  Should she talk to Kyra about all that?

  Probably not, Riley thought.

  Then Kyra said …

  “The truth is, I don’t get the feeling the police are trying very hard.”

  Riley remembered feeling the same way when she’d gone to the station and tried to get answers out of Officer Steele.

  She wondered—were the police even making any serious effort anymore?

  Kyra added, “I keep calling Dean Trusler too, and he’s worse than useless—like some kind of automatic condolence-vending machine, saying over and over again how sorry he is for our family’s loss, and how the case is out of his hands, but he’s sure the police will solve it.”

  Riley had no idea what to say. She and Kyra stood looking down silently at the gravestone for a few long moments.

  Then Riley became aware that Kyra was gazing at her. Riley returned her gaze.

  Kyra said, “Riley …”

  Kyra didn’t finish her thought, but Riley sensed what she wanted to say …

  “Riley, please do something. Please make things right.”

  Riley felt a knot of emotion in her throat. She knew she couldn’t say no to Kyra’s unspoken question.

  So she nodded slowly.

  Kyra smiled, seeming relieved.

  Then she said, “Come on, we’d better get you to the station in time to catch your bus.”

  As they walked away from the headstone, Riley kept thinking about what Kyra had just said about Rhea …

  “She said she could count on you for absolutely anything.”

  It now seemed almost like a voice for the grave, begging Riley herself for justice.

  How can I possibly bring anybody any justice? she wondered.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  During her classes the next day, Riley found it hard to concentrate. She kept remembering the imploring look she’d gotten from Kyra yesterday—the look that had seemed to say …

  “Please do something.”

  What could she possibly do?

  But if the police weren’t doing anything, was it ultimately going to be up to Riley to find Rhea’s killer?

  The idea was too staggering to even consider.

  And yet Riley couldn’t help thinking about it.

  All day long she carried Dr. Zimmerman’s book around, thumbing through it whenever she had a chance. She wasn’t sure how many times she’d read Dark Minds by now. She’d already filled most of a spiral notebook with notes and words jotted down from it.

  But she did know that she really ought to have returned it to Professor Hayman by now, and that was something she could take care of this very afternoon.

  After her last class, Riley found Professor Hayman’s office in the Psychology building, but she was disappointed to find that he’d already left for the day.

  As she turned to leave, she heard a voice from nearby.

  “Can I help you?”

  She turned and saw Dr. Zimmerman himself standing just outside the main office of the Psychology Department. The older professor looked his usual warm, pleasant, rumpled self.

  She felt a flush of shyness as she realized she was holding Zimmerman’s own book in her hands.

  She stammered, “Uh … Professor Hayman lent me your book, and I dropped by to give it back but …”

  Dr. Zimmerman winked and said, “Pretty dry reading, I guess. I’m not surprised you didn’t get through it.”

  Riley shook her head emphatically.

  “Oh, no, Dr. Zimmerman. It’s fascinating. I read it through and through, cover to cover.”

  Dr. Zimmerman’s smile widened with what looked like surprise.

  “Well, I’m flattered. It’s not every day that a student reads a book of mine without being forced to! Perhaps you’d like to come in and talk about it?”

  You bet I would, Riley thought. She followed him past the department receptionist into his office, a fairly large and comfortable space cluttered with books and papers.

  The professor sat down in a chair behind his desk, and nodded to her to take one of the smaller chairs nearby.

  Riley sat down and placed the book on the desk in front of her, wondering what she could possibly say to the author of such a fascinating work. But in a matter of seconds she was asking him all kinds of questions about the criminals he’d written about, especially the psychological forces that drove them to kill—sometimes again and again and again. Riley was fascinated by his insights and answers.

  It was obvious that Zimmerman was pleased with her curiosity, and probably also with the evidence that she had actually read the book. He soon began talking about cases that he ha
dn’t written about—so-called “cold cases,” ones that had never been solved.

  These included the 1987 murder and “sexual mutilation” of Peggy Hettrick in Colorado. Recently, over a decade later, a man had been arrested for the murder, and it seemed likely that he would soon be convicted. But Dr. Zimmerman told Riley that he doubted the police had the right man even now.

  He also told her about the sexual assault and murder in 1990 of Susan Poupart, a young Native American mother of two whose body was found six months after her disappearance. Two male suspects in her murder had never been convicted.

  When Dr. Zimmerman mentioned that Poupart had disappeared after leaving a party, Riley couldn’t help but shiver. It reminded her too much of Rhea’s murder after leaving the Centaur’s Den that awful night.

  Dr. Zimmerman seemed to notice her reaction.

  He said in a concerned voice, “I’m getting the distinct feeling that your interest in these crimes isn’t strictly academic.”

  Riley silently nodded.

  Dr. Zimmerman said, “I remember now—you were close friends with Rhea Thorson, weren’t you?”

  Riley nodded again.

  Dr. Zimmerman fell silent, apparently waiting for Riley to speak.

  She hesitated, then said, “Dr. Zimmerman, do you think that what happened to Rhea …?”

  She couldn’t bring herself to finish the question.

  Dr. Zimmerman said, “You’re worried that her killer will never be found—that her murder will turn out to be a cold case, like the others we’ve been discussing.”

  Riley nodded.

  Dr. Zimmerman’s expression showed a trace of worry.

  “I’m not sure what to tell you,” he said. “The cases we just talked about involved an element of sexual assault. Rhea’s murder didn’t. It’s also typical of cold cases that the victim’s body isn’t found right away. That wasn’t the case with Rhea either.”

  Shuddering, Riley said, “I was the second person to see her body.”

  “I’m very sorry,” Dr. Zimmerman said.

  A silence fell between them.

  Finally, Dr. Zimmerman spoke slowly and cautiously.

  “Ms. Sweeney, could we keep the conversation we’re having private and confidential?”

  Riley felt a strange tingle.

  What is he about to tell me? she wondered.

  “Of course,” she said.

  Zimmerman sat staring out the window for a moment.

  Then he said, “I know what I said in Professor Hayman’s class that day—that Rhea surely knew her killer, and he’d soon be apprehended. But now … I’m starting to have my doubts. If I’d been right, I don’t see how the killer could still be at large, even after this relatively short period of time. And of course the police …”

  His voice faded, but Riley knew what he was about to say.

  She spoke up. “The police think it was some drifter—a total stranger. They think he’s committed similar murders in other places.”

  Zimmerman gave her a curious look.

  “You’ve talked to the police?” he asked. “That’s interesting.”

  He shrugged slightly and added, “Well, even if the police were right and I was wrong, some sort of progress ought to have been made by now. That hasn’t happened.”

  Riley struggled with herself for a moment.

  Should she tell Zimmerman about her own thoughts and hunches?

  Would he listen to her, or would he just think she was crazy?

  Finally she said, “Dr. Zimmerman, I think Rhea knew the killer—not really well, but well enough not to have been frightened of him. I think he’s still here in Lanton. And I really, really think he’s going to kill again.”

  Dr. Zimmerman leaned toward her with an expression of keen attention.

  “Indeed?” he said. “What makes you think these things?”

  Riley gulped hard. Then she slowly and carefully related her two experiences of slipping into the killer’s mind—when she’d retraced Rhea’s route across the campus that night, and when she’d stood in Rhea’s room imagining how he’d felt looking down at his victim’s bleeding body.

  His eyes widened with interest as he listened.

  When she finished, she said, “I’m afraid maybe you think I’ve lost my mind.”

  Dr. Zimmerman shook his head slowly.

  “Not at all,” he said. “Those sound like very powerful experiences. And … I hesitate to say this … but they might be very insightful. I remember you from my Social Psychology class—you’ve got a very good logical mind. Now I suspect that you’ve got exceptional intuition as well.”

  Riley felt a flood of relief to be able to finally talk to someone about all this—someone who really seemed to understand.

  She said, “Dr. Zimmerman, I’m feeling really scared—of myself, I mean. You talked about the importance of empathy in Dr. Hayman’s class that day. What does it say about me that I can empathize with a killer?”

  “It might mean that you have a unique talent,” Dr. Zimmerman said. “It might not be a talent you’d choose to have, but it might prove to be very valuable. Really good criminal profilers are sometimes prone to the same kinds of perceptions you’ve just described. Have you ever thought about pursuing a career in law enforcement?”

  Riley couldn’t help but wince as she remembered what Ryan had said to her …

  “You should be a cop.”

  She hadn’t liked the idea then, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it now.

  “No,” Riley said.

  Zimmerman said, “Well, maybe you should. As far as empathy is concerned—there are many kinds of empathy, and not all of them are pretty. In my opinion, it’s something of a myth that all sadistic killers lack empathy. You have to be keenly aware of someone else’s suffering if you’re going to enjoy it. Contrary to conventional wisdom, I think that many killers are fully aware of their victims’ humanity. That’s what makes them truly …” He seemed to search for the right word, then he simply said, “evil.”

  Riley suppressed a shudder at his words.

  Then he added, “As I said before, I hope we can keep this conversation confidential. You see, I now pretty much agree with you that the killer is most likely still among us and intends to kill again. But so far our notion is only a hunch, and we’ve got no evidence or reasoning to support it. We mustn’t cause a panic by spreading our suspicions around.”

  “But what can we do?” Riley said.

  “Let’s just keep in touch about all this,” Zimmerman said. “If you come to any new insights, please tell me, and I’ll do the same with you. I’m in regular contact with the police. I can convey any thoughts and ideas we might come up with to them.”

  As he got up from his chair, Riley was nagged by a new and much less serious worry.

  She remembered how touchy-feely Dr. Zimmerman could be in the class she’d taken from him, and how he’d told all the students in Professor Hayman’s class to hug Riley and Trudy.

  “You’re not going to hug me, are you?” Riley said.

  He smiled at her mischievously.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I only make students hug other students.”

  Then he added with a chuckle, “I’m a bit sadistic myself that way.”

  Riley laughed as well. She found herself liking Dr. Zimmerman more and more every moment.

  He held out his hand and said, “Leave the book with me. I’ll make sure Professor Hayman gets it back.”

  Riley handed him the book and left his office.

  As she headed away, she found herself confused by her feelings.

  She remembered Kyra telling her something about Rhea …

  “… she thought you were going to do amazing things with your life.”

  Solving murders would certainly be amazing, but the idea troubled her. It didn’t sound like a very desirable life.

  Even so, maybe she could help solve at least one murder—the murder of her friend Rhea.

  R
iley was really glad that she’d had a chance to talk with Dr. Zimmerman.

  She felt relieved to have such a valuable ally.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Trudy was feeling fairly proud of herself as she walked from the library back to the dorm. It was about nine o’clock at night, just six weeks after the horrible night that had turned her final semester of college into a time of fear and dread. For many long days, she’d found it impossible to make a trip like this alone. Even now, although other students were out and about, she still found it frightening to be outside after dark.

  Weeks had gone by since her counselor first suggested she do this kind of thing in order to conquer her fears. Since then she’d forced herself to make this nighttime walk many times, and she’d still felt terrified every time. She’d been wondering if her fear would ever go away.

  Then she realized that tonight seemed different. At the moment, she didn’t feel frightened.

  Have I done it at last? she wondered.

  She smiled and waved cheerfully to other students who were also walking along the lighted campus paths. A few of them gave her odd looks, but she didn’t care.

  I’m back, she thought. I’m my old self again.

  But as she walked along she passed fewer and fewer students, until at last she noticed that there weren’t any other people in sight. She knew they hadn’t magically disappeared. It was just that, at the moment, there didn’t happen to be any other people nearby.

  Perfectly natural, Trudy reassured herself.

  Then something really weird began to happen.

  Suddenly she couldn’t walk. She stood frozen, unable to move.

  What’s happening to me? she wondered.

  Worse, she felt her muscles weakening, and her legs started to wobble.

  She worried that she might collapse in a heap right here on the pavement.

  It reminded her of one of those nightmares when danger was approaching but she couldn’t move or scream and …

  That’s it! she thought. I’m dreaming! All I’ve got to do is wake up and …

  But she didn’t wake up.

  This wasn’t a dream.

  And here she stood all alone and trembling, like some kind of little animal surrendering to larger beast of prey.