“Just these.” She adjusted her rectangular blue and pink glasses and moved over to a metallic cart.
Jack looked down at the items: a crushed package of cigarettes, a fast food receipt, three quarters, and a scrap of paper smeared with black ink.
“Looks like he had to bum a light,” Morrison pointed out. “No lighter.”
Jack leaned down so he could read what was on the scrap of paper.
“It looks like an address,” Mei offered as she smiled sweetly at Jack.
“It is.” He smiled back. “It’s mine.”
Morrison’s eyes narrowed. “You never saw him before that night?”
“No. I noticed him when I came out of my apartment and he started following me.”
“Thanks, Mei.” Morrison turned to go.
The two men walked out of the cold room into a slightly warmer hallway. Morrison took out a pack of gum and handed Jack a piece.
“You’d just been clipped by the drunk driver, right?” Morrison pondered out loud.
Jack nodded.
“And you hurt your leg. You still have a little limp; how’s it feeling?”
The observation took Jack aback. “It’s much better, sir.”
“You can save the sir stuff for Collins. Call me Bob.” Jack gave him a short nod of respect before Bob continued,
“Anyway, is it possible that maybe the guy thought you were an easy mark?”
Jack bristled at the comment and straightened up.
Bob looked at him and chuckled. “Then again, maybe not.”
“They have no cause of death yet?” Jack looked back into the room.
“Preliminarily it’s an OD.”
“Mei said they found him out behind a motel, but she didn’t say what motel,” Jack said.
Bob stuck two more pieces of gum in his mouth. “Imperial Motor Lodge.”
“Are you sure?”
“There’s only one Imperial.”
But now we have two bodies found there.
“Okay. Thank you for letting me know, sir,” Jack said.
Morrison’s phone rang. “Morrison.” He listened for a second before saying, “Listen, I’ll be over as soon as I can.” He hung up. “Fatal car accident on the highway, two semi tractors.”
Jack nodded his head.
“Jack?”
“Yes”
Morrison’s voice got even deeper. “We have to have a conversation.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I’ve been doing this too long to think that two close calls in short order don’t warrant closer attention. Do you think they’re related?”
Jack scratched his neck and looked down the hallway before admitting, “Yes sir, I do.”
“If you have any ideas, now’s the time to speak up.” Morrison eyed Jack for a moment before continuing, “I don’t know you that well, Stratton, but all I can say is . . . trust your gut. If you think I’m the type of guy that’s going to jam you up or throw you under the bus, shut your mouth. If you think you can trust me, tell me what you’ve got, and we’ll take it from there.” Morrison turned his hands out.
“Sheriff Collins is by the book. I don’t want to get jammed up, but someone has to know, now.”
“I’m not Collins.”
Jack started bringing Morrison up to speed. He laid everything out. Morrison cracked his gum occasionally but remained silent.
“Okay, you have this video?”
“Yes, sir. The guys in the IT lab have it. They also have the password. I don’t know if they’ve looked at it yet.” Jack clenched and relaxed his hands.
“If the guys at the lab haven’t seen the video yet then neither have you,” Morrison pointed out. “Chain of custody is already gone with the phone, but it’s explainable given the circumstances. Davenport is back tomorrow. I’ll call the lab and the forensic people, and we’ll all sit down first thing in the morning.”
“Yes sir,” Jack replied.
“Do you have any idea who at the college it could be?” Morrison asked.
“Nothing definite.”
“Okay, we’ll go over it all then.”
Jack shook his hand, and Morrison’s phone rang again. “Yes, I’m on my way.” He nodded back to Jack then he headed out the door.
Jack turned to go.
“Officer Stratton?” Mei came running around the corner after him.
“Yes?”
“Oh, I’m glad I caught you.” She smiled up at him and adjusted her glasses. “We found a baggie with some money hidden in his left shoe and a small piece of torn stock paper.”
Jack looked down at the evidence bag. The piece of paper was about two inches by one inch. It was off-white paper and one edge was jagged where it had been ripped. The only thing on it was the printed letters “lin.”
Not much to go on.
“Thanks.” Jack nodded. “Can you make sure that gets over to Undersheriff Morrison’s office first thing in the morning?”
“Of course.” She grinned.
“Well, goodbye.”
She nodded her head and watched him leave.
Jack eased back on the gas as the Impala swung into the turn. The veins stood out on his neck, and he had a strangle hold on the steering wheel. Bennie the Goon had been his best lead. Best living lead. He could have led Jack to whoever hired him to watch his apartment. Now he was dead.
No money to follow. They’d have paid him in cash. And what would he have gotten? For fifty bucks, he’d have watched my place all day and night.
Jack was still bothered. It felt like something was about to break. He’d felt that way before.
Weird.
He was apprehensive, like time was slipping away.
Think, Jack, think: a crushed package of cigarettes, typical. Fast food receipt, could be nothing but maybe he met someone there. The money, nothing unusual about that. The scrap of paper, stock paper . . . card stock . . . why would a junkie have—
“Business card,” he shouted.
Jack watched the Impala’s speedometer rise as he headed toward the college. The three letters clicked into place.
His hand pushed a Johnny Cash CD into the player. “God’s Gonna Cut You Down” blared over the speakers as he flew out to the psychology center. The ride took fifteen minutes. He went through “Walk the Line,” “It Ain’t Me Babe,” and “Busted.” “Ring of Fire” was just finishing as he pulled into the parking lot.
Jack combed his fingers through his hair as he walked into the center and smiled at the blonde behind the counter.
She leaned forward and looked Jack up and down. “How can I help you?”
Jack grinned. “I’m here to see Dr. Franklin.”
“Is he expecting you? He’s in class right now.”
“I just have a quick question. Is he in the new classroom upstairs?” He was guessing. “Can you show me?” He leaned in close and smiled.
“I can’t leave the desk.” She shrugged and leaned closer.
“That was room . . .”
“Two ten,” she said.
“I’ll only be a second. Be right back.”
“You have to sign in . . . and you can’t go unescorted,” she called out.
“It’s our secret.” He winked and hurried up the stairs but the girl still reached for a phone.
Jack took the stairs two at a time without looking back. Reaching the top, he turned right and started looking for the classroom. He scanned the room roster next to the doors. “Psychology Classroom 210” There was a rear door farther down the hallway that he headed to. He tried the handle on that door and then slipped into the room.
It was smaller than Jack expected. It would hold about fifty students, but thirty or so were there now. Dr. Franklin stood behind a large wooden desk. In his early fifties, he was tall with sandy brown hair that was on the long side but pulled back. Tweed jacket, jeans, and round glasses finished off the professor look.
Franklin was reading out a list of different topics: “Astrocytes, cluste
r, dopamine . . .” He was going down a list of possible topics for assignments.
“The parts of the Pleasure Pathway,” Franklin leaned up and smiled at a young girl in the front row. “Once we’re done, come up and pick up the list of possible topics. Your assignment will be a pro and con, not a right or wrong, nor a this or that. Short. Four pages.”
Jack looked down as the student in front of him raised his hand.
“We can pick anything on the list?”
Franklin looked at the ceiling and sighed mockingly. “That’s why I’m providing the list.” The girl in the front giggled. “I want you to pick a subject and give a view on that subject and then select an opposing or differing view. For example, if you selected dopamine, you could write about its function in the Pleasure Pathway versus the view of its role with motivational or motor function. Or if I said nucleus accumbens you could say . . .” He pointed to a young man in the front row who shifted in his seat.
“Um . . . right lobe?” he stuttered.
“Right lobe? And . . .?” Franklin inquired.
The student cleared his throat and settled back in his seat. He cast a glance at the girl seated next to him, and she smiled. Jack leaned onto the desk.
This should be good.
The young man started to speak. “I have been thinking about the connection between the nucleus accumbens and the right lobe and the theory that there’s a connection between the two as far as spirituality . . .” He hesitated as Franklin walked around the podium and approached him. “Some theorize, and I concur, that, according to . . .”
The young man stopped speaking as Franklin came to a stop directly in front of his desk.
“You concur? Mr. . . .?”
“Ross.”
“Mr. Ross concurs.” Franklin held his hands out to the class, and nervous laughter flitted around the room. “And must I assume that you’re taking The Effects of Trauma on the Brain this semester?”
Ross gulped and nodded.
Franklin exhaled and began to walk the length of the room. “For those not so privileged to be taking Dr. Hahn’s class, please enlighten us with a brief preview of your synopsis.”
The girl sitting next to Ross reached out and squeezed his arm.
He straightened up, puffed out his chest, and addressed the class. “We have been discussing how the nucleus accumbens produce pleasure and how it works in the reward pathway. In this process, the neurotransmitter dopamine is released, and I think there may be a link between that and the front right lobe—”
“EUREKA,” Franklin shouted so loudly that everybody jumped in their seats and turned to look at him. “Mr. Ross has done it. He has accomplished what countless before him have strived for. He has discovered . . .” He mockingly and dramatically raised his hands above his head. “The God Spot.”
Franklin started clapping and walking back toward the shrinking student.
“Mr. Ross, the problem with your conclusion is, it’s wrong.” He leaned forward and flipped Ross’s closed notebook back open. “Perhaps you should write this down.”
He turned and smiled at the girl next to Ross, and she turned and stared at her desk.
“For years scientists have been looking for a certain part of the brain. The God Spot as it’s sometimes called, is the area of the brain that’s responsible for spirituality. I say this with the highest regard for Dr. Hahn, but for the twenty years he has spent looking for that one spot, he has been digging in the wrong place.”
Franklin looked around the room, but most students peered down instead of meeting his eyes.
“Others, like myself or Dr. Melding, believe that it isn’t one, but many spots. There have been many studies regarding this. Several have been performed in this university. Various methods have been employed to locate it.”
He walked to stand before the girl that sat with her head in her hands ogling him.
“They have tried love, meditation, happiness, fear. None have worked.” He sauntered back over in front of Ross. “I have myself researched this exact topic you have selected for your paper. My study took the opposite path of the one that you concur with. In my humble opinion, it would be relatively easy to prove through the mapping of dopamine release that it isn’t one spot but many spots.” He leaned in and emphasized the words.
As Franklin turned to go back to the podium, he leered at the girl seated next to Ross. Jack shook his head as the student inhaled.
“Easy? Then why haven’t you proven—”
Kid, you should have stayed down. It’s a no-win fight.
“Why?” Franklin’s hand crashed down on the podium, and he spun around. “Knowing and proving are totally separate. If they . . .” The professor grabbed the sides of the podium and inhaled. Jack could see his knuckles turning white as his hands clutched the wood. “I digress.” When Franklin continued his voice was calm but cold. “I await reading and grading your paper with bated breath.”
Franklin sneered and Ross deflated.
“The assignment is due next class. As always, thank you.” Franklin’s attention turned to the girl in the front row who hopped up and rushed to his desk.
The rest of the students stood, and Jack began to weave his way to the front of the classroom. The young girl was now turning back and forth and giggling. She kept leaning into the doctor who was more interested in looking down at the view her low-cut blouse gave him.
Jack waited. Dr. Franklin looked up and frowned. So did the girl. She picked up her books, gave Jack a dirty look, and stomped past him.
“Dr. Franklin? Jack Stratton.” Jack smiled. The doctor didn’t.
“Yes?” He looked past Jack, leering at the girl as she walked out of the classroom.
“I have a couple quick questions for you.”
Scumbag.
“I have another class. Can you get the notes from another student?” Franklin turned back to his desk.
“I spoke with Mike Leverone . . .”
Franklin’s hand slammed down on his desk with such force that everyone left in the room turned and stared.
Damn. I should have said Hank Foster.
The doctor’s voice was clipped and rapid fire. “Mike Leverone making his own meth lab and blowing his face off had nothing to do with me. Who are you? Get out.”
That was a mistake. Take it down.
“I didn’t say you had anything to do with it. I just need to ask you—”
“You need to get out of my classroom. Are you a lawyer? I’ll call security.” He turned and began walking toward Jack.
Jack shook his head and held up his hands. “You have it wrong. I’m here for your professional opinion. I’m a police officer and I’m looking at a missing person case. I’ve spoken with a few different people who recommended I speak with you, including Hank Foster.”
Franklin stood there glaring at Jack and then it was as if someone flipped a switch. He smiled. “My apologies, Jack. The situation with Mr. Leverone was . . . traumatic for me as an educator. You said you’re a police officer? You’re working a missing person’s case? I don’t see how I could be of any assistance with that.”
“I’m looking for a girl who did meth. One time.”
Franklin frowned and looked at Jack with a mixture of scorn and pity. “People don’t do meth one time.”
“They do if they die.”
“That’s a trick question then.” The doctor’s lips pressed together.
“The question I had is, how does meth influence someone the first time they take it psychologically?” Jack added the word psychologically at the last second to try to hook the doctor back into the conversation.
“Another trick question. There are too many variables and too many inconsistencies. What’s the person like physically? Tall? Short? Fat? Thin? What’s their emotional state? The drug? What’s the mixture? How much? How taken? I could go on and on. A trick question again.” Once more his hand came down on his desk.
This guy is way off the reservation.
“There have been a number of studies on the effects of meth and the mind including my own. My personal study has been placed in a status of indefinite hold thanks to the aforementioned Mr. Leverone.”
“That’s unfortunate . . .”
"You’ve no idea of the hours wasted, not just mine, but my students’. The whole study was frozen, just like that. Now the data is useless. You can’t just pause a study. Gone. All of that research is gone.”
“Doctor, for the test subjects, did you accept volunteers?”
“Of course. We don’t pay more than a small stipend, if anything, but . . .” His eyes widened and his nostrils flared. “This supposed missing person case . . . Who? Who’s missing?” Dr. Franklin pointed a finger at Jack.
This guys may be on meth. He’s wacko.
“I can’t divulge . . .”
“Get out. Now. I have a class.” He took two steps toward Jack.
Talk him down.
“Doctor, I’m sorry I imposed. I just have one more question. Do you know a Lennie Jacobsen?”
“Yes . . . no . . . maybe. I have so many students,” he spouted as his head was shaking. “Get out.” He waved a hand at Jack.
“Thank you for your time. You’ve been very insightful.” Jack forced a smile.
Franklin looked confused for a second and then began smiling. “I’m so glad I could be of assistance. I have another class. You can make an appointment, and we can discuss this further. Good day.” He turned his back on Jack and began arranging his desk.
Jack headed for the door and slipped past some more students coming in.
That guy isn’t right in the head.
Jack ran his hands through his hair and exhaled.
I shouldn’t have opened with Mike Leverone. Of course it would get him upset.
Jack weaved through the groups of students who headed to their classes. He stomped down the stairs and stormed out the door. One look at his smoldering eyes and the snarl on his lips caused the students coming toward him to move aside. He jumped into his Impala and gunned it out of the lot.
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