No, what he had done was right. It was just. He should be receiving accolades, not admonishments. Three killings and the CPD had to call in a specialist. There was something poetic about that. Finally, he was getting noticed.
Dr. Patterson wasn’t what he’d expected. Toxin had been tailing the guy for the past week, deciding their ridiculous phone conversation warranted a personal follow-up. But he’d only seen the man’s house in the ’burbs and the building that housed SSAM where Patterson worked. There seemed to be no other facet to the man. The wonder-boy mindhunter depicted in the press was, in fact, dull as a rock. All work and no play...
But today...today had been extremely interesting. Following Dr. Patterson had led him to a private school for boys. That, in itself, was a notable deviation from the norm. And the surprises kept on coming.
Patterson had a son who attended the school. From the looks of it, Patterson might yet have a healthy libido too. He was smiling at the pretty blonde, his gaze covertly moving over her body whenever the breeze pinned her skirt against it. She was nicely formed. And she had a genuine smile.
Yes, Patterson was a complex guy after all. Toxin liked that. Perhaps the guy wasn’t a total dick. Toxin wanted a worthy adversary. A challenge. A nemesis who could, perhaps, come to understand him with a little help. Every superhero needed a counterpart who would drive him to perform at his best.
His lips twisted into a grin. The mindhunter, the man who hunted him, was about to become the hunted.
Chapter Five
“Got some news for you.” Max sat across the desk from Holt. “I scouted out a lab my street contact mentioned. Typical meth lab, though the guy who runs it is legendary for his creativity.”
Holt felt a prickle of excitement. “So he could cook up something Toxin might have injected, if someone paid the right price?”
“Sounds like it. The guy’s name is Henry. He’s way too small to have committed the murders. He’s maybe five-five and one-twenty soaking wet. He survives because he’s smart and supplies a need in that area.”
“But could he have made the toxic cocktail that’s being injected into these victims?”
“Absolutely,” Max said. “Did he? I don’t know. I only got a look at him from a distance. Didn’t want to show our hand yet.”
“I got a call from Detective Noah Crandall of the CPD. He’s now in charge of the Toxin investigation. I guess they want some fresh eyes on it.” And Noah had certainly seemed refreshed. The man was in serious love with an art expert they’d met on a case in New York. Holt missed that feeling. Since the Labor Day picnic a week ago, he’d started having intense dreams of sex with a faceless woman. Unfortunately, that woman’s lips were the exact softness and shape of Sara’s. He had a sneaking suspicion his subconscious was trying to betray him.
Max snapped his fingers. “Yo, where’d you go?”
“Nowhere.” Holt cleared his throat. “Where were we?”
Max’s look was speculative. “Is it a woman?”
“What?”
“Only a woman can make a man that spacey this early in the morning.”
Holt bit back an automatic denial. “Well, sort of...”
“It’s okay if you’re getting out there again. Hell, it’s been a year, right?”
“Yeah.” Holt rubbed the back of his neck. And, if he were being honest, he and Elizabeth hadn’t exactly been intimate—not in that way—when she was really sick. Or before that, either. They’d been so different, and they’d started to grow apart before her illness. Her cancer had actually drawn them closer together.
“You don’t have to be a candidate for sainthood, you know.”
“It’s not that.” Hell, he wasn’t sure Max was capable of understanding the depth of a committed love. The man was always charming women, but was careful to avoid complicated entanglements. “She was my friend, the mother of my child...”
Max held up a hand. “Yeah, I get it. But a guy has needs. You can only ignore them for so long before they build into an obsession.”
Was that what Holt’s dreams of Sara were? Some kind of obsession that could be relieved if he took action? “Let’s get back to the case.”
“Do you think Toxin’s even around anymore?” Max asked, voicing one of Holt’s fears. “One murder in early January, one in February, and one a few weeks ago. An odd schedule. We hear from him after the TV broadcast, he seems angry, and then...nothing. It’s almost like he’s slowing down instead of escalating.”
It wasn’t likely Toxin was running scared just because Holt had been assigned this case. “Could be stalking his next victim.” Toxin was still out there, somewhere. He hadn’t simply disappeared forever. They couldn’t be that lucky.
* * *
“Our focus is on academics.” Over the speakerphone, the Academy president’s firm tone brooked no argument. A chorus of agreement sounded from the other board members connected via the conference call.
“As it should be,” Sara agreed, trying to control her frustration. “But students need a well-rounded education to be competitive in today’s universities. A drama program is another way for kids to show their talents. To branch out, to feel comfortable with themselves by feeling comfortable within someone else’s skin. It’s a way of expressing themselves.” John Rochard’s angry face came to mind, as did the not-so-subtle phone message he’d left for her yesterday, a follow-up to his threats at the picnic, no doubt. It was for students like Neil and Jeremy, John’s sons, who desperately needed an outlet, that she fought.
“There’s a reason they’re called electives.” The president drew out the word. “They’re a choice.”
“Yes, and the university selection committees are looking at our kids’ choices. If our students want the best scholarships, the best opportunities, they’ll need to show they have more to offer society. They need to show they can earn good marks and contribute in other ways. In fact, I also want to start a volunteer program that shuttles the older students off campus one afternoon a week. It’ll show them where they can contribute to their community. They can help at the hospital, the library, tutoring at the elementary schools...”
Her words trailed off as she realized the group had fallen into silence. Had she broken through the solid brick wall that was the school’s board or had she gone too far, pushing for too much? Elizabeth had often called her a pit bull—not afraid to fight for what she wanted.
“Let’s table this for now,” said the president.
Sara bit the inside of her cheek and resisted the urge to hurl something. Her award for Educator of the Year from a few years back, a big block of polished glass etched with her name and presented to her by the school district she’d worked for prior to the Academy, sat on the bookshelf beside her, taunting her. Instead, she curled her fingers into her palms.
Cheryl peeked her head in the door, took one look at Sara’s face, and gave her a sympathetic grimace. Through the phone, the other participants chorused their agreement about the adjournment. Sure, that they could agree on. She swallowed sour disappointment. They could shelve her for now, but she wouldn’t be letting her plans go anytime soon. She disconnected and sat back in her chair.
Cheryl came forward and set a stack of folders on Sara’s desk, then planted her hands on her generous hips. “Judging by the look on your face, that wasn’t as successful as you wanted it to be.”
“No, but I won’t let it go, no matter how much they try to discourage me.” She’d have to tread carefully, but she would not give up.
“That’s my spunky girl. The last kid was picked up an hour ago. I think you should take the rest of the afternoon off. You skipped lunch again, and you’ve barely taken time for yourself at all for weeks. The Academy will survive the last half hour before the weekend without you at the helm.”
“You’re one to talk.”
>
Cheryl had been contracted to work shorter hours in the summer, but often stayed the full regular-semester schedule because, she insisted, there was nothing to do at home anyway but cook and clean for grumpy Mr. Cheryl, her husband of forty years. Of course, her grumbling was heavily laced with affection. Now, with the fall semester underway, Cheryl still went above and beyond when Sara or one of the teachers needed assistance.
“Hey, I know when to take a break when I need one. You, missy, need one.”
“Yes, Mom.” Sara’s chest squeezed, then relaxed. Cheryl was the closest thing to family she’d had in a long time. Her parents had died three years ago in a car accident, during the year from hell. Losing her parents and divorcing her husband, all within a nine-month period, had been a major turning point in her life. But she’d survived. Barely.
Perhaps she would indulge in a little time off. After closing down her office and seeing Cheryl off for the weekend, Sara turned from the wide oak door that was the grand entryway to the school and mounted the gleaming mahogany staircase. Built on twenty acres as a retirement escape for an eccentric, wealthy Chicago industry magnate, the mansion had been converted to the Hills Boys’ Academy a decade later, as designated in the owner’s will. It had seen generations of boys grow up to be fathers of future students. John Rochard was one of those legacies who now had his sons enrolled here.
“This is John Rochard. I hope you’re enjoying the semester, especially since it may be your last at the Academy.”
She hadn’t responded to his vaguely threatening and totally childish voice mail message. What was there to say, really? Neil had to do the work. It was as simple as that. But, poor Neil and Jeremy, having a father like that. Wealth didn’t excuse people from being polite and playing nice. Maybe the first play by the drama department should subtly emphasize the values of honesty and hard work. Or the Golden Rule. If she didn’t live by that maxim, she’d give John a dose of his own medicine.
Her fingers slid over the banister, which was dark and waxy-smooth from thousands of hands passing over it. She kept going past the second floor, where the majority of the classrooms were located. The third floor housed an impressive private library and some additional classrooms, as well as a lounge-type study area. On the fourth floor landing, she turned left. To the right was a door to the attic storage area. Across from that were her quarters, a small apartment that had probably once housed a servant of the industry magnate.
She unlocked the door and pushed it open. She had an inkling of how Dorothy felt when the twister was over and she was finally home. Only there were no uncles or Aunty Em to greet her. No Toto. She refused to be lonely, reminding herself that leaving her marriage had been for the best, and that being alone wasn’t all bad. In fact, it provided much-needed peace and quiet at the end of the day.
Maybe she should get a dog. She wondered what the board would think of that.
Closing the door, she kicked her heels under the secretary desk and checked her personal phone line for messages, dreading what she might find. Thankfully, there no more angry words from John. She made a mental note to speak to Neil soon, and see how the night classes at the community college were going.
She quickly discarded her skirt and blouse in favor of yoga pants and a soft cotton T-shirt. She scrubbed the makeup from her face and immediately felt lighter.
Once settled on the couch with a beer, a bag of chips and her laptop, Sara perused her emails. A name caught her eye.
HPatterson. Holt? It had been a little over a week since the picnic, when she’d sworn she’d felt the beginnings of a truce between them. She’d apologized. He’d accepted. Not that it meant anything in the grand scheme of things.
Liar. Her hormones were buzzing at the mere thought of Holt emailing her when, until now, he’d gone out of his way to avoid contact with her.
She clicked on the message and felt her enthusiasm turn to concern. Theo had used his dad’s account, probably without Holt’s knowledge.
Miss Sara, I’ve been working on my comic. Adding a girl hero too. I think you’ll like her. I’ve also been practicing my chess moves on Dad’s computer. Better watch out.
Her restlessness receded as she read Theo’s words, focusing on the emotions that lay beneath. He’d lost his mother, and he missed having that important female role model in his life. That much had been clear in her time with him over the past few months.
Sara was tempted to call Theo. Just to check on him. Or to see if he wanted to play chess over the phone. But despite their truce, Holt probably wouldn’t appreciate her interference, and the last thing she needed was another parent angry with her. With the school board looking for any excuse to keep her reined in, she couldn’t risk any contact that might rattle some cages.
Rochard would be watching too. She’d bet on it. He seemed hell-bent on finding a way to unhinge her.
Holt wasn’t anywhere near the same category of father—or man—as John Rochard. John was blissfully ignorant of his children’s wants and needs. Holt would want to know that his son was using his email account, trying to reach out to others in his loneliness. But she didn’t want to betray Theo’s trust.
A knock interrupted and she opened the door. Chad White, the computer tech guy she’d hired last week to update the school’s wireless system and teach computer classes, stood on the threshold.
“Sorry to interrupt.” Looking uncomfortable at bothering her after hours, he ran a hand over his thick, short brown hair. “You said it was okay to bug you here.”
“No problem. How are the upgrades going?”
“Fine, fine. Old wiring here and there, but nothing I can’t handle.”
“Good.” That was a relief. She’d had to urge the board to upgrade the system in the first place. She was certain they wouldn’t want to hear of any major issues with the project. “What can I do for you, then?”
“There’s a student here. I didn’t want to get him in trouble since he seems to be studying and all, but I thought you’d want to know he was here.”
Someone was here after five on a Friday? “I appreciate you bringing it to my attention. Where is he?”
“The library. I didn’t say anything to him. Didn’t want to disturb him if you’d said it was okay to be there.”
“Thanks.”
“And I’ll be out of your hair in another hour or so. Be back tomorrow with the rest of the equipment to finish the job. I may have to turn the power off for a bit, though. The internet will be back online pretty quick.”
At least something was going right. “That sounds great. Thank you.”
Chad disappeared through the door opposite hers, where he was working on the wiring that ran through the attic space. She marched down one flight of stairs, wondering which of her students had broken the rules. No child was allowed to be on campus without adult supervision. If the board found out about this, it would be one more strike against her.
The library was quiet. A lamp was turned on at one of the broad study tables. Notes and open books were scattered within the ring of light. Neil Rochard’s dark head was bent over a legal pad as he scribbled something.
She cleared her throat and he nearly fell out of his chair. His gaze shifted quickly around as if he would duck under the table to hide. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Um, hi.”
“Hello.” She took a seat across the table from him. Upon closer inspection, she noted the materials were SAT study books and index cards with equations and vocabulary words. “You look like you’re studying hard.”
He started gathering up the materials and shoving them into his backpack. “Just about to head home.”
Shoot. He was going into avoidance mode again. “You must have quite a workload with those make-up classes. It’s okay if you want to stay a little longer.”
“Isn’t it against the rules?”
“That didn’t stop you before.” Amusement tugged at her lips. “Besides, there are worse ways of breaking the rules.”
One side of his mouth moved toward a half-grin, just for a nanosecond before he drew on his serious demeanor again. “I just needed a quiet place to study...away from home, you know? But I should go. Dad will start wondering where I am.”
“Too late. Dad’s already here,” an annoyed John Rochard said from the doorway. “I finally found the note you left. I was supposed to deliver you to your mother an hour ago. Get your things.” He looked at Sara. “May I have a word with you in the hall?”
She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m proud of you, Neil.”
He nodded once but didn’t meet her eyes. Swallowing a sigh, each step heavy as if she were approaching the gallows, she moved into the hallway to face off with John. “He’s working hard.”
“I overheard you say he broke the rules.”
“Technically, yes, but—”
“It is unacceptable for a Senator’s grandson, for my son, to break any rules.”
She hid her incredulity. Was this the same man who’d suggested she fudge his son’s grades?
“But of course you’d condone that kind of behavior. It doesn’t bode well for the future of this school.”
Her jaw dropped. She’d never, ever been labeled as a rule-breaker. She nearly laughed out loud. Elizabeth would have been proud to hear her friend had achieved anarchist status after all this time. “I didn’t know he was here until just before you arrived. And he is working hard, as you wanted him to.”
“He can do that at home.”
“Can he?” She doubted whatever was going on between the Rochards was conducive to academic excellence. Not only had Neil’s grades been slipping and his sullenness growing, but Jeremy had started to show signs of similar issues just before school had let out for the summer.
John lips pressed together until they were white around the edges. She thought he would blow up at her, but instead he seemed to regain self-control. “I’d be very careful what you say, Miss Burns. Watch your step. You’ll find your sweet ass out on the street with no hopes of future employment in this field. And you’ll find out just what the Rochards are capable of.”
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