Killer Curriculum

by Douglas Alexander

  Timmy stared daggers at his eldest sibling.

  “Don’t you look at me like that or I’ll get up from this desk and kick your damned teeth in,” Shamus set his cigar in a heavy glass ashtray. Timmy looked away.

  “Well now, gentlemen,” August said, placing himself in between the brothers. “I have a free question coming, remember. And actually, Timmy may be able to help as well.”

  “Then at least he would be helpful at something,” Shamus muttered under his breath. Danny gave a quick nod of agreement but motioned for the professor to continue.

  “As we were discussing earlier, I remember you mentioned that Aimee Glazer had been invited to the book launch the other night because of the tragic death of her husband. That aside, is it common for the floor staff or families to be invited to such an event?

  Danny sat back. “Not normally, Professor, but after the tragedy with her husband, we wanted to be supportive. After all, he was part of the family, and we hadn’t known yet about his little scheme with his biker buddies.”

  August nodded slowly. “Of course, I mean that makes perfect sense, and it was my first thought as I reviewed the case in my head. But…” He leaned forward on the edge of the couch and rested his hands one on top of the other on the handle of his cane standing straight up in front of him. “As I have said I am a man that notices details, it’s my thing,” he mused nonchalantly. “And one detail that I keep thinking of is seeing one of the fancy invitations to your event at Mrs. Glazer’s home when Detective Rime and I were there.”

  Timmy spoke up quick, racing to get his voice in before being smothered by his brothers. “Well like we have already said Mr. Booker, she was invited to the signing and reception.” The youngest brother looked annoyed that someone was questioning them. “This seems redundant and a waste of our time.” He glanced at Danny and Shamus.

  “No, I do understand that. But please indulge me for a second.” August pushed off the floor with his cane and rose to his feet. “You clearly have said that you invited Aimee as an act of kindness due to her husband’s death. I get that part.”

  “So, what don’t you get? I feel like you should be a lot quicker given your reputation,” Timmy snapped.

  “Watch it.” Danny scowled at his brother.

  “The confusion lies here: I saw the aforementioned invitation on the bookshelf at Aimee Glazer’s home the day that Detective Rime and I went there to tell her of her husband’s death. She didn’t know yet. In fact, no one did. He had been murdered literally twelve hours earlier.” He straightened his waistcoat. “So, either the U.S. Postal service has done some amazing things with time travel, or there’s an explanation that I haven’t received yet.”

  The three brothers were silent. Shamus scratched his beard. Danny had a questioning look in his eyes. “Are you sure that is when you saw it?”

  “I wouldn’t make up such a crucial detail,” Booker promised. He noticed the brothers looked perplexed rather than worried.

  Danny looked at Timmy. “Well?”

  Timmy went to the desk and picked up a three-ring binder. “I believe he was one of a handful of staff we sent invitations to,” he said.

  “What?” Shamus demanded. “Why the hell did you invite staff?”

  Danny put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Calm down, Shamus. I forgot all about those invites, but Timmy told me about it at the time. Some sort of an employee appreciation program, right?”

  Timmy continued flipping through the binder. “Yeah. An incentive for productive workers. We had a ton of turnover last year. I’ve been trying to do little things to reward the guys who stick around.”

  “Here it is,” Timmy said, holding up the binder.

  Danny peered at the pages. “He’s right. Henry Glazer had received an invitation two weeks prior to the event.”

  Timmy looked at Booker. “I guess we invited Aimee twice, technically.”

  Shamus was glowering, arms folded across his chest. “Seems to me I don’t know a damn thing about my own casino,” he muttered. “But, I guess I shouldn’t be too angry. Timmy handles staff and day-to-day operations. Danny and I look more at the big-picture stuff.”

  “Ok, well that explains it completely. I feel awful that I wasted your time gentlemen. It all makes sense now. Sometimes you just bark up the wrong tree, you know.” He headed toward the door. Danny reached for his desk phone, most likely to call for Brent. “No, really I’ve been enough trouble already.” August continued. “I can see my way out. It’s just a short hallway and an elevator ride down. You all have a wonderful evening.” August was out the door before another word could be uttered.

  Chapter 18- Digging Deeper

  Sarah pulled up near the front of the school building right at three o’clock. She passed the tennis courts where a few kids were tragically volleying for their lives. Most of the lot was emptied out; the kids had made a mad dash when the bell rang at two-thirty.

  Setting her helmet on the seat of the bike, Sarah looked down at the empty spot where her badge typically hung. Just after the meeting this morning, the captain took the temporary neck badge and had given her the replacement, clipped to her belt—the style all Berksville Police detective owned. This is life now. She resigned. I can no longer consider this a temporary gig. Permanent badge. Permanent job. Permanent life.

  Most of her colleagues didn’t even wear the clip-on version after leaving the station or finishing up a day pounding the pavement. They don’t do that here, she thought to herself. Wear their badges hanging on their chests for all to see.

  Still, she felt empty without the familiar metal rubbing against her t-shirt or swinging in little arcs and bumping against her as she walked. For nearly six years, she had worn the shield of the New York City Police Department and taken it off only to sleep… and once or twice when going on an ill-advised date. The upgrade to a detective’s badge had been a recent change, but she was already used to it. She felt almost naked and unprotected without the badge announcing her presence.

  On cue, Kara came rumbling into the parking lot in a beat-up, red pickup truck. It slammed to a halt and the perky young woman dropped down from the cab. Sarah was at least relieved to see the girl had changed out of the uniform, settling for her usual yoga pants and a t-shirt. Her other uniform, Sarah couldn’t help thinking.

  “I’m all set if you are, Detective.” The cheerleader half skipped up to the front door. She stopped and turned back to Sarah. “Do you want me to start the small talk first?” Kara used her most conspiratorial voice.

  Sarah would have thought it almost cute, if she had the time for this nonsense. “What in the world are you talking about?” she asked. She didn’t match the younger girl’s whisper.

  Kara looked around to see if anyone heard. “Booker taught us that one of the best tools to profile someone is to first set a baseline. If we chit chat a little bit, we can get her normal tone, gestures, and eye movement. Then, if she deviates during our interview, we know she’s lying.”

  “Who are you talking about?” Sarah was now utterly confused by this girl. Ignoring Kara’s query, she opened the door and began walking down the hall.

  “You know the…” Kara went silent as they walked up to the little sliding window at the front office. A woman with grey hair, cut shorter like every other woman in her sixties who spends her vacations in Florida lunching with her friends in matching polo shirts, looked up from her monitor.

  “Can I help you?” the woman demanded, tapping her foot.

  Sarah showed her the new badge, “Detective Rime of the Berksville Police. I called ahead about using the library.”

  The secretary pushed a clipboard at her. “You need to sign in, Detective.”

  As Sarah wrote her name in the visitor’s registry, feeling very much as if she was going to be taken to the principal, the secretary cleared her throat and looked pointedly at Kara. “And what, pray tell, do you need, Miss Allister? If I recall correctly, you are no longer a student at this instit
ution. And, moreover, the last time you were a student, I caught you breaking into the gymnasium as part of your senior prank.”

  Kara gulped and looked to Sarah for help. The older woman grimaced.

  “Apologies,” Sarah said quickly. “She’s with me. Witness. Part of the investigation.”

  The secretary sniffed. “As long as you’re sure she’s not the perpetrator. Was your victim murdered by a monkey? Because let me tell you, we’ve found this one climbing all over nearly every surface—”

  “Thanks!” Sarah cut her off and pulled Kara down the hallway.

  Once they turned the corner, the detective turned on the girl. “Made quite the impression here, have we?”

  Kara blushed. “Maybe?”

  “Now, what were you chattering about before? I know you didn’t want to talk more with Nurse Ratched out front. Who do you think we are ‘interviewing’?”

  “Oh, the librarian. She’s the only one most likely in there.” Kara stated matter-of-factly.

  “Yeah, we’re not interrogating or profiling anyone. I don’t care what Booker says. You’re with me now, and this is strictly a research mission.

  Deflated, Kara led the two through a few hallways to an open door with a sign outside it that read Reading can take you to the stars! They entered to a shuffling noise, almost like leaves in autumn.

  They paused. Silence. They started further into the room. Pfft…pfft..pfft. The detective stopped again. “What’s that sound?”

  “It’s your shoes,” Kara whispered, pointing to the floor. In a deserted library, after school, it was literally so quiet, you could hear shoes rubbing against the carpet.

  Sarah made an extra effort to pick up her feet. The intent was to muffle their sound footprint, but in reality, doing so made her look like a guest star in a Scooby-Doo episode.

  Kara’s laughter completely invalidated Sarah’s effort. “You know there’s no one in here, right? You look ridiculous.”

  Sarah straightened up and resume a normal speaking tone. “Just show me where the yearbooks are.” She sighed, heading for the stacks.

  Kara bounced ahead of her. Sarah thought the place smelled like dust. And cinnamon. That was the curious thing about paper. One sheet of paper doesn’t really smell like much, but when you had a stack of books, or in this case, shelves of them and there definitely was a distinct smell. She turned the corner to see Kara’s butt. At eye level. The girl had climbed halfway up the stacks and was fingering her way through a shelf of hardcover yearbooks as if she were playing the piano.

  “They put the recent yearbooks down there,” Kara started. “As the years pass older ones get moved up and away from easy reach.” A piece of hair had escaped her ponytail and was running rampant across an eye and over her nose. She blew it back up with its kind. “What year did you say Aimee graduated?” She called down.

  Sarah pulled her notebook from her back jeans pocket to consult. “Says here ’95.”

  “Wow, that’s two years before I was born.”

  Rolling her eyes, Sarah’s only response to that was, “Shut up and find the damned book.”

  “Got it,” Kara cried and dropped to the floor. “These are the years…” She read the calligraphy cover out loud. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  The detective swiped the book out of her hand and began leafing through it. Kara tried looking over her shoulder, but as Sarah was a good six inches taller than her, her efforts were inadequate. She settled for peaking over an elbow from the side. The two leafed through, with each page Sarah was exposed to more social commentary about hairstyles, fashion, and “lameness” from the cheerleader.

  “Why are you doing this?” Sarah asked. The thoughts had been in her mind growing each day since she had met the girl. Now seemed like the perfect opportunity to have some one-on-one girl time.

  “Booker asked me to.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean.” Sarah was trying to come up with the most sensitive, diplomatic way of asking. Unfortunately, this was not her strong suit. After a long pause, she asked, “You are like this super gymnast, right?”

  Kara nodded.

  Man, you’re really not going to make this easy, the detective thought. “Why are you following a murder case? Why not just enjoy life, do your gymnastics and cheerleading?”

  Noticing the frown on Kara’s face Sarah added, “There seems to be a huge disparity between the two interests.” The detective sat down at a table laying the yearbook open flat. Kara didn’t seem offended; she stood still thinking about the question.

  In fact, she was doing her best to formulate an answer that clearly described why. She had come to like the blue jeans wearing, biker tackling detective and didn’t want to insult her by giving a flippant response. She slowly moved over and sat across from Sarah.

  Kara turned a page in the yearbook and licked her lips. “First, I’m not Olympic material,” she admitted. “I tried out, twice, and missed the cut both times. I was an alternate the first time, but then it didn’t work out. Competitive gymnasts are typically sixteen to twenty-two-years-old. I’ll be too old for the next Olympics, and even if I wasn’t, I’d have, what, maybe three years left for a career? And NFL cheerleaders make $75 a game. Did you know that? Pretty lame, considering how much money there is in football.”

  “Seriously?” Sarah asked. She’d assumed the girls made salaries that at least came close to the players.

  “Seriously,” Kara flipped a few more pages of the yearbook and then pointed to a picture that appeared to have been taken at a pep rally of some kind. There was an uproarious crowd and some cheerleaders laughing, some doing a pyramid, and a few posing with excited students.

  She asked the detective, “What do you see here?” Her normally jovial façade had disappeared and taken on a more serious somber appearance.

  “Cheerleaders and a bunch of idiots,” Sarah answered honestly.

  “Exactly. That attitude and that tone are the same that I’ve been judged with my whole life. Yes, I enjoy gymnastics, and yes, I like cheerleading, but those should be skills and hobbies, not labels.”

  She looked down and kept skimming through the pages, but while her eyes weren’t on Sarah, she continued her explanation. “When I was a sophomore and first took one of Booker’s classes, I found something I was good at. I enjoyed it. But more importantly, I could make a difference. I can do a lot more good profiling criminals and solving cases than I could doing a double backflip in front of a basketball crowd.”

  Kara looked up. “I felt like I was someone instead of something to be shown off or entered in a contest. And Booker believed in me and supported me. Me? I had looked up every case he was in as an FBI agent. He caught some seriously bent individuals. He’s like a super-star. And that man didn’t look at me like you just did that picture. I was seen like I had always wanted to be…commendable.”

  “Then why continue with the cheering and gymnastics?”

  The smile began to creep back now. “If you haven’t noticed it has its advantages getting places others can’t.”

  Sarah thought about the first day she met Kara when she went through the top of the door, and today when she was six feet up in a bookshelf.

  “On the day that Booker accepted me into this advanced program, back then there were ten of us, he looked at me and said ‘Kid, you’re the secret weapon. A five-foot firebomb. They’ll never see you coming.’ I have been fully committed ever since.”

  “To the program or to the professor?”

  Kara’s face blushed, continuing down her neck and passed her collar bone. She looked back at the yearbook.

  “Can I ask you something?” she said.

  “Sure.” Sarah shrugged, hoping the girl wasn’t going to ask for love advice. Thankfully, she didn’t.

  “I’m good at profiling, and I could help people. But, do you think all this,” Kara gestured at herself, “is holding me back? I mean, if I were… ugly, or into like, knitting or something, would you ask me the same
question about my hobbies? Did anyone question you when you went into the academy? Tell you that you should just enjoy your life and become an accountant instead of a cop? I mean, not that you’re not pretty, but you know, you’re like more serious…”

  “I never had any other options.” Sarah spun the book around to face her. It was now the Detective’s turn to use the yearbook as an excuse to not look up. “My whole family were cops. Dad, my uncle, my grandfather, all New York City Police. I have been dragged to Police Benefit Cookouts, retirement parties, and even some funerals since I was a young girl. It just made sense to join the Force. There wasn’t any other path. The police were my extended family.”

  “Then why did you leave?” Kara asked hesitantly, trying to see Sarah’s lowered face. “I mean Berksville is a long way from the city. Not just the three-hour drive, but the whole atmosphere.”

  “I know what you mean.” Sarah flipped another page. “No matter how much I busted my ass catching criminals, I started to realize that there was no upward mobility there.”

  “But they all know you?” Kara was confused. “Sounds like you’re a legacy there.”

  Sarah finally looked up, not sure why she was even telling this to a college kid in a high school library. “That was the problem. To all of the department leadership, I’m always going to be that little girl.”

  They sat in silence after that, looking over the pages of a class of students who had graduated, married, gone to college, gone to war, lived, loved, and some even died. Suddenly Kara’s head popped up. “Hey Detective, do you see this?” She pointed at a picture of a group of kids, a young Aimee was there in front.

  “Yeah, it’s not the first photo she’s been in.”

  “But look here!”

  Kara pointed to a face a row back looking at the young girl. Then she flipped a few pages to another picture of Aimee sitting on the grass with some kids outside the school. This time Sarah pointed him out. The same young man. Not in the group Aimee was in, but hidden a little way into the background. They found three more with the same pairing of Aimee and this boy. In all of them, he was close, but not close enough to be ‘with’ her.