No doubt, it was what he wanted from her. To chase her so deep inside herself, she would be easy prey.
“He won’t win, Analise,” she murmured. “We won’t let him.”
“By crossing disciplines, psychologists can better evaluate the data and advance new theories of criminal behavior.” Jessica dimmed the slide on the screen and signaled for the lights to come up.
“Good work,” Erin commended as she forced her thoughts back to the presentation. “I like your interdisciplinary approach. You have a great command of the intersections of social theory and criminology. I thought I heard threads of cognitive science in there.”
“I have a number of friends in the field, Jessica. I mean, Ms. Dawson,” Kenneth said. “Please stop by my office and I will give you contact information.”
Jessica nodded. “Do you have any other suggestions, Dr. Bernard?”
“I …” He cleared his throat and loosened his tie. “I do think you are glossing over too many fields of study to reach your conclusions.”
To Erin, he appeared to be flushed. Throughout the presentation, he’d been restless, squirming in his seat. More than once, he’d relaxed, only to start suddenly. Concerned, Erin watched him closely. “Are you feeling well, Kenneth?”
“Fine. I’m fine,” he snapped. He readjusted his position and yelped in pain. When both Erin and Jessica stared at him, he demanded, “What are you looking at?”
“You were speaking, Dr. Bernard,” Jessica prompted.
Clearing his throat again, he said, “I was saying, you need to narrow your focus. You’d do well to pay more attention to sociolinguistic studies, if you intend to focus on criminal communications with society.”
“Sociolinguistics? Excuse my ignorance, Dr. Bernard, but what is that?” Though Jessica posed the question, Erin could feel her heart race.
Kenneth answered hastily. “It studies the interaction between language and the social life of a community. Criminals and words.” He coughed lightly. “It could be useful.”
“Absolutely, Dr. Bernard.” She jotted down the suggestion. Catching Erin’s eye, she asked, “Dr. Abbott, do you know anything about linguistics? Since Dr. Bernard is leaving town, I’d like to learn more before I make calls. Could you help?”
“I don’t know much about the field,” Erin lied evenly. “But I’m sure we’ll find someone.” Eager to be away where she could think, she stood, shook Jessica’s hand. “I’ll be in town all summer. Please be sure to check in with me twice a month, to alert me to your progress.”
Jessica thanked them both and left the room. Before Erin could stop him, Kenneth hurried out, muttering about a plane to catch.
“Kenneth, we need to talk about Jessica,” she called out after his retreating back.
He waved a dismissive hand, refusing to turn around. “I’m sure you’ll take care of it.”
Undeterred, Erin chased after him and caught him in the lobby. She scooted in front of him, blocking his path. “This is important, Kenneth, and we should have discussed it earlier. Jessica is a second-year Ph.D. candidate. I’m worried about her moving ahead on her dissertation topic before she’s completed her course work. Don’t you think sociolinguistics is a tough subject to tackle so early?”
“She’s quite ready.” Kenneth shifted impatiently. Then he frowned. “I thought you weren’t familiar with the subject.”
Erin dipped her eyes. “I’ve done some reading, but not enough to guide her.” In the light of the lobby, she noticed something she hadn’t earlier. Kenneth’s normally crisp pants were creased and crumpled, as though he’d slept in them. Running her gaze over him, she noted that the shirt he wore had the same look of dishabille. “Kenneth, what’s going on?”
He flushed again. “Nothing. I’m in a hurry, Erin. If you can save the third degree until I return, I would appreciate it.” With a brusque nod, he brushed past her. “Ah,” he muttered, and continued out of the building. To her, it appeared that he favored his right leg.
Erin stood in the lobby, flabbergasted. The unflappable, impeccable Kenneth Bernard looked as if he’d slept in his clothes, and the chair of the department wasn’t concerned about a student’s progress.
Was it coincidence, Erin wondered, that Kenneth had recommended a field that studied the ties of language and crime? She hadn’t thought to mention it, hadn’t seen the place where it fit. Admittedly, she’d been less than alert through the presentation, but the topic seemed too convenient.
A signal, perhaps? One so subtle, he thought she wouldn’t hear it?
She wandered to her office, replaying their exchange. There was something she was missing, something important. But she couldn’t be rash. Not if the suspicion percolating in her mind had any grounding in the truth. Erin needed to go to her apartment and review her notes.
Jessica sat at her computer, printing. “Résumés,” Jessica explained. “I got a lead on a couple of summer positions in Atlanta. I’m applying late, but I think I’ve got a shot.”
Trying for normalcy, Erin lifted one of the résumés on fancy paper. “Let me know if you need a recommendation,” Erin said as she signed off on her grade sheets. Jessica had already sent the grades to the registrar electronically, but this provided a paper trail. As calmly as possible, Erin asked, “Jessica, did you notice anything unusual about Dr. Bernard today?”
“Not really. He always seems kinda spacey, you know? Too good for this world. He should really loosen up.” Jessica paused. “Is there something wrong?”
Erin smiled reassuringly. “Not at all. I was just wondering.”
“Dr. Abbott!” The breathy, histrionic voice barely preceded Harmony’s arrival. “How could you?”
Not now, she thought. Aloud, she asked, “How could I what, Harmony?”
“Give me a D? If I don’t pass, I can’t go to Greece.” She whined, “All the sisters will be there but me.”
“You should have thought of that before you turned in your final paper, Ms. Turner. When I added the grades for your paper and your last test, I was hard pressed not to give you an F.”
Harmony’s eyes welled with tears. “I tried so hard, Dr. Abbott. I really did.”
“I’m not changing your grade, Harmony.” Erin had no time to argue with her. The theory playing out in her thoughts was fast becoming a conviction. Once again, Harmony would benefit from a murderer’s madness. To shoo her away, Erin said quickly, “I want an essay in my e-mail by tonight on the proper technique for profiling serial killers. One minute past midnight, and you keep the D.”
Erin wasn’t prepared for the bony arms to wrap around her or to be crushed into a sea of perfume. She awkwardly patted Harmony’s shoulder. “You should get to work.”
Harmony spun on a teetering heel and rushed out of the office, already on her cell phone to her friends. Erin wanted to rush out as well, but was stopped by Jessica.
“That was nice of you, Dr. Abbott.” Jessica gestured to the door. “Hopefully, she won’t take advantage of you.”
Before Erin could respond, Kenneth Bernard appeared in her doorway. Sweat beaded his brow. “Dr. Abbott?”
Erin shifted away and her pulse jumped. Had she done something to reveal her thoughts? “Yes?”
Kenneth swiped at his wet forehead, his eyes darting around the office. “I ran into Ms. Turner. I hope you agreed to change her grade. We can’t afford to alienate Harmon Turner. He’s the most powerful real estate developer in Louisiana, and a generous benefactor to the university.”
“I gave her an opportunity, Kenneth, but not because of her father.” Erin’s tone was cool. “I thought you had a plane to catch.”
“My flight’s not until tomorrow, but I have errands to run,” he muttered. “It seems I forgot to bring my wallet. I don’t know quite where I may have left it.” He stared into the office. “Maybe I left it in the classroom.” Turning, he limped away.
Erin watched him go. Erratic behavior, she knew, was often a sign of stress at a breaking point. Odd tha
t he had been so eager to avoid her, as though afraid she would see something he wanted to hide, only to return so quickly. Alone, it meant nothing, but she could see a pattern emerging.
“Finished with the computer,” Jessica announced. She shoveled her stuff into a knapsack. “I’ll see you in a few weeks, Dr. Abbott.”
“Have a good vacation,” Erin murmured, distracted by the swirling possibilities. Hide. The word repeated itself, echoing, and Erin was chilled by its implications. Tamping down the panic that seemed a part of her, she forced herself to draw the connections. Find the pattern.
The killer had followed her from the shadows. The notes, their cryptic contents, revealed little. Even the calligraphy was an attempt at obfuscation. Too ornate to tie to any one person. Before now, when she and Nathan had presumably been in Callenwolde together, she’d had no hint of another person knowing her. In the cellar, on the mountain, he’d concealed himself, watching the world play before him.
He needed the anonymity not simply to protect himself from prosecution, she thought. It was part of his makeup. It helped define him, the obscurity. In New Orleans, he would seek anonymity, yes, but he would also want to be witness to her struggles to find him. For her to be the perfect audience, he would want to be close enough to gauge her reactions. He’d have to know when to ratchet up the tension, when to make the adjustments in timing and delivery.
Where better to hide than an unknown college, protected by status and with access to Erin’s every move? He would know that she used the gym membership offered by the university. Most of the faculty banked where Burleigh Singleton was killed. From the shadows, he could have easily followed her to the menagerie or to the museum, seen her standing at the bus stop with Harriet Knowles. Even poor Tom Farnen had been easy prey, a routine part of her life. Rose and Margaret had their own ties to Burkeen and to Kenneth.
From the safety of his position as dean, Kenneth would be seen but hidden, able to act and observe.
Able to kill and not be suspected.
Terror pulsed through her as she thought of Harmony and Jessica. If Kenneth Bernard was indeed the killer, she would need Gabriel’s help to reveal him before he got too far away.
Erin’s first visit to the Bayou Ledger was a revelation. On the main level, reporters bustled in frenzied motion. Fingers typed hurried copy, the soft clattering of computer keys no less hectic than the murmur of voices.
“Can you tell me where I can find Gabriel Moss?” she asked the middle-aged woman who greeted visitors. “My name is Erin Abbott.”
“One moment please.” She dialed the phone, lifting the receiver when the line connected. “Gabriel? Dr. Abbott is here to see you.” She listened, then replaced the phone. “He’ll be here in a moment.”
“Erin,” Gabriel greeted her quietly.
Dressed in black jeans and a plain white shirt, he should have looked plain. Instead he looked devastating. The quick flare of heat that came unbidden, followed by a disquieting sense that she was safe here, with him.
He closed the distance between them, and she saw that there were shadows in his eyes. Shadows, she realized, only those who cared for him would see. The thought caught her off-guard, and she stumbled away a step. “I left you a message this morning.”
“I received it.” He took her hand. “Will you come to my office? We need to talk.”
Mutely, Erin followed him through the maze of cubicles and wires. When she asked, he explained the computer system that connected the newsroom to international wires and national reporters. The small pool of reporters faced a job expanded to daily online coverage of major stories and never-ending deadlines.
In the background, presses whirred. Gabriel pointed out the Plexiglas that boxed in the upper floors but allowed a view to the lower tiers of the warehouse. The conversion of the warehouse to contain printing facilities had been a gamble for him, but it paid off.
In a few nights, at close to midnight, broadsheets would slide onto conveyor belts and newspeople would mill about, checking for errors and shifting stacks for distribution. And the Ledger would publish its first daily edition.
Gabriel tapped Erin’s shoulder and she turned fascinated eyes to meet his. Wordlessly he pointed to the rear of the warehouse, where a bank of offices was arrayed along the far wall. She followed him, and, much as he had at the station, he stopped repeatedly to greet staff.
He cooed over a reporter’s newest batch of baby pictures and celebrated with an advertising assistant who had scooped the competition. He remembered every name, had a personal word for each employee. Regardless of status and the obvious fatigue of the staff, one quality marked them all. Loyalty.
Erin marveled at his ability to conjure such a rare emotion in so many, but then she smiled wryly. Hadn’t she thrown in her lot with him, too?
Her quiet existence of intentional detachment had become the life of an amateur detective, one on the trail of a serial killer. As dangerous was her transition from an isolated woman to one on the brink of wanting something more. Something heady and forbidden and untried. She wanted to trust him when the only men she had trusted were her father and Sebastian, who was more brother than friend.
And she wanted. With Gabriel, her senses were unbearably keen, her body unfamiliar.
And her heart, she discovered, had expanded to fill with her senses. She was out of her mind and out of her league with Gabriel. Yet she wanted him to know her, to understand her. To remove any trace of the shell of a woman she’d been. If Kenneth really was the killer, together, they might be able to stop him and she could begin living her life. A real life.
He ushered her into the office, unaware of her thoughts. When the door clicked shut, he shaded the glass for privacy. He pulled out a chair for her, dropped into the one next to it. “Tom Farnen was number eight?”
“I believe so. The word is habitué. It means one who may be regularly found in or at a particular place or kind of place. His friends told police that he’d been living at the casino lately. He’d lost his job at the bike shop a few weeks ago.”
“Killed with a hacksaw. All right.” Gabriel reached for his pad. “How was he connected to you?”
Erin glanced up at him, surprised by the clinical questions. In stark contrast to his friendliness with the staff, with her he was all business. Her throat tightened, but she responded calmly, “My bicycle. He did regular maintenance for me every few weeks.”
“You saw him recently?”
“No,” she answered. “I didn’t ride much. I spent most of the time with you. But we attended the same church.”
“Oh.” The scratching of his pen was the only sound. Finished, he said, “I think we should turn this over to the police today.”
“Agreed.”
Gabriel rose and crossed to his desk. The tourmaline rock from his father felt smooth against his palm. He could remember his dad fiddling with it when he faced a tough decision.
His decision had been made when he’d heard about Tom Farnen dying in an alleyway. When he realized he wasn’t falling in love with Erin, because he’d already gone under. There was no way he’d risk her life again.
The safest course of action was for her to get out of town, a decision she wouldn’t like. He sat on the edge of his desk, his legs stretched out before him. “Gen tells me classes are over.”
“I turned the rest of my grades in today.” The shadows that she saw deepened. “Gabriel, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Well, for starters, there’s a psychopath who wants you dead. He knows where you live, where you work, where you wait for the bus.” He dropped the rock, and it clunked onto the desk. “He’s been to your church. He’s been to your bank. Hell, he’s watched you ride horses.”
Erin could hear the frustration. “We’ve been over this already. He’s watching me. And I think—”
Gabriel cut her off, jumping down from the desk. Fear for her twisted inside him, rose like bile in his throat. He’d read about Farnen’s death a thousand times
that day, imagining what worse lay in store for Erin. Unable to hold it in, he raged, “What if he gets you?”
He could see the terror, no matter how she tried to conceal it, because it mirrored his own. Yet, it was the bravery that terrified him. “You need to leave New Orleans, Erin. Tonight.”
“No.” Erin laid a hand on his cheek to calm him. “I don’t run anymore. I don’t think I’ll have to. I have a theory—”
“I don’t give a damn about your theories, Erin. He’s killed eight people. Eight. I don’t think he’ll wait until twenty-six,” Gabriel argued, his fingers tightening on her hand. “He’s after you. You probably saw him yesterday, and you didn’t know it. What if he doesn’t fit your profile? What if he gets tired of waiting, of playing games? He’ll come after you. Other than locking you in a cell, I’m not certain the police can protect you. And what about the people around you? Will you continue to put their lives in danger while you play Nancy Drew?”
The words sliced her heart neatly in two. “I’m trying to help,” she whispered. “I think I’ve found the killer, Gabriel.” She inhaled sharply. “I think the killer may be Kenneth Bernard.”
CHAPTER 18
“Kenneth Bernard?” repeated Gabriel. “The pompous ass who heads up the psychology department?”
“Possibly.” Quickly she described his behavior. “The pressure is building in him. He’s given himself a mission, but it requires too much. He can’t maintain a place in both worlds for much longer.”
“He doesn’t fit the typical serial killer profile. I thought they were generally white men. Loners.”
“They are, but there are deviations. Other than skin color, Kenneth shares many of the characteristics.” Erin ticked them off. “He’s smarter than average. Because of his position, and his naturally fussy tendencies, he’s isolated himself from the rest of the faculty.”
“You said before, because the victims were both male and female, the crimes could be asexual. Gen’s told me about him, about how he interacts with the women at the university.”
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