athleticlooking black man with a short
Afro and sideburns. He wore a
midlength leather coat and dark
sunglasses that he had a habit of tilting down to the tip of his nose when he
spoke so he could look over the top of
them directly into your eyes. He looked like something from a seventies
blaxploitation film, a poor man's Shaft. His eyes were deadly serious, though,
and he spoke in clear, crisp tones like a newscaster or a politician and not the
slang drawl you would have expected
looking at his haircut.
His partner was a middle-aged Spanishlooking guy who wore a pin-striped suit that looked like someone had fried a
hamburger on it. What hair remained on
his balding cranium was pul ed back into a ponytail barely the length of a thumb. He looked more like a mafioso than a
cop. He didn't shake hands or introduce himself when they walked in but
immediately walked over to the
bookcases on the wal and began
scanning the titles.
Professor Locke fol owed the greasylooking detective with his eyes while he answered Detective Montgomery's
questions.
"So what made this kid any different from the rest of you?" the detective continued.
"Joseph took it al very personal. Whenever you suggested that these
people were just crazy or evil he became very defensive, even hostile. He had a
theory that there was a virus that creates signature sex murderers."
"And what did you think of that?"
"It's ridiculous. But I didn't want to discourage the boy so I told him to
continue researching it and if he could find proof of his theory I'd give him an A for the year."
"Perhaps he was doing research when he kil ed that librarian?" Detective Volario asked, seeming to take interest in the conversation for the first time. The professor glared at him and shook
his head in annoyance as if he were
speaking to an ignorant and petulant
child.
"That's a rather extreme supposition. People don't kil to get good grades.
They kil because of severe
psychological problems."
You mean he's crazy?"
"Not legal y, no. At least, there's no way I could know that without testing him. But even if he's innocent, and please
remember that he very wel may be, I stil wouldn't turn my back on him. He's got a lot of problems."
"You act like we're planning on lynching him or something," Detective Volario said with a sneer. He was holding a
large volume titled A Criminal History of Mankind. "You read al these books, Professor?"
"No other reason to have them," Professor Locke replied.
"I guess it's no wonder that you attracted one of these monsters to you then." The professor ignored him. "Do you have any other questions, Detectives?"
"Just one more. Did you do any
experiments to test out his theory, that he had some kind of serial kil er virus?"
"No. If he had come to me with a more apodictic theory I would have given it
more credibility, but what he was
proposing was just plain ludicrous."
"Apodictic? What does that mean? I dropped out of col ege, Professor. You're going to have to speak a little more
simplistic for me."
Professor Locke crossed his arms over
his chest and smiled.
"It means demonstrably true."
"Yet he claimed to be the living proof of the theory?"
"But at the time I didn't know he was talking about himself. I assumed it was just general speculation."
Detective Montgomery stepped closer to
the professor until his breath was in the man's face.
"That's funny, Professor, because al the students we spoke to said it was quite
clear that he was referring to himself
when he spoke about this virus theory.
Even you said he took it al very
personal. So you didn't bother to do any research at al to see if maybe he was
suffering from some curable il ness?
You didn't bother to contact the police or even a psychiatrist or a virologist? I
mean, you're a prominent criminologist, a psychologist, a former FBI profiler
who's worked on dozens of cases. If you had cal ed us up and told us you had a
student in your class that you suspected might be a kil er we would have taken it seriously."
"But how the hel could I have known for sure?"
"It was your job to know. That's how you made your living when you were with the FBI, right? Tel ing al us ignorant locals how to spot kil ers? Yet, you let one sit right in front of you every day without saying a peep to anyone and without
trying to get him any help. You just let him get sicker and sicker until he eventual y murdered someone?"
"You don't know that it was him."
"But you do. Don't you? I can see it al over your face. You know it was him. You know you fucked up. And right now
you're probably thinking of how this
fuckup is going to affect your reputation and your career.
Detective Volario stepped up beside his partner. "My partner's right. You fucked up big time. If I was you, I'd do everything I could to help us catch this guy and
restore your reputation before this gets out. `Kil er Student of Noted FBI Profiler.'
That's a headline you don't want."
"I've got an apodictic theory, Professor. I believe this student of yours is going to kil a lot more people."
Detective Volario picked up a book from the shelves. The title on the spine was the same as the title of the course,
Abnormal Psychiatry: Serial Kil ers and Why They Do It.
"Is this your book? It has your name on it. You wrote this, right?"
"Yes, I wrote it."
"Wow. I bet this is real y going to fuck up your sales."
The professor opened his mouth to reply but nothing came out but a helpless
squeak. The detectives scowled
contemptuously and shook their heads
in disgust before turning their backs on him and walking out the door, dropping
their cards on his desk as they exited. The detectives had just left when the
phone rang. Professor Locke didn't
recognize the voice immediately.
"Professor Locke?"
"Yes, and who am I speaking to?"
"It's true! My theory is true!"
"Who is this, please?"
"It's me, Joseph. Joseph Miles. Your student? Remember I had a theory that
serial kil ers suffer from a transmittable disease like lycanthropy?"
"Do you realize that you are the prime suspect in a murder, Joseph? The police are looking for you in connection with the death of the campus librarian. They
found her body in an apartment building downtown after it burned to the ground. There are witnesses who say that you
lived there. The cops have been al over campus interviewing students who say
you were obsessed with vampirism and
cannibalism. Apparently the victim was
mutilated or disfigured in some way that further links her to you. Your picture has been in the newspaper. They're
convinced that you did it."
"I know, I know. But listen, I think we're real y onto something here!"
"We? I want no part of this. I'm cal ing the police as soon as you hang up!"
"You don't understand, Professor. I'm sick! I contracted this disease when I
was a kid. I was kidnapped by a child
kil er and I survived. Only, he passed his curse to me. Now I've passed it on to
someone else!" His rambling sounded almost delighted.
"What are you talking about, Joseph?
Where are you? You need to turn
yourself in."
"I can't. Don't you see? If I'm right and the disease is transmittable then there's a cure and I think I've found it!"
"Joseph, you are sick."
"Professor, you have to listen to me. There's this girl that-1-bit-"
"You bit someone! Oh my God, Joseph!"
"Yeah, but I didn't kil her. Anyway, last night she took a bite of human flesh and loved it! She has the hunger now just like me! I passed on the virus. That proves
my theory! Which means that al I have to do is track it back to the original host, the carrier, and I can put an end to it for good. I can cure us both and probably
others that he's infected."
"Listen, Joseph, the fact that your girlfriend took a bite out of someone and got off on it is not proof of a virus but only proof that you've passed your
fantasy to someone else and probably
screwed this girl's head up pretty badly. She identifies with you so she's sharing your delusion. It's a common occurrence in kil ers. Many of them work in pairs, from Leopold and Loeb to the Hil side
Stranglers and even Bonnie and Clyde.
There've been many cases of serial
kil ers using their wives or girlfriends to lure prey. They feel helpless and trapped and so they begin to side with their
abuser, to identify with them, even going so far as becoming their accomplices in future murders. It's a defense
mechanism, nothing more. Gary
Heidnick used a girl to lure other girls to his basement to be tortured, raped, and murdered. Without him she'd have never
harmed anyone and once he was locked
up she never hurt anyone again.
Joseph? Joseph, are you stil there?" The solemn whine of the dial tone
abraded his eardrums. He slowly
lowered the phone back into its cradle, then picked it up again and dialed the
Centers for Disease Control. He had
some research to do.
Thirty-one
After spending nearly an hour in traffic trying to cross the Bay Bridge during
rush hour, Detectives Montgomery and
Volario pul ed up in front of the modest upper-middle-class home of Lionel and
Virginia Miles, Joseph Miles's parents. The elder Miles had worked as a
construction superintendent for one of
the largest homebuilders in America for the last twenty-five years until his recent retirement, and his home had been built by the same company. It was two stories high with a dash stucco finish painted a solemn gray, with decorative stone
around the doorway and on the courtyard wal s. An ornate iron gate hung at the
entrance. The door was a sturdy
handcarved oak that must have cost wel
over two thousand dol ars, but he'd likely purchased it at a sizeable company
discount.
Detective Volario put on his most
endearing smile and knocked on the
front door. His warm, friendly smile hit a brick wal . Lionel Miles opened the door and stared down at him as if he were a
particularly annoying parasite in need of a good swatting.
It was readily apparent where Joseph
Miles had acquired his height. His father towered over the two detectives. Even
with his potbel y and graying hair he
looked as if he could give the two of
them more than they could handle. His
arms were thick with muscles hardened
by years of hard labor and his chest was broad. He looked like a professional
wrestler or an old-time blacksmith. His face was like a piece of worn leather.
"What the hel do you want?"
"Sir, my name is Detective Volario and this is Detective Montgomery. We need
to ask you a few questions about your
son."
A scowl creased his face. "Wel , I haven't heard from the boy since he went off to col ege." He began to close the door. Montgomery placed a hand on the door
and held it open. The old man pushed
against it but the detective held it firm.
"We stil need to talk with you. It'l only take a moment. Do you mind if we come
in?" Montgomery stuck a foot in the doorway but the old man moved to block
him from entering.
The large black detective and the even
larger old man stared eye to eye for a
long, tense moment. The air bristled with hostility. Lionel Miles had to have been in his midfifties but he was no less
formidable for his years. Veins stood out in his neck and forearms as his body
tensed. His eyes bore down on the
detective, sizing him up, then suddenly the old man wilted. He turned and
stalked back into the house, leaving the front door open.
"So, what do you want to know about my boy?"
The detectives looked at each other and let out a deep sigh of relief. For a
moment there they were sure they were
going to wind up going toe-to-toe with
the big guy, and they weren't exactly
confident how such a battle would have
turned out.
"Your son may be a material witness in a murder and we need to locate him." The old man's eyes narrowed in
suspicion. "You mean he's a suspect, don't you?"
"Why do you say that?"
"Why else would two detectives show up on my doorstep wil ing to take me down
to find out if the kid is hiding in here or something?"
"We weren't going to-"
"Save it. We both know you were."
"Al right, so is the kid here?"
"I told you before. I haven't heard from him since he left for col ege. We ain't real close."
"Then you won't mind if we search the house?" Volario asked, turning to look around the room.
The living room was sparsely furnished
but clean. There was a fifty-two-inch flatscreen TV tucked into a built-in wal unit, along with a surround-sound stereo
system and DVD player. Across from
that was a leather couch and a plush
leather recliner. There were few pictures in the room. No family portraits. Not a single picture of their son. Not so much as a wedding photo. Knives adorned the
wal s, though. A samurai sword, a British saber, a Scottish broadsword, an Indian Ghurka. Montgomery took it al in without a word.
"Now if you want to search the place, you'd better get a warrant. Either that or you're going to have to knock me down."
"Relax, big fel a. Just a few more questions and we re on our way.