As Stone approached the building, he noticed that even more of the sidewalk had been covered with chalk drawings of dead eagle-chicken things and crossed-out-rectangle-blob-Constitutions.
He steadied his breathing and centered himself before entering the professor’s building. It was at times like this that he wished that he could be permanently centered like Freya.
Stone silently entered the professor’s office and looked around. It was clearly an office reserved for valuable faculty, because while most faculty offices were little more than closet-sized, this office had a large waiting room, and a door to a smaller room in the back. The professor was clearly a mouth breather — loud enough that Stone did not need Sinanju training to hear him. He looked around the waiting room. The walls were painted matte black with a bold red stripe encircling the entire room. On the back wall hung a large round mirror, centered directly over the red stripe of paint.
Someone had painted a black ‘Z’ on the mirror.
Stone slid behind the curtains on the west wall and listened. He was close enough to the professor to hear him chuckle, but concealed from view.
When someone knocked on the door, Stone assumed that it would be Quinton, but instead, an older man entered the office. Stone could smell cigarette smoke on his clothes, which told him that he was definitely not a faculty member. The man entered the professor’s office, and let out an exasperated sigh.
“I’m here to see Professor Afolayan,” the man said. “Granger Robbins, from the Gazette.”
“Everyone wants to see me, you idiot! Leave!”
“I just have a few questions, Professor,” Granger said, placing his business card on the professor’s desk. “I have sources that place you in the area shortly after last night’s murder.”
Kwame felt his blood pressure rise. How was it possible? No one else was in the building! He had personally checked all of the security cameras, disabling their recording capabilities before the Bughanum kidnappers were due to arrive.
Then he remembered the white man who had appeared out of nowhere and, who, after Eve died, disappeared in front of his eyes.
“I do not know what you are talking about,” Kwame said.
“The murders took place in your classroom, professor.”
“And, as I told the police, I was home asleep.”
“I have two separate sources who identified a middle-aged black man with bright orange hair leaving the scene. One of them identified you by name.”
“Then I know you are wrong, because there is no such thing as a black man,” Kwame said. “Does this look like ‘black’ skin to you? I am a proud brown man, a son of Bughanum.”
“And the hair?”
“Plenty of people have orange hair. Are you both a racist and a hairist, Mr. Robbins?”
“Police have identified the three men as also originating from Bughanum. Are you saying that is a coincidence?”
“Of course,” Kwame said. “Do you wish to know my theory?”
Granger pulled out a yellow notepad. “Sure.”
“I think the men came to my classroom, seeking help from me — the only person to have ever escaped Bughanum. Then someone killed the men, and left their bodies for me to find.”
“Did any of the men contact you beforehand, or ask for help?”
“No. I have no idea who they were,” Kwame lied.
“What about the girl?”
“Ah, yes. Tragic. Utterly devastating. She must have caught the killer in the act.”
“Hmm. Interesting. Do you have any ideas about what could rip a man apart like that?”
Kwame smiled.
“Aliens.”
“Yeah, I knew aliens would pop up sooner or later,” Granger said. “Look, professor, if you’re afraid to point out the killer, I can quote you anonymously.”
Kwame leaned forward and stopped smiling.
“What would you say if the truth was the introduction of a new master race, Mr. Robbins? What if a new species of human existed, superior to Homo sapiens in every way? What if that man had been torn apart by a member of that master race? Is that a better story for you than ‘aliens?’”
Stone’s eyes shot open. Though the professor couched the explanation in the same comical manner as his claim of ‘aliens,’ Stone could tell that he was telling the truth.
“Come on, professor, I’m just doing my job. Give me something I can use.”
“All I can offer to you is the truth, Mr. Robbins. What you choose to do with it is up to you.”
“You want me to tell my editor about aliens? And a new ‘master race?’ You know, this college used to be worth something,” Granger said, walking to the door. “But that was a long time ago.”
The door closed, leaving the professor to his thoughts.
He did not hear Stone leave.