Dakota yawned, trying her best to keep her eyes from drooping over the small, round breakfast table in the back of the lounge. The hotel breakfast bar was mostly empty. Dakota watched as Marcus made a second trip to the coffee maker, skirting pointedly past the bagels which looked a few days too old.
As he returned and sat at the small table, he said, "Did you get my message?"
Dakota glanced at her phone, but nodded. "Saw it when I woke up. So what's that connection?"
Marcus settled in the chair, which was far too small for him, and leaned forward, using his large elbows to prop himself up.
"I think," he said, firmly, "I've found the connection between the victims. Remember how her coworkers mentioned Ms. Childs was a grad student?"
Dakota nodded.
"Well, it turns out our first victim worked in an admissions office at a local college."
Dakota perked up. She spun a silver spoon through a bowl of corn flakes, watching as the milk sloshed. "Let's say that is the connection. Our third victim, Donna, wasn't in college."
"Right," he said, frowning and leaning back. "She’s a high school student."
"Was. She just graduated."
"Maybe it has something to do with graduation."
Dakota shrugged. “But our first victim is involved in an admission's office. That seems like a stretch."
Marcus took a sip from his coffee, the steam wafting up past his cheeks. He said, slowly, "Maybe," he paused, biting his lip, "maybe we should check and see if Donna was accepted into any universities... It could help us narrow down who the killer is targeting. Also, I've been thinking about Mr. Bryant's online novel. What if the killer really is using some of the stories as a blueprint? Think we could find him that way?”
Dakota checked digital clock on her phone. “Could take ages to sort through tens of thousands of visitors. Besides, most people use VPNs nowadays. Let's try the family.”
It was still early. A bit before seven a.m. Then again, usually, in her experience, the surviving family members of the victim were more than willing to talk to the police.
Marcus pointed a finger at her, nodding as he did. He reached towards his phone, his brow lowering as he cycled through their most recent emails, studying the victim profile for Donna Windser.
“Margaret Windser,” Marcus said quietly. “She lived alone with her mother.”
Dakota sighed. “Not going to be a fun conversation. Want me to take it?”
Marcus shifted uncomfortably, staring at his phone, the white glow illuminating his dark knuckles. He sighed at last, though, and said, “No... no—I can do it. Think she’ll be up?”
“She’ll be up,” Dakota said. She remembered when her sister had vanished. Her father hadn’t slept for days.
Marcus raised his phone, and Dakota took another bite of the soggy cereal. She didn’t use too much milk. The taste of honey and corn residue in the bottom of the cereal bowl reminded her too much of the flavor of mead.
It was strange, the odd things that triggered a bad habit. Dakota, swallowed her mouthful of breakfast food, then watched as Marcus frowned.
He shook his head towards Dakota, shrugging but keeping the phone to his cheek. “She's not answ—oh, hello, Mrs. Windser?”
Marcus lowered the phone flat, holding it in the air with the speaker on so Dakota could hear.
“Y—yes?” said a muffled voice. “Who is this, please?”
“My name is Agent Clement,” Marcus said. “You're on the line with my partner Agent Steele. Do you have a moment, Mrs. Windser?”
“Miss.”
“Oh, sorry. Ms. Windser.”
A long, deflated sigh. A yawn. Dakota could picture the bleary eyes, the weary, haggard expression, though she'd never met the woman.
“I suppose... I already spoke with a policeman yesterday.”
“I'm aware,” Marcus said quickly. “And I'm very thankful for your help. Just...” He bit his lip. “I was wondering if you could tell us about Donna's scholastic aspirations.”
“Excuse me?”
“Was Donna applying to colleges?” Dakota said firmly.
“Umm... She only...” A swallow, a long—too long pause—suggesting the mother was gathering herself. When she spoke again, her voice was clipped. “She only just graduated high school.” A sniff. “She was going to take a gap year.”
“I see,” Dakota said, frowning.
Marcus let out a faint sigh of frustration. He said, “Thank you for your time, Ms. Windser.”
“Wait,” she said. “Why? Is that important? Was it someone from my school?”
Dakota perked. “Your school, ma'am?”
“I—yes... I work at a community college here.”
Dakota and Marcus both leaned forward now, staring at the phone. “In what capacity?” Dakota said, her throat dry all of a sudden.
“Admissions counselor... my job didn't have anything to do with it, did it?”
“Which school?” Dakota asked, seamlessly avoiding the question.
“I've been at a couple. I'm now working for Tampa Tech. Why? Please... please tell me something.” Her voice cracked.
Dakota shot Marcus a look. Her partner said, quietly, his voice soothing, “Ma'am. I promise you, we're doing everything possible. And I just want to say, I admire the daughter you raised. You did something very special.” Marcus sighed slowly, his voice shaking with emotion. Dakota wasn't sure how her partner was able to do this. To empathize so easily. She admired him for it, though it was a foreign concept to her. “And I must add,” he said, “that what has happened is unfair. I promise to do everything to bring you justice.”
A voice crack, another small sob. No words this time, but Marcus didn't bid farewell. He just kept the phone raised, listening as Ms. Windser cried in the background.
Dakota pushed from her chair, moving hastily towards the breakfast cereal bar. She didn't want seconds, but she couldn't sit by and listen.
The tears... they bothered her. She could remember her father's own tears. Remember what it had done to her family.
She could only hope that Ms. Windser had others in her life. People who would come alongside and help her.
A killer who targeted young women didn't just take a single life—he affected many others.
She sighed, standing, facing the tall plastic chutes of breakfast cereal, her bowl clutched in one hand. She tried not to listen as Marcus finished speaking, her own mind returning to the case.
She didn't have Clement's soothing manner. Didn't have the ability to empathize on a dime.
But she caught killers.
She brought people to justice and put men behind bars who couldn't be trusted to exist in the broader society.
She paused and waited until she heard Marcus clearing his throat from behind her. She turned swiftly now, facing her partner.
“Well?” he said, watching. His phone was lowered. “Three of them have connections to local colleges.”
“Different colleges,” Dakota pointed out.
“Still...”
She nodded slowly, the cereal bowl tapping against the plastic counter. She let out a faint sigh, inhaling the scent of stale bagels and coffee.
“Maybe... maybe we need to check the local colleges for anything untoward... The killer only just started last week. Maybe something happened.”
Marcus was nodding. “Some inciting incident. Good call. Alright. Anything to narrow it down?”
Now, though, Dakota was clicking her fingers, marching back towards where her laptop bag rested against the chair legs. “Yes, in fact. I want to look up any criminal incidents involving laboratories or chemicals at colleges in a fifty mile radius. How about you call the universities and see if anyone faced internal disciplinary measures.”
Dakota and Marcus both nodded at each other, sitting right back down at the table.
A man, wearing a bathrobe had appeared in the door, but got one look at their expressions and, after snatching a banana and muttering a quick “'morning,” retreated to safer pastures.
Dakota was already pulling her computer out, setting it on the surface of her black, laptop bag and quickly entering her password. She heard Marcus's phone ringing across from her as he placed the first of his calls.
She focused, though, staring at the screen as she completed the two-factor authentication with her phone and entered one of their main databases. Criminal complaints and arrests could often be researched through local record portals, even using keywords now.
So she did, tapping away, frowning as she did, feeling a slow prickle of excitement.
Another lead.
She felt like a bloodhound with a scent.
Another lead meant another shot at catching this bastard.
She entered, “chemical lab,” or, “chemistry,” or, “chemical attack.”
She tried a variety of word combinations, then narrowed the parameters into a fifty mile radius around the previous three murders. The latest had been on the border, but still within the same distance as the first two. She also limited the research to college campuses, both local and state.
And then...
She hit enter.
Her eyes darted along the screen, gathering information as the results were hastily displayed. She scanned quickly, studying the information as best she could as it rolled out like a hastily unfurled carpet.
“Come on...” she muttered.
Marcus was talking now, but she ignored this.
The search results finally appeared. She made sure to narrow the results by a single-year parameter.
And then she went stiff, wrinkling her nose.
She double-checked, but felt a faint flicker of frustration.
There were nearly twenty pages of results. Over fifteen results per page.
She let out a faint sigh, hunching in her chair now, and feeling a slow, dawning sense of resignation.
There went her morning.
Then again, it would take Marcus some time to complete his calls anyway.
This was what she'd decided to do after all, wasn't it? Follow the evidence wherever it led.
Evidence was king.
And so she straightened her posture, adjusting the edges of her long-sleeved shirt and clicked the first link, tabbing it into another window. She did it with all of the results on the first page. And, determinedly, exhausted, she began to read.
***
Dakota was yawning again as she deleted one of the results from her search page. Only five left... So far, most of the incidents had involved theft. Objects being stolen or broken... A few vandalism. One sexual harassment. And another—an illicit, but legal, affair between a professor and a grad student. This last one had been filed as a report but redacted.
She shook her head, trying to maintain her focus. She glanced at the small clock in the corner of her computer, feeling a sense of lethargy. Nearly quarter past noon.
The morning had disappeared. Her eyes stung. The small, morning breakfast lounge had been cleared. Occasionally she heard laughter, or the sound of footsteps on the other side of the hall, tinged with the scent of chlorine and gusts of warm, humid air.
She shook her head, refocusing.
Another result...
Someone had made racial comments to a professor. She shook her head, deleting this result as well.
It didn't fit the profile.
She moved onto the next.
Marcus had lowered his phone, finally, and was frowning at her. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse from overuse. “Anything?” he said.
She hesitated. “You?”
He shook his head. “Twenty schools in the parameters provided. Two didn't pick up the phone. Two refused to speak without a warrant. But the others either didn't know of any incident that matched my question, or didn't have any familiarity with the victims.”
Dakota winced but nodded. She deleted another search result.
Three left.
“How about you?” he said in that same hoarse, overused voice.
She sighed, leaning back and shaking her head. “I... I can't be sure,” she murmured. “Umm... Nope.” Another deleted one.
Two results left. She opened the second to last... Read through the report. And then her eyebrows shot up.
“What is it?”
Dakota re-read the file. She moved to the last result just to be sure—but no. The last result was a vandalism report.
She shook her head, deleted it, and returned to the previous result. She realized why it had been displayed in the final page of results. It had been pursued as a civil case, not criminal. But the report had started as criminal.
She re-read the information.
“What?” Marcus pressed.
“This one,” Dakota said, tapping a finger. “From College of Lepage. There was an associate professor with something of a sexist streak. A Professor Burke.”
“And what's eye-catching about Prof. Burke?”
“Well...” Dakota glanced down the report towards the later information. “He was fired for a demonstration that burned a student's hand.”
Marcus perked up. “Excuse me?”
“It looks like some of the other students thought it was intentional. But Burke claimed it was a demonstration gone wrong. One of his own little concoctions. But the student who's hand he burned, accidentally, according to him, had reported him two weeks prior for inappropriate comments to a female student. Some of the faculty thought it was reprisal as well.”
Marcus was now standing, phone back in his pocket as if loathe to see the device again. “So let me get this straight—a professor at a community college creates some chemical concoction and uses it allegedly to burn the hand of a student who reported him two weeks prior? Our first victim had applied to this school, right?”
Dakota looked up, having committed the subsequent portion to memory. “Yes—that's a connecting point, but also according to Burke, the chemical demonstration was one he'd done previously. It was an accident, he says.”
“Right... Criminal charges?”
“None. He was fired, though. And... yes, so in civil court the college paid out some undisclosed sum in settlement to the student.”
Dakota frowned. She went back to the same search bar, but this time entered the social security number of Edmund Burke. She waited a moment, and then her eyebrows shot up. “Hang on,” she said. “I have something else. Our ex-professor sent a threatening letter to his school. Nothing actionable, but he apparently used phrases like ‘Explosive reprisal.’ And, how he didn't mean to ‘Bomb in class.’”
“So using euphemisms to make a threat. This was after he was fired?”
“Exactly.”
“So where is Mr. Burke working now?”
Dakota tapped her finger against the back of her keyboard, accidentally lowering the volume. She followed the link to Mr. Burke's tax information from the IRS. She scanned down to his employer form, then her eyes shot up. “Unemployed, but he's still living in the same community. Looks like our professor comes from money. Place called Meadow Oaks.”
Marcus wrinkled his nose. “Didn't realize professors were paid so much.”
“Yes... well, the house is listed on Zillow for nearly two million.”
“Huh. The guy didn't start cooking meth in the off-season, did he?” Marcus quipped.
“I think I've seen that show,” Dakota muttered. “But no... looks like the house was his brother’s.”
“Was?”
“We can ask him about it when we get there. You good driving?” Dakota had pushed to her feet and was already closing her laptop, slipping it into the case.
Marcus flashed a thumbs up and was already slipping around the table, moving towards the door. Another gust of chlorine-tinged, moist air wafted into the room from the direction of the hotel swimming pool.
Marcus and Dakota hastened, together, out the front doors.