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Huron University’s largest parking structure was located approximately a block away from campus. Five stories tall the University had purchased more property with future plans to build more. The sign on the gate indicated that the ramp was full. After viewing our identification, the parking lot attendant directed us to a vacant spot next to a Campus Police patrol unit.
Walking out of the structure to the street level the morning sky that threatened rain began to deliver on its promise. Large raindrops began to splash intermittently in front of us changing the color of the concrete.
We quickened our pace slightly. Neither of us bothered bringing a jacket. A construction sign planted on a stretch of lawn within a few yards of the structure displayed a sleek design of a catwalk connecting it to a main building on campus.
Huron University’s Psychology Department was located on the west side of campus. Walking through a few a few existing catwalks that connected campus it was easy to see that the campus was expanding rapidly. It’s most recent additions were in the form of athletic facilities. A new recreation center had opened in addition to the one that already existed. It boasted five full regulation size basketball courts. Weight-room and cross fit rooms complimented with brand new state of the art equipment.
Reaching the fifth floor after a short elevator ride we followed the solid blue line painted running the middle of the white floor all the way to the administrative section of the department. Lining the walls were monitors displaying the current class schedules and office hours of faculty.
We opened a set of tall wooden double doors. The administrative services pool was positioned in the middle of the floor.
Most of the faculty offices featured window views. They overlooked portions of the campus lined with impeccable landscaping. Fountains and well- lit reflection ponds dominated the grounds at night.
One of the administrative staff noticed us. She looked to be in her thirties with shoulder length brunette hair. Wearing a white blouse with a modest black skirt and matching heels.
“Are you gentlemen new to the University?”
“Actually, we need to speak with someone in the department that supervises the lab experiments.”
“Could you be more specific? So I can direct you to the appropriate individual.”
Lonnie showed her his identification.
“Typically, all the faculty oversee their own laboratories with on occasion the assistance of a graduate assistant. However, in this instance I think that you may want to speak with the Interim Dean of Behavioral Sciences.”
“Who would that be?”
“Dr. Robert Stanwick. He is in this morning. You happened to have caught him between meetings. Give me just a moment.”
We were escorted to a large corner office. A large oak desk complimented with a comfortable looking leather chair were empty. The desk contained a picture of a beautiful woman in her thirties. Dr. Stanwick was looking over some notes at the conference table at the opposite end. He stood up to greet us.
Dr. Robert Stanwick was in his early fifties. Wearing a blazer with a white buttoned down shirt he had a slight paunch. His jeans and black loafers gave him the look of a comfortable professional. His name was vaguely familiar for some unknown reason. He invited us to have a seat at the conference table.
“Could I offer you a beverage perhaps a cup of coffee?”
There was a small refrigerator positioned next to a counter with an attached sink. A high-end Keurig machine blinked that was garnished with a tree of every flavor of coffee you could imagine. A large book case dominated one of the walls. One of the shelves were occupied with pictures of Dr. Stanwick posing with a few past Presidents and directors of the FBI. His literary collection covered Nietzsche to Darwin including Aristotle. The focus of the works was one of his own that he had authored. It sat alone between two expensive marble bookends. The title “Profiling Darkness.”
Above the bookcase degrees hung on the wall in chronological order. He had a B.A from the University of Michigan finishing with a Doctorate from Boston University.
“Nothing for me, how about you Lonnie?”
“I’m all set.”
“What brings you here this morning gentleman?”
“We have a case that we are currently working involving a few women that disappeared recently.”
“I caught the story the other day on my laptop. Terrible news. Can only imagine the pain that their families are feeling.”
“The information that we are looking for involves lab experiments and test subjects.”
“What do you need exactly?”
Lonnie looked up from his notes.
“How much do you typically pay students who volunteer for some of your departments testing?”
“I would say on average, $10 to $20 per hour.”
“So, $45 an hour would be pretty high then?”
“I’d say that would definitely be on the high end of the scale.”
“What method do you use when paying your subjects?”
“Sometimes a check from the University or a gift card.”
“The amounts and the method of payment are standard practices among Universities of this size?”
“I would assume so yes.”
“How does your faculty locate their subjects for study?”
“Generally, they post something online at the University Life Bulletin Board or maybe a physical sign in common areas with permission.”
“What about email distribution lists or anything similar.”
“That would require IT involvement, usually there is not a need.”
“Where is this all going if you don’t mind me asking?”
“We think that the victims may have been lured online with a promise of some sort of monetary incentive.”
“The Internet along with its advances has made it easier for serial killers to stalk their victims indeed. I dedicated an entire chapter in my book regarding this method. It details the exploits of killers who took advantage of dating sites, social media and the like.”
“This some kind of a trend you think?”
“Frightening aspect gentlemen is that it has made it easier for them. Started with ads in Craigslist and evolved exponentially. Essentially they could be lurking anywhere anytime online now.”
“Thanks for the good news.”
“I know you’re limited with the information that you can share but I would like to offer my assistance if possible.”
“We think that the responsible party may have relocated from Florida.”
“You have evidence to support this theory?”
“Circumstantial at this point in our investigation but some interesting information that may link them together.”
“If your geographic connection is made than you have a Marauder in your community. Anyone who encounters them are at risk. The anchor point in which they operate is close in proximity to where your victims have been located.
“So, in your opinion you think this Sociopath is in Kirkwood.”
“I would be more inclined to think of the perpetrator as a Psychopath. You’ll have to excuse me it’s a force of habit. Often times these terms are used loosely and are interchangeable in some psychology circles.”
“You believe there is a significant difference between the two including the one in the city?”
“I have no reason to believe otherwise based on just the smallest amount of information you have provided. For instance, individuals typically labeled Sociopaths are of less than average intelligence. They usually cannot maintain any semblance of long term employment. Individuals such as this are prone to violent outbursts, have difficulty maintaining relationships with family and have no regard for the law.”
“And the other?”
“The most dangerous predator of all. A Psychopath. Lacking any sliver of empathy, they can form artificial bonds by mimicking certain behaviors camouflaging their true personality. More often they function at a high intellectual level blending into any community where they choose to reside. Probably have a steady job. Psychopaths are convinced that their victims sole purpose is to feed their pleasure in abusing and torturing them. Some victims are randomly chosen while others are taken after meticulous planning. Psychopathic personalities that commit serial murders are subdivided further. Organized and disorganized. The latter rarely plans killing randomly when opportunities present themselves. No effort is made to cover the crime and often are transient. The Organized serial murderer will stalk their prey for days and lure them under false pretenses. Paying close attention to details they will make sure the body is found when they want it found. They crave attention and will follow the investigation and stories about them in media outlets.”
“You ever capture one?”
“No, most of my interviews were conducted post arrest or while they were imprisoned. Based on my experiences I have lectured and assisted the Behavioral Sciences division of the FBI as well as some State and local agencies. As I mentioned earlier I could become available if the need for my assistance should arise.”
“We’ll mention your interest to our Chief of Police Cyrus Maxwell. Given your expertise, can you offer any suggestions?”
“Hope they make a mistake.”
“Not very reassuring.”
“Truthfully, this is often how they are apprehended. A piece of evidence left behind unknowingly or an attempt to mock law enforcement. Tell me did they leave a note or some kind of signature?”
“Both. A note along with a symbol carved into the victim’s skin.”
“Interesting. If you’ll excuse me I’m late for a lecture on the other side of campus.”
We walked out the same set of doors we had entered earlier.
“Let’s stop by their IT Department on our way-out Lonnie.”
“Dr. Stanwick was interesting. What are the odds of running into someone like that?”
“You need a pen?”
“For what?”
“The autograph for his book that you’re going to go and buy.”
“Funny, Roman. The IT Department is right below us. The online directory said that it is run by a Bryan Tanner.”
We waited for the elevator to arrive to take us down a floor.
Lonnie was reading through his notebook from our conversation with Dr. Stanwick. I noticed the sketch of the symbol at the top of the page.
“Any ideas about your artwork?”
“I have been searching all over the Internet. Still nothing similar in appearance.”
The doors opened allowing a couple of students on to the floor. Caught up in their phones as they walked they nearly bumped into one another going down the hallway.
Lonnie hit the button sending us down to the next floor.
“Maybe Dr. Stanwick is right.”
“Right about what Roman?”
“Evidence, mistakes all of it. I think we need to go back over everything again. Like we are seeing it for the very first time.”
“What are you suggesting? Am I missing something?”
“Let’s go back to Armstead for a minute. You were the first one there. Did they lock down the side streets around the stadium and canvass the neighborhood? The river runs behind that stadium. Maybe they brought the body in a boat to dispose of it.”
“The dog lost the scent near the concrete at Mead Park. Maybe he doubled back to the river.”
“They had to have made a mistake. No one is perfect.”
“We still need to contact Sarah Larkin’s sister.”
“Once were finished here with the IT Department.”
The entrance to the University IT Department was secured unlike the Psychology Department. We rang what appeared to be a doorbell next to the badge scanner. A camera up in the corner of the ceiling rotated a bit. The Director Bryan Tanner answered the door. He led us straight to his office closing the door behind him.
Bryan Tanner was in his forties, bald with a hint of stubble in the form of a widow’s peak. He wore a blue oxford button down shirt that hung loosely on a thin frame. His khaki pants along with his brown loafers completed his business casual attire.
“What is it that I can do for you gentlemen?”
“My partner and I are interested in your student email system. Specifically, the creation of a distribution chain for the Psychology Department.”
“I see. So, are you looking for one particular email account?”
We gave him Melissa Stapleton’s information so he could locate it.
“Your request is a little surprising. I can recall only one other such request and that was accompanied by a subpoena from the District Attorney.”
As he sat behind his desk typing we knew it might be a long shot if he could retrieve anything at all. Bill Fredericks had mentioned it earlier that her account was probably compromised once the virus was activated.
Looking between the six monitors monopolizing the space on his glass desk he seemed to be concerned. His typing pace picked up speed suddenly stopping. He wrote something down on a yellow sticky note attaching it to the monitor directly in front of him.
“This is somewhat embarrassing I’m afraid.”
“There a problem?”
“Server error. There usually infrequent and easily correctible. Give me just a minute.”
Bryan Tanner logged in to the University instant messenger system. He was looking for Ned Harris who was assigned to monitor the servers. Surprisingly, Ned was not at his desk his avatar greyed out displaying an inactive status. He quickly tapped out a group message to his IT team asking if anyone had seen Ned Harris. Several replies came back stating that he left his desk for lunch.
“Can I get some contact information from you once the server is back up?”
Lonnie handed him a card with our cell numbers on the back of it.
“I will call either of you once I have access to the account.”
Brian Tanner escorted us through the IT department and back to the hallway.
“My apologies again detectives.”
Ned Harris stood at the vending machine toward the end of the hall opposite the entrance of the IT doors. He observed two serious looking men walking in his direction. A rush of adrenaline coursed through his body when he could see their badges visibly displayed. The taller muscular one wore a form fitted shirt that tapered to a small waist. Ned had seen Detective Lee’s profile on Wikipedia recognizing him instantly. The description listed him at six foot two and two hundred twenty pounds. He appeared more intimidating in person. Detective Roman Lee had a brief career with the London Knights. Known for his “hit viewed around the world” he had watched the ferocious tackle on YouTube which ended his career along with a running back from New York. His partner was a bit older but similar in stature. What were they doing here? His mind raced searching roaming and reviewing. Had he made some critical error? It was impossible. The planning was meticulous down to the finite details. Not a trace of DNA and the technical evidence wiped clean.
After his selection was made the machine whirred and dropped it into the tray below. A muscular Lee glanced back briefly making eye contact with Ned before entering the elevator. This was the same Detective mentioned in the Brick Street Bureau’s article about his latest masterpiece. According to their sources the authorities were frustrated with the investigation.
Maybe this was some sort of feeble attempt at propaganda to fuck with him. After all, Detective Cruz down in Clearwater attempted to manipulate the media to bait him. The Clearwater community was made to believe that an arrest was imminent after he hung Charlotte Haskins from underneath Pier 60. What else could they do in desperation to soothe their fears?
Ned had delivered on his promises. He always did. The Larkin note brought him back to reality that he needed to get rid of the Leblanc woman soon. He smiled to himself. Returning to his cubicle with his energy drink Ned powered on his computer. Bryan Tanner materialized in front of him. He was such a sneaky bastard. Ned truly hated him because he used his first name and never gave him any tasks of great importance. How little Tanner knew about his abilities.
“Edwin, would you please check on the server. I need to access an email account. The administrator screen indicated that there is a negative -500 error. It seemed very odd.”
“You want an internal ticket created also?”
“No, just find out what in the hell is going on with it. This is the last thing this department needs right now.”
“Sure, I’ll take care of it.”
He watched as Tanner walked back to his office. He had a very odd gait that made him appear to limp. After seeing Tanner’s door close he left for the server room.
Between the meaningless tasks Ned was allocated he often fantasized about the way he would kill Bryan Tanner. He had been to Bryan’s home for an employee cookout. The basement had so much to offer. A large floor drain in the laundry room. It took him back in the depths of his mind. His second murder.
Ned had crafted an ad on Craig’s List in the medical health section. It was where all the Prostitutes congregated online. Eager for opportunity they would send him pics of themselves in various positions. Masturbation interfered often as he had to discipline himself. Humiliation fueled his anger. The very first time he paid for sex he prematurely ejaculated in his underwear. Embarrassing him further the whore laughed saying it was the easiest money she had ever made.
Before venturing on the Internet planning was first. Contingencies were developed for leaving the country if something went wrong. Nothing left to chance.
Arranging a ride for his victim she was dropped off near a park where he picked her up. They went back to his grand- parents’ home near Clearwater where he was living at the time. She wore a short black leather skirt with thigh high boots. Her curly long black hair complimented with large gold hooped earrings. Ned mixed several drinks from the liquor cabinet. Small talk paired with alcohol resulted in subdued intoxication shortly after. She whispered in his ear.
“Where do you want me?”
He led her to the kitchen where he bent her over the sink. Pulling up her skirt exposing silky pink panties. Ned reached into a drawer and took out a pair of scissors. He thought about stabbing her in the base of her skull after moving the curly locks to one side of her shoulder exposing the skin on her tan neck. Instead he cut her panties at the sides of her hips sending them sliding down to the floor.
“Hey, those were my favorite pair of Angel panties from Victoria’s Secret.”
“You’re no Angel.”
She moaned with excitement as he slid her skirt further up her back. Her elbows on the edge of the sink she raised her hips anticipating his entry. Located in the drawer next to the scissors was a nylon cord. Her eyes were closed as the cord suddenly tightened around her neck cutting off precious air. She desperately clawed at his hands breaking most of her nails while bending others back entirely. Refusing to relinquish his grip she reached back making every attempt to gouge his eyes or grasp hair. Those final attempts to restore precious oxygen were futile. Strategically placing his knee into the lower back of the prostitute Ned pulled with all his might. At one point, he thought he might lose a finger or two as the cords tension bore further into his skin turning his knuckles ghostly white. Hearts raced while perspiration escaped them both in this fateful encounter. Clothing saturated she had also urinated on the floor during the struggle.
Beginning to losing consciousness Ned maneuvered her to a staircase pushing her down the steps. Barely alive she could see the figure’s heavy breathing, shaking as he walked down towards her. Internally his body was filled with released adrenaline. Blood vessels constricted while his muscular system monopolized the gift from his adrenal glands. Mounting his now defenseless victim he straddled her body using both hands to crush her esophagus and larynx. Ned watched the life force from the prostitute fade from her eyes.
The door to the server room opened and Bryan Tanner poked his head through the opening startling Ned back to reality.
“Edwin, I’m still getting that code -500 error have you discovered the problem yet?”
“I’m still working on it. I should be done in just a few more minutes. I’ll walk back to your office to let you know.”
After the door closed Ned looked down to his hands which were still clenched. The legs underneath restless, his entire body rocking slightly. Just reliving those moments gave him a surreal rush of euphoria. Nothing could approach this feeling of power. It was overwhelmingly intoxicating. There were no placebos to satisfy the craving. Ned Harris’s final act of domination.
Ned Harris had found the campus of Huron University ideal for his pursuits. Pulling the flash drive out of his pocket he inserted the USB into the server. The rootkit software he developed would be the envy of any developer in Silicon Valley. Once plugged into the port the University’s system naturally extended a great deal of trust. It wiped out any email correspondence with any victims while he waited for the completion of his commands. The software delivery penetrated the Universities most sensitive information. A database of female students tailored for his specific requests. Contact information along with passwords included the financial profile of students with money issues. The final product gave him a distribution list for his email offer. One, which in most instances his victims couldn’t refuse due to their monetary needs.
He pulled the USB out of the port returning it inside his pants pocket. Powering down the server he waited a few moments before resetting it. He walked past the row of cubicles before reaching Tanners office. Bryan Tanner appeared to be under a great deal of stress. Ned knocked lightly on the door. Tanner looked up from his keyboard.
“Yes Edwin.”
“It was a loose connection should be all set in a few minutes.”
“Best news I’ve had today.”
Tanner quickly returned his focus to the multitude of screens.