Kitabı oku: «Watching», sayfa 4

CHAPTER SEVEN

In the university library, Riley sat down at a desk that was in a little enclosure. She put the book on the desk and sat staring at the title—Dark Minds: The Homicidal Personality Revealed, by Dr. Dexter Zimmerman.

She wasn’t sure why, but she was glad she had chosen to start reading the book here rather than in her dorm room. Perhaps she simply didn’t want to be interrupted or be asked what she was reading and why.

Or maybe it was something else.

She touched the cover and felt a strange tingling …

Fear?

No, that couldn’t be it.

Why would she be frightened of a book?

Nevertheless, she felt apprehensive, as if she was about to do something forbidden.

She opened the book and her eyes fell on the first sentence …

Long before committing a murder, the killer has the potential to commit that murder.

As she read the author’s explanations for that statement, she felt herself slipping into a dark and terrible world—an unfamiliar world, but one that she felt mysteriously fated to explore and try to understand.

Turning the pages, she was introduced to one murderous monster after another.

She met Ted Kaczynski, nicknamed the “Unabomber,” who used explosives to kill three people and injure twenty-three others.

And then there was John Wayne Gacy, who loved to dress as a clown and entertain children at parties and charitable events. He was liked and respected in his community, even while he secretly went about sexually assaulting and murdering thirty-three boys and young men, many of whose bodies he hid in the crawl space of his house.

Riley was especially fascinated with Ted Bundy, who eventually confessed to thirty murders—although there might have been many more. Handsome and charismatic, he had approached his female victims in public places and easily won their trust. He described himself as “the most cold-hearted son of a bitch you’ll ever meet.” But the women he killed had never recognized his cruelty until it was too late.

The book was full of information about such killers. Bundy and Gacy had been remarkably intelligent, and Kaczynski had been a child prodigy. Both Bundy and Gacy had been raised by cruel, violent men, and they had suffered brutal sexual abuse when they’d been young.

But Riley wondered—what had turned them into killers? Plenty of people were traumatized in childhood without turning to murder.

She pored over Dr. Zimmerman’s text looking for answers.

According to his assessment, homicidal criminals knew right from wrong, and they were also aware of the possible consequences for their actions. But they were uniquely able to shut off that awareness in order to commit their crimes.

Zimmerman also wrote what he had said in class—that killers lacked any capacity for empathy. But they were excellent imposters who could feign empathy and other ordinary feelings, making them hard to spot—and often likeable and charming.

Nevertheless, there were sometimes visible warning signs. For example, a psychopath was often someone who loved power and control. He expected to be able to attain grandiose, unrealistic goals without much effort, as though success was simply his due. He’d use any means to achieve those goals—nothing was out of bounds, however criminal and cruel. He typically blamed other people for his failures, and he lied easily and frequently …

Riley’s mind boggled at Zimmerman’s wealth of information and insights.

But as she read, she kept thinking about the first sentence in the book …

Long before committing a murder, the killer has the potential to commit that murder.

Although murderers were different in many ways, Zimmerman seemed to be saying that there was a certain kind of person who was destined to kill.

Riley wondered—why weren’t such people spotted and stopped before they could even get started?

Riley was anxious to keep reading and find out whether Zimmerman had any answers to that question. But she glanced at her watch and realized that a lot of time had passed since she’d fallen under the book’s spell. She had to go right now, or she’d be late for her next class.

She left the library and headed across campus, clutching Dr. Zimmerman’s book as she walked along. About halfway to her class, she couldn’t resist the pull of the book, and she flipped it open and skimmed parts of the text as she walked.

Then she heard a male voice say …

“Hey, watch out!”

Riley stopped in her tracks and looked up from her book.

Ryan Paige was standing on the sidewalk right in front of her, grinning at her.

He seemed highly amused by Riley’s distracted state of mind.

He said, “Wow, that must be some book you’re reading. You almost plowed right into me there. Could I have a look?”

Thoroughly embarrassed now, Riley handed him the book.

“I’m impressed,” Ryan said, thumbing through a few pages. “Dexter Zimmerman is a flat-out genius. Criminal law isn’t my focus, but I took a couple of classes with him as an undergrad, he really blew me away. I’ve read some of his books, but not this one. Is it as good as I figure it must be?”

Riley simply nodded.

Ryan’s smile faded.

He said, “Terrible thing, what happened to that girl Thursday night. Did you happen to know her?”

Riley nodded again and said, “Rhea and I were in the same dorm—Gettier Hall.”

Ryan looked shocked.

“Wow, I’m so sorry. It must have been awful for you.”

For a moment Riley flashed back to the scream that woke her up on that horrible night, the sight of Heather collapsed and sick in the hall, the blood on the dorm room floor, Rhea’s wide open eyes and slashed throat …

She shuddered and thought …

He’s got no idea.

Ryan shook his head and said, “The whole campus is on edge—has been ever since it happened. The cops even came by my place that night, woke me up, asked me all kinds of questions. Can you believe it?”

Riley cringed a little.

Of course she could believe it. After all, she was the one who gave Ryan’s name to the police.

Should she admit it? Should she apologize?

While she was trying to decide, Ryan shrugged and said, “Well, I guess they must have talked to lots of guys. I hear she was at the Centaur’s Den that night, and of course I was too. They were doing their job. I understand. And I sure hope they catch the bastard who did this. Anyway, what happened to me is no big deal—not compared to how this must be for you. Like I said, I’m really, really sorry.”

“Thanks,” Riley said, looking at her watch.

She hated to be rude. In fact, she’d been hoping to run into this handsome guy again. But right now she was going to be late for class—and besides, she somehow wasn’t in the state of mind to enjoy even Ryan’s company.

Ryan handed the book back to her, as if he understood. Then he tore a small piece of paper out of a notebook and jotted something down.

A bit shyly, he said, “Look, I hope this doesn’t seem to be out of line, but … I just thought I’d give you my phone number. Maybe you’d just like to talk sometime. Or not. It’s up to you.”

He handed her the bit of paper and added, “I wrote my name down too—in case you’d forgotten.”

“Ryan Paige,” Riley said. “I hadn’t forgotten.”

She recited her own phone number for him. She worried that it must seem brusque of her to tell him her number instead of writing it down for him. The truth was, she was glad to think she might see him again. She was just having trouble acting all friendly to anybody new right now.

“Thanks,” she said, putting the paper in her pocket. “I’ll see you later.”

Riley brushed right past Ryan and headed toward her class.

She heard Ryan call out behind her, “I hope so.”

*

As the rest of the school day passed, Riley read snatches of Zimmerman’s book whenever she got a chance. All day long she couldn’t help wondering—might Rhea’s killer be like Ted Bundy, a charming man who had managed to engage Rhea’s trust?

She remembered what Dr. Zimmerman had said in class that morning …

“The killer knew Rhea and wanted her dead.”

And unlike Bundy, Rhea’s killer was finished. He would seek no other victims.

At least according to Dr. Zimmerman.

He seemed so positive, Riley thought.

She wondered how he could be so certain.

Later that evening, Riley and Trudy were in their dorm room studying quietly together. Little by little, Riley started feeling restless and impatient. She wasn’t sure why.

Finally she got up from her desk, put on her jacket, and headed for the door.

Trudy looked up from her homework and asked, “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” Riley said. “Just out for a little while.”

“Alone?” Trudy asked.

“Yeah.”

Trudy shut her book and looked at Riley anxiously.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asked. “Maybe I should come along. Or maybe you should call the campus escort service.”

Riley felt a surprising burst of impatience.

“Trudy, that’s ridiculous,” she said. “All I want to do is take a little walk. We can’t live like this—always afraid something awful might happen. Life has to go on.”

Riley was startled by the sharpness of her own words. And she could see by Trudy’s expression that her feelings were hurt.

Trying to speak more gently, Riley said, “Anyway, it’s not very late. And I won’t stay out long. I’ll be safe. I promise.”

Trudy didn’t reply. She silently opened her book and started reading again.

Riley sighed and walked out into the hallway. She stood there for a few moments wondering …

Where do I want to go?

What do I want to do?

Slowly came a vague realization …

I want to go back.

She wanted to know how Rhea’s death had happened.

CHAPTER EIGHT

With relentless questions about Rhea’s death dogging her mind, Riley stood still and looked up and down the dorm hallway.

This was where it started, she thought.

She found herself picturing the place on Thursday night, the moment after she reluctantly agreed to go to the Centaur’s Den with her friends.

She had just put on her denim jacket over a flattering crop top and stepped out into the hallway. Trudy and Rhea had been rounding up the other girls for their outing—Cassie, Gina, and Heather.

Riley remembered the bustle of immature excitement in the air—the promise of drinking, dancing, and maybe some guys.

She also remembered how disconnected she’d felt from all that.

She retraced the group’s steps down the hall and continued on outside.

It was already dark out—not as dark as it had been that night, but the lamps along the pathways were on, so it was easy for Riley to visualize how things had looked at the time.

As she walked the way they had all taken, Riley remembered lagging behind the others, tempted to head back to her room to resume her studies. Cassie, Gina, and Heather had clustered together, chattering and giggling. Rhea and Trudy had walked side by side, playfully punching each other in the arm over some joke that Riley hadn’t been able to hear.

Riley kept visualizing all that had happened as she followed their route off campus and into the surrounding streets. Soon she arrived at the entrance to the Centaur’s Den, as they had that night. She remembered being pushed ahead into the smoky, noisy bar.

As she walked on inside now, the place was markedly less crowded than it had been that night. It was also quieter. Alanis Morissette’s “Uninvited” was playing on the jukebox, softly enough for Riley to be able to hear the nearby cracking of billiard balls. And there were no moving light beams or sparkles flashing over the empty dance floor.

But Riley could vividly remember the din and chaos of that night—how “Whiskey in the Jar” had blared so loudly that the whole place vibrated, and how Heather, Cassie, and Gina had headed straight toward the bar, and how Trudy had grabbed both Riley and Rhea by the hands and yelled over the music …

“Come on, let’s dance, the three of us!”

As she stood looking at the now-empty dance floor, Riley remembered shaking her head and pulling her hand away, and how Trudy had looked hurt and then stuck out her tongue at her and then went right on dancing with Rhea.

Had that been the last time Riley had seen Rhea—at least alive?

She remembered heading downstairs to be by herself. The next time she’d seen her friends was when they’d come stumbling drunkenly down the stairs and Trudy had been wielding a full pitcher of beer.

Riley had asked Trudy …

“Where’s Rhea?”

Trudy hadn’t known, but one of the other girls—Heather, Riley thought—had said that Rhea had already gone back to the dorm.

Riley swallowed hard at the realization—yes, the last time she had ever seen Rhea alive was right here on this dance floor.

She felt a renewed rush of guilt, and the awfulness of that word if …

If maybe I’d just stayed and danced with them …

But she reminded herself of what Dr. Zimmerman had said about guilt—that it wasn’t going to bring Rhea back …

“Focus instead on our capacity for empathy.”

Riley wondered—was that what she was trying to do right now, by reliving what she and her friends had gone through that night?

Was she trying to empathize?

If so, with whom?

She had no idea.

All she knew was that her curiosity was growing by the moment.

She simply wanted to know—without really having any idea what she expected to find out.

Riley turned away from the dance floor and noticed a couple of guys playing pool. One of them was Harry Rampling, the football player who had approached her downstairs that night.

Riley watched as Harry took a pool shot that didn’t put any balls in any pockets. Riley thought it was a dumb shot. She was a pretty good pool player herself.

Then Harry made eye contact with her and sneered a little.

He stepped over to his opponent, who was getting ready to take a shot of his own, and whispered something in his ear while looking at Riley. Then the two guys chuckled snidely, so Riley was sure that whatever Harry had said about her was gross and insulting.

She felt a flash of anger. She more than half-wanted to walk right over and demand to know what Harry had said about her, and then insist that he apologize.

But she didn’t want to get distracted from the task at hand.

Instead, she stood looking at him for a moment, wondering whether the police had paid him a visit that night. After all, she’d mentioned his name to Chief Hintz, the same as she’d mentioned Ryan’s.

But she remembered Hintz’s approval at the mention of Harry’s name and his disapproval when Riley said she’d brushed him off. Of course the chief thought far too highly of the football hero to ever suspect him of murder. Riley wondered if maybe he’d been wrong.

Should she maybe go over and ask Harry some questions?

What good would that do? she thought.

After all, she wasn’t a cop. She’d have no idea how to go about it.

Besides, the fact that he thoroughly disgusted her was hardly any reason to suspect him. Really, as far as the murder was concerned, he was no different from Ryan Paige—just another guy who had happened to be at the Centaur’s Den that night.

She gazed around the room for a moment. Someone else had been there that night, either in the club or waiting outside. She kept thinking that she should be able to remember more faces from that night. But of course the police had questioned everyone who had been here and come up with no suspects.

Riley turned toward the bar. Sitting on a stool alone drinking a beer was a tall, lanky guy with thick glasses. Riley recognized him right away. He was Rory Burdon, who’d been surprised by a police visit that night. Right now he appeared to be lost in thought.

She walked over to the stool next to him and asked, “Is it OK if I sit down?”

Rory snapped out of his reverie and looked at Riley with surprise.

Then he shrugged and said, “Sure.”

Riley sat down and ordered a beer for herself.

Rory asked her, “You were one of Rhea’s friends, weren’t you? I saw you with her sometimes.”

Riley nodded.

Rory sat staring at his beer for a moment.

Then he said, “I’ve been a wreck ever since. I didn’t go to any classes today, and I don’t guess I will tomorrow. I can’t get it through my head what happened. I’d been dancing with her just a little while before she left.”

Then he shook his head and said, “Who would do that to a nice girl like Rhea?”

Riley didn’t know what to say. It certainly wasn’t a question she knew the answer to. Surely the only person who did know the answer was the killer himself.

Rory took a sip of his beer and said, “The cops came to my apartment that night. That was how I found out about it. It was awful. I don’t mean it was awful getting questioned like that. The cops were just doing their job. It was just such an awful way to find out.”

He looked at Riley with a curious expression.

“How did you find out about it?” he asked.

Riley shuddered deeply.

“I found her body,” she said.

Rory’s eyes widened.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said. “It was so stupid to ask.”

“It’s OK,” Riley said. “You couldn’t have known.”

Riley sipped on her own beer. They were both quiet for a moment.

Then Rory said slowly and cautiously …

“I don’t know if I should tell you this. The truth is, I haven’t told this to anybody else …”

Then he fell quiet again.

Riley felt a twinge of expectation. Was he going to tell her something about what had happened to Rhea?

Then he said, “I had a real crush on Rhea. What happened to her hit me really hard.”

Riley was startled. She remembered how Rhea’s friends had teased her over her “thing” about Rory.

Should she tell Rory that Rhea had felt the same way about him?

Rory continued, “She was really nice to me. She even danced with me from time to time—like she did that night. I’m sure it was just to be friendly, and I knew better than to ask her out on a real date or anything like that. The thing is …”

He paused again.

Then he said, “I remember when she left that night. I was standing nearby when she told her friends she was going back to her room. I was kind of worried. I thought maybe she shouldn’t walk there alone. But …”

His face twisted with emotion.

“I thought about going over to her and asking if she wanted me to walk her to the dorm. But I was … too scared, can you believe it? I thought if I offered to walk her home—well, maybe she’d take it the wrong way. Maybe she’d get weirded out and think I was trying to stalk her or something.”

He seemed to be fighting back tears now.

“If I’d gone with her, maybe it wouldn’t have happened,” he said. “But I was too much of a coward.”

Riley shivered a little. She felt a sudden aching all over at that awful word, “coward.”

This is empathy, she thought.

And it wasn’t a pleasant feeling, experiencing someone else’s emotional pain.

She was glad of one thing, though. She’d been right not to tell him that his crush on Rhea had been requited. Then he’d know for sure that Rhea would have let him walk him home if he’d simply asked.

That would make him feel much, much worse.

But she had to say something. She couldn’t just let him go on feeling like this.

She said, “You weren’t a coward. A lot of people feel this way—people who knew her, I mean. I do too. I was here that night, and I didn’t even …”

Her voice faded a moment.

Then she said, “I think we’ve all got to realize—it wasn’t our fault. We weren’t responsible for what happened. Someone else did it, and that person needs to be found and made to pay for it. It’s wrong—really, really wrong to blame ourselves.”

Rory’s face seemed to relax a little.

Riley figured she must be saying the right thing. She almost added …

“Life goes on.”

… but she managed to stop herself.

After all, that old cliché simply wasn’t true.

The events of last week proved it.

Rory said, “I wish I’d gotten to know her better.”

Riley thought sadly …

Yeah, me too.

She patted Rory on the shoulder and said, “You just take care of yourself, OK?”

Rory nodded and took another sip of his beer. Without finishing her own, Riley got up from the bar and walked away. As she passed the pool table, she was glad that Harry Rampling and his pal were too immersed in their game to notice her.

When Riley stepped outside, the sudden burst of cool night air reminded her of when she’d left the Centaur’s Den Thursday night. She stopped and stood there, not far from the door, not sure what she wanted to do next.

Little by little, an unsettling feeling came over her …

He was here, she thought.

The murderer stood where I am right now, waiting.

She didn’t know why, but she felt absolutely sure of it.

In fact, she could feel exactly what he had felt as he’d waited—his heightened awareness, his quickening breath and pulse, his eager anticipation.

She shuddered as she realized …

I’m empathizing with him.

It was a truly terrifying idea—as terrifying in its way as the sight of Rhea’s body.

She wondered—did she dare surrender to this feeling?

Did she dare descend into the darkness of his mind?

I’ve got to do this if I can, she told herself firmly. I’ve got to find out what happened to Rhea.