The_Amazing_Mr._Howard (19 page)

“In African voodoo,” he began, “the sky serpent Damballa makes all of the water on the planet. Furthermore, the movement of his coils creates mountains and valleys, so in essence, he has replaced the Christian God as the creator. The waters of the world were released after Damballa shed his skin in the heat of the sun, and when combined with the sun, formed a rainbow. Damballa fell in love with the rainbow and made her his wife.”

“I could fall in love with a snake,” Karen said, batting her long eyelashes.

“You’ve probably fallen in love with lots of snakes,” Brian Spriggs said, producing laughter in the room.

Karen flushed. Her chin sank toward her chest. Jennifer eyed her for a moment as the laughter faded. She twisted around in her seat to face the students. “Throughout history, serpents often stood as symbols of fertility or a creative life force in part because they are seen as representations of the male sex organ.”

Several students giggled like kindergartners. She looked back at Mr. Howard and rolled her eyes. “Think about it,” she continued. “There’s a reason sexy pop stars and actresses pose nude in photographs with large snakes coiled around their bodies.”

“Just imagine what they do when the cameras are gone,” Spriggs said.

Mr. Howard left the podium and strolled over to Jennifer. His gaze swept the room. “I would like to introduce you to your new dean.”

The air seemed to leave the classroom as students stared at her with open mouths. Mr. Howard walked back to Spriggs and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Dean Tolliver, I would like to introduce you to Brian Spriggs… a legend in his own mind.”

The tension vanished and laughter returned to the room. Spriggs slumped in his seat under Jennifer’s withering gaze. Mr. Howard returned to the podium where he finished his lecture on African voodoo. If someone later asked what he had said, he wouldn’t have been able to respond because he’d spent the entire lecture making love to Jennifer in his mind. When the bell rang, they shared knowing glances as the students filed out of the room. As the last student walked through the door, she wiggled off the seat and stood. Her silk blouse fluttered against the contour of her breasts. “Are all your classes so interesting?” she asked.

“Not all of them have a sexual connotation.”

She brushed past with the scent of strawberries and boosted herself onto his desk. He was surprised by her action, which he found somewhat childish and utterly stimulating. Her skirt wrapped tightly across her legs. He longed to lift the skirt and explore the soft flesh of her thighs. She sighed, her playful countenance suddenly serious. “Van Adams is pushing the Board to let you go.”

He shrugged off the news. “It is not the first time.”

“But it may be the last.”

The heavy weight returned to his shoulders. “You think he will succeed?”

“I’m trying to save your position,” she said, “but I don’t—”

“I understand.” He picked up his textbook and stashed it inside his attaché. “You will give me a good reference, won’t you?”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

He put on a false smile. “There have been greater tragedies in the world, yes.”

“I heard the police found Stephanie Coldstone’s body. Did you help them?”

The last thing he wanted was to talk about Stephanie Coldstone and the police, but knew a response was expected. “No, they managed that on their own this time.”

“I’m sure you’re glad they’ve found her.”

He forced another smile. “Yes, I was relieved by the news. Tell me, how do you like your job so far?”

She shifted on the desk and he swore that her legs spread just enough to make him consider the action a subliminal message. “Perhaps we can discuss that over—”

“Mr. Howard.” Willard stood in the doorway with a cat-that-ate-the-canary look on his face.

Jennifer slid off the desk and stood. She smoothed the front of her skirt, her focus never leaving the smirking detective. Mr. Howard resisted the sudden urge to kill Willard. Why had the detective come to see him without Killgood? It was only a matter of time before Willard connected the dots that revealed Mr. Howard as the murderer. He gestured toward Jennifer. “Detective, this is Jennifer Tolliver, our new dean.”

She held out her hand and Willard stepped forward to shake it. “You must be here on official business.”

He nodded. “Detective Willard, State Police.”

Jennifer turned to Mr. Howard. “We will continue our discussion another time.” She faced Willard, dipped her head, and hurried from the room. Willard watched her go, his left eyebrow arched.

“Nice lady.”

Mr. Howard ignored him and walked behind his desk. He sat and gathered loose papers into a pile. “I understand you’ve located Stephanie Coldstone. That is good news, yes?”

Willard took a seat across from him. “Good news for some people. Not so good for others.”

Mr. Howard looked up from the papers and stared straight into Willard’s eyes. “Do you have a suspect?”

“I was hoping you could help me with that.”

Several seconds passed. “You are wondering if I had more visions.”

“Killgood told me about your most recent vision. Pretty damn accurate description of the burial site.” Willard drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Has anyone ever tested your psychic ability?” He stopped drumming and reached inside a coat pocket.

“Who would want to test me?”

Willard opened a small box and took out what appeared to be a deck of playing cards. “I don’t know, maybe your colleagues who study such things, or perhaps the FBI.”

So, Detective, it has come to this at last. You think it will be easy to drop the noose around my neck. We will see about that.
“You brought Zener cards?”

Willard nodded. “Very good, Professor. I take it you’ve seen them before?”

“There are psychologists at this university who dabble in the paranormal.”

“Then you know how they’re used.” Willard shuffled the cards. When he finished, he placed the deck face down and lifted the top card turned toward him. “I’m going to concentrate on the symbol and send you the answer using my mind. Are you ready?”

“What is the purpose of this experiment?”

“I’m going to send you the answer now.” Willard focused on the card before him for several seconds and looked up. “What symbol is on the card?”

“I have no idea.”

“You weren’t able to read the psychic message I transmitted?”

“Is that what you were doing, Detective?”

Willard slipped the card into the bottom of the deck and drew another one. “Let’s try again.” He stared at the card for several seconds. “All right, what symbol am I looking at?”

“If I knew, I would not tell you.”

“Because you’re not a psychic.”

“I do not believe you can test my type of psychic ability.”

“Bullshit.”

Mr. Howard leaned back in his chair. “Do you only have faith in what your eyes can see?”

“I know what I’m not seeing in you.”

He raised his right hand, thumb and index finger pressed together as if holding something. “Tell me, Detective. What symbol is on the card I am holding?”

Willard’s lips flattened into a grimace. “You’re not holding anything.”

“Because that is what your eyes tell you. Do you believe in God, Detective?”

“What?”

“It is a simple question. Do you believe in God?”

Willard shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“Why? Have you ever seen Him?”

“No.”

“And yet you have faith in His existence. But you have no faith in my ability, and why? Because I failed to provide the answer you sought in your little card game? I have proven myself for many years, Detective. Who are you to question my ability?”

“You didn’t lead us to Stephanie Coldstone.”

“That is true, however, if I—”

“You didn’t lead us to Stephanie Coldstone,” Willard repeated, his voice louder and filled with indignation.

Mr. Howard pushed out of his chair. He shoved the loose papers into his attaché case. “It is late and I am tired.”

Willard returned the Zener cards to their box and stood. “They found needle marks in Stephanie Coldstone’s arm at the autopsy.”

“Did she use drugs?”

Willard smiled. “They found needle marks in Cynthia Rhode’s arm too.”

“Implying what?”

“I read one of your books, Professor.”

“Oh, which one?”

“
The True Story of Vampires.”

Of all the investigators who pursued me, it is the one who listens to Johnny Cash that discovers my secret. Go figure. I should have been more careful when I wrote that damn book. I should have anticipated something like this. But how could I have foreseen the rise of a river or the coming of Alicia Whitmore? Perhaps my story is meant to end this way. Perhaps I wrote those things, provided detailed clues to my existence because I want to be stopped. I am tired of killing. I am tired of almost everything, but if the game has lasted for three hundred years, please do not mind, Detective, if it lasts a bit longer.

“The only book of mine that made any money. People are enraptured with vampires, yes?”

“According to your book, vampires suffer a skin condition such as yours.”

“That is the legend, Detective. I have never found a real vampire to verify it.”

Willard withdrew a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. He considered them for a moment before putting the cigarettes away. “What I found interesting is the part about a vampire using a needle to draw blood from its victim. I never would have thought of that.”

“Another legend that needs to be authenticated.”

“Maybe it will be.” Willard smirked again as if enjoying a game he knew he would win. “I also enjoyed the part about vampires turning to murder in order to conceal their activities. I was… how did you put it… oh yes, enraptured by it all.”

Mr. Howard took a step toward Willard, who backed away. Mr. Howard stopped. He stared into the detective’s wide eyes. “I do believe we are finished here.”

Willard nodded. “I’ll be in touch, Professor.”

Mr. Howard walked to the door and turned out the light.
You have taken the match in a direction I failed to anticipate. The next move belongs to me, Detective Willard. I trust you are ready for it.

Mr. Howard sat inside his dark bedroom, hands gripping the arms of his wing-backed chair so tightly his fingers ached. Fear coursed through his brain. The hunter had become the hunted, and a cage awaited him.

Willard.

Damn him.

Think, think, there must be something I can do.

Murder was not an option. For all he knew, Willard had already shared his suspicions with his supervisors. No, the man was too arrogant for that. Willard had to come by the classroom and proclaim victory in person before telling anyone else. Still, it was only a matter of time before he talked. Would they believe him? Would they believe a kindly old professor who had helped the police in numerous investigations could be a serial killer? And a vampire at that? It would take more than words in a book and a few needle marks to make the case. Their skepticism wouldn’t deter Willard, who’d become Mr. Howard’s Javert. But to kill a cop was madness. Even Killgood would turn on him if he did such a thing. If he couldn’t kill Willard, perhaps he could discredit him somehow. Yes, damage his reputation and everything ended. But how? Even a cop like Willard must have secrets.

Inside his office, he searched the Internet for information on Willard. After several minutes he found Willard on the State Police website. A photograph taken at some kind of awards banquet showed the grimacing detective standing beside a heavyset woman identified as Doris Willard. His wife perhaps? Mr. Howard shifted his attention to her. It was much easier finding information on Doris Willard than her police officer husband. No surprise. A visit to Doris Willard’s Facebook page shocked him. In the photographs, she’d put on a lot of weight, probably due to stress from living with such an asshole. His children favored their mother. Willard was grimacing in every photograph taken with his family.

So, Detective, your lovely bride is a bit on the plus side. I bet her weight is a source of discord between you. You are ashamed to be seen with her and so you avoid social functions. Making love to her disgusts you. Do you fantasize of having sex with a woman who is firm and small? Is that your great secret?
A couple of minutes later he had Willard’s home address. Mr. Howard smiled at the screen.

Now I have you.

Mr. Howard retrieved a slip of paper from his desk. The phone number of a Jason Stanis was scribbled on the paper. A former cop fired for theft of city property, Stanis now worked as an unlicensed private investigator. He’d never used Stanis before, but he came highly recommended by several professors who’d used his services to avoid being blackmailed by female students. Stanis was the just the kind of guy to dig up something on Willard.

An out-of-breath Stanis answered after the fifth ring. “Yeah,” he said, the word stretched like taffy as it slipped off his tongue.

“Is this Jason Stanis?”

“Fucking-a. Who’s this?”

“My name is not important. What is important is the job I am about to offer you. A job that you will accept.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I will pay you fifty thousand dollars up front and fifty more when the job is finished.”

A long silence followed before Stanis spoke again. “Is this for real?”

“Yes, Mr. Stanis, the offer is most definitely real. Are you interested?”

“Listen, I ain’t whacking anyone. That ain’t my thing, understand?”

“I do not want you to kill anyone.”

“Yeah, good, so, what am I supposed to do?”

“I need you to follow someone. I need whatever information you can obtain about this man. Photographs, video, anything I can use against him.”

“He really pissed you off, huh? Following him and taking pictures ain’t going to be a problem.”

“One more thing,” Mr. Howard said, “the man is a police detective.”

“Damn. I knew there had to be a catch. You want me back in the pen?”