Page 12 of Deadly Secrets
Chapter Three
Even after all these years, college campuses still made Roman want a beer.
Yep, beer and hormones, all tangled up in academic pursuits.
The good old days.
As he found the lecture hall he was looking for, a pretty co-ed in flip-flops gave him a flirty smile as she passed. He smiled back, his ego enjoying the stroke.
Criminal Justice 301 and International Human Rights Law, a graduate level class, had a joint lecture today with a visiting expert. Unfortunately, he was fifty minutes late to hear Dr. Heaton’s presentation on cross-border serial killers who used murder to make social, religious, and political points.
The heavy door was no quiet beast as he eased into the coolness of the lecture hall, dozens of eyes turning to see who was interrupting.
It was a standard setup with the lectern in a pit and rows of seats graduating up and out in a curve. The professor, sitting near the back, rose and came to him, speaking in subdued tones. “Can I help you?”
At the lectern in the pit, Brooke’s eyes met his briefly as a kid asked her about a case she’d helped the SCVC Taskforce solve a few months ago. She was dressed in another of those conservative, form-fitting skirts and a blouse that shimmered under the overhead lights. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a tight, low bun, and decorative earrings swung from her ears every time she moved.
Roman flashed his badge at the prof, saving himself time explaining who he was. “Sorry to interrupt.” He matched the man’s hushed tone. “I’m here to speak with Dr. Heaton when she’s finished.”
The professor, barely five-five, with round spectacles and a tweed vest that was way too warm for the SoCal spring day, smiled benignly and held out a hand toward one of the seats in the back row as invitation.
Roman sat, listening to Brooke’s sexy voice answer the student’s question. She now ignored Roman, her slender fingers fidgeting with a paperclip. A couple times, she glanced his way, and just as quickly diverted her gaze back to the student.
He made her nervous, but he didn’t understand why. Did she really think he’d let her get away so easily?
He kicked back, enjoying the fact he could throw the buttoned-up PhD off her game. She was so confident when discussing subjects she loved. It totally turned him on.
As she explained the background on the killer, she sounded more like a criminal behaviorist than a religious studies doctorate. Which in some ways, she was. Understanding various religions—some ancient or so obscure most people had never heard of them—was one thing. Understanding the killers who used those religions as a means to justify murder was another.
The next time her gaze bounced up to Roman’s, he winked at her.
The paperclip slipped out of her fingers and landed on the floor. She quickly picked it up and tossed it on the nearby desk, grabbing a pen instead and nervously clicking it several times. It looked as though she was forcing herself not to look up at him.
“Are you sure it wasn’t The Reverend?” the kid asked and Brooke stopped clicking the pen. “Are you sure the SCVC Taskforce got the right guy? I heard The Rev hit another church last night. Is it true?”
A fine sheen of perspiration shone on Brooke’s forehead. Understandable under the hot lights of the pit.
But her suddenly tight body language suggested she was flashing back to the previous night, seeing the body under the sheet and the bloody sigil on the victim’s forehead all over again.
She’d scored a ride to her hotel from one of the local cops and hadn’t answered Roman’s calls or texts.
Blowing me off again.
So he showed up here to put her on the spot. He needed to know her analysis of that sigil, and he wanted to know what her relationship was to The Reverend, if any. His digging after he’d left the crime scene had revealed no official link from the doctor to the killer.
But there was one. He could smell it.
And didn’t that open up a can of questions?
He didn’t like unanswered questions.
“No,” she finally said to the student, making work of gathering papers she’d laid out on the table. “The serial killer I helped the SCVC Taskforce apprehend in March has little in common with The Reverend. Tyson Paetro was using his own version of witchcraft and was hired by a gang leader named Lakai Cruz who wanted his enemies to die and their families cursed, including all members in their gangs. Paetro kidnapped members of rival gangs, cut out their hearts, boiled their flesh from their bones, and ground the bones into powder. Which Cruz then sprinkled over his food and consumed during ritualized ceremonies celebrating him as a king or god. He believed he was making himself more powerful when it came to exterminating his enemies.”
“And how does that differ from The Rev?” a girl asked. “He’s Christian, right?”
As if that were the biggest difference.
Brooke hesitated before sticking the pile of papers in her briefcase. “The Reverend’s case is an ongoing investigation, so I’m not at liberty to discuss specifics, but yes, his rituals follow a Christian-basedmodus operandi. He uses a mix of Catholic and fundamental Christian symbolism and rituals, but his victims are not gang members. I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you.”
