His smile was wide. Apologetic.
In his mid-forties, with strong features, a long, straight nose and a neatly trimmed beard, he shoved open the door and held it for her. His shoes were polished to a gloss, his casual jacket looking as if it had cost a small fortune. Natty was the word that came to mind whenever she thought of Dr. Leeds. Well, " and "; there was just something about him that didn't ring true. Nothing she could put her finger on, but something. "I had to run down the hall to catch a colleague, Dr. Sutter, before he left for the day. He's only here part time and it's the weekend, you know, so I was fortunate to grab him."
Leeds was patting down his pockets for his keys and rattling on, as if he were nervous.
"Dr. Sutter and I are offering a two-day seminar in the | spring you
might be interested in. You've heard of him? | Ah!" Leeds found his key ring as Olivia lifted a shoulder. I All she knew about Sutter was by reputation, that he was a difficult taskmaster. Leeds inserted his key into the lock.
"Anyway, he and I started talking, and well, I guess I'm playing the part of the absentminded professor."
She didn't think so. Jeremy Leeds was sharp as a straightedged razor.
There was something too smooth about him. Cold. She felt it now, just being near him.
"Come on in." She took a chair near a small window and flipped open her folder of notes, all of which she'd taken before last night. Before, she was certain, her life had changed forever. Dr. Leeds slid into his chair on the other side of the desk-- as tidy as Detective Bentz's had been cluttered. A calendar sat on one corner, a humidor of cigars on the other. The room was small and compact, with a smattering of degrees and artwork hung on the walls. "So, what have you got there?" he asked, indicating her work. "A premise for your thesis?" He slid a pair of wire-rimmed glasses up his nose.
"Just the germ of an idea."
"Oh?" He was interested. His eyebrows lifted. "Did you want me to go over it?" ' ' I just wanted to run some thoughts by you. It's not on paper yet."
"Of course." He leaned back in his chair, tented his fingers, and waited. , "I'd like to do my thesis on aberrant psychology as it applies to religion."
"Really?" His smile faded.
"I'm thinking of the psychology of prayer and penitence as it applies to Judeo-Christian theology."
"That's quite a mouthful. Don't you think it would be better suited if your area of expertise was theology or philosophy?"
"I think I could make it work. And it's what interests me," she added,
not inclined to explain any further. "You offer undergrad classes on aberrant psychology and criminal psychology and I thought I'd sit in, if that was okay."
"Yes, yes, that's not a problem." He nodded, turning the idea over in his mind. "Tell you what. Go ahead and run with this, but bring me a written proposal, an outline of your thesis, and we'll go from there.
How does that sound?" Just peachy, she thought, but said, "Great. I'll call and we'll set up an appointment."
"Good, good." He stood--ever the gentleman--and she left feeling that at least one small detail of her life was back in place. She'd been struggling with a concept for her thesis.
If nothing else, the murder last night had sharpened her focus.
She hurried downstairs and outside, where the shadows had turned to dead-on night. Though it wasn't quite five, darkness had blanketed the city and street lamps were glowing, giving the grounds an eerie feel.
Olivia had always thought the massive limestone facade of Gibson Hall looked as if it belonged to part of a medieval castle, and now, in the darkness with the first few drops of rain beginning to fall, it seemed more imposing than ever.
Crossing the thick grass, she headed for the parking lot, found her truck, and slid behind the wheel. She wasn't alone.
Other students hurried by, but somehow tonight, after the events early this morning, she felt isolated. Detached. She plunged the key into the ignition
In his mid-forties, with strong features, a long, straight nose and a neatly trimmed beard, he shoved open the door and held it for her. His shoes were polished to a gloss, his casual jacket looking as if it had cost a small fortune. Natty was the word that came to mind whenever she thought of Dr. Leeds. Well, " and "; there was just something about him that didn't ring true. Nothing she could put her finger on, but something. "I had to run down the hall to catch a colleague, Dr. Sutter, before he left for the day. He's only here part time and it's the weekend, you know, so I was fortunate to grab him."
Leeds was patting down his pockets for his keys and rattling on, as if he were nervous.
"Dr. Sutter and I are offering a two-day seminar in the | spring you
might be interested in. You've heard of him? | Ah!" Leeds found his key ring as Olivia lifted a shoulder. I All she knew about Sutter was by reputation, that he was a difficult taskmaster. Leeds inserted his key into the lock.
"Anyway, he and I started talking, and well, I guess I'm playing the part of the absentminded professor."
She didn't think so. Jeremy Leeds was sharp as a straightedged razor.
There was something too smooth about him. Cold. She felt it now, just being near him.
"Come on in." She took a chair near a small window and flipped open her folder of notes, all of which she'd taken before last night. Before, she was certain, her life had changed forever. Dr. Leeds slid into his chair on the other side of the desk-- as tidy as Detective Bentz's had been cluttered. A calendar sat on one corner, a humidor of cigars on the other. The room was small and compact, with a smattering of degrees and artwork hung on the walls. "So, what have you got there?" he asked, indicating her work. "A premise for your thesis?" He slid a pair of wire-rimmed glasses up his nose.
"Just the germ of an idea."
"Oh?" He was interested. His eyebrows lifted. "Did you want me to go over it?" ' ' I just wanted to run some thoughts by you. It's not on paper yet."
"Of course." He leaned back in his chair, tented his fingers, and waited. , "I'd like to do my thesis on aberrant psychology as it applies to religion."
"Really?" His smile faded.
"I'm thinking of the psychology of prayer and penitence as it applies to Judeo-Christian theology."
"That's quite a mouthful. Don't you think it would be better suited if your area of expertise was theology or philosophy?"
"I think I could make it work. And it's what interests me," she added,
not inclined to explain any further. "You offer undergrad classes on aberrant psychology and criminal psychology and I thought I'd sit in, if that was okay."
"Yes, yes, that's not a problem." He nodded, turning the idea over in his mind. "Tell you what. Go ahead and run with this, but bring me a written proposal, an outline of your thesis, and we'll go from there.
How does that sound?" Just peachy, she thought, but said, "Great. I'll call and we'll set up an appointment."
"Good, good." He stood--ever the gentleman--and she left feeling that at least one small detail of her life was back in place. She'd been struggling with a concept for her thesis.
If nothing else, the murder last night had sharpened her focus.
She hurried downstairs and outside, where the shadows had turned to dead-on night. Though it wasn't quite five, darkness had blanketed the city and street lamps were glowing, giving the grounds an eerie feel.
Olivia had always thought the massive limestone facade of Gibson Hall looked as if it belonged to part of a medieval castle, and now, in the darkness with the first few drops of rain beginning to fall, it seemed more imposing than ever.
Crossing the thick grass, she headed for the parking lot, found her truck, and slid behind the wheel. She wasn't alone.
Other students hurried by, but somehow tonight, after the events early this morning, she felt isolated. Detached. She plunged the key into the ignition
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