something out of a B-movie. He decided to give it twenty minutes.
“Jason?” a woman said from behind him.
She had short, spiky brown hair and looked about the same age as Karen Harding. Fair face, good figure. Her left eyebrow was pierced with a ring. She wore faded jeans, sneakers, a long-sleeved black cotton shirt under a pink T-shirt with a small hummingbird embroidered on it.
“Erika?”
“Yes.”
She sat beside him, clasped her hands together, and held them between her knees. “First,” she asked, “is that body in the hills Karen?”
“The police don’t know yet.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked toward the skyline.
“Here are my rules. You didn’t get any of this from me and you can’t use it. I’m just telling you where to look.”
“All right, but we’ll negotiate everything when we’re done.”
“Agreed.” Erika took a deep breath. “I’m a student at Karen’s college. A few weeks before they found her car, she told me one of our instructors was creeping her out.”
“Who?”
“Gideon Cull.”
“Spell it?”
Erika unfolded pages torn from the Mirror and circled grainy news pictures of Cull with search groups at the scene. The mystery man.
“He’s a part-time instructor,” Erika said, “an ordained reverend who’s involved with the ecumenical group and charities. He’s also a toucher.”
“A toucher?”
“He stands close to you when he talks. At first it all seems innocent, like he’s an affectionate, warm conversationalist. But when he talks to you he’ll touch your shoulder, your arm, your hand, whatever. He touches.”
“Has he been reported?”
“No, because it’s so subtle. Some of the women ignore him, but he makes others uncomfortable.”
“And Cull was giving Karen the creeps?”
“She confided to me that he seemed to be touching her more and more and inviting her to his office for counseling, insisting she come. I think she went to see him to talk about her plans to do aid work in Africa after graduation.”
“Did she ever tell anyone else about this guy?”
“I don’t know.”
“So what happened?”
“Well, a few of the women got talking about Cull one night and it came out how he had a nickname, Creepy Cull, because of his creepy past.”
“Creepy how?”
“We think there was an incident at some other school and he’d been charged, maybe went to prison. Or, it was a complaint that he’d sexually harassed a student. And how he had strange books on satanic worship, murder, criminal psychology. He also had some scary friends who visited his campus office because he worked on helping ex-cons and did some spiritual work in prisons and in soup kitchens. He traveled a lot.”
“I can see how all of that might make you a little uneasy.”
“And there was his tattoo, on one arm, something like a Reaper’s scythe over the words The Next Life. The story was that he got that in prison.”
“Sounds like quite a legend around this guy. Any of it confirmed?”
“Not much, but we think most of it is true.”
“Thinking it and knowing it are two different things, Erika. It’s all quite a leap to connect him to Karen.”
“There’s more. Karen told me that one night she had this feeling she was being followed by a stranger. I don’t think she did anything about it. She said it was just a feeling.”
“Has anyone told the police any of this stuff?”
“No. We don’t think they’ll believe us, because we’re relying more on instinct than what you’d consider facts. We think they’d hush up things.”
Ah, there it was. The conspiracy rumor panic that swirls after a major tragedy hits a community. He’d read a New York Times piece on it.
“Why would they hush things up?”
“There’s a story that he’s connected to the governor because he’d helped the governor’s daughter through his Samaritan work or something.”
Jason was skeptical but said nothing.
“We read your stories and thought you could do
“Jason?” a woman said from behind him.
She had short, spiky brown hair and looked about the same age as Karen Harding. Fair face, good figure. Her left eyebrow was pierced with a ring. She wore faded jeans, sneakers, a long-sleeved black cotton shirt under a pink T-shirt with a small hummingbird embroidered on it.
“Erika?”
“Yes.”
She sat beside him, clasped her hands together, and held them between her knees. “First,” she asked, “is that body in the hills Karen?”
“The police don’t know yet.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked toward the skyline.
“Here are my rules. You didn’t get any of this from me and you can’t use it. I’m just telling you where to look.”
“All right, but we’ll negotiate everything when we’re done.”
“Agreed.” Erika took a deep breath. “I’m a student at Karen’s college. A few weeks before they found her car, she told me one of our instructors was creeping her out.”
“Who?”
“Gideon Cull.”
“Spell it?”
Erika unfolded pages torn from the Mirror and circled grainy news pictures of Cull with search groups at the scene. The mystery man.
“He’s a part-time instructor,” Erika said, “an ordained reverend who’s involved with the ecumenical group and charities. He’s also a toucher.”
“A toucher?”
“He stands close to you when he talks. At first it all seems innocent, like he’s an affectionate, warm conversationalist. But when he talks to you he’ll touch your shoulder, your arm, your hand, whatever. He touches.”
“Has he been reported?”
“No, because it’s so subtle. Some of the women ignore him, but he makes others uncomfortable.”
“And Cull was giving Karen the creeps?”
“She confided to me that he seemed to be touching her more and more and inviting her to his office for counseling, insisting she come. I think she went to see him to talk about her plans to do aid work in Africa after graduation.”
“Did she ever tell anyone else about this guy?”
“I don’t know.”
“So what happened?”
“Well, a few of the women got talking about Cull one night and it came out how he had a nickname, Creepy Cull, because of his creepy past.”
“Creepy how?”
“We think there was an incident at some other school and he’d been charged, maybe went to prison. Or, it was a complaint that he’d sexually harassed a student. And how he had strange books on satanic worship, murder, criminal psychology. He also had some scary friends who visited his campus office because he worked on helping ex-cons and did some spiritual work in prisons and in soup kitchens. He traveled a lot.”
“I can see how all of that might make you a little uneasy.”
“And there was his tattoo, on one arm, something like a Reaper’s scythe over the words The Next Life. The story was that he got that in prison.”
“Sounds like quite a legend around this guy. Any of it confirmed?”
“Not much, but we think most of it is true.”
“Thinking it and knowing it are two different things, Erika. It’s all quite a leap to connect him to Karen.”
“There’s more. Karen told me that one night she had this feeling she was being followed by a stranger. I don’t think she did anything about it. She said it was just a feeling.”
“Has anyone told the police any of this stuff?”
“No. We don’t think they’ll believe us, because we’re relying more on instinct than what you’d consider facts. We think they’d hush up things.”
Ah, there it was. The conspiracy rumor panic that swirls after a major tragedy hits a community. He’d read a New York Times piece on it.
“Why would they hush things up?”
“There’s a story that he’s connected to the governor because he’d helped the governor’s daughter through his Samaritan work or something.”
Jason was skeptical but said nothing.
“We read your stories and thought you could do
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