Ripper (8 page)

“Okay.” He clutched that card, looking at me like he’d been hoping for more. I regretted leaving him there like that, but false hope wasn’t going to help.

I walked up the steps to the building where Professor Hamilton had his office, feeling Darren’s eyes on me all the while. Who the hell was this Trent guy and why would he think to look out for me? It was possible he knew one of my brothers. I would have to ask them if they had mentioned my problems with the wolf to anyone. It pointed out a major issue I had. I’d been out of this game for a long time. The truth was I’d never really been in it. I didn’t know anyone.

I started climbing the steep stairs to the third floor as my mind whirled.

My father only knew who the alphas of the local packs were in order to hunt them. He certainly didn’t try to work with them the way Jamie did or have supernatural friends like Nathan. Dad might have known the local players names and habits, but I needed to get them to cooperate with me. Jamie had told me Nathan had powerful contacts in this world. It was hard for me to believe. Nate managed a software store. He was slowly working his way through college a class or two a year, but he certainly didn’t scream power player. I would have to talk to Nate and see if he knew who this Trent person was. If he had an inclination to help me, then I would call him and introduce myself.

Peter Hamilton’s office was halfway down a quiet, dim hallway. It was so quiet I wondered if he’d skipped out on his office hours. It was a Friday afternoon and from the lack of students roaming around, I would say most of the building had called it a week. Who kept hours on Friday when the fall air was crisp and the sunshine was practically perfect? I knocked briefly on the professor’s door and was surprised when he called out.

“Come in.”

I pushed the door open and Peter Hamilton was sitting at his neatly appointed desk. It seemed incongruous for a college professor to be so neat and organized. The books on the shelves that lined three of the walls were neatly placed and I was certain he could find any single one of them in a second. There were efficient-looking file cabinets behind his desk and a small refrigerator. His desk was clean, only a sleek laptop marring the perfect lines.

“I don’t believe I know you.” Hamilton was as neat as his office. He wore the uniform of a stately college professor, trousers, white dress shirt and a snazzy sport coat. He was maybe pushing forty and he wasn’t an unattractive man. He was kind of bland.

“My name is Kelsey Atwood.” I introduced myself and he briefly shook my hand. I was surprised by the softness of his skin. It wasn’t that there wasn’t strength in his hands, but they were soft, much softer than mine. He took special care with his hands. “I’m working for Helen Taylor.”

“Ah, yes, Joanne’s mother. I spoke with her briefly. She hasn’t been to class this week, I’m afraid.” His voice was cultured, with a hint of a British accent though I knew he’d been born in Tallahassee. It was a pretentious affectation.

I nodded and he indicated it was all right for me to sit down in the chair across from his desk. “I’m aware of that. I was told she spent a lot of time on your class.”

“We meet twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, for an hour and a half per class, but it’s a late afternoon class,” the professor explained. “I’m afraid some of our discussions run long. We get involved in the work. We often move from class to the pub across the street where we argue long into the evening.”

“Sounds like you have some dedicated students.”

A smirk crossed his face as he sat back. “I’m grateful I’ve instilled such loyalty and passion in my students.”

If he were female, I’d have started counting up the cats. I wondered briefly what male spinsters filled their houses with. I was betting a whole lot of well-organized books. His shelves here were full of them. There was the requisite literature by luminaries like Joyce, Forster, and Dickens, but there were other less obvious choices. There was a large volume titled “The Encyclopedia of Vampire.” I was unaware that vamps had started writing reference books, but I was willing to go with it. There was a field guide to identifying demons. I could have saved him the hours reading that one. Demons are the ones who try to eat you. I turned my attention back to the professor. “This is the second class Joanne has taken with you?”

He nodded shortly. “Yes, Joanne is an excellent student. She did her final essay last year on the relevance of Bram Stoker’s
Dracula
to today’s genre fiction. It was a good paper. I invited her to join us for this class. It’s mostly made up of sophomores and juniors, but there are a few seniors.”

“Her roommate said she spent more time than usual on this class.”

He shrugged. “It’s a rigorous class. I know some people think there isn’t a lot of value in what I teach, but I think we can all learn from history.”

“History? I thought you taught English.”

“I do, but you can’t study literature and the minds of the great authors without understanding history. My class is contextual. I teach freshman English and any number of literature courses, but over the last ten years I’ve become interested in lore and mythology. It was my Classical Mythology and Urban Legends that Joanne was in.”

“So she was studying Greek gods and stuff?”

He shot me a dismissive smile and I knew my intellect was coming into question. “So much more than that. The religions of the past are the ‘mythology’ of today. Zeus and Hades perform the same functions as the gods of today’s religions do. They were a way for people to explain the unexplainable. They were a conduit between humans and the divine. But our lore, our stories are even more important. They seek to unveil that which is hidden.”

“And what is hidden, Professor?” I asked, interested in his answer to my question. He had the look of a man who truly believed.

And then it was gone. He smiled and it was a smooth expression. He was back to lecturing. “Our hidden desires, of course. That which we desire is what mythological creatures represent. And our fears. Do you know that to this day, true Romany gypsies still bury their dead standing up?”

I returned his smile with one of my own. He was speaking my language. “Yes, they do it so when their dead relatives become revenants, they will only be able to walk forward through the dirt rather than clawing their way to the surface and giving in to the insatiable desire to consume living flesh.”

He clasped those super soft hands together. “Very good, Ms. Atwood. I’m rather surprised. It’s a small folk legend, but still practiced in some areas. The dead consume living flesh to become immortal.”

“Like vampires?” I tried to lead the discussion to my place of interest. Joanne was obviously involved with a vampire. At least, according to Darren, she was. It would be interesting to see if she was studying them as well.

He shook his head and frowned. “Not at all. A revenant is nothing more than a zombie with reasonable intelligence. It insults the vampire to put the two in the same sentence. A zombie mindlessly seeks flesh. The flesh is temporary—useful but dumb. Blood is the basis of life. It holds the soul. This is the nourishment the vampire seeks.”

I wanted to roll my eyes, but I was turning over a new leaf. I nodded like he was telling me something important. “I understand. Vampires are important in this class of yours?”

Professor Hamilton’s eyes lit up, and I knew I’d hit on something. “Vampires are the pinnacles of our desires, Ms. Atwood. They are death and life immortal. They are the gods of this age.”

 I couldn’t argue with him on that. Pop culture wise they were experiencing a renaissance. You couldn’t turn around without another brooding vampire trying to sink his fangs in to someone. I wondered if Daniel had seen
Twilight
. I doubted seriously that he had ever once sparkled.

“I really liked ‘Buffy,’” I admitted with fondness.

He huffed, showing his utter disdain. “I’m talking about the real thing, Ms. Atwood. Vampires have been taken over by simpering romance novelists and their ridiculous female fans. The true vampire is a creature of great darkness. They don’t spend their time whining over human females. They are the bringers of death to the unworthy and life immortal to the blessed few.”

Which proved that the good professor didn’t know crap about vampires. My father had, for the most part, avoided vampires like the plague. He told me he avoided them because they were dying out on their own anyway, but I thought it was because they were too badass to risk a confrontation with. What the professor had wrong was how a person is made a vampire. They aren’t. You’re either born one or not, and no one can tell who’s a vampire until they die and rise again. I heard a rumor a few years back that a king could actually sense latent vampires and turn them while they’re vital, but as far as I knew it was just a rumor. A vampire king is so rare as to be legendary. It’s a story vampires tell fledglings to scare the crap out of them.

“So you sat around and talked about vampires?” I didn’t need to set him straight. He wouldn’t believe me anyway.

He sat forward, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t believe in the supernatural?”

“You would be surprised what I believe in.”

“Imagine if they were real. Lonely gods walking the earth. What if you could talk to one? What would you ask it? Would you worship the vampire? Leave it gifts and pray for the hand of those who defy death to seek you out in kindness?” He gave me a moment to ponder his completely pretentious words. Then he sat back and let out a deep breath. “These are the questions we ask.”

It was time that I asked one of my own. “Professor Hamilton, were you having a sexual affair with Joanne Taylor?”

His swift reaction told me a lot, which was precisely why I blindsided him. His face went blank as though the question caught him completely off guard, and I knew in an instant that he hadn’t even considered it. “No, I don’t sleep with my students. That might be what other professors do, but I consider it beneath me.”

I believed him. “I apologize. I had to ask. You’re an attractive man and she was a lovely girl.”

He preened under the compliment. “Well, I will admit Joanne had a little crush on me. It’s inevitable. Young girls look for powerful, intelligent men to protect them, but I have my work to think of. I could be dismissed if I was caught with a student. I owe them my work, you know.”

“Was Joanne involved with anyone in class?”

He thought about that for a moment. “Not that I could tell. She actually held herself apart a bit. She certainly participated, but she had odd ideas about things. Once she posited that vampires were almost exclusively male, which makes no sense. She got laughed at and she was quiet for a while after that. I don’t know.”

Wow. Joanne had seriously skirted trouble with the Council. If she’d been giving away secrets, she could have been hauled to the Vampire Council and tried for treason. It wouldn’t matter that she wasn’t a vampire. Those men—because she was right they were almost all men—took their privacy seriously. It was another line of questions I should ask, but I needed a vampire to interrogate. I might have to go back on my vow to stay off the computer for a while. Dan was the only vampire I knew. He seemed like an odd sort of vampire since he had three kids, but maybe he could point me in the right direction. Possibly he could introduce me to some of the power players, if I asked nicely.

“I thank you for the time, Professor.” I sent him a grateful smile. He was a weirdo and he gave me the creeps, but it was hard for me to see him as a hardened killer. I would check a little more into his background, but I wasn’t going to get anything more from talking to him than a lecture on his intensely wrong views on vampires. I had a sudden thought. “Can I get a class roster from you?”

He stared at me, seemingly befuddled by the query. “I don’t know that I have a copy. Why would you need that?”

“It’s standard procedure,” I lied. I didn’t have any standard procedures. “I need to know who Joanne’s classmates are. I might need to question some of them.”

He frowned. “I don’t know if I like the thought of you harassing my students.”

“Do you like the thought of one of your students going missing, Professor? If your precious students have any information on where Joanne is, I would think you would want them to step up.”

He backed off immediately. “Of course, of course. I’ll talk to the office staff about putting that together for you. I really must ask you to leave. I need to work. You’ve taken up enough of my time.”

I saluted the professor and quietly exited his office. I made my way to the stairs, all the while plotting. I didn’t believe for an instant that a man as organized as Peter Hamilton didn’t have his class rosters at his fingertips. He probably could produce every roster for every class he’d ever taught, but he’d lied to me. He didn’t want me to know who was in that class. Well, I was going to find out. I wasn’t sure how yet, but I could ponder it all night while I staked out the first address in Joanne’s notebook.

* * * *

I stopped at a convenience store and stocked up. There’s a reason most PIs are overweight with a tendency to have coronaries. Salads simply don’t work as stakeout food. I bought a six-pack of Dr. Pepper, some M&Ms, a bag of Doritos, and a single beer. Okay, I bought a single Dr. Pepper and a six-pack of beer. I was still freaking hung over. I stand by the beer choice. I stopped by a street vendor on Good Latimer and bought a couple of tacos and a churro before heading north into a much nicer section of town.

I located the building indicated by the address in Joanne’s little spiral. It was one in a long line of Victorian townhouses. I took stock of my surroundings and was pleased to find a small office building across from the residential street. It came complete with a parking garage that would nicely serve as my nest for the night. It was a little ways away from the actual house, but I had my camera with a high-powered telephoto lens, so I didn’t need to be super close. I tried to turn into the parking garage, but it was private and required a security code. Luckily, there was no actual guard on duty so I parked the Jeep down the street, shoved all my gear into a backpack, and hiked.