Dennis Larsen - With Cruel Intent

“Nobody? Well I’ll tell you,” she quipped, returning to the projector, she removed the initial image and placed a transparency on the overhead.

A chart of numbers and titles covered the opposing wall.

“All right, these number are for 2005 alone and were provided by the GBI. You should all know what that stands for. Who can tell us?”

Mr. Rickert raised his hand.

“Yes,” aiming the pointer in his direction.

“Georgia Bureau of Investigation,” he said.

“Thanks, correct. They have a statistical division that generates this database every year. So let’s take a look,” and she pointed at each column and read aloud:

“Murder — 526, Rape — 2086, Robbery — 13,800, Aggravated Assault — 22,409. Bringing the total violent crimes in the state of Georgia for one year to 38,821. Anyone surprised?” She paused then continued. “Okay then, let’s take a look at the property or more victimless crimes. Burglary — 79,834, Larceny — 234,436 and yes that comma is in the right place, Auto Theft — 43,411, Arson — 1130, Total Property Crime — 358,811. What do you think of those numbers?” Without waiting for anyone to answer, Pink questioned, “Do you think the GBI or the FBI has time on their hands to process DNA on every case that involves some pervert taking pictures of a sleeping woman in little old Valdosta, Georgia? Don’t think so. Nope don’t think they’ll be wasting thousands of your taxpayer dollars to track down every two-bit peeping tom or night crawler that makes the paper. I could be wrong, does anyone else have an opinion?”

The same young lady that posed the initial question asked, “But what if he does it again and someone gets hurt or even killed?”

Ella’s face almost appeared a bit sad when she replied, “That’s the heartbreaking part, isn’t it? So often these types of people do a harmless little ‘prank’, if you want to call it that, but they get hooked on the adrenalin rush and can’t stop. They’re always looking for the next opportunity to fulfill some inner need, some fantasy, and unfortunately we know from experience that it often escalates and someone does get hurt. In the event that there is substantial property loss and certainly physical harm or death, the state is then obligated to get involved and put forth their resources. But in cases like this there aren’t enough dollars to go around and the local police just have to do the best they can with what they’ve got. You just gotta know hindsight is always 20/20 so if this 'nut job' does hurt somebody down the road, you can sure as hell bet there will be those wanting to know where CSI was. Sadly, that’s just the reality of the job. Often times, someone does have to get hurt before anything gets done.”

Pink turned off the overhead, the whir of the fan still going as she addressed the class.

“I’d like you each to look a little more carefully at this case as a way of understanding deviant behavior. Perhaps it was just a prank, at least this incident, but do some research and see what you can dig up on individuals that started their criminal careers with similar events and see if you can document any patterns or known profiles. In the few minutes we have left today I want to introduce the topic of deviant behavior and brain dysfunction.”

Having completed her thought, she started into a brief lecture, explaining chemical imbalance, learned behavior and the road to deviant criminal behavior. Seymour was pumped about the assignment and as the instructor droned on in the background he put pen to paper and was quickly writing down all the things that came to mind and the possibilities that he could explore. The library would be a great resource for the assignment both in terms of material available at hand, the time he could put into researching while getting paid, and the prospects of roping Blanche into helping him. It had been a few days since they’d worked together and he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Granted, she was a decade older than him but there was something about her that he couldn’t shake. She had filled his dreams the past few nights, where he had been so debonair and self assured, sweeping her off her feet with his style and charm.

“Why can’t I be that guy for real?” he thought, as the period ended and the students gathered up their things and exited the classroom. Seymour sat for a few more minutes jotting down his last minute thoughts, then stuffed his backpack full of his belongings and hurried out the door.

Forensics would have to wait; first he’d hit the school library before his classmates cleaned it out. He didn’t think he could rely solely on the public library for insight but the idea of asking Blanche for help was both exciting and nerve racking for the young man, who needed the hours between class and work to build up his courage. However, courage would not be the only thing he would need to win over the strawberry blonde’s heart.

Over the sound of an audience alternately chanting ‘Jerry, Jerry’ and ‘Take It Off’, he could just barely make out the sound of a ringtone cutting through the melee.

“Shit, where did I put that frickin’ cell phone?” he cussed as pillows; newspapers and a pizza box flew across the room as he searched.

Grabbing the remote he muted the TV to help in his search. The sound drew him to the bookshelf lining the wall adjacent to the entertainment center. Grasping a volume of the Koran on the upper shelf, he pulled, but the book did not budge instead the entire unit began to pivot away exposing a hidden room. He pulled until the opening into the small inner room was big enough for him to pass through. Inside, a makeshift plywood desk lined one wall with a bar stool as a chair. The pictures he’d taken at Thelma’s still neatly arranged on the rough surface, a ringing cell phone laid nearby. On the wall above the desk he had carefully pinned a map of Georgia with some areas circled in red, and Moody Air Force Base deliberately outlined in blue, with the area directly south of the base crosshatched in green. A single yellow-topped pin was stuck in the map on Cat Creek Road. In the corner of the room sat a backpack that appeared to be full, with the metal buckles covered in black electrical tape.

Picking up the phone he flipped it open and lifted it to his right ear knowing that if he placed it to his left he would not be able to make out the muffled voice of the caller.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he pulled the phone closer to his ear and closed his eyes to help focus his attention on the needed sense.

“What do you mean? I thought it went pretty well. Looked like she was scared shitless in that interview.” Again listening intently as the person on the other end spoke and relayed the message.

“I had expected that, lazy stinkin’ cops!” He paused and listened, then reached for a pencil and notepad sitting on the table.

“Hold on, hold on, I’m getting a pencil, (paused) okay, give it to me.”

He wrote an address on the pad and asked, “Same as before. The information will show up in my mailbox sometime this week?”

A response in the positive came from the other end.

“You want me to be creative? Just how creative are we talking? I told you from the start that there’s just some shit I won’t do regardless of how much you’re paying me.”

The tone and volume of the caller noticeably increased and he pulled the phone away from his good ear.

“I know a stupid photo op is not going to cut it anymore but,” he was cut off with the terse interjection at the other end. He waggled his head back and forth and shook his finger in the air as if mocking the unseen caller.

Rolling his eyes and running his fingers through his unwashed hair he finally replied, “Yeah, Yeah, I get it. You won’t be disappointed. Just watch the news.”