been right about all of it. The cops had nothing.
With school started, he’d have less time. So…something simpler. But without the risk, would the satisfaction be the same?
There had to be a way to feel the same exhilaration he’d felt watching through his father’s binoculars as those churches went up in flames.
“Exactly,” he said. “Something he can’t figure out. Or trace back to us. Something like the fires. Only better.”
“Like what?” the boy in the back asked.
“I don’t know yet,” he answered truthfully.
Lower risk. Same exhilaration. Raise the stakes in the game with the cops without raising the stakes for himself.
To do that meant that the risk would have to be very high for somebody else. But after all, that really wasn’t his problem.
One
Lindsey Sloan hesitated, her knuckles hovering just beneath the metal plaque on the door. David Campbell and then below the name in smaller letters, Principal.
Although it was unusual for Dave to leave a message with the school secretary asking her to come to his office, Lindsey believed she knew what her boss wanted to talk about. Randolph-Lowen was for up for accreditation review this year. He probably wanted to ask her to head up the school committee.
That wasn’t something she wanted to do, but she knew she would end up saying yes to his request. Which was why she was standing outside the door to his office as if she had been called here for punishment.
Taking a deep breath, she tapped lightly and then, following Melanie’s instructions, turned the knob. Dave, who was seated behind his desk, looked up.
“Melanie said to come on in,” Lindsey offered.
Although she’d followed the instructions she’d been given, as Dave stood, he seemed slightly annoyed by the interruption. Or maybe, she realized as she continued to study his expression, he was annoyed because of the presence of the dark-haired man seated on this side of his desk. He, too, got to his feet as Lindsey stepped inside the office.
He was no one she recognized. A parent with a complaint about something she’d done? Since it was only the second week of school, she’d given out no grades. If he was here to complain, it must be about an assignment. She mentally ran through the ones she’d handed out to her classes, but she couldn’t imagine why any of them would bring a father to the school. Not in person.
“That’s fine, Lindsey,” Dave said. “Want to close that?”
The frisson of anxiety she’d felt when she realized there was someone waiting with Dave escalated. She used the excuse of securing the door to hide it. When she turned back to face the two men, her “meet the parents” smile was firmly in place.
“Lindsey, this is Lieutenant Nolan. Detective, Lindsey Sloan, our gifted coordinator.”
“Ms. Sloan.”
That thin, hard mouth probably didn’t do much smiling, Lindsey thought. And he obviously didn’t intend to make an exception for her. His eyes, as dark as his hair, continued to study her as she attempted to retain her own smile.
“Detective?” she questioned.
“With the sheriff’s department.”
“And…you want to see me?”
“The lieutenant’s in charge of the investigation into the church fires,” Dave interjected.
Lindsey’s gaze automatically shifted to her principal as he made his explanation. Almost immediately she refocused it on the detective. She realized that his eyes had never left her face, undoubtedly because he was noting her reaction to what Dave had just said.
Three rural black churches in the county had been torched on separate nights last July. Although no additional fires had occurred during August, the initial three continued to get top billing in both the state and national media.
“I’m sorry. You must think I’m very slow,” Lindsey said, “but I still don’t understand why you want to see me.”
“We’ve been working with the FBI to develop a profile of the people who set those fires.” Nolan’s voice was deep, its accent decidedly not local.
Nor was his appearance. The dark suit was too stylishly cut. And probably too expensive for this setting. His hair was a little long. Not nearly conservative enough for someone associated with local law enforcement. She wondered how the good old boys in the department related to Lieutenant Nolan.
Of course, her idle curiosity had no relevance to this discussion. And based on the intensity of the detective’s gaze, she had the distinct impression that she’d better get focused on what Nolan was saying rather than on what he looked like before something important slipped by her.
“And that profile led you to me?”
She thought she’d figured out where this was going, but she wanted him to put it into words. At least she now understood Dave’s uneasiness.
“Actually, it led us to the students you teach.”
Randolph-Lowen wasn’t the only high school in the county. It was, however, the one designated to provide services for the gifted. A few kids even came from outside the county because they didn’t have access to appropriate resources at the schools to which they were zoned.
“Are you saying your profile indicates the arsonists have high IQs?” All those old wives tales about that supposedly thin line between genius and insanity reared their ugly heads.
Before she could begin to dispute them, Nolan added, “And that they’re young. White. Male.”
Lindsey glanced at Dave, wondering why he wasn’t objecting to this. Profiling wasn’t a science. The description the detective had just given with such an air of confidence might be wildly inaccurate.
Besides, even if there were something to what he’d just said, there was nothing the school could do to help him narrow his search. She wasn’t going to start suggesting that one child or another might be involved in something as high-profile as this crime. That would be a quick way to a suspension followed by a lawsuit.
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I don’t think I can help you.” She’d already turned toward the door when Dave stopped her.
“Lindsey, this isn’t what you think.”
“Then what is it?” She looked from one to the other.
“The people who developed the profile believe this is a thrill crime,” Nolan said. “Something designed to get the adrenaline pumping.”
Despite her doubts about the methodology, she thought that was probably an accurate description. She just didn’t see what it had to do with her. Or with her students. “And?”
“Once they’ve experienced that rush,” Nolan said, “they’re going to want it again.”
“And
