She stood and left the room. She wasn't sure what she'd heard, but she'd heard something. Anonymous. She walked partway down the corridor until struck with the thought she was being watched. She turned suddenly and saw the professor closing the door to his office. The sound reverberated in the hallway. Her eyes swept about, searching for the students who'd flooded the area earlier, and who now seemed to have been absorbed by the offices, classrooms, and lecture halls.

Alone.

She forced a shrug onto her shoulders. It's daytime, she told herself. This is a crowded, public place. She started walking rapidly. She could hear her shoes making a slapping sound against the polished linoleum of the floor, which echoed slightly about her ears. She began to hurry, picking up her pace, increasing the solitary sound around her. She found a stairwell and pushed ahead, moving quickly. The stairwell was empty as well. She took the stairs swiftly, almost jumping down the half-flights. She stopped abruptly when she heard a doorway behind her open and close and realized, suddenly, that someone else's footsteps were moving fast on the stairs behind her. She stopped, shoving herself against the wall, reaching into her pocketbook for her weapon as the sound increased and approached. She squeezed herself tight into a corner, feeling the reassuring grip of her pistol beneath her fingers. She looked up and saw the eyes of a young student, loaded with notebooks and texts, untied basketball shoes flapping in his hurry. The student barely looked at her as he swept past, obviously late and hurrying. She closed her eyes. What's happening to me? she asked herself. She released her grip on the pistol. What did I hear? She headed through the stairwell exit, spying the doors to the building in front of her. The late afternoon sky beyond the glass entranceway seemed gray and funereal but beckoning.

She pushed herself quickly toward it.

She did not see Ferguson, only heard him.

'Learn what you wanted, Detective?'

The hiss of his question made her jump.

She pivoted toward the sound, jerking her hand into her pocketbook, stepping back, almost as if struck with a blow. Her eyes locked onto Ferguson's, and she saw the same, unsettling grin crease his face.

'Satisfied?' he asked.

She squared her shoulders toward him.

'Did I frighten you, Detective?'

She shook her head, still unable to respond. She could feel her hand around the pistol grip, but she did not remove it from the bag.

'Are you going to shoot me, Detective?' he asked harshly. 'Is that what you're looking for?'

Ferguson stepped forward, out of the shadowed spot against the wall that had concealed him. He wore an olive-drab army surplus jacket and had a New York Giants cap on his head. A satchel, which she presumed was filled with books, was slung over his shoulder. He looked like almost every other student that she'd seen in that corridor that day. She controlled her racing heart and slowly removed her hand from the pocketbook.

'What do you carry, Detective? A thirty-eight, police issue? Maybe a twenty-five-caliber auto? Something small but efficient?'

He stared at her. 'No, I bet something larger. Got to prove something to the world. A three-fifty-seven with a magnum load. Or a nine-millimeter. Something that helps you think you're tough, right, Detective? Strong and in charge.'

She did not reply.

He laughed. 'Won't share that information, huh?'

Ferguson unslung his book bag, setting it on the floor. Then he spread his arms in mock surrender, almost supplication, palms out. 'But you see, I'm unarmed, aren't I? So what have you got to fear?'

She breathed in and out sharply, trying to clear the surprise of seeing him from her head, so that she could come up with some appropriate response of her own.

'So, did you find out what you wanted, Detective?'

She exhaled slowly. I found out some things, yes.'

'Discovered I was in class?'

That's right.'

'So, there wasn't any way I could be down in Florida and do that old couple, right? You figured that out yet?'

'It doesn't seem so. I'm still checking.'

'Got the wrong guy, Detective.' Ferguson grinned. "You Florida cops always seem to get the wrong guy.'

She met his eyes coldly. 'No, I don't know that, Mr. Ferguson. I think you're the right guy. But I just haven't figured out what for yet.'

Ferguson's eyes flashed toward her. 'You're all alone, aren't you, Detective?'

'No,' she lied. I have a partner.'

'Where is he?'

'Working.'

Ferguson stepped past her, glancing out the double glass doors toward the walkways and parking lots. Rain streaked the air, tumbling down with a depressing ferocity,

'Gal got beaten and raped right out there the other evening. Little late coming out of class. Just after night fell. Some guy just grabbed her, dragged her down behind that little lip at the edge of the parking lot. Did her right there. Knocked her out and did her. Didn't kill her, though. Broke her jaw. Broke her arm. Took his pleasure.'

Ferguson continued to look through the doors. He raised his arm and pointed. 'Right out there. That where you're parked, Detective?'

She clamped her mouth shut.

He turned toward her. 'They got no suspects yet. Gal's still in the hospital. Ain't that something, Detective? Just think about it. You can't even be safe walking across a campus. Finding your car. Not even in a motel room, neither, I guess. Doesn't that make you a bit nervous? Even with that big old gun stuck down there in that pocketbook where you can't reach it in near enough time.'

Ferguson stepped away from the doors. He turned and looked past Shaeffer, and she became aware of the sound of voices approaching them. She kept her eyes on Ferguson, however, eyeing him as he watched a gaggle of students approach. Their voices suddenly swarmed about her. She saw Ferguson nod at one of the men in the group and heard a young woman say, 'God! Look at that rain!' The bunch gathered coats and umbrellas and surged past the detective, out into the damp air. She felt a cold burst as the door swung open and then swept shut.

'So, Detective. Did you finish? Did you learn what you came up here for?'

'I know enough,' she replied.

He smiled. 'Don't like to give folks a straight answer,' he said. 'You know, that's such an old technique. I probably have a description of it in some textbook right here with me now.'

"You're a good student, Mr. Ferguson.'

Yes, I am,' he said. 'Knowledge is important. Sets you free.'

Where did you learn that?' she asked.

On the Row, Detective. Learned a lot right there. But mostly, I learned that I have to educate myself. Wouldn't have no future at all if I didn't. End up just like all those other poor folk waiting for the Death Squad to come shave their skulls and slap 'em down in that chair.'

So you came to school.'

Life's a school, ain't it, Detective?'

She nodded.

So, now you going to leave me alone?' he demanded.

Why should I?'

"Cause I ain't done nothing.'

'Well, I don't know if I think so, Mr. Ferguson. I don't know that yet at all.'

His eyes narrowed. He spoke evenly and slowly. That's a dangerous approach, Detective.' She didn't answer, so he continued. 'Especially if you're alone.'

He looked at her, then smiled, and gestured toward the door. 'I suspect you'll want to be leaving now, right? Before it gets real dark. Not much light left out there. I'd guess maybe fifteen, twenty minutes, no more. Wouldn't want to get lost looking for that rental car, now would you? What color was it, Detective? A silver-gray? Hard to find on a dark, wet night. Don't get lost, Detective. There are some bad folks out there. Even on a college campus.'

She stiffened. He had hit the right color for the rental car she was driving. A guess, she thought. A lucky guess.'