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.'
Ferguson stepped back, away from the door, giving her an open path to the rain and gloom.
'You be careful now, Detective,' he said mockingly.
Then he turned and walked back into the classroom building, disappearing down a side corridor. She listened for a moment, trying to hear the retreat of his footsteps but couldn't. She turned and looked again at the rain pelting down against the trees and sidewalks. She tightened her raincoat and pulled up the collar. It required a stiffening of will to force her feet to move.
The cold soaked into her immediately. She felt rain sliding down her neck. She started to move quickly, damning the awkward shoes that kept sliding on the footpath. Her head swiveled about, searching behind her, in front of her, making certain that she didn't spot Ferguson following her. When she reached the rental car, she checked the backseat before tossing her things in and throwing herself behind the wheel. She punched down the door locks immediately. Her hand shook slightly as she thrust the key into the ignition, and then slapped the car into gear. As the car started to move, she felt better. As she steered out of the parking lot, relief started to fill her. She picked up speed and pulled onto a two-way street. Out of the corner of one eye she thought, for just an instant, that she saw a hunched-over figure in an olive-drab coat, but when she tried to turn and look carefully, the figure had disappeared, lost in a group of students standing at a bus stop. She fought off a surge of fear and drove on. The heater on the little car started to whir with effort and hot air that seemed as if it had come from a can poured over her, warming her face but not her thoughts.