“You were right—another day or two and we’d have caught on. There were only three places where Sam was supposedly exposed to the public. The Howard Johnson hotel, the hotel in Palos Verdes where they spent the night, and when they cleared the bus. I talked to the clerk at the Howard Johnson where Sam stayed. She did remember Sam, if you recall, but the person who she remembers was a man with brown hair and blue eyes. Sam.”
“Kevin,” the professor said.
“Yes. He actually went over there and checked in as Sam, thinking he really was her. If he’d signed in under Samantha instead of Sam, the clerk would have raised a brow. But to her he was Sam.”
“Hmm. And Palos Verdes?”
“The maître d’ from the restaurant will be a good witness. Evidently some of the customers complained about the strange behavior of the man seated by the window. Kevin. He was staring directly across the table and speaking to an empty chair in hushed tones. Raised his voice a couple times.” Jennifer smiled. “The maître d’ approached and asked if everything was okay, and Kevin assured him it was. But that didn’t stop him from walking to the dance floor a few minutes later and dancing with an invisible partner before leaving the room.”
“Sam.”
“Sam. According to Kevin, the only other time they were together in public was when they cleared the bus that blew up. Kevin insisted that Sam was in the car, but none of the passengers remember seeing another person in the car. And when I drove by a few minutes after the explosion, Kevin was alone, although he clearly remembers Sam sitting beside him, talking on her phone to her superiors. The California Bureau of Investigation has no record of her, of course.”
“Of course. And I suppose Kevin chose to imitate the Riddle Killer because it offered him a fully fleshed persona.”
“Don’t you mean Slater?”
“Pardon me—Slater.” The professor smiled.
“We found a stack of newspaper clippings on the Riddle Killer in Slater’s desk. Several were addressed to Kevin’s home. He never remembers receiving them. He can’t remember how he got into the library undetected or how he planted the bombs in his car or the bus, although the evidence in the basement leaves no doubt that he built all three bombs.”
Jennifer shook her head. “Kevin himself, as himself, wasn’t aware that he was carrying both Sam’s and Slater’s cell phones most of the time. You’d think when he wasn’t in their personas, he’d be aware of that much, but somehow the alter egos managed to shut off his mind to those realities. Amazing how the mind works. I’ve never heard of such a clear fragmentation.”
“Because the personalities Kevin spun off were so diametrically opposed,” Dr. Francis said. “ What falls but never breaks; what breaks but never falls?Night and day. Black and white. Evil and good. Kevin.”
“Night and day. Evil. Some in your camp are calling him possessed, you know?”
“I’ve heard.”
“And you?”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If they want to attribute his evil nature to a demonic presence or a stronghold, they may do so without argument or endorsement from me. It sounds quite sensational, but it doesn’t change the fundamental truth. Evil is evil, whether it takes the form of a devil with horns or a demon from hell or the gossip of a bishop. I believe Kevin was merely playing out the natures that reside in all humans from birth. Like a child might play Dorothy and the Wicked Witch of the West. But Kevin really believed he was both Slater and Samantha, thanks to his own childhood.”
The professor crossed his arms and looked back out at Kevin, who was staring at a cloud formation now.
“I do believe that we all have Slater and Samantha living within us as part of our own nature,” he said. “You could call me Slater-John-Samantha.”
“Hmm. And I suppose that would make me Slater-Jennifer-Samantha.”
“Why not? We all struggle between good and evil. Kevin lived that struggle out in dramatic fashion, but we all live the same struggle. We all struggle with our own Slaters. With gossip and anger and jealousy. Kevin said his term paper was going to be a story—in more ways than one, I think he just lived his paper out.”
“Forgive my ignorance, Professor,” Jennifer said without looking at him, “but how is it that you, supposedly a ‘regenerated’ man, devoted servant of God, still struggle with evil?”
“Because I am a creature of free will,” Dr. Francis said. “I have the choice at any given moment how I will live. And if I choose to hide my evil in a basement, as Kevin did, it will grow. Those who populate America’s churches may not be blowing up buses and kidnapping, to be sure, but most hide their sin just the same. Slater lurks in their dungeons and they refuse to blow the lid off them, so to speak. Kevin, on the other hand, most certainly blew the lid off, no pun intended.”
“Unfortunately, he took half the city with him.”
“Did you hear what Samantha said in the basement?” the professor asked.
Jennifer had wondered if he would bring up Samantha’s words. “‘You are powerless on your own. But if you look to your Maker, you’ll find enough power to kill a thousand Slaters,’” she said. The words Samantha spoke to Kevin had haunted Jennifer for the last week. How had Kevin known to say that? Was it really as simple as his good nature crying out the truth?
“She was right. We are all powerless to deal with Slater on our own.”
He was talking about man’s dependence on God to find true freedom. He’d spent long hours with Kevin in his prison cell—Jennifer wondered what had passed between them.
“After seeing what I’ve seen down here, I’m not going to even try to argue with you, Professor.” She nodded at Kevin. “You think he’s . . . okay?”
“Okay?” Dr. Francis’s right eyebrow went up. He smiled. “I’m sure he’ll be delighted to hear the news you have, if that’s what you mean.”
Jennifer felt exposed. He could see more than she meant for him to see, couldn’t he?
“Take your time. I have some calls to make.” He walked for his study.
“Professor.”
He turned back. “Yes?”
“Thank you. He . . . we . . . Weowe our lives to you.”
“Nonsense, dear. You owe me nothing. You may, however, have a debt to Samantha. And to Samantha’s Maker.” He grinned deliberately and entered his study.
Jennifer waited until his door closed. She slid the glass door open and stepped onto the patio. “Hello, Kevin.”
He turned, eyes bright. “Jennifer! I didn’t know you were here.”
“I had some time.” As much as she tried to ignore the fact, there was a unique bond between them. Whether it was her natural reaction to the sympathy he engendered or her own generous spirit or more, she didn’t know. Time would tell. The Riddle Killer was still at large, and yet she somehow felt she’d found herself for the first time since Roy’s death.
Kevin glanced back at the roses. His eyes couldn’t hold hers unwaveringly as they had before—he’d lost a certain innocence. But she preferred him this way.
“I’m taking a sabbatical,” she said.
“From the FBI? You are?”
“I am. I just came from a hearing with Judge Rosewood.” Jennifer couldn’t contain herself any longer. She smiled wide.
“What?” he asked. Her elation spread to him. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. She’s going to consider my request.”
“The judge? What request?”
“You do know that I’m a licensed psychotherapist, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Even if we win your acquittal, which I think we will, the court will insist on therapy. In fact, your treatment will likely begin much sooner. But I don’t think we can trust just any psychotherapist to pry around your head.”
“Psychobabble,” he said. “They . . .” His eyes widened. “You?”
Jennifer laughed. If the judge could see her now, she might reconsider. But she couldn’t. In fact, no one could. The professor had retired to his office.