Author's note: Thanks Lauren for the info on 'Ivy League' please excuse my ignorance!  I'm not sure if I've mentioned it anywhere else in the story, but if I can find it I'll try and take it out.  By the way UCLM is completely fictitious!!

Still yawning, Steve pulled his truck into the main parking lot at UCLM.  Manoeuvring expertly between a Jaguar and a Beamer he shook his head – since when were college students so affluent? From his background reading he knew this was a prestigious school but did 'prestigious' always have to equal rich?  Climbing down from the truck he squinted painfully against the bright California sunshine, which was doing little to improve either his headache or his mood.  Resolutely reaching back into the truck, he popped the glove compartment and retrieved both his sunglasses and the aspirin his father had supplied. 

Looking around as he chewed and swallowed the pills, he had to admit that despite his personal indisposition, it was a beautiful day.  The California sky was a deep blue, the kind perpetually depicted on the picture postcards that were eagerly purchased by over enthusiastic tourists down at the boardwalk.  Steve smiled ruefully – a great day for surfing, or loafing around on the beach, two pastimes he wouldn't be indulging in for quite some time, given his lack of headway with this current case.

The morning sun had burnt off the hazy LA smog and all around him the campus was a wash with young men and women enjoying the warm weather.  Dressed in shorts, the girls sporting minute sun tops and many of the guys bare-chested, they looked fresh and relaxed.  In contrast, Steve felt decidedly over dressed in jeans, with a jacket covering his badge and gun.  Wearily he ran a hand through his hair; he had already broken into a sweat. The ocean glistening in the distance looked cool and inviting.  He sighed, as much as he loved his job there were times when the responsibility he carried was oppressive.

Calling amiably to each other, tossing Frisbees, talking on cell phones, the college students looked as though they didn't have a care in the world.  Apparently the double homicide hadn't prevented campus life quickly reverting to normality.  Steve smiled to himself, surely only underclassmen could devote time and energy to the arrangement of their social lives whilst a potential psychopath lurked in their midst. He marvelled at the resilience of youth, and for once felt his age. 

'Look out!'

With finely honed reflexes born from intensive police training, Steve reacted instantly.  Simultaneously ducking and turning, his left hand reached instinctively for the gun concealed at his right hip.  As such the wayward football heading in his direction struck him solidly in the chest, taking his breath away.  Winded, he doubled over wheezing. With hands on knees, head down and heart still racing from the adrenaline elicited by a potential attack, it took a good few seconds to regain his composure.  'Nice move Sloan' he groaned to himself 'Real slick'.

Once his equilibrium was sufficiently restored, he bent and scooped up the ball, which had come to a stop at his feet.  Still slightly breathless, Steve mentally chastised himself for being so damn edgy.  Pulling his gun on a gang of college football players in the middle of a crowd of kids would not have done much for police-public relations.  He could imagine quite vividly the Chief's response to that kind of indiscretion.  He shook his head, what the hell had gotten into him anyway, he wasn't usually so trigger-happy.

'Sorry man!' a youth sporting what looked like team colours bounded up to reclaim the ball, smiling sheepishly at Steve.  His energy and enthusiasm reminded Steve of Jesse, but this young man was much taller and broader than the Doctor.  In fact he was closer in build to Steve himself, but more rangy – a characteristic of his adolescence no doubt.

'You've got a good arm' Steve applauded, 'But' he continued dryly, rubbing his chest for emphasis, 'you might wanna think about working on your accuracy'.

'That's what Coach is always telling me' the kid admitted, 'You play?'

'Used to' Steve replied, then thinking fast 'My trick knee put an end to that' he adlibbed 'Injury I picked up playing college ball'.

'That's too bad' the youth sympathised 'Don't know what I'd do if I had to quit.  Don't even wanna think about it' he shuddered.

'I still do some coaching' Steve explained, hoping to prolong the unexpected interaction with the aim of steering it towards the case.  Experience over the years had taught him that often the most valuable information sprang from casual conversation.  Whilst he would never abuse his position and wasn't comfortable with outright lies, when it came to homicide cases sometimes it was prudent to play along a little – it was surprising how reticent even the most open person could become when they realised they were talking to the LAPD.  In contrast it was equally amazing how much people would willingly reveal to a friendly stranger.

'So you here about the assistant coach's job?' the youth asked 'We really need to work on our defence' he grinned.

Steve smiled to himself; here was his opening 'From what I've seen in the papers this isn't the safest place to be on the faculty'.

'You heard about the murders right?'

Steve nodded.

'They were far out' the youth continued  'just like you get in the movies, you know like in 'Scream' or 'I know what you did last summer'.  Man my parents were freaking when they heard, wanted me straight back home.  But I said 'No way' I mean how could I leave and miss out on all the excitement'.  He grinned enthusiastically and Steve winced inwardly at the boy's naivety.

'Everyone's been talking about it' he continued, 'although the faculty and the Dean are trying to keep it quiet'.  He indicated a team mate sprawled on the grass to their left 'Donny's running a book on the likely suspects - for Peterson's murder you can get pretty good odds on just about anybody from the Board of Directors down to the janitor's cat.'

'Oh yeah?' Steve prompted, firmly pushing aside his disgust at their insensitive disregard for the sanctity of human life.

'Yeah, you should talk to my girlfriend' the boy continued excitedly, obviously enjoying his moment in the spot light 'She took his chem class and according to her no one liked him, not his students or the faculty.  The guy was mean you know? Real temper, he'd fly off the handle at the least little thing.  Rumour is he had a drink problem.  Everyone knows he suffered real bad with the DT's.  Stacy said you could even see his hands shaking when he was in class.' 

He paused considering 'Guess they kept him on staff because his work gets so much publicity – he's always on the TV and in magazines.' 

Leaning closer to Steve he continued dramatically 'According to Stacy his grading curve really sucked.  He used to sink everybody, stopped people from graduating and everything, but nobody dared complain.  I guess now they won't have to'.

'What about the other guy?' Steve asked 'Your girlfriend take his classes too?'

'No, but Davie did.  Hey Dave' he beckoned to a stocky youth with a crew cut, also in team sweats 'Come here a minute'

'What's up man?  We're waiting to start the game' Davie complained as he ambled over to Steve and the first youth.

'You took Summers' classes right?'

'Sure – the ones I actually got to' Davie grinned lazily, '9am class ya know, doesn't really fit into my social schedule'.

'What was he like?' Steve asked conversationally, hoping Davie would be as forthcoming as his team mate.

'Pretty average' Davie replied 'Can't say I thought about him much.  He was new, just transferred here from Ohio.  Okay guy I guess, he played some ball so he was pretty good with us jocks – gradewise I mean' he winked at Steve 'you get what I'm saying?'

'Sure do' Steve replied, forcing himself to mirror the guy's smile.  He was well aware of the need for athletes to attain certain grades in order to remain on their teams – he'd been in that position himself during his own college days.  He also knew that some colleges were pretty lenient towards those with athletic potential - but UCLM?  Was a school that prided itself on its academic excellence really cheating on grades?

Already his mind was working over time, searching for potential motives – had Summers been running some kind of scam, trying to boost his promotion prospects by recruiting high profile jocks?  Surely UCLM wouldn't relish a reputation tarnished by academic dishonesty – had someone found out about Summers' scheme and tried to shut it down permanently?  What about Peterson?  It didn't sound like he was doing anybody any favours, so where did he fit in?

'He was a young guy for a professor' Davie continued 'really into his subject though.  How a young guy could be so into all that old stuff I don't know.  He was forever trying to get us to go on trips with him to dig up junk.  I mean hey, the past is the past right?'

'Right' Steve agreed rolling his eyes as he humoured the youth.  He paused, keen to press Davie for more information, about the 'jock grade' issue, but uncertain how best to proceed without arousing suspicion.  Already the two boys had revealed a wealth of information, but any more direct questioning and his adopted persona would undoubtedly slip from casually interested football coach to desperate cop. His contemplation was rudely interrupted by catcalls and boos from the remaining football players, who having spent the last ten minutes lounging on the grass in the sunshine were growing restless to restart their game.  Tossing the ball at them, Davie and the first youth – Steve had never gotten his name, were off.  Steve was forgotten as the two boys got caught up in the melee.  Whooping, cheering and brawling, they personified male adolescence, their high spirits testament to the exuberance of youth.

                Watching them Steve sighed. The energy of the boys served only to reinforce his own weariness.  Despite the pills his headache had not abated and his sunglasses provided little relief from the glare of the midday sun.  He could feel his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his back and he longed for a cold shower and a large beer – 'Not a chance Sloan' he told himself firmly.  The more time he took, the longer the killer would be on the loose.  He had a job to do and people's lives were depending on him doing it.  The information from the boys had certainly given him something to think about but he had more people to talk to.  Turning away from the football game he began to trudge wearily up the hill to the main cluster of academic buildings, contemplating his next move as he went.