In the corridor of the archaeology building quite a crowd had gathered. For once they weren't police officers, but ordinary men and women - professors, teaching assistants, research students, porters, janitors, technicians and more. A cosmopolitan group, they were a veritable mix of gender and age, white collar workers and blue. As they waited, conversation buzzed at a low hum. Some were enjoying the mid afternoon break from work, savouring the chance to stop and catch up with colleagues, others were less patient, tapping feet and checking watches, obviously dragged reluctant from their ivory towers and desperate to return.
At the back of the group, dressed smartly in blue blazer and dark brown slacks, Mark Sloan stood quietly and watched, a half smile playing across his face. His son, also dressed for the occasion, looked at little more perturbed. Leaning across to his father, Steve bent in close and whispered in his ear 'Dad, are you sure this is gonna work?'
Mark shrugged cheerfully 'If I've read the killer right and I'm pretty sure that I have, then it should work like a charm' he whispered back. Turning back to peruse the crowd once more, he smiled unconcernedly and waved at John Anderson the porter, who was standing to their right.
'Mmmh' Steve grunted, tugging irritably at the unfamiliar tie around his neck. It was a big 'if' but for now he didn't have any better suggestions. When his father had first outlined the plan the previous evening he'd been sceptical. So much depended on the psychology of the killer - personality, motivation, and perhaps most of all ego. His father was pretty sharp, but he was a doctor not a psychologist. Would the killer really respond in the way his Dad predicted? If not, all this was for show, a further waste of his time whilst the killer ran free to plot murder number four. He sighed heavily. He was trying to think positively, but it was hard to be optimistic when all they really had to go on was 'pop psychology' and ancient history.
And then there was Tanis.
As seemed to have become a habit, she was never far from his thoughts. Last night, after much persuading, he'd finally plucked up the courage to call her. He almost groaned aloud remembering the butterflies and sweating palms as he'd dialled her number, followed by the mixture of relief and crushing disappointment when she hadn't been home. Caught off guard by her answer machine, he'd left a garbled and wholly unsatisfactory message that he'd tormented himself over ever since. So far he'd heard nothing in return.
A nudge in the ribs brought him back to the present. Jesse, dressed in a sports jacket and sky blue shirt, grinned at him 'So which one's Natasha?' the young man said eagerly, a twinkle in his eye.
'Hey' Amanda interrupted from the other side of Mark 'You're with Susan remember!'
'I know' he said innocently, then he winked at Steve 'but there's no harm in looking right?'
Steve grinned 'She's over there Jess' he said 'behind the guy in the toupee and stripped shirt'.
Jesse craned his neck. Being significantly smaller than his companion, his view was restricted 'I don't see her' he complained then 'Whoah!' he exclaimed
'I guess he's seen her' Steve said dryly to Amanda.
'Whoah!' Jesse said again, eyes wide.
Amanda rolled her eyes. Ignoring the drooling Jesse and Steve's resultant smirk, she turned instead to Mark 'Is everybody here?' she said.
He frowned tilting his head to get a better view 'I think so' he replied thoughtfully 'there's Maggie Taylor over there and those two kids standing with her are Vicky Harris and Eric Scott. Natasha's over there on the left and the athletic looking young man with her is Nate Johnson, Schwenck's grad student. He beamed 'Yes, everyone's here'.
So are we ready?' Amanda asked. Mark took a deep breath 'We're ready' he replied.
***
Sitting on the end of her bed Tanis replayed the message again. She must have played it at least twenty times already and yet she was still no closer to making a decision. Okay so part of the message related to the case and some new scheme of Mark's, but the other? The other part of the message was a whole lot more confusing. He hadn't said much, other than he really needed to talk to her privately. But there was something about taking a risk and him being a fool. He was a fool? What did that mean? And what risks was he talking about?
She sighed, how did everything get so complicated? A week ago Steve was just Steve, a good cop and a great partner. Now he was so much more. But did he feel the same way? Yesterday she'd been sure that he didn't, but last night's phone message. It wasn't so much his words, rather something about his tone, something that made her feel that maybe, just maybe he did.
But how could she be sure? Was it just wishful thinking on her part, nothing more than a decent guy wanting to smooth over an argument with his partner? Possibly, and yet she wanted to believe that there was more to it than that. Steve's behaviour at the hospital, she had initially taken as indication of a lack of interest. He'd closed his eyes, seemingly unwilling to look at her, wanting to block her out. But maybe she'd over reacted; the guy was suffering from a concussion after all. Perhaps the closed eyes were indication of nothing more than a dizzy spell?
Or perhaps there was more to it than that! Forcing herself to be positive, Tanis tentatively contemplated the possibility that he had been as floored by the whole thing as she had. After their almost kiss, the intensity of her emotions, she'd been a wreck, couldn't get away fast enough, desperate to block him out and regain self-control. Had Steve been the same? He couldn't run away, his only recourse would have been to shut his eyes!
Feverishly she turned this possibility over and over in her mind, aware of the faint glimmer of hope that was starting to build. Her next thought extinguished it – if he did like her, why hadn't he answered her call? Why had he gotten Mark to fob her off? Even worse why didn't he want them to work together? No, she'd got it right the first time, he knew how she felt and he didn't feel the same. After all, she'd made it perfectly obvious that she liked him – hadn't she?
.
***
Clearing his throat, Mark stepped in front of the crowd. Adjusting the buttons on his blazer, he smiled genially at the collection of people before him.
'Ladies and gentlemen' he said, speaking clearly to ensure that he was audible to those at the back 'I'm Doctor Mark Sloan from Community General Hospital and I'd like to thank you all for coming this afternoon, especially at such short notice. That so many of you have turned up I guess is testament to the high esteem in which you held your colleagues, Professor Peterson, Professor Summers and Dr. Schwenk'.
He paused, allowing for the nodding of heads and general murmuring that met this re-mark. As he waited, his keen blue eyes scanned the faces before him. It didn't escape his attention that Vicky Harris wiped away a tear, whilst Natasha Summers remained resolutely dry eyed.
'We are here today' he continued 'to remember those colleagues, to celebrate their lives and more specifically their achievements'. He smiled sadly 'In my work as a doctor I deal with death on a daily basis, and believe me, it never gets any easier. But when we lose someone, the one thing we still have is our memories'. He paused before continuing 'With these three men, we have more than that. As respected academics, they have each left behind them a legacy – knowledge!'
He looked around the room. Vicky offered a watery smile, whilst Natasha met his gaze defiantly. Maggie Taylor's cool grey eyes were thoughtful, appraising. In contrast, Eric Scott looked miserably at his feet, still pale and withdrawn. Only Nate Johnson seemed unconcerned, chewing on a stick of gum, he winked cockily when Mark caught his gaze.
'Now I'm sure I don't have to tell you folks how much these men have achieved in careers cut tragically short' Mark said. 'Professor Peterson was world renowned for his research on organic spectrometry, Doctor Schwenk was one of the leading lights in the study of the Occult and Professor Summers – well what can one say about that young man?' He smiled 'To be a Professor in your thirties, well that's an achievement in itself. But then I guess it was always clear that David Summers had potential, it was after all his Masters Thesis that had gotten him on the fast track'.
Mark let out a breath 'You know ladies and gentlemen, I recently had the opportunity to read that thesis for myself and it blew me away, it really did. You know the Professors at Yale told me it was perhaps the finest thesis they'd had from a student David's age.' He smiled 'So you see it was no surprise that David went on to such a distinguished career'.
Stepping aside Mark revealed a small red curtain, operated by a draw string to his left. 'In honour of three such eminent academics' he said 'UCLM in conjunction with Community General Hospital; has decided to dedicate a plaque to their achievements'. He beckoned to a balding man, with a reddened face 'Dean Nicholson, if I could ask you to do the honours …'
The man shuffled forwards and on Mark's instruction, pulled back the curtain to reveal a large and shinning plaque of black marble with gold engraving. Joining in the applause Steve leaned over to his father 'D'you think it'll do the trick?' he asked.
Mark shrugged 'It should' he said.
Turning to Mark, Jesse frowned 'So now what?' he asked.
Mark looked at him gravely 'Now we wait'.
***
In the deserted gloom of the corridor, the single flashlight offered little respite from the inky darkness and yet it was enough. Oh yes, for the purpose it was to serve it was enough. For the figure who wielded it, there was but one goal tonight. Fingers reached for the flawless new plaque that glinted in the moonlight, tracing the engraving as if brail, anxious to be sure. And then the hissing began, a soft sinister sound, as the aerosol can spilled out its toxic contents, the specially prepared acid eating away at the words left as a legacy.
And then the corridor was flooded with light, bright, painful light. And out of the light strode a distinguished looking elderly gentleman, his snow white hair a contrast to the dark blue of his blazer.
Mark smiled sadly at the figure 'I knew you'd come' he said.
TO BE CONTINUED …………………………………………