Peter folded the paper in half and rapped it on the table. "If I just pass all my classes this semester," he said, turning in his chair to look over his shoulder, "I graduate no problem."
The attractive redhead on the couch stretched languorously, holding her trashy novel in one hand. "I know I'll graduate," she said. "I picked all blowoff classes for my last semester. I figured I'd just get an English degree then marry someone rich." She inspected her nails. "I figure I'll look into a career in public relations instead."
"Har har," Peter said, standing. The phone rang. He strolled over and picked it up.
"Parker place," he said. "Peter here."
"Peter, have you seen the news?" a breathy voice asked excitedly. His brow furrowed.
"No," he said. "What's up, Gwen?"
"Channel eight, you gotta check this out," she said. He walked over to the television and snapped it on.
"--ians killed in a brutal slaying in Roth Hall last night," said the trim newswoman. In the background Roth Hall stood imposing against the sky, surrounded by police tape and stern officers. "The new building was intended to be a student center, computer lab, and rare book library. Instead it became the scene of a bloody dual murder. The librarians, Ellen Deevis and Tanner Kowalski, were shelving books when they were attacked about midnight. Police have no comment at this time, but as this story develops"
Peter stood looking at the television, remote in hand. "Wow," he said into the phone.
"Isn't it amazing?" Gwen said. "Is MJ there?"
"Yeah," Peter said, a bit dazed. He tossed the phone to the redhead, who deftly caught it.
"I'll just bet those librarians were 'shelving books' in the middle of the night," Mary Jane said archly. "I'll have to call you back," Mary Jane added more seriously, and she pushed the button to disconnect before Gwen could reply. Peter turned to look at Mary Jane.
She sighed.
"Go get 'em, tiger," she said with a wry grin.
He smiled at her, then he was out the door.
xXx
"Get the circus out of here, will you?" the lean man said with a glance at his blocky subordinate.
"Yes sir," the heavy man said. He opened the doors and stepped into the bright lights of the cameras and the throng of press. "No comment. We'll hold a press conference as soon as we know more. Now git," he said, and he turned to re-enter the office. "How do ya have a circus with just lions and clowns?" he asked as he pulled the door shut behind him. Uniformed officers shepherded the press away.
"Beats me," the lean man said, tapping a cigarette out of a battered packet. He put it between his lips but did not light it. With a sigh he picked up the sheaf of photos.
"Messy," the heavy man said, looking over his shoulder.
The door to the office opened, and both men looked up sharply.
"I said no comment," the big man said.
"I'm not with the press," the newcomer replied. He was on the tall and slim side, dressed in khakis and a turtleneck even in the spring warmth. His brown hair was slicked back, his nondescript features unimaginative. His eyes were a bit deeper than the rest of him.
"Parker," the lean man said.
"Detective Brilhart," Peter replied. "Do you have just a minute?"
"We're busy," the big man said, his voice surly.
"I don't believe we've met," Peter said. "I'm Peter Parker." He extended his hand.
The big man just looked at him.
"This is Detective Joseph Vine," Brilhart said, gesturing. "What do you want, Parker?"
"I was wondering if I might be helpful on this case," Peter said carefully.
"Another cooperative investigation?" Brilhart said.
"Something like that," Peter nodded. "Something a lot like that, actually."
"Hey," Vine said. "You know something, out with it. Otherwise, hit the bricks, pal."
"Hit the bricks?" Peter said, faintly bemused.
"I'm afraid the good detective is right on this one, Parker," Brilhart said. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"Detective," Peter said, looking at Brilhart and ignoring Vine, "you know me better than to think I'm here to waste your time. I might be helpful. There's that business with Lincoln and Voorhees; the stolen Schwinters collection; the unusual events surrounding the disappearance and reappearance of Doctor Connors, the mysterious stabbing of Captain Stacy. You know what I can do," he said, intent on Brilhart, "and how discreet I can be. Give me a chance to help you out on this one. I don't want to dance this dance again."
"And you've decided you're going to involve yourself," Brilhart said, studying his cigarette. "One way or another."
Peter did not answer.
Brilhart met his eyes for a long moment.
"Aw, no," Vine said. "You can't be serious."
Brilhart opened the file. "Okay, Parker," he said. "These are the photos of the bodies." He handed the manila folder over, and Peter paged through the enlarged pictures. "Right now we're trying to figure out how the perpetrator got in. We've reviewed the security tapes, nothing useful there. Nobody saw anything. The doors and windows were locked and sealed, we've found no evidence of tampering." He looked over at Vine. "Parker is an advisor only. He's not officially involved in the case."
Peter's eyes lingered on the mangled corpses in the pictures. He cleared his throat. "The press didn't say anything about this," he said. "The tv news said they were brutally murdered. Not that they were torn apart." He closed the file. "I want to see the site," he said quietly.
"Not an option," Vine said quickly. "Only police are allowed in that building until we're sure it's safe."
Peter looked at Brilhart, who sighed.
"We're staking the place out tonight," Brilhart said. "We have six S.W.A.T. officers on the job. If whatever it was comes back then we'll see how it does against M-16s."
"That's a bad idea," Peter said, shaking his head and handing the file back.
"Look," Brilhart said, narrowing his eyes. "You're pushing your luck, Parker. I don't think you want to do that."
"Thanks for letting me look at the file," Peter said with a nod. "I really appreciate it. I'll be in touch."
"Don' let the door hit yer butt on the way out," Vine muttered as Peter left. He turned to Brilhart. "What was all that about?" he said. "We letting any Joe Schmoe in on our investigation now?"
"No," Brilhart said quietly. He turned to Vine. "Have a full two squads of S.W.A.T. outside Roth Hall tonight on standby."
Vine sighed. "Yes sir."
xXx
"Got any leads, Encyclopedia Brown?" Mary Jane asked as Peter walked in.
"I'd say it's chili, with garlic bread browning in the oven," Peter said, touching his hand to his concentrating forehead. "I would say grapes on the side." He opened his eyes. "How did I do?"
"You know," Mary Jane said thoughtfully, "I cook more over here than I do at home. Anyway, you've cracked the case," Mary Jane said as Peter straddled a chair. She turned from the stove. "Somehow I think that in spite of your detecting prowess you'll still be oddly absent come sundown."
"It's tough to live with being that transparent," Peter chuckled. "As for leads. When I first saw the pictures," he said, and he swallowed hard, "I thought it had to be Creed. These people were torn to pieces. But then I found out the perpetrator left no clear sign of entry. That makes me think of the lizard; makes more sense, since he's used the campus as a lair before and Creed has no reason to do this. I could find out a lot more if they'd let me on the site. But they won't."
"So you're going to skulk."
"Good word," Peter said with a nod. "Yes, I shall skulk." He sighed.
Mary Jane pulled the bread out of the oven and served up the bowls of gloppy chili. Peter got up and helped himself, then they sat down at the table.
"It's hours until sundown yet," Mary Jane said.
Peter looked up at her.
"Perhaps I can help you pass the time," she said with a sly grin.
"That," he said, "sounds like a wonderful idea."
xXx
The spider ghost skulked along the roof. There were skylights, yes, but they had steel shutters that were pressure sensitive. He had already shadowed along the walls and looked the windows over. They were thick modern windows, well installed, with a security system. Subtlety would be required to breach them without tripping the alarm; subtlety that didn't seem to match the vicious attack. The spider ghost had also noticed the two S.W.A.T. vans parked out front, the patrolling officers.
This building could be broken into easily enough by a professional thief, but not by a monster. Peter sat lost in thought for a moment. He could just peel a shutter back and slip in, but that would leave signs of forced entry. Peter was pretty sure he didn't want to leave evidence that could tie him to the murderer. He did not want to be a suspect.
A low swell of alertness swept through him; something out of place. He perked up and looked around. Then he heard the gunfire.
And the screaming.
Inside.
As backup mobilized and dashed in the front door in full gear, assault rifles ready, the spider ghost whirled along the side of the building erratically, glancing in windows, trying to get a lock on the muffled screaming that cut short along with the bursts of gunfire. Sealed in the building, the sound bounced around until his senses couldn't pinpoint a source. He heard shouts inside as he turned to check out the last side of the building, but he couldn't see anything. He darted up to the roof, found the one skylight that wasn't shuttered because the glass was tough enough. The tented skylight was huge, and it ran half the length of the building. He looked down into the central concourse.
Five bodies were torn limb from limb and strewn about the three story hall that accessed the rest of the building. Almost sixty feet up, Peter saw a drop of blood on the inside of the glass; he moved to the slowly oozing drop of blood and looked at it, inches away, while on the floor far below the S.W.A.T. team frantically searched the building.
"Where's Merkel?" shouted one of the officers.
Then another officer stumbled out of the student lounge, desperately fighting back nausea. "Most of him is in there," he managed in a shaky voice.
Peter glared down at the carnage. "Well, Connors," he murmured, "you're off the hook." Whatever did this was stronger than the lizard.
A lot stronger.
Peter gritted his teeth and fought the feeling of helplessness that washed him.
"Time to be Peter Parker," he said to himself, "and see if we can get a little closer."
xXx
The unmarked pulled up and parked, and as Brilhart opened the door Peter stood by it, coffee in hand. Peter smiled wryly at him. "Good morning, officer," he said.
"You want to come in with us," Brilhart stated.
Peter nodded silently.
Brilhart heaved a sigh and glanced at Vine.
"I can't believe you're even thinkin about letting this college boy take a look at a crime scene we haven't even seen yet." Vine's features were set.
Brilhart eyed Parker. "Okay," he said. "Okay, you can come. But don't get out of line or this collaboration is over."
Vine snorted but said nothing. He glared at Peter.
"Right," Peter said as Brilhart took the coffee. The three of them headed up through the police barricade to the Hall, then inside.
The stink of death hung in the air.
"Dear God," Brilhart muttered. He glanced up to where an arm, torn from the body, balanced on one of the support beams two stories above the floor.
"The S.W.A.T. team is a mural," Vine said unsteadily, eyes wide as he looked around. "What could do this?"
Peter squatted by one of the bodies, then glanced around keenly. "Let's go to the student lounge," he said.
"Vine, find out what you can," Brilhart said. He went with Peter to the lounge.
Scattered on the floor were the tattered remains of one of the officers. Peter knelt and took in the sight, then looked at Brilhart.
"This one was eaten. So was one of the librarians." He looked down. "The quantities that are gone would imply to me dessert rather than the meal. But that might change. Whatever did this," he said, looking back at Brilhart, "likes the taste of people."
"You wanted to come in so you could figure out how the perp accessed the building," Brilhart said in a tight voice. "Do your magic, Parker."
Peter walked to the computer lab, drawing puzzled looks from the officers on the scene. The forensics crews were at work now, taking pictures and samples. Outside, the media had arrived in force.
Peter walked into the labs. "You've studied the security schematics, right?" he said to Brilhart.
"Of course."
"There must be vents for cabling, maintenance, and so on, made big enough for people to crawl into. Right?" Peter said.
"Right, but there are sensors on all the entries to the system. We'd know if it was accessed."
"Maybe," Peter said with a shrug. The lab's ceiling was a story and a half, a solid twenty feet off the ground. Peter peered up. The lights hung lower, about ten feet up, leaving the ceiling in shadow.
Peter picked up a chair and put it on a table, then climbed up and reached for a light fixture. He pulled himself up to stand on the florescent bar light housing.
"What are you doing?" Brilhart said. "Don't break your neck!"
"I won't," Peter said. He nimbly walked along the light and hopped to the next one. Then a jump took him high enough to grip--
A hole in the ceiling.
Peter pulled himself up into the access corridor then looked down at Brilhart. "Whatever it was seems to have made its own access. That's why the alarms weren't tripped. I'm going to see what I can find from here," he added.
"I'll be damned," Brilhart said softly. "I'm going for backup. Don't do anything stupid!" he yelled. Then he turned and dashed out to the concourse.
"I won't," Peter said softly. He pulled himself further into the narrow access. It stank of old and diseased reptilian nastiness. The tunnel was a solid three feet square, but the walls and roof were rubbed hard; whatever it was must have had to really squeeze to fit in here. Peter didn't have that problem. He stealthed along, the scent of his prey fresh in his nostrils. The trail led to a vertical shaft, and down. Peter followed it in the dark, his senses telling him everything he needed to know.
The raw violated metal had been torn through, and Peter poked his head through the hole, down into the sewer. And from there…
Peter's hand touched something damp. He focused on it. Where the wall had been beaten through, it must have cut the creature that did it. A small scrap of flesh was wedged in the metal by the brick. Peter prized it loose and put it in a ziploc bag in his pocket.
Then Peter felt a chill, and he pulled back, retreated all the way through the venting system to emerge from the ceiling as the police brought in a ladder.
Peter dropped to the light, to a table, and hopped to the floor. "It goes to the sewer," he said to Brilhart.
"Checkpoints in sewer intersections under this building," Brilhart said to Vine. "Teargas, full gear, all weapons. I want two full squads in here tonight, and one in the sewer. This will not happen again. I want to be ready for it this time, you read me?" he said.
"I'm on it," Vine said. He turned and headed out. "And I'll tell the press--"
"No comment," Brilhart said with a nod. He turned back to Peter. "I'll be in touch," he said.
Peter saw new doubt in the detective's eyes. He nodded.
"See you later," he said, and he left.
He checked his time sense. One o'clock. Hm. Doug would probably be sleeping.
He swung by a diner, ordered coffee and a bagel, and scribbled a note on a napkin as he swiftly ate. Then he wrapped the note around the ziploc bag, drove to a condo some distance away, and left it in a mailbox. He smiled to himself as he drove home to get some sleep.
xXx
A line of webbing shot out, slapped into the phone, and carried it off the table to splat against the wall. Peter's head popped up off the pillow, his eyes blearily tracing the line of his web to where the phone rang again.
"Dammit," he grunted, rolling out of bed and bounding to the phone. He pried the handset loose from the wall. "Parker place, Peter here," he managed.
"Thought you'd be interested," Brilhart's voice said over the line. "I got an eyewitness to the last case. She's scared of uniforms. Thought maybe she'd tell you something she wouldn't tell us."
"I thought you had janitorial staff cleared out before the stakeout," Peter said.
"She was on vacation and didn't get the note. You want a shot at this or not?"
Peter squinted at the clock. Class in two hours, a chemistry test. No big deal. "Yeah, I'll be there in a minute," he said. He hung up. "Get dressed," he muttered, "go solve the crime, then take Chemistry test." He smiled crookedly. "Doesn't leave much for after lunch."