About six months ago I got my Associate’s Degree in criminal justice, hoping some day to hook up as a paralegal with a district attorney’s office. When the opportunity came up to work toward a Bachelor’s Degree, I decided to take a few more courses to see if I was serious enough about the subject matter to move on to even bigger and better things. I signed up for six credits at Colorado University, which meant four two-hour nights at school (leaving only Wednesdays free for me during the week). The course I enjoyed the most involved a history of serial killers. I had read most of Ann Rule’s books, so I knew a little bit about the subject, but Professor William Beacham had a knack of making each case history unique and interesting.
There were 12 of us in the class, eight men and four women. All of us, except for one woman, were in our early twenties. Kim appeared to be 36 or 37, but she was the one who provided a lot of inspiration for the class. She was really cute with dark-red hair that was cut short and tons of freckles. Her smile and her laughter were infectious. She had taken very good care of herself, as evidenced by her trim figure. She was smart as a whip and, more often than not, led the class discussions. I think the thing I liked about her the most was her sharp wit. She could make the whole class laugh with her humor. Professor Beacham made her his little “pet,” but it was obvious there was nothing more than a teacher-student relationship between them.
During a classroom break, I was sitting at a table by myself, hoping a cup of coffee would get my through the rest of the evening. Kim came into the break room and got a cup of chocolate from the vending machine. Looking around the room she noticed I was by myself. She politely asked if she could join me. I smiled and said, “Please do. Talking will stop me from going to sleep.”
She sat across from me. We introduced each other. Damn, she was cute as button. I had never been really good friends with anyone older than 30, but I liked her almost instantly. It wasn’t a sexual liking, by any means. I noticed her wedding ring, so I assumed she was straight anyway. Kim was just about the easiest person to talk to that I had ever met. And I liked the way she looked into my eyes when she spoke. She was an attentive listener as well.
“So what do you do for a living,” she asked.
“I work at a day-care center for children. I’m the assistant manager. Eventually, though, I’d like to get into something that is criminal justice related. You?”
“Strictly a housewife. Husband, children. The whole bit. I am only taking this course because I am interested in learning how to be a serial killer.”
I nearly choked on my coffee.
She laughed, and I knew she was kidding. “Of course,” she continued, “not too many serial killers have stayed out of jail. I want to be the first one to never get caught.”
“A noble idea, Kim,” I said, pan-faced. “Have you already started on your little adventure?”
“Not yet. I’m really just sizing up potential victims. It has to be done in such a way, you know, that the first few look like accidents, so the police don’t get suspicious.”
“Have you decided on a modus operandi yet?
“Yup. All my victims will be female, young ones, between 20 and 25.”
God, I hope she was kidding. I tried to hide a gulp. “I see. That makes a lot of sense to me. The police will start looking for a male perpetrator. They would never suspect a woman.”
“Exactly, BethAnne. Would you like to be my partner?”
This time my gulp was far too obvious. “You mean your partner on a killing spree?” I asked, my voice almost in a whisper for fear of being overheard. “Well, I guess that would be more to my liking than being your first victim.”
Kim laughed out loud. “You would make a delightful partner. But you don’t look like a very willing victim.”
“I would think most victims are not very willing.”
“Oh,” she said with a smile as pretty as the morning, “all of my victims will be willing, at least until the coup de gras.”
I looked at my watch. Almost 8:30. Time to get back to class. “Can I get back to you later with my final answer?” trying to hold back a smirk.
“You mean on whether you want to be my partner or a victim?”
Despite the subject matter, I was somehow drawn to Kim, and I couldn’t explain to myself why. “Oh, I’ve already decided that I want to be your first victim. I just need to tell you when.”
Kim laughed once more and, in the process of laughing, nonchalantly put her hand over mine. Her touch, seemingly meaningless, sent a bolt of electricity through me. “I’ll go easy on you. It will be a learning experience.”
We got up and left the break-room together. It was summertime. The weather had been close to 90 degrees all day. I was wearing a pair of old dungarees and a shirt, from Joe’s Crab Shack, that had a peace sign on the back and a front that read “Lovers eat crabs.” On the other hand, Kim was wearing a pink and white flowered sundress with straps and a V neck that showed off a lot of her freckles. We were 14 years apart in age, we were dressed quite differently, but there was something about her that attracted me instantly. Part of me wanted something more; the other part of me, the realistic side, said she was married and was probably too straight to mess with.
After class, on the way to car, I felt someone close behind me. I turned my head. It was Kim. “Stalking me?” I asked with the cutest smile I could muster.
She giggled like a school girl and moved at a bit faster pace so she could catch up with me. “Yup. And now I’ve got you!” She jokingly grabbed my arm. “What a delightful first victim!”
“If I have to go at such a young age, would it be okay with you if I at least had a few drinks to help ease the pain?”
Kim smiled. “Is that an invitation to go out for a drink?”
“There’s a place right up the street that serves a mean Irish Coffee.”
“Killigans?”
“Yup.”
“Meet you there in five minutes!”
As I opened my car door and threw the books in the back seat, my heart was strangely pounding. It was late and I was tired, put the thought of talking more with pretty Kim had given me a second wind. We arrived at Killigan’s simultaneously.
The first decision we had to make was for a table or a booth. Kim chimed in right away. “Booth. It’s a lot more quiet.”
The room was not real crowded. The music seemed softer than normal, and there was not of annoying chatter. As soon as we sat down, we order Irish Coffees.
“Do you plan on meeting all of your victims over drinks?” I asked.
“Only those who claim they need to be in a mellow mood before I let them have it.”
“Good idea. And it’s probably better that you vary your m.o. from time to time. If you get seen in public with too many of your victims, that is certain to raise the veil of suspicion.”
