When Professor Laurie Dickinson heard the knock, her gaze jumped from the computer screen to the door. Frowning, she saved what she'd been working on and walked over.

"Who is it?"

"Officer David Robbins, ma'am. Campus Police. May I come in? I'd like to talk to you."

She sighed and opened the door. Robbins was tall, and in his black uniform, imposing. But he had a round, boyish face that seemed to pinch his eyes into two brown slits. He stood there running the fingers of one hand through his wispy brown hair while holding his cap with the other one. Why, he was almost blushing, she thought. An endearing trait that one didn't see much of these days.

"Come in," she said, smiling in spite of herself.

He followed her inside, leaving the door open behind him.

"Professor, you shouldn't--"

She held up her hand, cutting him off. "I know. I shouldn't be in my office at night. Alone." She shrugged. "But I have a lot of work to do."

"It's kinda dangerous, ma'am. You know what's been goin' on."

"Everyone knows what's been going on. But I can't help but think that maybe it's over. There hasn't been another murder in the last three weeks."

"You mean . . . ah . . ."

She put her hands on her hips. "Okay . . . how about rape, then murder? Or, even better, rape, then butcher?" No, she couldn't lose it. Not in front of a stranger.