Eye of the Beholder by David Ellis Read Free Book Online Page B

passages?
    Riley didn’t know. It was just the first day of a long investigation. But he could already see his arguments forming. He would need to find discrepancies between the lyrics and Burgos’s actions. An insanity defense was inevitable—Burgos had killed at the direction of God—and Riley would need to show that Burgos hadn’t followed that direction faithfully.
    A cop knocked on the door to the room and told them that Professor Albany was here. Riley had very much wanted to make the professor’s acquaintance. Albany owned the printing company where Burgos worked nights. And, more important, they had learned Albany had taught a class that both Cassie Bentley and Ellie Danzinger had attended.
    Frankfort Albany walked into the room looking every bit the college professor in an off-white shirt, open at the collar, with a tweed sport coat, and slacks in desperate need of an ironing board. He wore his hair long and off his face. All he was missing was the pipe. His washed-out expression resembled those of many people Riley had seen this long day, people who had gone through a range of emotions.
    They sat, Riley, the chief, Joel Lightner, and Professor Albany, around the desks with the tape recorder in the center. The professor looked around the table at each of them, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start. Ordinarily, Paul would break the tension, but he wanted to hear what Albany would say.
    “I really—I just can’t believe this.” He reached into his jacket and removed a small metallic case, opened it up. Cigarettes. “Does anyone mind?”
    “Not if you’re sharing,” the chief said.
    The professor’s movements were tentative. He was shaken up, and falling back on ritual comforts, tapping the cigarette, flipping open the lighter, squinting into the fire as he lit up. He slid the case over to the chief, his eyes catching on the course materials sitting in front of Paul.
    “Tell me about Terry Burgos,” Riley asked.
    “I—I have to say I like Terry,” Albany said with a trace of apology. “He did his work without supervision and got it done. He was good at setting the artwork, careful with detail. He never left a job half finished. He kept a clean work space. He was—well, he was a loner. Even after he lost his day job at Mansbury, he wanted to continue working nights. I think he liked working alone. And since he got the work done, I had no reason to say no.”
    That was an interesting point. Burgos had requested the night shift even when he had nothing to do during the day. Paul was working on the assumption that the prostitutes, at least, were abducted and murdered during the evening—that was when most streetwalkers plied their trade.
    “What hours did he keep?” Lightner asked. “Burgos said he worked ‘whenever.”’
    “That’s more or less correct. His hours were variable.” Albany crossed his leg. “We’d have overflow—work that didn’t get completed during the day—and we’d leave it for Terry. Sometimes it was two hours’ worth of work. Sometimes five.”
    “Sometimes none?” Lightner asked.
    Albany shook his head. “When is there ever nothing to do? No, there’s always something.”
    “What kind of a job has variable hours?” Riley asked.
    “A job,” Albany said testily, “where you’re trying to give someone a break. He needed the work, and he did a good job on the overflow. It worked out for both of us. Is that okay with you?”
    “You have records of his time entries,” Riley said. “We’ll need them.”
    Albany nodded absently.
    “And no one else worked with him at the plant?”
    “Correct. It was just Terry at night.”
    “How did you know he entered his time correctly?”
    “I—well, I didn‘t, I guess,” Albany conceded. “I trusted him.”
    Paul noticed that Joel Lightner was watching Albany closely.
    “What class did you teach with Ellie and Cassie?” Riley asked.
    Albany nodded. Riley figured the professor was aware