Theory of Death

By Krusky

In 1977, the Heart Break Killer haunted Brooklyn. Victims were found stabbed in the chest with a cartoon heart carved sickeningly into their skin. The serial killer was Elliot Hurley, and a policeman responding to a disturbance call killed her just as she completed her final murder—although some suspect there was a cover up.

Ten years later, young Oliver Hann moves to Brooklyn to attend a prestigious police academy. He writes a paper outlining the story of 1977, and his doubts about the veracity of it, so his professor invites Oliver to join the Theory Club, in which brilliant students spin theories about murder and mayhem.

When a young woman is discovered in a bush, killed in the same way as victims in 1977, it appears that the Heart Break Killer has returned from the grave. Oliver and his Theory Club friends take to the streets to find the copycat killer, exposing the cover-up and solving a decade old mystery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781532080906

Krusky

Sara Krusky is a young Canadian author who has been fascinated by the science of serial killers since learning about Ted Bundy at age twelve. She currently attends high school in southern Ontario, where she enjoys studying psychology and literature. Sara hopes to continue these studies at university.

Book preview

1

It was hot, one of the hottest days Brooklyn had in decades. In the campfire sun, young men and women took to the broiling streets in fast cars held together by duct tape and twine. They partied and drank like no tomorrow, but that evening the action was leading to a nearby football game. A stray dog wandered past the narrow, box-like houses and tall apartments, sniffing for leftover food in the garbage cans that lined the curbs. A young man walked down the street kicking an empty can, when he spotted the dog he kicked the can in its direction. The weak little dog whimpered and scampered off. Then the young man resumed kicking the can. Above him, a robin was feeding her child in the nest. He heard a car behind him; he turned and saw it going much too fast down the wrong side of the road. He stopped to examine the car when it passed; he saw a man taking three of his friends for a joyride. They waived small flags with their team’s mascot; they yelled in excitement and consumed a light breakfast of beer and peanuts. The streets were alive, and they warmly welcomed the man named Oliver Hann.

This young man drove his classic Chevy, his mother Coleen was in the passenger seat. Her blonde hair was back in a tight ponytail and, despite the heat, she wore slacks and a cardigan. His fourteen-year-old sister sat in the back seat, sleeping with her head in such a position that her neck would ache when she woke up. She was all skin and bone and always dressed in bright popping colours. At the moment, however, she wore her dull pyjamas.

Oliver, Katie and Coleen had lived in Red Bank, New Jersey for no more than two days, but that day they had driven to Brooklyn. Oliver had lived there as a child, but they moved shortly after his tenth birthday and had just returned. The next day would be his first day at college, he applied to New York Police Academy, the school his mother had gone to, and they had accepted him. He would start two weeks late, but he didn’t mind. One thing he learned from moving around so much as a child was how to cope with a broken school schedule. Now that he thought about it, he’d never stayed in one school from September to June. It was a two-year program, the senior year counted for experience in the field and gave them a head start. He’d be living in his own in a microscopic apartment in a dangerous town that he’d been trying to avoid for most his life, but he reasoned with himself that it could always be worse.

They arrived in the city as the sky grew darker, Oliver felt a lump in his throat as he read the ‘Welcome to Brooklyn’ sign. He hadn’t been to Brooklyn in nearly ten years.

They passed a stadium where hundreds of young men and women filtered in, some cheering for their team, others having mild conversation with their hands in their pockets. When the stadium disappeared, he turned down a dusty road with cracked pavement in desperate need of a fix. They stopped in front of a twelve storey concrete building surrounded by many other high-rises like it.

Are we here? Katie asked as she stirred and rubbed her eyes. Her voice was naturally sweet and bubbly, like cream soda.

We are, and good morning, Oliver replied as he pulled on the emergency brake. He and Coleen picked up a few boxes from the trunk, Katie carried his duffel bag and his guitar in its case as they walked inside.

You must be Oliver Hann, a frail old man said from behind a desk as he looked up and his sunken brown eyes spotted Oliver.

Yeah, you must be the landlord, he replied, balancing the boxes on his knee and shaking his hand.

Mr. Krasinski, just Mr. K is fine. Coleen furrowed her eyebrows and crossed her arms.

Russian? She asked gruffly.

Yes, but I’m not a communist or anything, his voice was sincere as he shook back with a smile. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your new apartment.

He waddled out from behind the counter with two keys and an envelope in hand and led the Hann family up the stairs to the third floor. With each step, Oliver grew more and more excited for the months to come.

Mr. K proudly unlocked the door and let the Hann family in. It was a modest room, with an intercom and red wall-phone by the door, a small kitchenette and a disc-shaped table with two chairs off to the side, there was a bathroom door next to a closet by the front, a living room with one couch and a box television, a desk, and in the corner a double bed with off-white sheets and duvet surrounded by a brown wooden partition.

So what brings you to my ivory towers? Mr. K asked with a crooked smile.

I’m here for school, I’m starting at NYPA tomorrow.

Really? This early?

No, actually, I was a late enrollee. The program started on August first.

I see. You’re not the only one, many NYPA students come here. Here are your keys, our tenant policy and my card if you have any questions. Mr. K handed him the objects, in return, Oliver gave the landlord an envelope with the first and last month’s rent and a security deposit. Welcome to the building, best of luck at school, he said with his crooked smile and left without another word.

They made two more trips to get all the boxes up to the apartment, when they finished Katie and Oliver plopped into the chairs at the disc-shaped table.

This looks like my old place, the one Mike, Jess and I lived in. There was a hint of nostalgia in Coleen’s voice as she looked around the room, stuffing her hands in her pockets and sighing.

Oliver nodded in confirmation that he had heard her, then he approached the boxes down in the middle of the floor. Alright, well, I think I’m good here. Thanks for the help. I’ll call you guys later? He asked, Coleen seemed to snap back to reality as she looked away from the walls and back at her son, she nodded as well.

Oliver bent down a bit so that he was eye level with his sister. Don’t throw any parties while I’m gone, okay?

I don’t have any friends to throw parties with, Katie chuckled. I’ll miss you, Oliver, she said, hugging him.

I’ll miss you too, kid. When he hugged back, he leaned in close and whispered, Are you sure you’ll be alright with her?

I’ll be okay, she whispered back, squeezing him tightly. I remember the plan if anything happens.

Oliver took a deep breath and stood up. Alright, I’ll call you later. Oliver ruffled Katie’s hair and she and Coleen left the room.

Let me know if the Commie gives you trouble, Coleen said with her back to him as she walked away.

I will, he said begrudgingly to please her. And don’t forget to do your homework, Katie, He called out after them, then sighed deeply as the door shut.

He put his hands on his hips and looked around at the boxes, then turned his attention to the duffel bag Katie left on his small table. He reached into a side pocket and took out a carton of cigarettes and a red lighter. He took long strides to the window on the opposite wall and thrust it open, then climbed out into the fire escape. Oliver tapped the carton on the railing then pulled a cigarette out and put it between his lips. He flicked the lighter on and shielded the flame as he held it to the cigarette’s end and inhaled. His eyes closed as tobacco and smoke filled his lungs, then he exhaled.

I thought Mr. K had a ‘no smoking’ policy. He heard the fruity, feminine and Spanish-accented voice come from behind him, he pivoted with wide eyes.

There was a woman in the apartment next to Oliver’s, sitting on her windowsill. An iced coffee sat by her feet and she held a copy of To Kill A Mockingbird. The book was littered with dog-ears and small rips in the paper; the cover was bent and worn. It looked as though she’d had the book for several years. Her warm brown eyes looked Oliver up and down quickly. She had olive-brown skin, high cheekbones, and a sharp jawline, and long curly black hair cut to her shoulders, thin locks fell over her eyes. Don’t tell, Oliver replied with a smirk, turning and leaning against the railing to face her.

Don’t worry, I’m guilty too. She produced her pack of cigarettes from the front pocket over her overalls with a wink, then put it back. And he won’t notice unless you blow the smoke right in his eyes. Oliver chuckled. We have thin walls, I couldn’t help but overhear, you’re starting at NYPA tomorrow?

Oliver unfurrowed his eyebrows and nodded in understanding. Ah. Yeah, I am. He took another drag of his cigarette.

That’s crazy. The woman put her book down. I just started there.

You’re kidding? Oliver chuckled.

No, not at all. You must be the new kid, Professor Harris told us you’d be coming. She tucked a curl behind her ear and smiled, Oliver’s throat tightened in attraction. Was that your family in there? She moved her iced coffee out of the way and climbed out of the window. She stood and leaned against the railing opposite of Oliver’s. She was dressed in dark blue overalls, a white shirt and bright yellow boots, she was a good height but still several inches shorter than Oliver.

He surveyed her quickly and stammered. Um, yeah- yeah, that was my sister and my mom. I’m Oliver, by the way, he managed to say, sticking out his hand.

Elizabeth, friends call me Liz. She shook Oliver’s hand over the gap between the two fire escapes. Nice to meet you, she said. Oliver’s hand lingered for a second before he forced himself to pull it away. Sorry if your place smells weird, the old tenant, Max, was a big stoner.

I’m guessing that’s why there’s a ‘no smoking’ policy? Oliver laughed.

Yeah, he caused a lot of problems, Liz said, she chuckled again. So what’re you doing here, coming so late?

I enrolled late. My mom got transferred to the Twelfth in New Jersey and I was helping her move.

She’s a cop?

Yeah.

So, you’re kinda following in her footsteps then?

I guess you could say that, Oliver mumbled.

Oh. Well, I can come over and help you unpack if you want.

How do I know you’re not crazy?

Aren’t we all crazy? She winked, pulling a giggle out of her neighbour.

Um, yeah sure. That’d be great, actually.

Oliver stepped back as Liz grabbed onto the staircase above her and hoisted herself onto the railing, then she jumped onto the other side. Oliver caught her and chuckled. You do that a lot? He asked.

Yeah, besides being a pot-head, Max also threw some good parties. I did this every weekend until he moved out.

’Cause the door’s not a viable option?

Of course not. The door’s too predictable.

Can’t argue with that. After you. Oliver motioned to the window.

Thank you. Liz winked and climbed into Oliver’s window. Where should we start?

Uh, here I guess. Oliver knelt in front of a box of kitchenware.

You only have eight boxes? Liz asked as she sat cross-legged in front of the box and ripped open.

Yeah, I don’t have a lot of stuff.

That’s probably a good thing. You couldn’t fit much in here, anyway.

Right? This place is practically a dorm room.

Yeah, way cheaper though.

That’s true.

You got a car? I usually walk to school but that takes… a lot of work.

Oliver snickered. Yeah, I do.

What kind?

Chevy, sixty-nine.

Oh, we got a rich boy here.

Come on. Oliver scoffed as she held up a pot with an abundance of dents and scratches. I’ve had this pot for sixteen years, that doesn’t scream ‘rich boy’.

This certainly doesn’t. She lifted a pan with a broken handle and a large chip in the side, Oliver laughed again.

Yeah, my sister broke that last Christmas, but it’s still functional so why waste it.

Fair. I can’t talk though, my kitchenware comprises plastic utensils, a cast-iron pot and two cups.

What do you eat out of?

The pot, of course. Oliver sputtered out a laugh.

Well, hey, there’re fewer dishes to wash I guess.

That’s true. They finished unloading the box and Liz helped him organize the few cupboards, then they moved on. She unpacked a box labelled ‘living room’ while Oliver unpacked his clothes in the small dresser.

What were you doing before you came here?

Me? I’ve lived here for- wow, about two years now. I moved in when I was eighteen, I studied law with my friends Adam and Poppy for a bit at NYU, then we got accepted into the program at NYPA just a couple months ago.

Really? I studied Criminal Law at BLS.

How old were you?

Uh, fifteen? Sixteen?

You’re kidding! Liz gasped. No shit, that’s way too young for law school.

No, seriously, I knew I wanted to come here since I was ten, I studied on my own time for years then I heard about BLS. I worked on my GED during the day then I went to night school.

How’d they even let you in?

That was honestly the hardest part. I applied more than a couple of times, then on the fifth try, I lied and said I was eighteen. The Dean was not happy when I showed up. It was just night school though, nothing too serious.

Liz laughed and went back to the box, taking out a few books and his old track medals from high school and placing them on the floor until they would find a better place. That’s impressive, I gotta say.

Thanks… Oliver looked down at the box as well.

So, you like old movies? Liz asked as she held up a DVD of Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

Huh? Oh, yeah, I love them.

Me too. There was this drive-in in Queens, where I used to live- The Mustang Drive-in, they had a classics marathon every year, I used to go there with my siblings.

How many do you have?

Four brothers and a sister.

Christ.

Exactly… my parents were raised Catholic.

That’s crazy. I just have one sister, Katie.

So it’s just you, her, and your mom?

Yeah. Oliver reached into a box and pulled out a rolled-up 24 by 36 map, Liz nodded quietly as she pushed the thought of an absent father into the back of her mind. Here, help me with this? She stood and approached him, and she took the two clear thumb tacks Oliver handed her. We’re just gonna hang this here. The two of them held the map up to the wall and hung it with the thumbtacks on each corner.

What’s this for? Liz asked as Oliver carefully handed her eight red thumbtacks.

You’ll see. Put one on Prague.

Liz searched for Prague as Oliver put a thumbtack on Phoenix, Arizona. Where now?

France, Oliver answered as he put one on Miami, Florida. Then Belgium. He put a thumbtack on Traverse, Michigan. Um, Budapest and then Florence. Liz put the thumbtacks down and Oliver put one on Reno, then Riverside, California. Then London, Uppsala, and Moscow.

Oliver put his last three thumbtacks on Chicago, Houston, and Brooklyn, then he took a step back. This is everywhere I’ve ever been.

Really? Liz looked over the map with a smile. That’s amazing.

Yeah, Oliver sighed and looked over all of Europe’s thumbtacks with a fondness in his eyes. You want pizza? He asked out of the blue.

Hell yeah. Liz instantly agreed. I’ll order. She dialled the number on the wall phone and the room went silent as Oliver continued to unpack.

At the bottom of a box was a picture of him, his mother and his father in a hospital, Oliver was holding his baby sister for the first time.

Oliver was like his father in many ways; they both had dark brown hair, freckles across their cheeks and nose, strong jaws, and captivating olive-green eyes. Coleen and Katie were similar like that too, nearly identical to each other. He smiled sadly and set it on the bedside table then promptly looked away.

Pizza’s on the way, Liz said as she finished the order and hung the red phone on the hook. I got pepperoni and mushroom.

Perfect. Oliver took his guitar out of its fabric case and leaned up against the corner of the wall near his bed. Liz turned her attention to the instrument. You play? She asked, breaking the silence.

A bit, Oliver answered as he kicked the case under the bed. My dad taught me. Liz smiled.

I play too, but I’m not very good. My Abuela taught me but it’s been a while.

What can you play?

A few Spanish songs that you wouldn’t know, and a couple of Elvis songs but that’s about it.

I love Elvis.

You look like someone who would.

He chuckled and nodded. Hey, uh, how do the classes work? At school, I mean.

Well, there are two grades: freshman and senior. The first year we’re all grouped in one class. You got your schedule?

Yeah. He took his schedule out of his duffel bag and studied it.

It should say Psych, Fitness, Forensics, Lunch, Criminology, and then Law.

Oliver double-checked that he had those classes in that order. Yeah, it looks good to me. He put his schedule back down. Good to know I’ll know someone there.

It was 7:00 in the morning, a reasonable time for someone to wake up on a school day, except for the fact that Oliver didn’t get to sleep until three that morning.

Liz hadn’t left his apartment until eleven that night, the Hann boy woke up the next morning to a knocking sound. He opened his eyes just a sliver and heard the knocking close to his ears. He was confused for a moment until he remembered who his next-door neighbour was.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes; the bed creaked with the slightest movement. There was a knock on the other side of his wall again, he laughed quietly and knocked back to assure Liz he was awake. He forced himself out of bed and pulled on a white t-shirt, blue jeans, and a green, blue, and pink windbreaker with an asymmetric pattern.

Mornin’, Liz said in a raspy, tired voice as she stumbled through the window. She was wearing loose baby blue jeans and a black shirt that bore the red words ‘The Cure’ tied at her navel. Her yellow boots were donned upon her feet.

The floorboards creaked as Oliver shuffled across the room towards his kitchen and turned on the coffeemaker. Morning. You want one?

Please, she replied sleepily, taking her black backpack off and setting it on the counter. She unzipped it and pulled out a cup with a lid and a straw.

He handed her a coffee as soon as the pot was full. Liz took it and reached into the freezer part of the white, rusty refrigerator, then took out an ice cube tray. She cracked eight cubes into her cup, poured the coffee in then screwed the lid on. Oliver smiles to himself at how comfortable the woman already was with him, then he poured his drink.

He sipped the steaming black coffee out of a ceramic mug with the words Pot Head printed in black on the front above a coffee pot. It had a been a present to him from an old friend, Liz chuckled at the message but said nothing else.

I’m gonna shower real quick, there’s food in the fridge if you want anything. Oliver rubbed his eyes, downed the rest of his black coffee then he went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. As he waited for the water to warm up, he stared in the mirror. His tousled brown hair stuck up in odd directions, his green eyes were tired. The bags under them were getting darker, making his freckles less prominent.

He squeezed his eyes shut and opened the mirror-fronted cabinet. There were a few toiletries in there, he reached behind his deodorant on the middle shelf and produced a small orange pill bottle. He took two pills and swallowed them dry, closed the mirror and undressed.

He showered quickly, stepped out and redressed, then quickly towel-dried his hair. He went back outside, his eyes flicked over to his bedside table, where a pair of dog tags were. They were his father’s, he was a Marine. He put it on with a sad smile and threw on his shoes. Ready to go?

Yep, Liz said with her mouth full of bagel. Here, I made you one. She said after she swallowed, handing Oliver his breakfast.

The two of them made their way downstairs and left the housing building. They noticed that the weather was nice and decided to walk to the school, Oliver’s car stayed dormant in the lot. A dozen other students were leaving the building at the same time.

You mind? He asked as he reached into his pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

No, go ahead, she said, eyeing the lighter apprehensively. Oliver nodded and flipped open the half-empty carton of cigarettes with one hand and took one out, putting it between his lips Could I?

Sure. He handed her a cigarette and tucked the carton away.

Before she put the stick between her lips she asked, "Got a light?

Oliver flicked on his lighter, she closed her eyes and inhaled as he held it up to her cigarette. She thanked him and took a drag, then watched as he lit his own, shielding the flame with his other hand.

They reached the school ten minutes later, Oliver took one final drag and put his finished cigarette out on a nearby lamppost, then tossed it to the curb. That’s horrible for the environment, Liz said, Oliver gave her a side-eye and scoffed. Seriously. People like you are exactly why the world’s going to end, Liz added sarcastically, throwing her cigarette into a trash can and stuffing her hands into the pocket of her jeans.

Throwing it into the trash isn’t much better. It goes straight to the dump.

At least it gets there. She and Oliver joined saw the stream of students squeezing through the front doors. The NYPA campus was tall and never-ending, around two miles long. It was built on a hill, so the entrance was on the third floor. It looked like a regular building in the eighties- grey stucco walls, square windows and bulky doors.

He was so nervous that he didn’t notice he’d strayed away from Liz. Where’re you going? She asked, he stopped and looked at her. She was standing by the edge of the building. You only go in the front door if you’re looking to get trampled.

He laughed in embarrassment and followed her. They branched off the trunk of students and walked around to the back of the school. The grounds were empty there, and they got in with ease.

Liz led him to their psychology class on the first floor, Oliver held the door for her and followed. The two of them occupied two empty seats at the back of the auditorium-like classroom.

Hey, Poppy, Liz said with a smile as an Iranian girl with pixie-cut black hair and bushy eyebrows approached them. Her neck was adorned with several golden chains with crystal pendants, her fingers with delicate golden and jewel rings. She dressed like a hippie and her arms were decorated with intricate drawings of flowers made with a Sharpie. Her skin was a pale olive and her amber eyes scanned Oliver curiously before looking at Liz.

Hey, she said in an airy voice. Do you know where Adam is?

He’ll probably show up at the end of the period. Liz winked subtly at Poppy, Oliver didn’t notice.

Good. Is this him? She sat down next to Liz and stared past her at Oliver.

Yeah, Oliver Hann, the new kid I was telling you about.

Oliver nodded in a greeting and said, Hey.

Nice to meet you.

Guess what Poppy, Liz said. I got a new neighbour, too.

Who is it?

You’re sitting right next to him.

Poppy looked over and furrowed her eyebrows. How is that possible? She asked.

No idea. Maybe God’s on my side today, Liz replied sarcastically.

The door opened, and the professor walked in. He was a man with brown hair and eyes; he looked so familiar, but Oliver couldn’t place a name to his face. If it weren’t for the heavy eye bags and small silver hairs on his head, he would have looked twenty-five.

Oliver looked at Liz and muttered, I’m kind of worried that our professor looks like he’s in his twenties.

He swears up and down that he’s thirty-seven, She replied.

I’m getting mixed signals from his looks.

Same, Poppy chimed in. We’ve been trying to figure it out since we got here. He’s the psych and criminology department head though, so he’s gotta be old.

How the hell did that happen? The two women shrugged.

Morning guys, I’d like to welcome a new first-year, Oliver Hann. The teacher said, the tired chatter of the students ceased. Oliver dreaded this part, it was usually the part where the teacher asked him to introduce himself. My name is Professor Harris. Welcome to NYPA. The teacher said instead, making him sigh in relief. Now, today, since it’s Monday and I haven’t had my coffee yet, we will do the minimal amount of work; a free write. Now, your task is to write a short essay about a past criminal case. Doesn’t matter what kind, could be about a robbery, could be about kidnapping, could be about a murder, it’s your choice. The purpose is not to write about the crime itself, but the potential reasoning behind it. I want you to theorize about the psychology behind the crime, and suspects. When you’re done, I’ll come around and get it. You have five minutes.

The students bent over their papers, writing furiously quick. Oliver stared down at his paper and thought. The clocked ticked every second, the crisp sound echoed off the silent cinder block walls. Ten seconds, thirty seconds, then nearly a minute had passed when finally an idea popped into his head.

His paper was about the Heart Break killer, a serial killer that had haunted Brooklyn in 1977. Her name was Elliot Hurley, she began killing August twentieth, with Samantha Vinn as the victim. Then on August thirty-first, Joel Barkley was killed in the same way- with a stab to the chest and a cartoon heart carved sickeningly around it. Kate Ryan was killed on September fourteenth, Dawson Hill on September twenty-sixth, Shanna Kuliskaus on October ninth, then finally John Abbott on January seventeenth. Minutes after Abbott was murdered, Elliot Hurley met the same unfortunate demise. There was deep-rooted police corruption at the time which led to a coverup that caused the public to believe Hurley was killed by a policeman responding to a disturbance call. Oliver knew for a fact that that wasn’t the truth. He had been following the case for many years and nothing added up. He just needed names.

He believed the mysterious disappearance and eventual murder of Hurley’s best friend had spurred the woman to kill, but as for a clear motive and a reason to target the people she did, no one could figure out why Elliot Hurley did what she did. It was a fascinating case.

Alright everyone, that’s five minutes. Pencil’s down. Professor Harris called, the class stopped writing as he stood from his desk with a fresh stack of papers. These are some worksheets about traits of a serial killer, the first two pages are information to study and the last two are questions. Students passed him their papers as he walked between the rows and up the stairs of the classroom, he handed them back four work pages. Oliver quickly wrote his name on it and handed it to him as he passed, then took the stack in return.

He and the rest of the class worked hard on the sheets for the whole class as Professor Harris read through the short essays. Oliver found the material very interesting but easy, he’d studied the subject extensively in his high school psychology class and he remembered everything.

Oliver, could I speak to you please? The teacher said as the bell rang, his voice barely heard above the students. Oliver grabbed his bag nervously, nodded goodbye to Liz and Poppy, and walked up to Professor Harris. He took up Oliver’s paper and stated confidently, This is genius.

Oliver scoffed. It’s just a paper on an old case, the Hurley case.

I’m familiar with it. But… It’s four hundred and thirty-nine words and you wrote it in five minutes.

Three or four, really- Oliver paused for a second before he asked, Wait, you counted?

Mr. Hann-

-Oliver. It’s just Oliver.

My apologies. This is more than just a paper, more than a free write. This is a theory exposing a ring of potential police corruption, I’ve always thought the reports made little sense but this is an actual possibility. It’s… again, it’s genius. Look, there’s a club that I run, Theory club, we meet for two hours after class on Wednesdays, spin a bunch of crazy theories and elaborate on them, just like this paper you wrote. It’s tonnes of fun… I think you should join.

Um, sorry, that’s not really my thing… Oliver trailed off, shifting uncomfortably.

Alright, well, sleep on it. Professor Harris said, looking disappointed. Oliver nodded and left the classroom awkwardly.

All good? He heard Liz ask, and he turned, spotting three people a few feet down the hall. There stood Poppy and Liz, and an unnamed man around the same height as Oliver. He had soft and dark almond-shaped eyes and a shock of ebony hair fell to the left of his face. He was wearing a dark red button-up with cream stripes that was at least two sizes too large, and tight black pants with a brown belt. His shoes were leather, and they matched his belt, Oliver was surprised that students still tried to dress well- the majority wore sweatpants each day. The man smirked at him and put his hands on his hips.

You must be Oliver, he said.

Uh, yeah, Oliver furrowed his brows, his eyes flicked to Liz then back to the unnamed young man.

I’m Adam Zhang, Liz’s best friend.

Second best, Poppy corrected, elbowing Adam in the ribs.

Mmm, no.

I met her first.

Agree to disagree.

Guys? Liz stared at them with raised eyebrows. You done?

Hardly. Oliver chuckled and readjusted the strap of his bag. Nice to meet you. New Kid, Westside, Wonderbread, right this way for our next class.

What? Oliver whispered as they began to walk in files down the hall, Poppy and Adam leading.

Adam has a nickname for everyone, Liz explained under her breath. It’s kinda his thing. I’m Westside because I remind him of Maria from West Side Story. Poppy is Wonderbread cause, well, She nodded to the girl, hinting at her abnormally pale skin tone for someone of her nationality. And you’re New Kid, for obvious reasons.

Very original.

I’m sure he’ll come up with a better one when he gets to know you more.

The four of them reached a door that led outside, Adam pushed through and held it for everyone.

Where are we going? Oliver asked, the other three exchanged knowing glances as they began to walk through the courtyard.

We pay tuition to learn, Adam stated as he sat down on the grass against a tree. Liz and Poppy sat down as well, Oliver furrowed his eyebrows. The only thing we learn in Mrs. Palmer’s fitness class is how to run in a circle and climb a ten-foot fence- which honestly isn’t hard once you’ve done it a few times. He reached into his bag and pulled out a six-pack of beer. Oliver sat down cross-legged so they were all in a circle, he gave Adam a funny look.

This early?

It’s five o’clock somewhere. Courtesy of my cousin Jan. Adam passed them each a can, there were four distinct pops as they opened them.

To cousin Jan, they all cheered, holding their cans high before taking a sip.

Do you guys do this every day? Oliver asked after he swallowed the drink.

This is a special occasion. Liz winked with a smirk.

Call it orientation. Adam took another swig of his beer.

So Oliver, where d’you come from? Poppy asked politely, Oliver scoffed.

Everywhere, I guess. I never stayed in one place too long.

That’s too bad.

No, it was great actually. I got to see a lot.

What’s the best place you’ve ever been? Adam asked, Liz leaned back on her elbows and stretched out her legs, and they all listened intently.

Oh man, Oliver chuckled. I gotta say London. The architecture was amazing. I don’t think I ever spent a whole day in the hotel.

That sounds great.

It was.

Oh hey, Hann, Liz sat up quickly. Adam’s pretty into cars, he’d be interested to know where you got that sweet Chevy.

You have a Chevy? Adam raised his eyebrows and dropped his jaw.

Yeah, sixty-nine.

No way. He leaned forward with interest.

Seriously, the girl I bought it off of fucked it up pretty bad so I got it cheap and fixed it up myself.

You’re lying. Adam leaned back and shook his head.

Wait, you practically built that? Liz gawked. I don’t believe you.

I guess I’ll just have to show you sometime. Oliver looked at his neighbour smugly, she scoffed and rolled her eyes. So, why’d you all come here?

Dirty Harry, Adam answered instantly. A truly inspiring story that made me wanna be like Callahan. Liz rolled her eyes.

You’re so full of shit your eyes are brown. She said, Oliver nearly spat out his drink as he sputtered with laughter.

Hey now, no need to be rude.

We all did a co-op when we were in grade twelve, Liz explained, turning her attention to her neighbour. Poppy and I did it for our careers, Adam did it ‘cause he was flunking and it was the only open course he could take to graduate on time.

Alright, I’ll admit, I did not put a lot of work into my high school career and almost got held back, and yeah the police co-op was interesting, he took a sip of his drink mid-sentence then continued. But blaming it on Dirty Harry sounds cooler.

Oliver laughed as the two other girls rolled their eyes. So you all went to school together then? He asked as the giggles subsided.

Yeah, since grade five. Poppy answered. Same with most of the people in the Theory club- that’s a club Professor Harris runs. There are nine of us, we all went to the same high school. She seemed reluctant to reveal the last part. They’re frankly not my favourites

Speaking of the Theory club, Oliver interjected. Professor Harris invited me to join.

Really? Poppy raised her thick eyebrows. He never asks people to join.

Yeah, he read my theory about the Hurley case-

Wait, the Hurley case? She gasped. I love that one, it’s so interesting.

Yeah, it is. Is the club any good?

It’s great, Liz answered. We’re all in it.

Really?

Yeah. I can’t believe he asked you to join though- you gotta be smart. Adam said.

Oh, no-

Yeah, you’re probably a nerd, he teased. Liz, stop roping in all the Golden Boy nerds. He halted, his jaw dropped. Golden Boy- that’s your name. He said with utmost pride as he raised his can for a toast.

Please, no-

-To Golden Boy!

2

That Wednesday, a begging Liz coerced Oliver into attending the club. They walked in after last period, everyone else was already there. There were nine people spread out among four rows, Oliver had been briefly introduced to them in their previous classes. In the back sat two similar-looking young men with brown eyes and skin, but the one named Kamal Chettiar, was considerably shorter and thinner, and he had dark freckles, the one named Arya didn’t. At first, he thought they were brothers, but the Chettiar boys were cousins. At the other end of that row was a man named James Miller, a shock of chestnut hair was slicked back and his scowl was permanent. The row in front of them contained nearly identical twins, Adeana and Lito Castello. They both had black hair and hazel eyes. The second row only seated one young man, tall with thick glasses and dark skin. He looked isolated as he huddled over his notebook. He couldn’t remember what his name was, he thought it was something like Matt.

Alright, let’s get started. Professor Harris said as Oliver and company took their seats on the end of the front row. Oliver, glad you could make it. Today we will be focusing on the Zodiac as per Adeana’s request last week. I’ve prepared a timeline but I want you guys to lead the discussion today. Who knows what about the Zodiac?

Adeana predictably raised her hand, the club turned to face her as Professor Harris handed out sheets with the timeline. The Zodiac Killer was a serial killer in Northern California in the mid-to-late twentieth century. The victims were attacked in Benicia, Vallejo, Lake Berryessa, and San Francisco between December nineteen sixty-eight and October sixty-nine. Four men and three women between the ages of sixteen and twenty-nine were targeted. The killer originated the name ‘Zodiac’ in a series of taunting letters sent to the local Bay Area press. These letters included four ciphers, the Zodiac demanded they all be published. Of the four sent, only one has been definitively solved. Zodiac was never caught either, but there is a wide range of suspects.

Like who? Mr. Copper asked as he folded his hands across his stomach and leaned back in his chair at the front of the classroom.

Well, there are some crack theories that say Ted Cruz is the Zodiac, but that’s impossible, she chuckled softly. There are a lot of suspects that frankly make no sense, but the main ones that do are Arthur Leigh Allen, Earl Van Best junior, and Louis Myers.

Arthur Leigh Allen, Matt lifted his head said in a monotone voice. Why does that name sound familiar?

He’s the prime suspect, Adeana stated, the room’s attention turned back to her. Don Cheney was the first to alert police to Arthur Leigh Allen as a possible suspect, after numerous conversations he had with Allen apparently suggested a link to the crimes, supposedly telling Cheney he wanted to ‘kill couples at random’, ‘call himself Zodiac’ and ‘would use a flashlight attached to his gun to aid hunting at night’. A discrepancy attaching Allen to the Zodiac crimes is the fact the best known composite sketch of the killer bore little if any resemblance to Arthur Leigh Allen. He also underwent handwriting tests that the police had prepared for him using the relevant pens and involving particular words found in the letters, with a handwriting expert determining there was no correlation between the Zodiac Letters and the handwriting Allen submitted to them. This is usually when people began to think him innocent, but later in the investigation, Karen Allen, Arthur Leigh Allen’s sister-in-law, stated he was, in fact, left-handed, but learned to write with his right in school. Allen owned a Zodiac watch adorned with the now-famous crosshair symbol, given to him by his mother in sixty-seven, he had connections with the US Navy after enlisting in fifty-seven, which could have linked him to the ten and a half size Wing Walkers military-style boot found to have made the footprint impressions in the Lake Berryessa attacks on Bryan Calvin Hartnell and Cecelia Ann Shepard. Allen wore ten and a half-sized shoes, plus in a confession to police revealed he owned knives covered in blood on the day of the Lake Berryessa attack.

So the biggest thing keeping us from saying he is the Zodiac is that he looks nothing like the sketch, Liz confirmed.

Exactly.

Maybe there were two of them? Oliver suggested. If you look at the timeline, there were scattered attacks and disappearances believed to be the work of The Zodiac spanning from sixty-six to seventy-two. In September of seventy-two, San Francisco police obtained a search warrant for Allen’s residence. In seventy-four Allen was arrested for committing… he cleared his throat. Ya know, doin’ stuff to a twelve-year-old boy, the class groaned. Yeah. He pleaded guilty and served two years’ imprisonment. The odd thing about that is many press services still received letters from the Zodiac, one claiming that he had killed a total of thirty-seven people. There’s a possibility that two people were working together, but only one of them was spotted, leading to the infamous composite sketch.

I’ve heard a man named Randy Kenney claims his friend Louis Myers admitted to being the Zodiac Adeana continued. Myers claimed he was motivated to kill couples because he had suffered romantic rejection. Myers had gone to high school with two of the victims and worked at the same restaurant with a third. He was also in the military, giving him access to the type of boots the Zodiac wore. In fact, in seventy-two he had been deployed to Germany for two years, during which time there was a lapse in all communications from the Zodiac. Maybe it was him?

What about Earl Van Best jr? Liz asked.

"He was one of the top three and he makes just as much sense as the others. Evidence includes; the similarity between Best’s face and the police sketches of the Zodiac, claims that Best’s name appears in the Zodiac