Since both had been involved in environmental issues, which could have been controversial or even unacceptable to someone in the community, there was a good chance of this.

  The college had undergone a gradual expansion over the last few years, and now it was a community hub, offering a range of courses and subjects, including engineering, art and design, and environmental science. The campus was a peaceful place, small compared to the major universities, with tall trees and well-groomed grounds and gardens, although there were now a few more buildings than Owen remembered.

  It had been more than ten years since he'd last attended some classes here to prepare for his accounting degree which he'd done at the University of Minnesota.

  He'd then worked in the accounting field for close to a decade, before deciding that he needed a change and was going to follow his heart to become a community police officer. Now, at the age of thirty-one, he didn't regret that decision at all.

  Working for the police was exciting. It was an adventure. Owen had a strong feeling that he could make a difference to society on every one of his working days.

  And of course, there was the fact that he was falling head over heels for May Moore, his investigation partner. He remembered that date, his heart beating faster as he thought of the kiss at the end of it.

  But then, he quickly stopped the direction his thoughts were heading in. They were on a murder investigation and had far more serious issues to confront. It was time to find out whether their passion for the environment was the reason why these two women had been killed.

  He felt his pulse quicken as he walked through the glass doors and into the college. There, he followed May to the reception desk, where a young woman with red hair and a smart blue top was in attendance.

  "Good afternoon," she said brightly. "How can I help you?"

  "We're here looking for some information in connection with the recent murders," May said politely. Owen watched the woman's face change. People always changed their expression when they realized that police business had landed on their doorstep.

  "Murder? Sure, I — er — what can I do for you?" the woman stammered out.

  "We are looking to speak to the person who heads up the Environmental Science Department," May said. "We understand that Jenna Brand, who was recently murdered, had signed up for online classes here. And we were wondering if Hayley Meakin might also have studied a course recently?"

  "Oh, yes. So you need course information, or what?" Owen could see that this information had thrown the poor receptionist into a tailspin.

  “We need to speak to the department head,” May told her kindly.

  But then, the receptionist’s next words showed Owen that the murder was not the only reason why she was so worried.

  "I don't know what to tell you, because we — er — we don't have a department head at this time. Not for that topic."

  "Who would be the lecturer?" Owen asked.

  She hesitated, and now, Owen thought she definitely looked panicked.

  "We're still interviewing for that position. We only started the interviews this week."

  Owen blinked. It sounded as if something out of the ordinary had taken place. Why was there no department head currently? That wasn’t how things were done.

  "Did anything go wrong?" May asked, and Owen knew she was following the same train of thought.

  "I — I don't really know," the receptionist said. "I think it was an internal issue."

  "Can you give us the details?" May asked.

  The woman looked to her left, then to her right, as if she was looking for a way to avoid the question without being unforgivably rude or without having to lie.

  "I can't talk about that. I'm sure you know how things are," the receptionist said.

  "Police business is always kept confidential," Owen said helpfully.

  The receptionist looked even more anxious, and she glanced around them, to make sure that no one could overhear their conversation.

  "We can't really discuss it in public, so please do keep it between us," she said, her voice low, almost a whisper. "But after the previous department head had been here a few months, I can tell you that we had some problems, yes. Professor Bright was a bit too radical for us. So he was unfortunately fired last week." Her voice dropped to a whisper.

  "Fired?" Owen asked, frowning. This timeframe was significant. A radical man had been fired from a prestigious job as department head and the next week, a spate of killings had begun out in the farmlands.

  She nodded. "Yes. His views weren't in line with the college's idea of what the course should be about. We're a reputable school, and we have a need to keep our students and our supporters happy."

  "What did Professor Bright do that made people unhappy?" Owen asked in the same low voice. He felt intrigued by this potential lead. There had clearly been problems, and big ones from the sound of things.

  "He — he took his environmental views too far. He had very extreme ideas on how things should be done and he tried to impose them on the community. We understand he threatened some of the farmers. We were made aware that he even asked some of his students to join him in the cause and got angry when they refused."

  Now Owen felt his heart speed up. He had been wondering why a radical professor would want to target students who'd attended his class, but this showed exactly why he might have gotten mad at them.

  This clearly pointed to a motive for murder, especially if both the victims had come into contact with him as a course provider.

  "Has Professor Bright been in contact with anyone here since he was fired?" May asked in a semi-whisper, as befitted the confidential nature of their conversation.

  "No, not to my knowledge. He hasn't been back, which is a relief, because I expected that he might try to give us some kind of payback. It was very acrimonious when he was fired," the receptionist hissed back in a low voice. "I would have noticed him immediately if he’d come back, trying to cause trouble. He was kind of distinctive, with his wild hair and bushy, gray beard, and I was always on the lookout for him. I thought to myself from the very first time I saw him that he was an extremist, and that he might be dangerous if people challenged his views."

  "What's his full name, please?" May asked.

  "Professor Leonard Bright."

  "And do you have a residential address for him on your records?"

  Owen could see the receptionist was hesitant to give this information.

  "This is police business, and we're simply looking for the quickest way to approach him. We want to stop any further killings. Any information you can give us might save lives,” May reassured her.

  The receptionist was silent for an instant, then nodded.

  "I could probably help you there. I feel responsible, after what happened. I've got his home address here. Just don't tell anyone I gave it to you."

  She quickly scribbled it down and handed them the page.

  "Thank you for your time. This has been a big help." May's voice was soft and friendly.

  The receptionist looked relieved as she nodded at them, and then turned back to her computer screen. Her hands were shaking slightly as she resumed her typing.

  Owen turned and left, feeling a sense of determination strengthen inside him.

  Professor Leonard Bright was a strong suspect. Now, thanks to this helpful receptionist, they knew why he might have a motive for the crimes, and also, they knew where he lived.

  CHAPTER TEN

  He thought of himself as the Grim Reaper.

  That was how he perceived himself, when he took off his everyday clothes and pulled on the dark clothing, the hat, and the long, dark coat that he wore when he became somebody else.

  Somebody to be feared, and somebody who could take lives.

  That's why he'd chosen the Grim Reaper outfit. It suited his purpose because he dealt in death. That was his new calling and his role. Never before had he realized that it was so necessary. An essential task, and he was the one suited for it. The one who had been chosen and who chose his targets with the utmost care.

  Not just anyone could die. Only those he had pinpointed.

  The Reaper was out now, strolling through the farmland, with his black jacket concealed in a bag, and his scythe over his shoulder. He knew exactly where he was heading now, and he was happy to walk. Nobody would think twice looking at him. Seeing farm workers walking from place to place carrying their tools was such a common sight, it would go unnoticed.

  It was a pleasant late afternoon, although this particular area of farmland was not as scenic as his previous meeting places had been.

  The sky was blue, but the countryside was desolate and the fields he was passing looked ungroomed and uncared for. It was a poorer part of this community. He knew this farm on his right had been for sale for a long time and had recently been sold. Perhaps the new owner would do better with it, and the earth would be fertile again, and that piece of land would be covered with rich crops.

  But as he walked, his thoughts cheered him, uplifting him from the rundown feeling of the area. He wasn’t thinking about crop farming anymore. He was thinking about what he was going to do next.

  He was looking forward to arranging another date with destiny for his next target, who lived on a farm farther south. That was where he was walking now. It was time for her to die. Past time, in fact.

  The scythe he carried was lethally sharp, and he'd found he had no hesitation in wielding it. In fact, doing so gave him a powerful thrill, a feeling that he was truly bringing balance back to their lives and completing a circle that had been left ragged and unfinished.

  The emotions that were coursing through him were amazing. He felt totally in tune with himself and the world around him.

  He couldn't wait for the third of his rebalances to be complete. It would be the best of the three, and another experience that he would remember forever.

  What he was doing was exhilarating, and now he was sure that he would never get tired of it.

  Strangely, he found he was looking forward to killing again, and this time, he knew the feeling of justice, of balance, would be far more intense. He knew that he would be able to take his time, and use the weapon to its full potential.

  He knew that it was a matter of time. That the others would be found soon, and the news of the killings would spread. He didn't believe he'd left any clues, but he was sure that he could make his mark on the world before they'd start looking for the agent of justice.

  He knew he had limited time. Everyone on this earth had limited time. That fact had been brutally brought home to him in recent weeks. He had felt the pain of that fact when his first two victims had passed away. But then he had felt the satisfaction that he'd brought back the balance, tilted it back toward where it needed to be, righting the wrong of their continuing life.

  The Reaper liked to be in control of time. He felt a sense of satisfaction in being able to decide for others when they should pass, and how they should release back the months and years they'd borrowed from fate.

  The Reaper had no need to feel remorse or guilt. He was simply doing what had to be done.

  He would continue doing what he had to do for as long as he could.

  He didn't know how long he had, but right now, he was in control, and that was what really mattered.

  That gave him power, and he was finding this an intoxicating emotion. How strange was it to understand that he had become a weapon of equality and justice. It was the most satisfying feeling, to see the target and strike, to see the life-light fade from her eyes and to know that he'd done his job.

  People wanted to think that the world was a place of structure, of order, of balance. And yet, they turned a blind eye to the anomalies and the imbalances that he had seen, the glaring errors that he knew needed to be righted and fixed.

  Everything was as it should be thanks to him. He was simply a catalyst for a natural order. He was the link that would take them away from the earth and back to where they belonged.

  He took a deep breath as he walked through the fields toward his destination, taking in the clean, fresh air, feeling thankful for every exhalation of his lungs and every beat of his heart. But then, he had the right to be humble and thankful because he wasn't the one stealing time from others.

  He knew that he was a living example of justice. One of the few who understood what had to be done.

  He remembered clearly the moment when this insight had come to him. It had felt like a light, shining into a dark room, illuminating a strange reality that he hadn't realized existed at all. But once he'd found it, he could not unsee it. Now he was compelled to follow his new calling.

  The Reaper was on a mission. To bring balance back to the world.

  He was the one who was paying attention to the imbalances. He was the one who'd realized the wrongs and who'd decided to correct them.

  He was the one who was in tune with life, who understood its natural cycles.

  He was the one who'd been chosen.

  He was The Reaper.

  Ahead, he saw a few buildings on the horizon. He was past the old, derelict farm and approaching its neighbor, a small and humble place with low buildings. The clucking of chickens carried to him in the air. He knew this farm, he had seen it many times in passing, but this was the first time he was treading its ground and heading inside.

  He couldn’t wait for the date with destiny, the meeting that should have happened long ago but which this woman had somehow managed to avoid. It was time to make sure that she accepted her fate, and in a strange way, the Reaper felt he was just part of the process that had been briefly interrupted, and which would now continue on its natural course.

  He kept to the track that bypassed the farm buildings, which he knew was used by many of the workers traveling between farms. He didn’t want to be seen, because death should creep up unseen, until the time was right for the final meeting.

  Satisfied that he was on the right path and that he was about to complete another part of his mission, he quickened his pace.

  He had reached his next destination. The place where another life-light would fade, and another imbalanced soul would be released from its battered shell.

  The Grim Reaper passed by the buildings on his left and continued toward his goal. He knew that it was not yet time, but that he needed to be in place for when it was. This was where he would wait, hiding patiently, still and quiet. Breathing. Feeling every breath in his body, every beat of his heart.

  Nobody saw him as he passed. Nobody noticed a simple, humble farm worker carrying a tool.

  He was invisible, he thought, as he headed toward the place where he planned to hide.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  May drove down the sand road that led to the small farm where Professor Leonard Bright, environmental extremist and issuer of threats, could be found. The afternoon was swiftly darkening to evening, but in the dim light, May could see her surroundings, and they didn’t look welcoming.

  It looked as if this property was rundown, May thought, as she took in the long, straggly grass and the overgrown pathways, the crooked trees and crumbled fence posts.

  Or perhaps this was all part of a rewilding project, and this man objected to trimmed grass and an ordered environment, she decided, needing to get into his mindset and understand how he thought.

  "It's quite messy here," Owen observed. "You think he's keeping it deliberately untidy, May? Or has he just run out of money for tractor fuel?" Owen sounded thoughtful, as if he was considering all possibilities, and May felt glad they were thinking the same way in analyzing this man's behavior and motives.

  The killer they were seeking definitely thought in a different way. He was not a normal member of society, and that made May feel like they might be on the right track in this case.

  The person they were looking for was in no way a normal member of society. This person was highly antisocial and May wondered if he somehow thought of himself as being a figure of death, in a symbolic way, by wielding this weapon.

  Or perhaps he was just using a scythe because it was easy to carry in plain sight in a farming community without anyone noticing. Maybe she was reading too much into this.

  They headed up the bumpy drive until the house came into sight. May was surprised to see it was no more than a simple, small trailer.

  Undoubtedly, this man was minimizing his footprint.

  A steel bicycle propped against the trailer's wall clued her that someone — probably Professor Bright — was at home. Did he even have a car, she wondered. This trailer was midway between where the two victims had been killed. Professor Bright would not have needed a car, and could have cycled to the scenes. That was something to consider.

  She stopped the car and turned off the engine, then sat and considered their options for a few moments. They were about to confront a potential killer.

  She glanced at Owen.

  "This is either going to be very simple and we can rule him out, or highly dangerous and he’s the killer," she said. "I guess we'll just have to see when we get face to face with him."

  But at that moment, she rethought her theory about Bright not having a vehicle, as behind her, she heard the thumping of a big, heavy SUV, approaching fast along the dirt road. Headlights blazed down the hill, turning along the track and heading for the trailer. It was powering over the rocky ground at a fast speed, slamming against the potholes and ruts in the drive, sending up clouds of sand.

  "What's going on?" May murmured to Owen. "Is this the professor?"

  She didn’t think it was. She didn’t think that Professor Bright, with his extreme environmental credentials, would drive such a gas guzzler. And something about the aggressive speed at which it was arriving was prickling her instincts, and not in a good way.

  Owen shook his head. "May, I don't know what's happening here. But I'm wondering if we should maybe get out of sight for now? Just until we see who's coming in here. Your car doesn't look like a police car, but we look like police in our jackets. It might not be a good idea to look like police until we have seen who this is.”