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The strange thing about Williams was that nobody had ever seen him. The faculty guidebook showed a gray box labeled not pictured; group photos in the Winchester yearbooks only showed Williams's hand or arm, even though the captions advertised his presence. The college's website gave a brief curriculum vitae but no photographic evidence. By that Monday afternoon, the first day of classes for the fall term at Winchester University, the search for Williams had, for some of his students, become almost compulsive.

It was as if Williams were hiding himself from them, as if he were teasing them somehow. It had become a tradition at Winchester for students to find a picture of their professors before classes began; in this way, it was commonly believed, they could allay some of the anxiety when the man or woman strode into the room. It was a method of one-upping the faculty, of stealing some of their precious authority.

And so this thing with Williams had become a big deal. Some of the students of Logic and Reasoning 204 were so incensed over Williams's invisibility that they were convinced they were being tricked. One student, a Young Republican who carried a briefcase to each class, brought out his battered and veined Code of Conduct, and much of the class hovered over him while he searched the index for words like Deception and Faculty Misconduct.

It was as they were doing this that Williams himself walked into the room. He was wearing faded blue jeans, which was highly unusual for a professor at Winchester. He was also carrying nothing, which was even more curious than his dress. No papers, no manila envelopes, no coffee mug. He was wearing a flannel shirt that he had tucked in. No belt. Nikes. The professor was clean-shaven, another anomaly on campus, and his face was youthful (for a man clearly in his early sixties) and pitted with acne scars on the left side that brought to mind, both in their color and shape, pennies flattened on a railroad track. Yet he was handsome in a certain light, and he moved so softly and quietly that he gave the impression of extreme gentleness, his hands sometimes out before him as if he were feeling his way into the dark or perhaps gesturing, Don't be scared; I'm right behind you.

Professor Williams took his place at the podium at the front of the room. There were fifteen students in the class. Eight female, seven male. They were all white, which was the rule rather than the exception in a Winchester classroom. They were all sharply dressed in clothes their parents had bought them over the summer. Many of them were upperclassmen, as this course was a prerequisite for third-year seminars in philosophy and English. Because the students were mostly philosophy and lit majors, the room had an air of uncertainty. These were students who did not know where they were going in life but were generally accomplished. "Smart kids," a Winchester professor once wryly said of his philosophy students, "who were all seduced by Descartes' brain-in-a-vat theory in Philo 101."

Williams opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word, someone's cell phone chirped. He waited while the student shamefully dug in her bag to find the offending object. In fact, the professor seemed more anxious than the girl: he looked down, red-faced, at his podium while the girl furiously mashed buttons. Some professors would embarrass the girl further, make her hum the ring tone or have the conversation while standing in front of the class or something just as discomforting.

But Williams simply waited. And when the phone had been silenced he said, in a voice that was soft and commanding at the same time, "There's been a...

 

"Obedience is evidence that crime fiction is hardly a played-out genre .... [G]rafts the world-turned-upside-down suspense of a Harlan Coben thriller to the hall-of-mirrors vertigo of a novel by Paul Auster .... [I]ts ultimate implications continue to spin out in a reader's mind after the final page is turned."

 

"Authentic puzzle mysteries are an endangered species in these hectic times, so it's a genuine, if slightly perverse, kick to follow every byzantine clue in this bizarre game.... If you solve this one without peeking at the last chapter, it's an automatic A."

 

"Obedience is a fiendishly clever thriller, debut or no, and Lavender exhibits deft control at the wheel."

 

"Obedience is quite a twisty little number .... the taunting nature of the challenge is irresistible...."

 

"[T]his is one of those high-concept thrillers with a final twist that upends all expectations, filled with characters who are not what they seem."