“Yes, I'm sure.”
“Good guess, I should think,” the detective muttered.
“Maurice's poem was written to his killer. It was written in praise of his killer. An attempt to honor his own killer.”
“Then they had a suicide pact?” Jessica perked up at this.
“I believe so.”
“You believe so, or you'd decided as much before you ever arrived here?” Sturtevante demanded.
“Compare the handwriting, Jessica, with Maurice's lines from his diary,” Kim calmly replied, unruffled by the detective's skepticism. “The lines on the death poem will, no doubt, render this a moot point.”
Jessica silently compared the two poems. “I have to agree with Kim's assessment of the difference here in literary quality; one is professional, the other amateurish.”
“Maurice's poetry is stilted, somewhat cliched, and filled with awkward, passive constructions,” continued Kim. “No fresh images, nothing to recommend it beyond its mediocrity.”
Jessica added, “The poet who saw Maurice to his grave does not deal in mediocrity.”
Kim immediately added, “Or awkward language, cliched diction, or stilted imagery! This guy, whoever he is, writes more haunting, evocative poetry-in my opinion-than anything I've read in years. Take it for what it's worth, Lieutenant.”
“Then the killer's a professional poet, someone capable in every respect where language is concerned?” asked Parry.
“Precise and calculated,” Kim replied, “with every word.”
“Then he doesn't just write this off the top of his head in the throes of murder? He premeditates the entire act, writing draft after draft.”
“I think it's time we shared a suspicion we hold about the Poet Killer with you two,” Jessica said to Parry and Sturtevante.
“And what is that?” Sturtevante looked shaken by the direction the discussion had taken, but Jessica could not be certain of her expression.
“We've compared the poems he's left behind thus far, and aside from the opening repetition or chorus of three lines, they all have the theme of flickering life-that is, that the soul is never quite extinguished by death but merely takes on a new form.”
“We believe the killer is involved in a fantasy that has to do with some sort of migration of souls,” added Kim.
Jessica continued. “And that he's in the business of helping that migration along.”
“Speculation,” muttered Leanne Sturtevante, staring now at the firmament ceiling motif, which had been carried out even here in the kitchenette.
“We believe all the poems are linked,” said Kim. “In fact, that each is a part of a whole, a kind of epic poem he's going for.”
“My God,” said Parry. “Then that means he's premeditating more slates to write on, more murders.”
“Kim keeps coming up with the number nineteen.”
“That may mean the killer will require nineteen bodies to complete his or her performance art,” added Kim, who sipped again at the steaming coffee in her now-warmed hands.
The room fell silent as this notion floated like a spectral presence among them.
“I've compared the handwriting in the diary to that of the poem on the yellowed, fake-but-fun parchment, which Sturtevante suspected had come from the stationery store Ink, Line amp; Sinker,” Jessica began.
“What's your take on the handwriting, Jess?” asked Parry, standing over her at the table where she sat examining the two documents.
“With my admittedly limited experience in handwriting analysis, I'd say these two, parchment and diary, are by the same hand.”
“I see.”
“Of course, we'll know for sure when our specialists in handwriting have a look-see.” Jessica looked up to Sturtevante and set her jaw firmly. “I think Dr. Desinor has scored a major hit here.” She then put a hand on Kim's arm and asked, “How're you feeling?”
“Better… much…”
“Did you get a sense of the killer at all from touching the victim's back, from placing yourself in his… his place?” pursued Sturtevante.
“Nothing beyond a vague sense of his belief in himself and his actions.”
“Can you elaborate, Dr. Desinor?”
“No, I was… fell into the victim's mind-set, not the killer's.”
“She's tired, Lieutenant. Give it a rest,” Jessica said, her voice clear and final. “Allow Dr. Desinor to regain her strength now, please.”
“Sure, sure.” Sturtevante raised her hands in the universal gesture of truce, but her eyes registered a sad defeat. Like everyone else in the room, she had wanted answers to questions plaguing the investigation, answers that eluded them all.
Seeing this and Jim's dejection as well, Jessica pulled out a large magnifying glass and said to the other two, “Come with me. I have something additional to share with you.”
They left Kim at the kitchen table and returned to the bedroom and the body. Jessica asked Parry to help her to gently turn the body face up. This done, she held a high-intensity flashlight in her teeth, the magnifying glass in one hand, and supported herself over the body with the other. “Bingo!” she declared.
“What? What is it?” asked Sturtevante.
'Teardrops on his forehead, just as we discovered on the Anton Pierre corpse.”
“What does this mean, Jess?” asked Parry, perplexed.
“It's his DNA, the killer's DNA. Unless there's evidence that Anton and Maurice stood on their heads while crying, or were strung up by their heels, they're not going to have tears on their foreheads. No, these near-invisible tracks were left by the killer.”
“Excellent… excellent find,” muttered Sturtevante. “Now we can find out some characteristics of the killer- race, sex even.”
“Exactly, and it'll be a direct match once we make an arrest.”
'Terrific find, Jess,” Parry complimented.
“Can't take all the credit for this one. Dr. Shockley identified the marks after I pointed them out on Pierre's forehead.” And as for the other bodies?”
“Too degenerated to tell, but two in a row now, that tells us something.”
“Imagine, the guy kills them and then sheds tears over them.”
“Not altogether unusual,” countered Jessica. “Signifies a certain amount of remorse in most cases.”
“Not here, not this time,” said Kim, standing now in the doorway, looking at the others. “These tears are green tears… green with hope and love and rekindling life, green with life and regeneration, don't you see?” Sturtevante again appeared shaken by Kim's words, as if the psychic had somehow unmasked her, digging into her mind. She showed her agitation by pacing the room and then rushing out.
“What's with her?” asked Parry.
Jessica shrugged. “Isn't this case enough to get to anyone?”
“I suspect that she thinks she may know someone who might fall victim to the Poet Killer,” replied Kim. “At least, I think she fears as much.”
“Thanks for sharing the good news of the teardrop find,” Parry said to Jessica. “How long before it can be processed?”
“DNA testing takes time, but Shockley has it on the front burner. Still, it will take at least ten days, maybe more.”
“He'll kill again before then.”
“I don't know how to speed up the process any more than we have, but at least we're confident the tearstain pattern points to the perpetrator and not the victim. In time, we will have a DNA profile of the killer.”
Parry instantly snapped, “Finally! A break. Maybe the one that will nail this bastard.”
