Cuban-American with the lively step of a tango dancer and the infectious smile of a boy. The wind tore at his long- flowing black hair, and it whipped his expensive suit jacket like a cape; had he a sword, she might imagine him a swashbuckler. She could barely hear him over the piercing spring wind and her thoughts.
Closer now, he shouted, “So this is your hideaway?”
Jessica loved Eriq's Cuban accent. “How did you find me?”
“You forget. I'm not just the director of the Behavioral Science Unit, I'm a detective. BesidesJohn Thorpe does not stand up well under interrogation.”
“So… what brings you to my secret office?”
“I know you have your hands full with this date rape/murder case you're on, but we have another and more mysterious case in Friendship City.”
“Friendship City? Where the hell's that? Iowa?”
“No, no. The City of Brotherly Love.”
“Philadelphia?”
“Bingo, go to the head of the class.”
“What've I missed?”
“Nothing. It hasn't been our case, and for good reason, until now.” He leaned out over the parapet, his dark eyes taking in the grounds below. “Philly authorities thought they could handle it on their own, but finally they want FBI input, and they requested our best. I told them that would be you.”
“Thanks for the buttering-up, Chief, but what sort of case are we talking about?”
“Seems we have a multiple murderer, a guy who leaves no trace, except for some writing, which I've had a chance to examine. Weird kind of poetry, actually.”
“Given your expertise with graphology, I have no doubt you've come to some conclusions about the killer. Did you bring the poems with you?” She looked at a manila folder in his hand, which the wind threatened to rip away.
“No, not exactly. This poet doesn't use paper.”
“Then what does he use? He writes on the wall over the vic's bed, the mirror in the bathroom, what?”
'Try the body.”
She looked squarely at him. “The body? What part of the body? Chest? Abdomen?”
“Back-from neck to buttocks-is how I'm getting it.” He lifted the photo from the file, showing her some of the killer's handiwork. “Deep grooves. Victim shows no sign of ligature marks, no evidence whatsoever of being tied down for this. They seem to be… well, conned into it.”
“What's the method of murder?” she asked, trying to read the writing from the photo of the victim's back at the same time, but finding it impossible to concentrate as the wind continued to tear the photo from her grasp.
“Poison.”
“Really? Interesting.”
“Poisoners are like terrorists, as far as I'm concerned,” he told her firmly. “Less interesting than cowardly.”
“Yeah, point taken.”
“This case is a regular Agatha Christie whodunit, actually.”
“Exactly how is the poison ingested, and what kind of poison are we talking about here, Chief?”
“Something in the ink, the coroner in Philly suggests, since the throat and larynx are clear of any heavy concentrations. Goes directly to the bloodstream via the cuts carved into the back.”
“Needle marks?”
“Philly coroner couldn't find a single puncture mark anywhere on the bodies, nothing but the scratches-words cut precisely into the flesh with what appears to be a quill pen.”
“Cuts carved into flesh introduce the poison…” Jessica tried to imagine the preliminaries of such a murder. She knew that Eriq wanted her to become so fascinated over the particulars that she'd accept the assignment. “Intriguing case. Why don't you take it, since you're the handwriting expert?”
'Too much going on here right now for me to step off the plate. Wish I could, and I intend to write up all my thoughts on this guy and forward them to you in Philly, if you'll take the case.”
“Literally a poisoned-pen death. Does sound like an old British kind of whodunit. What a quaint and old- fashioned yet weird way to dispatch someone.”
“A strange poem left across the victims' backs,” he added, agreeing. “Likely without their suspecting a thing.” Santiva's dark Cuban eyes studied her for a fleeting moment, seeming to measure her interest in the case.
“But what kind of fool lets you write a poem across his-or is the victim a her? — back? Can't tell from this view, man or woman?”
“We have victims of both sexes, all young and somewhat frail of build, and as for back writing, it appears to have become a fad of epidemic proportions among the young.”
“A fad-really?”
“Bored with the usual tattoo thing, rings and piercings, the coffeehouse rock-club set, especially around Philadelphia, have moved on to this as a new adventure. Some say it's based on one of those urban legends.”
“Really? I've not heard that one.”
“About a family that committed mass suicide using poison via a pen into the flesh.”
“So the local authorities think somebody is acting out this urban legend?”
“Local poets are hiring kids to display their poems, which are scrawled across their bodies, calling it Living Poetry and sometimes Live Art; then these kids disrobe during an open-mike night at a local pub or coffeehouse and their poems are read by the patrons. It has, of course, graduated to frontal view and full frontal nudity in some places, but I'm given to understand from detectives working the case that it began as strictly a rearview thing.”
“An excuse to moon the crowd?” she asked.
“In the best tradition of the comedian Jimmy Carrey, yeah. Nowadays, boobs and genitalia have been introduced so as to… to…”
“Spice up the poetry? Raise or lower the bar?”
“Depends on the bar you're talking about,” he countered.
“And the prevailing tastes?”
“Eye of the beholder, precisely.”
“A meeting of pure art and body art. Interesting. What will they think of next? But why haven't I heard about this fad before?”
“Philly PD task-force people say it's relatively new, and if you haven't seen someone with body poetry on his or her back… Well, Jess, you have to admit that if it isn't in your lab, you don't always know what's trendy, what's hot, what's not.”
“Are you suggesting I'm not with it?”
Smiling, he apologetically raised his hands in classic submitting-to-arrest posture. Then Eriq retrieved the photo and slid it into the file. “A copy is being blown up as we speak, and I'll get it to you. As to your being with it, don't blame yourself for not being able to keep up with the youth of this ever-changing U.S. of A. This thing appears to have originated in certain areas of Philadelphia, spread from there.”
“I see, and now it's all balled up with some psychotic murder spree there.”
“Some nude club dancers have been 'written up' and they're using it in their acts these days.” Santiva pursed his lips and seemed to reflect on some image in his head. “Saw one myself in Miami last time I visited family there.”
Jessica feigned shock, her eyes growing wide. “Realllly?”
“Really, yes.”
“So, are you telling me you're sending me out on a case that does not involve hacking and mutilation?” she chided. “Lead investigator in Philly is Detective Lieutenant Leanne Sturtevante.”
“Ah, a woman. Good. Maybe I won't have so much trouble fitting in. You want me to link up with this Sturtevante person?”
“You can arm yourself with your usual objectivity and scientific method, Jess, but this case is going to require your skill and hard-won knowledge. No one in history- much less in Philly-has seen anything like this before.”
