“And the poems are similar to the ones the killer is using today,” added Parry.
“Whoever did the writing had not given the child the poison. Therefore, one of the parents must have balked at ending the child's life. Possibly as the partner lay dying, making the decision to allow the child to live at the last moment, possibly while feeling the first effects of the poisoned ink himself or herself.”
“Mother or father?” wondered Sturtevante, echoing Jessica's theory.
“And what difference does this make to Gordonn?” Parry asked.
“Possibly the answer to the question, the answer he is so desperately searching for. But for us, the more important question to our case, now that we're seeing victims all being poisoned in exactly the same manner, is why Gordonn sees a need to reenact such killings. I say there's enough evidence to involve the DA's office, maybe get an indictment,” Jessica told Parry.
“No, not necessarily,” Sturtevante said. “This story is public knowledge. Likely can be accessed through on- line sources-hell, likely isn't the word, absolutely can be accessed via the Inquirer's dot-com.”
Parry scratched his chin. “If Gordonn has shared this tale of the suicide pact of his parents and his own near death at their hands with people around him, any one of them could have taken the idea and run with it, including our friends at the college, Locke and Leare, or for that matter someone in the photography department, or Harriet Plummer, Professor Burrwith, anyone with whom George Gordonn may have had any dealings.”
“Or it could be Gordonn himself, acting out, repeating the twisted logic of his parents, who set him on this path as an infant,” Jessica insisted.
Parry calmed her, placing a gentle hand on each shoulder. “Remember your profiler training, Jess.”
“Of course I remember it. What about it?”
“It taught you that a killer will have a circle of attachments, acquaintances, friends or people he thinks are friends, relatives. Any one of these people could be using Gordonn, or Gordonn's story, for his own twisted ends.”
“According to records, Gordonn took photography courses at one of the local colleges. The University of Philadelphia-coincidentally.”
“It occurs to me he had to learn his specialty somewhere, yes. What are you getting at?”
“It's pretty obvious, Jim. All roads seem to lead us back to the university.”
Before Parry could respond to her words, Sturtevante interrupted. “Message coming through from Dr. Desinor. She has the warrant and is a block off. We have a go on bugging the place but a no-go on search and seizure. Best she could do. It would've been a serious mistake to have taken anything out of the home.”
Jessica nodded. “Got it.”
TWENTY
We are ne 'er like angels till our passions die.
Leaving George Gordonn to a fresh surveillance team,
Jessica, Sturtevante, Parry, and Kim regrouped at PPD headquarters. There Jessica called in Peter Vladoc to look at the latest findings and make an assessment of George Gordonn, openly and honestly.
“My dear, Lord Byron's given name was George Gordon. Gordonn's mother's maiden name was Byron. Byron marries Harold Gordonn and the two would-be artists romantically concoct a quick exit from this world. As a photographic artist, Gordonn senior would have known the properties of selenium. The killings are based on this incident, but the story had been told in and around Philadelphia for so long that everyone considers it just another urban legend. Only thing is, young Gordonn researched his parents' death, and he learned that they intended for him to go out with them.”
“And you didn't think it relevant to tell us about this?”
“He's never threatened anyone in my presence; he's never admitted to being the Poet Killer, and he comes off as extremely well grounded, mentally speaking, for someone who began life as he did. Harmless, searching… these are words to describe George. Patient-doctor privilege forbids me to discuss our sessions in any but the most general of terms.”
“Ironic,” said Sturtevante.
“More like Byronic,” Vladoc countered. “Someone too fine, too delicate, too good for this world, too heroic in the sense of having the most exquisite of human sensibilities, an angelic nature too sublime to withstand the slings and arrows of this existence. That's what your killer thinks of his victims. Gordonn, on the other hand, detests what his parents did to him, leaving him alone in the world, and he hates them for attempting to kill him as well. A Byronic personality would be the last thing he would emulate.”
“But one of the parents actually saved him,” Jessica said. “Exactly, and he is wrestling with his ambivalence, and has from the outset of our talks attempted to leam which one showed him more mercy. You see, he has a right to be angry with his parents for deserting him as they did, leaving him to grow up alone.”
“Was he given to foster care?” asked Kim.
“His foster parents have since passed on; natural causes.”
“You're speaking as if you are certain Gordonn is not our killer,” said Sturtevante.
Jessica added, “As if the killer is a heroic person by mere virtue of being… sensitive to the supposed needs of his victims, Dr. Vladoc, and you don't believe Gordonn sensitive enough to be this killer?”
“Your killer is a worshiper of the angelic,” Vladoc countered. He nodded, his eyes going from Parry to each of the women investigators. “He sees himself this way, and sees each of his victims the same way.” His pause allowed them time to digest this.
Sturtevante found a seat and fell into it. Clearing her throat, her eyes glassy, she said, “Maybe it's in their nature-the poets; the real ones, I mean-to feel only resentment for this world and all the sorrow it brings down around them.”
“The ideals of beauty and spiritual wholeness subjected to ugliness and fragmentation,” said Jessica, “are the same that are expressed in Leare's poetry.”
“As well as Locke's,” added Sturtevante. “And doubtless countless others'.”
“We still need to catch George Gordonn in the act or speaking about the act, Jess,” said Parry. “We need someone to get him to open up.”
Vladoc quickly agreed. “While you have some impressive patterns emerging here, the dots have yet to be connected, and I sincerely believe, from all my time spent with Gordonn, that he is incapable of such heinous acts.”
“Perhaps you can locate some of the dots,” suggested Jessica, an edge to her voice.
“In point of fact, I have one major dot for you. I know this George Gordonn and have known him as a patient for almost a year now.”
“You've treated him?” asked Sturtevante, this news being new to her.
“That's certainly a strange coincidence, Dr. Vladoc,” Parry observed dryly. He then asked, “Why didn't you tell us about him sooner?”
“I have never known him to be violent; it never occurred to me that he could be a killer. I am still having trouble grasping the idea. He just doesn't fit the profile, despite all the business with his ruined family life.”Parry nearly shouted, “You didn't think it relevant to tell us about the man whose parents started the urban legend that began this back-writing fad among the young?”
“I had and still have patient privilege to consider. But I tell you, Gordonn never gave me the least concern. I can't see him perpetrating the very act which took his parents' lives and nearly took his.”
“He doesn't appear to have enough money to pay the normal household bills, Dr. Vladoc,” said Jessica. “How does he afford your sessions?” He pays with cash, always. I've never seen him use a check or credit card. He always insists on cash.”
“Isn't that a bit strange?” asked Parry.
“What isn't strange about this entire business?” Sturtevante put in.
