Wallflower

'It doesn't jell.'

'Of course, it doesn't jell.'

'So let's talk about it.'

'It's impossible. I'm the first to admit that. This tiny fat lady, forty years old-she couldn't possibly break into all those houses, murder all those people. She doesn't have the strength to be a stabbing machine. She may have the hatred, but she doesn't have the guts. The Cleveland connection-that's meaningless, too, because, among other things, only two of the victims are tied together that way.

Then there're other dangles, like why would she want to glue their genitals, and what's the meaning of the weeds, and what could Jess have possibly seen, and how could tubby little Archer get in and out so fast, so clean, never seen by anyone, slick without a trace. And I guess the biggest dangle is how could a trained psychologist with a full practice and a respectable career, who consults a day a week at a hospital for the criminally insane-how could such a person possibly be an insane killer herself.? She's a healer, right? She specializes in helping young women traumatized by 'shaming events,' right?' Janek paused. 'So it's impossible-right?'

Aaron grinned. 'Sure, it's impossible.' He looked into Janek's eyes. 'But we know what we gotta do, we gotta satisfy ourselves.'

Aaron stretched. 'The only way I can think to do that is check out the Clevelandconnected victims, see if either of them ever crossed paths with Archer. Another thing-Jess was Archer's patient, so I'll want to check if any of the other victims ever had her as a therapist. If it turns out even one of them did'-he grinned again-'then we'll really have something. '

Janek nodded. 'That's what I hoped you'd say. Why don't you get right on it? And while you're at it, make a low-level request to Sullivan's people for copies, of the victim files. Not just the Cleveland pair, but all of them.'

Aaron nodded. 'I'll ask for the crime scene photos, too. ,,to throw them off?'

'Partly,' Aaron admitted. 'And also because I think you ought to focus on the weeds. The weeds are a message. You're good at reading messages.' He looked at Janek. 'What else have you got to do?'

Janek smiled. 'Nothing too important. I thought I'd try and put in a penetration agent, that's all.'

Early that afternoon Janek attended women's fencing practice. He found something tangy and enticing about the aroma of female sweat that wafted across the gym. Later he waited for Fran Dunning outside the women's locker room. When she appeared, her hair was still wet from her shower. Again he escorted her across campus to her afternoon biology lab.

'I'd like to take you up on your offer to help,' Janek said. 'I need some information on Jess's shrink.' 'I already told you everything I know.'

'Of course, you have. But I wonder if you'd consider doing more.'

'What?' 'Going to Dr. Archer as a patient for a while. All you'd have to do is call her up, tell her you were Jess's friend, that you've been deeply troubled since she was killed and you feel you could use some help. I'm sure she'd give you an appointment. Of course, we'd reimburse you for your fees.'

Fran turned to him, her eyes curious. 'You think her shrink had something to do with it?'

Janck shook his head. 'I'm not going to lie to you, Fran. I don't know the answer to that. What I do know is there's something there I have to explore. I'm not asking you to do anything more than see this woman a couple of times, then fill me in.'

He could tell by the flush on her cheeks that the idea attracted her.

But she was also wavering, perhaps not certain she could bring it off.

'No spying, no snooping, no playing detective,' he warned sternly. 'You go in as Fran Dunning, with real feelings and real distress. If she asks about me, and I doubt she will, you can tell her all about our interview. The only thing you mustn't tell her about is this conversation we're having now.'

'What do you want to know exactly?'

'How she acts, her manner with you, her feelings, if she reveals them, toward Jess. I've been in the waiting and consulting rooms, but I haven't seen any other parts of the house. So you might want to ask to use the bathroom, then let me know if you notice anything interesting on the way.'

'What would you consider interesting?' He could see excitement in her eyes.

'Whatever strikes you. Believe me, Fran, if I thought there was any danger, I wouldn't ask you to get involved. This is a voluntary mission.

If you don't want to do it, I'll understand.'

'Oh, I want to do it,' she said. 'When do I start?'

Janek smiled, then handed her a piece of paper. 'Here's Dr. Archer's number. You might want to give her a call this afternoon.'

The next day Sullivan called.

'How you doing, Frank?'

Fine. You?' 'Grand, just grand.' Sullivan paused. 'Understand you want to see some of our material?'

'Problem with that?'

'No problem. But I'm curious. Haven't heard a peep out of you since you started up there.'

'Been busy getting organized, setting up an office, all that. NYPD's a little different from the FBI. We're the poor cousins, remember, Harry?'

Sullivan chuckled in response, a little roll of heh-hehhehs. When the chuckling finally died away, he got to the point. 'Actually I called you about something else.'

'What was that?'

'Your surreptitious little trip up to Harvard Law School.'

'I wouldn't call it surreptitious.'

'Call it whatever you like. Chun has withdrawn as consultant on HF.'

'So?'

'What the hell did you say to him?'

'What're you talking about?'

Sullivan's voice hardened up. 'Don't bullshit me. You go up there, next thing I know he quits.' Janek laughed. 'Don't be an asshole, Harry. Chun was uncomfortable with the case. Anyone could see he was.

During the ensuing pause Janek imagined Sullivan's mouth tightening to a line. But when Sullivan spoke again, his voice had turned cool and businesslike.

'We're pouching off the stuff you asked for. You'll get it by the end of the day.'

'Damn gracious of you.'

'Either of us finds out anything, we share it, right?'

'That was the deal.'

'Well, good luck, Frank.' And before Janek could wish him the same, Sullivan clicked off.

He spent the next three days studying the crime scene photographs.

When they arrived, he and Aaron tacked them up at eye level in neat, even rows on the office walls. Then, while Aaron worked the phones, trying to track down connections between the two Cleveland victims and Beverly Archer, Janek stood before each photograph, staring at it, trying to enter into it before moving on to the next.

He found this work extremely trying. He could not sustain it for more than a quarter hour at a time. When he felt he had sufficient command of his morning or afternoon quota of brutal images, he would leave the office to take long walks through Greenwich Village.

Sometimes he would wander as far as the Hudson River piers across from the strip of gay leather bars on West Street or, in the other direction, beyond Tompkins Square Park into the network of cross streets known as Alphabet City. And always on these walks, amidst these squalid surroundings, he would try to imagine the killings taking place. He did this with all the homicides except for one; he still could not bear to imagine what had happened to Jess.

The trick was to take the still pictures and turn them into movies.

Horror movies, splatter movies-those were what he projected to himself.

But hard as he tried he could not see tiny Beverly Archer performing a starring role. The intensity, the rage were there-of that he was nearly certain-but not the movements or the staging. He simply could not see her rushing into rooms, surprising people, thrusting at them with ice picks, then working on their fallen bodies with glue. Like most people in this world, Janek thought, the little shrink killed people in her dreams. But could she actually draw