Jessica immediately dug out her cell phone and called Parry, locating him in the field. “We're moving on Sturtevante's friend, Jessica,” he informed her.
“Don't do this, Jim. It's a mistake.”
“We don't think so.”
“You can't go forward on the basis of Dr. Wahlbore's work. It's no more reliable than-”
“It's just another piece of the puzzle, Jess, added to what Sturtevante knows about her, and the he about being in Houston last Saturday when the last victim was killed. It's enough for us to move on; we get her into the sweatbox, get a confession, and the mayor and the governor and the senator'11 all be happy.”
“You've fallen pretty far, haven't you, Jim?”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“You, James Parry, caving in to political pressure on a case. I remember a fellow in Hawaii who would have told the politicians where they could stuff it.”
“That was Hawaii, Jess, and a long time ago. This is now and this is Philly, and I've changed. I make no apologies for moving on Leare. I like her for the crimes, and you will, too, when she confesses.”
“That isn't going to happen, Jim.”
“How can you be so sure? Your famous instinct?”
“Yeah, intuition tells me it isn't her.”
“Well, Jess, it's largely been because of your findings that the finger points to her and her colleague Locke. You'll be happy to know that in the meantime, we will be watching Locke for his every reaction,” Parry added. “At the moment, whether we like it or not, Leare's our best shot; hell, she's our only shot. If you hadn't noticed, the Poet hasn't left us much to go on. Still, I think I know a judge that will issue a warrant for her arrest on what we do have.”
He hung up. She felt deflated. Some voice in her head, whether of reason or intuition, told her the others were chasing the wrong person.
The next day's newspapers would carry the story: Donatella leare, respected teacher and poet, arrested in connection with the second street killings.
Jessica imagined the fallout. Tensions would ease all across the city as a result of the headline that Leare, local professor and celebrated poet, had been taken into custody as a suspect in the killings. Meanwhile, everyone in law enforcement, with the exception of Leanne Sturtevante, would withhold judgment, and many would be closely watching Lucian Burke Locke's every move, as Parry had indicated.
Jessica telephoned Kim, bringing her up to date; Kim agreed with her that the Philadelphia authorities were acting prematurely. “They have a twenty-four-hour surveillance on Locke, and this action the team has agreed upon, Jess,” Kim informed her.
“The team agreed on all this? In my absence?”
“They knew you were checking up on Professor Leare's handwriting, and they added it to the mix. I tried to be the voice of reason, but they weren't interested. Trust me, there was nothing you could've done at this end.”
“Meanwhile, we sit and wait to see if, in the next two days, another poor soul will be sent across the River Styx by the gentle killer who pens poems on his victims' backs?”
“With Leare in custody, eating well on the taxpayers' money and the notoriety and publicity this arrest affords her poetry, book sales are likely to skyrocket.”
“So much that Locke will no doubt want to join her in the slammer, realizing only too late the marketing power of being arrested on suspicion of murder?”
“It's worked for others-actors as well as authors.”
“Then the expected happens. The killer comes and goes again, undetected, leaving yet another murder victim and another bit of verse. This while Leare remains in lockup, and while Locke remains under surveillance.”
“Should that turn out to be the case, it would effectively exonerate both poets.”
“I keep feeling that somehow both are connected to the case, Kim. I just don't know how.”
“Yes, I've been getting that from you.”
“If in no other way than that their grim poetry has filled the imagination of the killer, whoever he or she is.”
“We'll have to look closely into the lives of every student that both professors have ever had,” suggested Kim.
“No, we save time by getting you to hypnotize the two, and we hope something relevant shakes out,” Jessica countered. “You can't use hypnosis in a Pennsylvania courtroom.”
“We'll use it, not the courts.”
“You'll have to get their approval, and once Leare's arrested, I imagine she will be pissed off, and as long as Locke is a free man, what possible motivation would he have to submit to hypnosis?”
“Leave that to me.”
Jessica knew she had to work fast. Enlisting Kim's help, they contacted both Locke and Leare, asking if they might all meet. It took some powers of persuasion, but with Jessica appealing to the poets' vanity, and the possibility of “major” publicity for their works, she managed to gain their assent to do a hypnosis session with Dr. Kim Desinor in order to jog their memories about the victims they'd had as students.
When Jessica and Kim arrived at Locke's home, they found Dr. Harriet Plummer in the company of her two colleagues. “Here,” she said, “to lend moral support. I think it wretched and disgusting that you people have badgered Donatella and Lucian in the manner you have,” the dean declared. “Now you've flashed their pictures about and talked to students hanging out at the local pubs, again and again, first creating a sense of guilt where there is no reason for guilt, and then perpetuating it. Meanwhile, you do nothing about looking into Garrison Burrwith. I can't understand you people.”
They were interrupted by Locke's wholesome, plump wife, who suddenly appeared in the doorway, asking, “Dear, what is this all about?”
“Never mind, sweetheart. Just a bit of a problem with finals coming up; you know how that is. You know Dr. Plummer; Donatella,” he said.
Mrs. Locke icily acknowledged both women with a simple nod before turning her attention to Jessica and Kim.
“More playmates, I see,” she muttered, and disappeared.
“See to the children, dear,” he called after her. “Wonderful person, really, and the children are my perfect little people.”
He saw that Jessica was staring at the photos of the children, as she had done on her first visit. He asked, “Do you have children, Dr. Coran?”
“No; no, I do not.”
“Why not adopt, as we have? It was a wonderful decision.”
“Yes, I can well imagine.”
“Children are the pearls of this universe, really, far more so than any jeweled poem, wouldn't you agree, Harriet, Donatella? They're so magical.” The women agreed with nods and mutterings, but Harriet Plummer wanted again to know, “How can you badger these two wonderful poets so, Dr. Coran?”
“Both Dr. Locke and Dr. Leare's names keep coming up in our investigation, Dr. Plummer,” countered Jessica.
Kim tried to soothe the woman, calmly adding, “We believe that perhaps Dr. Locke and/or Dr. Leare may know something, may have seen something, may have some special, inside information on the counterculture of this area and the college, as all the victims held, at one time or another, some ties-even if tenuous-to the university.”
“That's a lot of may haves,” Plummer grumbled.
“One or both must know something, even if they do not consciously know that they know,” Kim continued.
“So reason the detectives,” said Plummer, fuming, “when I've told you repeatedly that if anyone, anyone at the university is involved in these heinous crimes, it can only be Garrison Burrwith.”
“We've found nothing to link Dr. Burrwith to the crimes, Dr. Plummer. In fact, no one has ever seen him in any of the pubs or coffeehouses save you.”
“Are you calling me a liar? Tell them, Lucian. Tell them how he insulted us.”