WhileCSU processed the crime scene, Jessica and Byrne stood at the top of the hill,watching the choreography unfold below.

    Detectiveswould soon canvass the immediate area. There was a condo development atMechanicsville and Eddington Roads, a pair of apartments next to it. Maybesomeone had seen something. But Jessica doubted it. Their killer was a ghost.

    KennethBeckman, Sharon Beckman, Preston Braswell, Tyvander Alice.

    Fourbodies, eight tattoos.

    Fourto go.

    Andthey didn't have a single solid lead.

    Theteam spent the entire afternoon canvassing. The residences in this part of thecity were not as tightly packed as they were in the inner city, so the act ofinterviewing and asking the same questions over and over was a much slower,even more enervating process.

    Theyreturned to the Roundhouse, followed up on a few weak leads. Nothing. By theend of the tour, the entire unit was exhausted and frustrated. Someone wassolving the unsolved crimes in Philadelphia, but they were killing the killersand their accomplices. Someone was shaving these bodies clean, mutilating theirfaces, and wrapping them in paper. Someone who floated through the city like aphantom.

    Jessicasat on the edge of a desk, a cup of cold coffee in her hand. She glanced overat the walk-in closet. Inside were the books of homicide cases dating back morethan a hundred years. Inside the books were summaries of hundreds of unsolvedcases, cases wherein there were suspects who were never charged with the crime,suspects who never became defendants, defendants who were acquitted for anynumber of reasons. The books were essentially a list of potential victims fortheir ghoul.

    Theduty room was mostly empty. The second tour had already begun, and thosedetectives were on the street, pursuing leads, tracking down witnesses. Jessicawas envious.

    'Don'tyou have a family to go home to?' Byrne asked.

    'Nah,'Jessica said. 'Although, funny you should mention it, I have seen a manand a little girl hanging around my house. I should call the police.'

    Byrnelaughed. 'Speaking of which, how are you adjusting to the new house?'

    'Well,besides tripping over the furniture and spinning in place for five minutesbecause there's nowhere to put a cup of coffee down, it's great.'

    'Isit that much smaller?'

    Jessicanodded. 'It's a lot like the house I grew up in. Same layout. The only problemis, I was a lot smaller then.'

    'What,like a size four?'

    'Smartass.'

    Byrne'sphone beeped in his hand. He looked at the screen, read for a moment, smiled.

    'It'sa text from Colleen,' he said. 'She wanted me to know she got back from D.C.okay.'

    Jessicanodded. 'Wow,' she said. 'Colleen in college.'

    'Don'tremind me.'

    Byrnepicked up a tall stack of mail that was rubber-banded together on the desk. Itlooked like two weeks' worth of correspondence, mostly junk. Jessica wanted tomention to her partner that it was probably a good idea to check the inbox oncein a while, but she figured he knew this.

    AsByrne went through the pile, throwing most of the mail in the trash can,Jessica smelled the perfumed letter before she saw it. The scent was jasmine.Byrne held up the envelope, eyed it, sniffed it. It was the size of a personalnote card, maybe four by six inches. Expensive-looking paper.

    'Anote from an admirer?' Jessica asked. 'As if,' Byrne replied.

    'It'sthe charcoal gray suit, Kevin. I'm telling you.' Byrne pulled a letter openeroff the desk, slit the envelope, extracted the card.

    Asmuch as Jessica wanted to pry, she stepped a few feet away, giving her partnera little privacy, shoving everything she needed to take with her into her totebag. When she looked again at Byrne, he was bone pale. Something was wrong.

    'Whatis it?' Jessica asked.

    Byrneremained silent.

    'Kevin.'

    Byrnewaited a few moments, then took Jessica by the arm, led her to the small coffeeroom, closed the door. He handed her the card. It was printed on a luxuriouspaper, ivory in color. The scent of jasmine was now much stronger. Jessica puton her glasses, read the note, a brief message written in an elegant hand. Theink was lavender.

    Mydearest Detective Byrne,

    Ithas been a long time, n'est-ce pas? I wonder how you have fared. Do you thinkof me? I think of you often. In fact I dreamed of you the other night. It wasthe first time in years. You looked quite dashing in your dark overcoat andblack fedora. You carried an umbrella with a carved ivory handle. Do you carryan umbrella as a rule? No, I would think not.

    Sotell me. Have you found them yet? The lion and the rooster and the swan? Arethere others? You might think they do not play together, but they do. I hopeyou are well, and that the future brings you every happiness. I am no longerscared.

    -C

    Jessicawas stunned. She read the note a second time, the rich scent filling her head.

    'Areyou fucking kidding me?' she finally said in a loud whisper. 'The lionand the rooster and the swan?'

    Byrneremained silent.

    'Whothe hell sent this, Kevin? Who is C?'

    Byrneturned the envelope over and over in his hands, searching for words. Words wereusually his strong suit. He always chose them carefully. He was good at it.

    Hetold her the story.

Chapter 39

    Jessicalooked at her partner. She wasn't sure how long she had been staring at himwithout saying anything, her mouth open, eyebrows raised. Then all she couldmuster was one word. 'Wow.'

    Byrnesaid nothing.

    'Iremember her,' Jessica said. 'I mean, I remember the story. I think my fathertalked about it. Plus, it was all over the news for a while.' Although she'dbeen in high school at the time she and her friends had discussed the case,mainly because it involved sex, violence and celebrity.

    InNovember 1990 a woman named Christa-Marie Schönburg, a cellist with thePhiladelphia Orchestra, was arrested and charged in the murder of a man namedGabriel Thorne. According to the news reports, Thorne was Christa-Marie'spsychiatrist, but there was a great deal of speculation at the time as towhether or not they were romantically involved, even though Thorne had beenChrista-Marie's caregiver since she was a child and was three decades hersenior. If Jessica remembered correctly, Christa-Marie confessed to second-degreemurder, diminished capacity, and was sentenced to twenty-to-life in the women'sfacility at the State Correctional Institution at Muncy.

    'Thatwas your first case?' Jessica asked.

    Byrnenodded. 'My first as a lead detective, yeah. I was partnered with Jimmy.'

    JimmyPurify, his rabbi in the homicide unit, had been Byrne's partner beforeJessica.

    'Idon't understand,' Jessica said. 'Is Christa-Marie still in Muncy?'

    'No,'Byrne said. 'She was released a few years ago. The last I heard she's stillliving in the Chestnut Hill house.'

    Jessicadecided not to ask her partner why he knew all this. It was not all thatuncommon for detectives to keep track of people they had arrested and convictedof crimes. What surprised Jessica was that she had known none of this.

    'Haveyou spoken to her since her release?'

    'No.'

    'Hasshe tried to contact you before this?'

    'Notthat I know of.'

    Jessicatook a few beats. She looked again at the handwriting on the note. It did notlook like the penmanship of someone deranged. 'Is she, how do I put this ...better now?'