“So my subconscious sort of tracked his?”

“Maybe. It’s certainly a possibility. In any case, we’ve found that the source automatic writing taps into tends to be surprisingly both specific and accurate.”

She eyed him. “Has anybody ever told you that you are a very weird FBI agent?”

“Frequently.”

“I’m not surprised.”

John said, “But he is making sense. At least, I think he is. And none of us has been able to come up with any other explanation for how that note got into your car.”

Jennifer sighed. “Great, that’s just great. Now I not only talk to myself, but my subconscious mind is listening in on other minds.”

“Only under extreme stress,” Quentin reminded her gravely.

She got up. “I’m leaving now. I’m going out on the streets to talk-out loud-to some of the uniforms who patrol the area where Hollis Templeton was found.”

“Still looking for your transient?”

“I’m going to find him, dammit. With absolutely no help from my subconscious.”

Kendra asked, “Mind if I come along? I don’t know if I’ll be any help, since this is your territory rather than mine, but God knows I could use the fresh air and exercise. If I stare at this laptop much longer, I’ll either go to sleep or go nuts.”

Jennifer barely hesitated. “Sure. I’d welcome the company.”

“Don’t get into trouble,” Quentin told his partner.

“Without you along,” she responded politely, “how on earth would I?”

“Ouch,” John murmured.

“She’s mean when she loses sleep,” Quentin told him.

Kendra wiggled her fingers gently at her partner and followed a grinning Jennifer from the room.

Quentin sighed. “I don’t think Jennifer quite bought the automatic-writing explanation. Sometimes I forget how hard this sort of thing is for most people to accept.”

“But you do believe that’s where the note came from?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Then am I wrong in thinking the chances are the rapist was somewhere close by when Jennifer… tuned in on him?”

“You caught that, huh?” Quentin smiled. “Yeah, probably. Distance is usually a factor, so it’s likely he was nearby. That’s why Kendra’s tagging along with Jenn. We don’t figure this is the sort of guy who hangs around police stations because cops fascinate him; if he was here, it was because he was watching someone.”

“Jennifer?”

“Maybe. He might well consider grabbing a cop to be the ultimate challenge.”

“But it could have been any woman entering or leaving this building?”

“Of course. Or any woman in the general area, for that matter. There’s no way to know for sure.”

“Figures.” John looked at his watch again and said restlessly, “I know there hasn’t been a lot of time and virtually no new information, but are you two profilers getting a handle on the way this animal’s mind works?”

Quentin tapped a finger on the legal pad in front of him, where his neat printing filled most of the top page. “Maybe.”

“And?”

“And the bastard likes his work. A lot.”

“Yeah, I got that. Answer me this. Why have victims of his attacks survived when those in 1934 didn’t? I mean, if he’s copying the crimes.”

“Good question. I’d guess he expected them to die; he took care always to leave them in out-of-the-way locations where they were more than likely to remain undiscovered, certainly long enough to bleed to death or die of exposure, especially this time of year. The fact is, those women fought to stay alive, maybe harder than he expected. And after three straight victims survived, he made damned sure Samantha Mitchell wouldn’t, by cutting her throat.”

“If he expected them to die, why bother to blind them?”

“To keep them from seeing. Maybe his face, or maybe something else. He didn’t want them watching him, didn’t want them to see what he did to them. Maybe didn’t want them to know he enjoyed it.”

John’s mouth twisted. “Christ.”

“Yeah. Not a nice boy.”

“Massive understatement.” John was silent for a long time, his gaze moving over the photos and sketches on the bulletin boards. Then, slowly, he said, “Quentin, do you believe in fate?”

“Yep.”

“That was quick.”

Quentin chuckled. “John, when you do the sort of work I do, you get most of your own philosophies and beliefs figured out early on. You bet I believe in fate. I also believe in reincarnation-and the two are definitely connected. Is there a karmic pattern to our lives? You’d better believe it.”

“What about free will?”

“Oh, there’s that too. I never understood why people think they’re mutually exclusive. Ask me, our entire lives aren’t planned out for us-just some things. Specific events along the way, crossroads we’re meant to come to. Tests, maybe, to measure our progress. But we always have choices, and those choices can send us along an unplanned path.”

“And change our fates?”

“I believe so. Still, if you listen to Bishop and Miranda-and I certainly do, though don’t tell them I admitted that-there are some things that are meant to happen at a certain moment and in a certain way. No matter which path you choose, which decisions you make along your own particular journey, those pivotal moments appear to be set in stone. Maybe they represent the specific lessons we’re meant to learn.”

“Set in stone. Things we have to face. Things we have to learn. Responsibilities we have to fulfill. And mistakes we have to correct.” John continued to stare broodingly at the bulletin board.

Quentin watched his friend for a moment, then said quietly, “So that’s it. That’s why Maggie does what she does. Atonement?”

“She says… she’s responsible for the continued existence of this bastard. Because she didn’t stop him once before, as she was meant to.”

“I see. No copycat at all, just the same twisted, evil soul reborn to do his thing one more time.”

John looked at him. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“This isn’t the first time we’ve encountered something along these lines.”

“A reincarnated killer?”

“That’s right.” Quentin’s smile was a bit wry. “Reincarnated, resurrected-or just plain dead and still kicking. An amazingly resilient thing, evil.”

“You’re saying Maggie really is responsible for this?”

“I’m saying the universe might be holding her accountable for it, or for some part of it. Maybe that’s why she was put in this particular place at this particular time and given the abilities she was born with.”

“To suffer? To pay in agony for a mistake she might have made a long time ago?” John was dimly surprised by the harsh sound of his own voice.

“We all pay for our mistakes, John. In this life-or the next. But if you believe that, you also have to believe we’re rewarded when we get it right. Yeah, Maggie’s suffering in this life. She’s also helping other people, easing their suffering. Whether she’s here to correct a mistake or just living another stage in her own spiritual development, I’d say Maggie is earning major bonus points this time around.”

John had to smile, albeit reluctantly. “So she’ll be rewarded in the next life?”

“Hey, maybe she’ll be rewarded later on in this one.”

“If she corrects her past mistake?”

Quentin shrugged. “Maybe. Then again, Maggie might already have balanced her books with the universe, John, despite the sense of responsibility she still feels. We have no way of knowing what’s expected of us.”

“Not even seers?”

“Not even seers.”

After a moment, John said, “That really sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

*

Long after Maggie left her, Hollis sat as she usually did, her face turned toward the window. She wondered idly if, after tomorrow, she’d still be able to hear as acutely as she did now. She could hear the cop out in the hall shift in the chair where he sat. She could hear the elevators at the end of the hall as the cars passed this floor on their journeys up and down. She could hear the murmur of somebody’s television. Outside and several floors down, she could hear the busy swish of traffic.