Still, she thought better of telling him of her foolish suspicions during that fleeting moment in Hyde Park. The suspicion had come and gone like a bird flying in through an open window and out another. No big deal. Funny, really. Perhaps, one day, she might tell him, so that he might see clearly and exactly the bad sort he'd become involved with. But not now, not here. She feared spoiling what they had only just found.
The phone rang, and Jessica found Chief Inspector Boulte on the other end. “I've gathered together every available detective, policeman, and investigator in and out of Scotland Yard who has devoted any time at all to the case, and it has amounted to some one hundred and fifty chaps and ladies, all of whom I wish for you to speak to this morning.”
“Speak to… today?”
“As soon as you can get here, yes.”
“About what we've uncovered thus far about the Crucifier? “Exactly.”
“You know how very little that is, Chief Inspector.”
He cleared his throat before replying, “I do, but our chaps need some guidance, and that is what you are here for, correct? Haven't you developed a complete picture-profile-of the killer as yet?”
“I have some preliminary notes, but-”
“Good show, then read from your notes. See you in half an hour, then?”
He hung up before she could protest with another word.
Jessica quickly dressed now in a lime green two-piece suit with a forest-green blouse. The colors accentuated her auburn hair and set off her smooth, tanned skin and hazel eyes. She located her black valise and keys and set off for the stroll from the York to the Yard.
The morning air felt crisp, clean, and brand-new, and the sun felt like the life-giving source that it was. All around her, life appeared bright, teemed full with promise, and Jessica realized that her dream of telephoning Parry had been a compensatory dream. Compensating for her true feelings of relief that it was finally and cleanly over with James. While she cherished their most intimate and fun-filled moments together, she, too, had felt the weight of their relationship like heavy chains of late. Her entire body now felt airy. Still a lump of remorse stuck in her craw, a set of smoky, mirrored images of James and her together in past moments, embracing; images of them in an imagined future. This sad and wasted hope conspired with her unease at presenting what little evidence they had against the Crucifier at an open meeting at Scotland Yard. It proved enough to make her feel nauseous. Her stomach felt as if someone had left a hot poker inside her.
She tried to concentrate on her surroundings, ban the ill thoughts, doubts, and fears. This area of London displayed wealth and pomp on every comer, at every hotel door and lobby, even down to what the doormen wore. Public pounds kept this area of the City clean day and night. The vagrants were kept out, leaving tourists with the impression that Britain suffered no homeless problem, no poverty, prostitution, or drugs. All social ills locked away or kept at bay, just beyond the tourist-dollar districts.
Jessica watched London cabs and buses and people bustle about the streets. Each had a purpose, a sure destination; while she, like a rank tourist, stared at all the wonders of the City. Suddenly a strange, odd, eerie twinge of fear struck like small lightning down her spine, as if the Crucifier were close by, damned near within touch, simply observing her out of morbid curiosity, having learned of her presence on the case. Yet when she stopped to look in every direction, staring down one cabdriver, she found no one stalking her, no cameras pointed.
She dismissed the notion and continued on to Scotland Yard, finally coming within sight of the revolving cube-shaped sign. At the entry, she flashed both her FBI badge and her temporary Scotland Yard ID and was allowed to pass by the armed security guards.
She didn't relish the idea of speaking before the huge crowd Boulte had assembled, and she wondered where in the building such a crowd might be stored. She stepped back to the guards, asking advice. One of the pair, in his late twenties to early thirties, said she must take the elevator for the top floor. “Entire top floor is a theater with a stage,” he told her.
When the elevator opened on the top floor of the building, she found people in suits milling so thick that she had to fight her way off the elevator before the doors closed on her. She'd found the meeting room, a large lecture hall with a microphone and chairs set up before a table at the front.
Richard Sharpe, Stuart Copperwaite, Father Luc Sante, and Paul Boulte sat at the panel table, all of them looking sharply up at her as she entered. There was an expectant look on Boulte's face, like a pit bull before feeding. Luc Sante gave her a professional nod and a beaming smile. Copperwaite bit his own lower lip, and Richard dropped his gaze, as if pretending no interest in her whatsoever.
Just as it should be, she thought before plunking down her valise at her feet and a small notebook on the table.
“Good, Dr. Coran,” said Boulte. “Glad you could join us. I've informed Dr. Coran that we wish to share all we have with the citywide task force, including but not limited to the information Dr. Coran unearthed regarding the tongues, and the meaning of the words found on those brands. We may proceed now, gentlemen and ladies.”
“I would first like to make a call to Dr. Raehael,” Jessica interrupted. “I have put him to work on creating some slides from the wounds. They may be helpful here.”
'Time being a factor, I took the liberty. Here are your slides,” replied Boulte, who with an upturned finger signaled someone in the dark rear of the room to bring up slide number one. Instantly, the murmurs and scattered discussions among the assembled police authorities fell to a dying hush as everyone stared at the seared flesh and lettering found on the fourth victim's tongue, the best impression they had been able to get. The words, large on the screen behind Jessica and the panel, reading Mihi beata mater held an eerie quality about them in their grand scale.
The room fell silent, seeing for the first time the words of the Crucifier. No one had anything to say, not a single question regarding the tongue brandings. So Jessica, after asking Dr. Luc Sante to explain the meaning of the words to everyone, moved straight into her profiling of the killer or killers.
“The suspect or suspects will most likely be white, a man or men who live in the Bow Bells district, and most certainly London, and if he does not have a Messiah complex, it will be just as twisted or just as closely linked with one.” She stopped to let this sink in. The response from the audience was one of whispered heckling, as if what she said must be obvious to all present. Some brave fellow finally said, “Really now?”
Another asked, “Is that an absolute certainty?” The tone alone ridiculed.
“The killer may have developed some interest in St. Michael, patron saint of the exorcists, and so as you can imagine, he likely spends a great deal of time on religious matters. Still, he may exhibit an emotional age of late teens to early twenties. He likely lives or works within close proximity to the crime scene, or in this case the dump sites. He may have recently acquired some knowledge or a psychological jolt to his system, some shocking news, as in the death of a close family member, the breakup of a long-standing relationship, perhaps a divorce or loss of income.” She unconsciously stopped and eyed Richard. Then she hurried on, adding, “He may be a spontaneous person with a quick temper. He may take great pride in his vehicle.” She read her own notes and paused, not sure she herself believed this one. The typical profile may not apply here, she reminded herself. “Might brag about his van or truck to others, might even joke about how many bodies it can carry. Having left the scene in disarray, we believe him to be a youthful offender, inexperienced at killing. He is known to have been in the Victoria Gardens Embankment-York-front area between three and four in the morning of the first discovered body. Now since the fourth killing, characteristics the killer may be displaying are: a change in eating and drinking habits, and personal hygiene. Inappropriate or obsessive interest in the crimes. The killer may frequently initiate discussion about one or more of the victims and the crimes. Anyone acting like a different person, and anyone who may have suddenly left the area.” Finished, Jessica asked for questions from the floor. She received many. Some seemed oddly repetitious, and she found herself having to repeat herself. She pushed on. “The crucifixion deaths, Sharpe and I surmise”-Jessica paused to stare out at the detectives and beat cops from all over the city-”may have all to do with the coming millennium! As if the year 2000 were not enough, now we face 2001, and together, we'd like everyone to explore this possibility.”