“Explore it how?” came another British-accented question from the group.
“Yes, how do you mean that. Doctor?” came the confusion.
A deep breath and she replied, “Primarily, we're asking that you be attuned to it.”
“How do you mean, precisely, 'attuned to it'?” came back an instant response from the seats.
Damn but some of their questions seem of the idiot fringe, she nastily thought, then calmly said, “Read up on the coming 'true' millennium, the actual, honest to goodness one: 2001. Any deaths by cult members, any suicides relative to a cult practice and the beliefs associated with this notion we are at last on doomsday's doorstep. And don't forget anything to do with St. Michael or a St. Michael's cult you may stumble over.”
“I see,” replied the last questioner. “Like your Hale-Bhopal thing in America?”
“Hale-Bhopp,” she gently corrected.
Stuart Copperwaite cleared his throat and helped Jessica out. “There's enough evidence to imply that our man, or men, are engaged in some sort of bizarre ritual surrounding the events that took the life of Christ. In the year of Our Lord's two thousandth birthday, 2001.. well, gentlemen and ladies, figure it out.”
“So, it's as we thought before we got outside help,” Chief Inspector Boulte said rather caustically and clumsily.
“Except that now we 'ave four victims of crucifixion murders, instead of three,” said a female inspector from the floor. Another woman chimed in with, “We've got ourselves another freaking Jesus freak, that's sure.”
“Agreed, our killer has a Messiah complex,” Sharpe softly added.
“Not just any old Jesus freak,” suggested Copperwaite.
“A far more dangerous one this time around,” cautioned Jessica. “One who indeed acts on his fantasy, and as we all know, religious fantasy-even in the hands of the supposed knowledgeable 'authorities' such as the Inquisition, this sort of perversion of religious beliefs can be absolute in its madness. We can't worry ourselves with a motive that only the killer comprehends.”
“So what do we do now?” asked a heavyset detective, between moments of working a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the next.
“Yes, you want us to be on the lookout for hippies and skinheads or just what?” came the questions from the floor.
Jessica gently urged, “Be in tune with the killer as much as possible.”
“And precisely how do we do that, mum… ahhh, Doctor?” asked another in an aggrieved tone. “What do you think of this, Sharpe?”
Jessica held a hand up to Sharpe before he could answer, and said, “You have to climb into his head. Be him.”
Sharpe said, “Dr. Coran has made extreme strides ahead in the investigation, helping us out tremendously in a short matter of days. We expect to follow up on the leads she has provided.”
Boulte put a prompt end to Jessica's question and answer period when he called upon Father Jerrard Luc Sante to take the podium to discuss the killer and his profile from Luc Sante's point of view. Jessica picked up her paltry notes and the forensic reports she had yet to complete and made her way to her seat. She herself felt great interest in what Jerrard Luc Sante might add to the picture. Luc Sante clambered to his feet with a cane in his hand, which he used for pointing at the slide still displayed on the wall behind him. He repeated the words, “Mihi beata mater,” jabbing each word with the end of his black cane. “It's a grave morning to you all, lads, gentlemen, ladies of the law,” began Luc Sante, his eyes giving away that powerful light of energy that Jessica believed marked him as a passionate individual. “I pity you your profession. What you must deal with on a daily basis. You are the vanguard, the army set against evil in this age. Now, today, we must explore this possibility that Dr. Coran has spoken of, this cult slant to the crime. Cults and cultism, I fear, are all too real. Throughout the Bible and throughout history, cults have thrived among us as freely as disease and domesticated dogs, and the more dangerous the cult is can be judged by how often and to what degree the cult threatens the life of its own followers or members of society at large.”
He allowed this to sink in. His intonation, his rich, redolent voice, filled the room. Once more Jessica felt a strong affinity with the wise old one.
“Many interesting human traits are put to the test at a time like this, at and around the turn of the ordinary century, but this… None of us knows of anyone who has been 'stressed' by a coming millennia-twice if you will, given the millennium readiness first made for the year 2000, and now for 2001. Still, we already know that millennia mania and cruel phobias surrounding this portentous time are rising out of control, beyond anything we've seen before.”
Luc Sante had the undivided attention of every man and woman in the room as he discussed the possibilities in some detail. “The killer or killers may be fixated on the coming of year 2001.” He separated each word for emphasis. “And the possibility the killer or killers are trying to hurry along Christ's Second Coming is hardly out of the question.” He banged his cane down and it sounded like a gunshot.
This was met with murmurs, a general disquiet, some snickers. Jessica tried to imagine what a police precinct in Chicago, L.A., New York, or Miami would do with such “news” from this expert.
Luc Sante judged the level of suspicion and disbelief, and then he added, “Belief in a millennial experience that will bring Christ to reign again on Earth, ladies and gentlemen, is based on the Resurrection story and the Bible's own Book of Revelation, and this belief recurs throughout the history of Christianity. Hedging their bets, the Catholic Church has made the year 2001 a jubilee year, as they had 2000, and the Adventists and several other conservative, evangelical groups take it even more seriously.”
“Pardon, Dr. Luc Sante,” interrupted Boulte. “Father, are you saying what I think you're saying?”
Luc Sante pushed on, adding, “Christ's Second Coming has always been just over the next horizon. Well, the actual date of the millennium is one hell of a horizon, my friends.”
At eleven in the morning, Boulte called a halt to the meeting, encouraging everyone with a quip, “Do keep a sharp lookout for anyone impersonating Jesus H. Christ, lads.”
The assembled investigators, some 160 of them, filed out of the largest room in the Yard's facility, in abject silence or confused murmurs.
Boulte took Luc Sante's hand, shook it vigorously, and turned to Jessica and Sharpe, while Copperwaite stood a bit off to one side. Boulte said simply, “I've put all my trust in you people. Dr. Coran, Dr. Luc Sante, Sharpe. Get me some results and quickly.”