It seemed a sound line of reasoning; and with small scratching sounds, Kreizler put these points on his pad, to be transferred later to the big chalkboard at Number 808 Broadway.

"All right, then," Marcus went on. "If we a.s.sume that our man's about thirty now, and that he finished school at fifteen or younger, then he's had another fifteen years to evolve both his writing and his personality. It doesn't look like that's been a particularly pleasant time. To begin with, and as we've already guessed, he's an inveterate liar and schemer-he actually knows his grammar and his spelling, but he's gone pretty far out of his way to try to make us think that he doesn't. See, up here, at the top of the note, he's written 'straten,' along with 'figger' and 'occashun.' He's had the idea that maybe he can get us to believe that he's ignorant, but he's slipped up-at the bottom, he writes that after he s.n.a.t.c.hed Giorgio he took him 'straight to the bridge,' and he has no trouble spelling it."

"One can only a.s.sume," Kreizler mused, "that by the end of the letter he's concerned with making his point, rather than with playing games."

"Exactly, Doctor," Marcus said. "So his writing is extremely natural. The fact that the misspellings are intentional is also indicated by his script-the false pa.s.sages are much more hesitating and less certain. The t t's in particular lack the hard, slas.h.i.+ng definition that they have in the rest of the writing. His grammar reveals the same point: in some spots he tries to mimic the talk of an uneducated farmhand-'I seen seen your boy,' and whatnot-but then he can let off a sentence like, 'He died unsoiled by me, and the papers ought to say so.' It's completely inconsistent-but, a.s.suming he checked back over the thing after writing it, he failed to spot the inconsistency. That indicates that, while he's unquestionably a capable planner, he may have an exaggerated opinion of his own cleverness." your boy,' and whatnot-but then he can let off a sentence like, 'He died unsoiled by me, and the papers ought to say so.' It's completely inconsistent-but, a.s.suming he checked back over the thing after writing it, he failed to spot the inconsistency. That indicates that, while he's unquestionably a capable planner, he may have an exaggerated opinion of his own cleverness."

After another sip of Pilsener Marcus lit a cigarette and continued, his words finally starting to emerge at a relaxed pace: "Up to this point, we're on pretty solid ground. All this is good science, and would stand up in a court of law. Age about thirty, several years of decent schooling, a deliberate attempt at deception-no judge would reject it. Now, however, things become less clear-cut. Are any traits of character betrayed by the script itself? A lot of handwriting a.n.a.lysts believe that all people, not just criminals, reveal their basic att.i.tudes during the physical act of writing, regardless of what words are actually written. Macleod's done a lot of work in this area, and I think it may be useful to apply his principles here."

A sudden shout of "Jesus Christ, I never seen a fat man move like that in my life life!" came from across the terrace, and I was about to make another request for quiet when I saw my friends already attending to the job. Marcus was then free to proceed: "First of all, the slas.h.i.+ng downstrokes and the extreme angularity of a lot of the characters suggest a man who's pretty tormented-he's under enormous inner tension of some kind, and it can't find any vent other than anger. In fact, the thrusting, snapping motion of the hand-you see it, here?-is so p.r.o.nounced that a tendency toward physical violence, and maybe even sadism, is pretty safe to a.s.sume. But it gets more complicated than that, because there are other, contrasting elements. In the high register, what's called the 'upper zone' of the writing, you can see these florid little wanderings of the pen. They usually indicate a writer with imagination. In the lower zones, on the other hand, there's a fair amount of confusion-it's most apparent in the tendency to place the loops of letters like g g and and f f on the wrong side of the stem. It doesn't happen every time, but the fact that it keeps happening is important, given that he's been trained in penmans.h.i.+p and is at all other times very deliberate and very calculating." on the wrong side of the stem. It doesn't happen every time, but the fact that it keeps happening is important, given that he's been trained in penmans.h.i.+p and is at all other times very deliberate and very calculating."

"Excellent," Kreizler judged; yet I noticed his pen wasn't moving. "But I wonder, Detective Sergeant, if these last elements could not have been divined from the contents of the note, as well as from your initial and somewhat more scientific a.n.a.lysis of the handwriting?"

Marcus smiled and nodded. "Probably. And that shows why the so-called art of reading personality into handwriting hasn't been accepted as a science yet. But I thought it'd be useful to include the observations, because they at least show no marked inconsistency between the content and the script of the note. If it were a fake, you'd almost certainly find that kind of a gap." Kreizler accepted the statement with a nod, though he still didn't write any of it down. "Well, that about does it for the handwriting," Marcus concluded, as he pulled out his vial of carbon powder. "I'm just going to dust the edges of the paper itself for fingerprints and make sure we get a match."

As he did so, Lucius, who'd been scrutinizing the envelope, spoke up: "There's nothing particularly revealing about the postmark. The thing was sent from the Old Post Office by City Hall, but our man probably traveled to get there. He's careful enough to expect that the postmark will be examined. But we can't rule out the possibility that he lives in the City Hall area."

Marcus had pulled a set of photographed prints from his pocket, and was holding them against the now smudged letter.

"Um-hmm," he noised. "A match." And as he said it the unrealistic but flickering hope that the note was a forgery was snuffed out.

"Which leaves us," Kreizler said, "with the considerable task of interpreting the contents." He pulled out his watch and checked the time-nearly nine. "It might be better if our minds were fresh, but..."

"Yes," Sara said, her balance finally restored, "but." "but."

We all knew what the "but" was-our killer wasn't factoring rest periods for his pursuers into his schedule. With that pressing thought in mind, we got up to depart for Number 808 Broadway, where coffee would be brewed. Whatever engagements any of us had been foolish enough to make for later in the evening were implicitly canceled.

As we left the terrace, Laszlo touched my arm, indicating that he wanted a private word. "I had hoped that I was wrong, John," he said, as the others went ahead. "And I still may be, but-I've suspected from the beginning that our man has been observing our efforts. If I'm right he probably followed Mrs. Santorelli to Mulberry Street and kept careful track of whom she spoke to. Sara says she translated the note for the unfortunate woman near the front steps of the building-the killer, if he was there, could not have missed their discussion. He may have followed Sara here; he may be watching us right now." I spun to look at Union Square and the blocks around us, but Kreizler pulled me back in a jerk. "Don't-he won't be visible, and I don't want any of the others to suspect this. Especially Sara. It may affect their work. But you and I should heighten all precautions."

"But-watching us? Why?" us? Why?"

"Vanity, perhaps," Laszlo answered. "Desperation, as well."

I was dumbfounded. "You say you've suspected all along?"

Kreizler nodded as we began to follow the others. "Since we found that bloodstained rag in the calash on the very first day. The torn page that was wrapped up in it was-"

"Was an article of yours," I said quickly. "Or so I guessed."

"Yes," Laszlo answered. "The killer must have been observing the bridge anchor at the time I was called to the scene. I suspect that the page was his way of acknowledging acknowledging me, somehow. And mocking me, too." me, somehow. And mocking me, too."

"But how can you be sure it was definitely the killer who left it?" I asked, looking for a way to avoid the harrowing conclusion that we had been, at least intermittently, under the scrutiny of a murderer.

"The rag," Kreizler explained. "Though bloodied and soiled, the material bore a striking resemblance to that of the Santorelli boy's chemise-which, if you recall, was missing a sleeve."

Ahead of us, Sara had begun to look over her shoulder inquisitively, prompting Laszlo to pick up his pace. "Remember, Moore," he said. "Not a word to the rest of them."

Kreizler rushed up to Sara, leaving me to steal one more very nervous glance at the dark expanse of Union Square Park across Fourth Avenue.

The stakes, as they say, were rising.

CHAPTER 21.

First of all," Kreizler announced, as we came into our headquarters that night and began to settle ourselves at our desks, "I think we can finally dispense with one lingering uncertainty." At the top right-hand corner of the chalkboard, under the ASPECTS OF THE CRIMES ASPECTS OF THE CRIMES heading, sat the word heading, sat the word ALONE ALONE, with a question mark after it-a question mark that Laszlo now removed. We were already relatively certain that our killer had no accomplices: no pair or team of confederates, we'd reasoned, could have engaged in such behavior for a period of years without some one of them revealing it. During the initial phase of the investigation the only catch to this theory had been the question of how one man on his own could have negotiated the walls and rooftops of the various disorderly houses and murder sites; Marcus, however, had taken care of that problem. Thus, while the use of the p.r.o.noun "I" in the letter was not conclusive in and of itself, it seemed, when taken in conjunction with these other facts, definitive evidence that a solitary man was at work.

We all nodded a.s.sent to this reasoning, and Kreizler went on: "Now, then-to the salutation. Why 'My dear Mrs. Santorelli'?" Mrs. Santorelli'?"

"Could be habit of form," Marcus answered. "It would be consistent with his schooling."

"'My dear'?" Sara queried. "Wouldn't schoolchildren learn just 'dear'?" dear'?" Sara queried. "Wouldn't schoolchildren learn just 'dear'?"

"Sara's right," said Lucius. "It's overly affectionate and informal. He knows his letter is going to devastate the woman, and he's enjoying it. He's playing with her, s.a.d.i.s.tically."

"Agreed," Kreizler said, underlining the word SADISM SADISM, which was already written on the right-hand side of the board.

"And I'd like to point out, Doctor," Lucius added with conviction, "that this further demonstrates the nature of his hunting." (Lucius had lately become firmly convinced that our killer's apparent anatomical knowledge arose from his being an accomplished hunter, because of the stalking nature of many of his activities.) "We've already dealt with the blood-l.u.s.t aspect-but the toying confirms something else, something beyond even blood-crazed hunting. It's a sporting mentality."

Laszlo weighed it. "Your argument is sound, Detective Sergeant," he said, writing SPORTSMAN SPORTSMAN so that it bridged the so that it bridged the CHILDHOOD CHILDHOOD and and INTERVAL INTERVAL areas. "But I'll need a bit more convincing"-he chalked on a question mark after the word-"given the prerequisite and its implications." areas. "But I'll need a bit more convincing"-he chalked on a question mark after the word-"given the prerequisite and its implications."

The prerequisite for the killer's being a sportsman, put simply, was a certain amount of leisure time in his youth, when he could have engaged in hunting not only for survival, but for pleasure, as well. This, in turn, implied either that he had an upper-cla.s.s urban background (the upper being the only real leisure cla.s.s in the city in those days before child labor laws, when even middle-cla.s.s parents tended to work their offspring long hours), or that he had been brought up in a rural area. Each a.s.sumption would have narrowed our search significantly, and Laszlo needed to be completely certain of our reasoning before he would accept either of them.

"As for his opening statement," Kreizler went on. "Aside from the p.r.o.nounced emphasis on 'lies'-"

"That word has been retraced several times," Marcus cut in. "There's a lot of feeling behind it."

"Then lies are not a new phenomenon for him," Sara extrapolated. "You get the feeling he's all too familiar with dishonesty and hypocrisy."

"And yet is still outraged by them," Kreizler said. "Any theories?"

"It ties in with the boys," I offered. "In the first place, they're dressed up as girls-a kind of deceit. Also, they're wh.o.r.es, and they're supposed to be compliant-but we know that the ones he killed could be troublesome."

"Good," Kreizler said with a nod. "So he doesn't like misrepresentation. Yet he's a liar himself-we need an explanation for that."

"He's learned," Sara said simply. "He's been exposed to dishonesty, surrounded by it perhaps, and he does hate it-but he's picked it up as a method of getting by."

"And you only do that kind of learning once," I added. "It's the same thing as the violence: he saw it, he didn't like it, but he learned it. The law of habit and interest, just like Professor James says-our minds work on the basis of self-interest, the survival of the organism, and our habitual ways of pursuing that interest become defined when we're children and adolescents."

Lucius had grabbed volume one of James's Principles Principles and leafed to a page: "'The character has set like plaster,'" he quoted, holding a finger up, "'never to soften again.'" and leafed to a page: "'The character has set like plaster,'" he quoted, holding a finger up, "'never to soften again.'"

"Even if...?" Kreizler asked, drawing him out.

"Even if," Lucius answered quickly, flipping a page and scanning it with his finger, "those habits become counterproductive in adulthood. Here: 'Habit dooms us all to fight out the battle of life upon the lines of our nurture or our early choice, and to make the best of a pursuit that disagrees, because there is no other for which we are fitted, and it is too late to begin again.'"

"A spirited reading, Detective Sergeant," Kreizler observed, "but we need examples. We have postulated an original violent experience or experiences, perhaps s.e.xual in nature"-Laszlo indicated a small blank square in the CHILDHOOD CHILDHOOD section of the board that was boxed off and subheaded section of the board that was boxed off and subheaded THE MOLDING VIOLENCE AND THE MOLDING VIOLENCE AND/OR MOLESTATION-"which we suspect form the basis of his understanding and practice of such behavior. But what of the very strong emotions centered on dishonesty? Can we do the same?"

I shrugged. "Obviously, he might himself have been accused of it. Unjustly, in all likelihood. Perhaps frequently."

"Sound," Kreizler answered, chalking the word DISHONESTY DISHONESTY, and then beneath it, BRANDED A LIAR BRANDED A LIAR, on the left-hand side of the board.

"And then there's the family situation," Sara added. "There's a lot of lying that goes on in a family. Adultery is probably the first thing we think of, but-"

"But it doesn't tie in to the violence," Kreizler finished. "And I suspect that it must. Could the dishonesty apply to to the violence-to violent incidents that were deliberately concealed and remained unacknowledged both inside and outside the family?" the violence-to violent incidents that were deliberately concealed and remained unacknowledged both inside and outside the family?"

"Certainly," Lucius said. "And it would be all the worse if the image image of the family was something very different." of the family was something very different."

Kreizler smiled with real satisfaction. "Precisely. Then if we have an outwardly respectable father who at the very least beats his wife and children..."

Lucius's face screwed up a bit. "I didn't necessarily mean a father. It could have been anyone in the family."

Laszlo waved him off. "The father would be the greatest betrayal."

"Not the mother?" Sara said carefully. And there was more in the question than just the subject at hand: at that moment it seemed that she was trying to read Laszlo as much as the killer.

"There's no literature to suggest it," Kreizler answered. "The recent findings of Breuer and Freud on hysteria point to prep.u.b.ertal s.e.xual abuse by the father father in nearly every case." in nearly every case."

"With all due respect, Dr. Kreizler," Sara protested, "Breuer and Freud seem fairly confused about the meaning of their findings. Freud began by a.s.suming s.e.xual abuse as the basis for all hysteria, but recently he seems to have altered that view, and decided that fantasies fantasies concerning abuse may be the actual cause." concerning abuse may be the actual cause."

"Indeed," Kreizler acknowledged. "There is much that remains unclear in their work. I myself cannot accept the single-minded emphasis on s.e.x-to the exclusion even of violence. But look at it from an empirical standpoint, Sara-how many households have you known that were ruled by dominating, violent mothers?"

Sara shrugged. "There is more than one kind of violence, Doctor-but I shall have more to say about that when we reach the end of the letter."

Kreizler had already written VIOLENT BUT OUTWARDLY RESPECTABLE FATHER VIOLENT BUT OUTWARDLY RESPECTABLE FATHER on the left-hand side of the board, and seemed ready, even anxious, to move on. "This entire first paragraph," he said, slapping at the note. "Despite its deliberate misspellings, it has a consistent tone." on the left-hand side of the board, and seemed ready, even anxious, to move on. "This entire first paragraph," he said, slapping at the note. "Despite its deliberate misspellings, it has a consistent tone."

"You get that immediately," Marcus answered. "He's already decided in his mind that there are a lot of people after him."

"I think I know what you're driving at, Doctor," Lucius said, again rifling through the stack of books and papers on his desk. "One of the articles you gave us to read, the one you translated yourself...ah!" He yanked one set of papers free. "Here-Dr. Krafft-Ebing. He discusses 'intellectual monomania,' as well as what the Germans call 'primare Verrucktheit,' 'primare Verrucktheit,' and argues for replacing both terms with the word 'paranoia.'" and argues for replacing both terms with the word 'paranoia.'"

Kreizler nodded as he wrote the word PARANOID PARANOID on the on the INTERVAL INTERVAL section of the board: "Feelings, perhaps even delusions, of persecution that have taken root after some traumatic emotional experience or set of experiences, but which do not result in dementia-Krafft-Ebing's admirably succinct definition, and it does seem to fit. I very much doubt that our man is in a deluded state as yet, but his behavior is probably quite antisocial, nevertheless. Which does not mean that we seek a misanthrope-that would be too simple." section of the board: "Feelings, perhaps even delusions, of persecution that have taken root after some traumatic emotional experience or set of experiences, but which do not result in dementia-Krafft-Ebing's admirably succinct definition, and it does seem to fit. I very much doubt that our man is in a deluded state as yet, but his behavior is probably quite antisocial, nevertheless. Which does not mean that we seek a misanthrope-that would be too simple."

"Couldn't the murders themselves satisfy the antisocial drive?" Sara asked. "Leaving him, the rest of the time, outwardly normal and-well, partic.i.p.atory, functional?"

"Perhaps even overly overly functional," Kreizler agreed. "This will not be a man who, in the opinion of his neighbors, could slaughter children and claim to have eaten them." Kreizler jotted these ideas down and then faced us again. "And so-we arrive at the second and even more extraordinary paragraph." functional," Kreizler agreed. "This will not be a man who, in the opinion of his neighbors, could slaughter children and claim to have eaten them." Kreizler jotted these ideas down and then faced us again. "And so-we arrive at the second and even more extraordinary paragraph."

"One thing it tells us right away," Marcus p.r.o.nounced. "He hasn't traveled much abroad. I don't know what he's been reading, but widespread cannibalism hasn't been seen in Europe lately. They'll eat just about anything else, but not each other. Although you can never be quite sure about the Germans..." Marcus caught himself and glanced at Kreizler. "Oh. No offense intended, Doctor," he said.

Lucius clapped a hand to his forehead, but Kreizler only smiled wryly. The Isaacsons' idiosyncrasies no longer perplexed him in any way. "No offense taken, Detective Sergeant-you can, indeed, never be certain about the Germans. But if we accept that his travel has been limited to the United States, what are we to make of your theory that his mountaineering skills indicate a European heritage?"

Marcus shrugged. "First-generation American. The parents were immigrants."

Sara drew a quick breath. "'Dirty immigrants'!"

Kreizler's face filled with gratification again. "Indeed," he said, writing IMMIGRANT PARENTS IMMIGRANT PARENTS on the left side of the chalkboard. "The phrase resounds with loathing, doesn't it? It's the kind of hatred that generally has a specific root, obscure though it may be. In this case, he probably had a troubled relations.h.i.+p with one or both parents early on, and eventually grew to despise everything about them-including their heritage." on the left side of the chalkboard. "The phrase resounds with loathing, doesn't it? It's the kind of hatred that generally has a specific root, obscure though it may be. In this case, he probably had a troubled relations.h.i.+p with one or both parents early on, and eventually grew to despise everything about them-including their heritage."

"Yet it's his own heritage, too," I said. "That might account for some of the savagery toward the children. It's self-loathing, as if he's trying to clean the dirt out of himself."

"An interesting phrase, John," Kreizler answered. "And one we shall return to. But there is one more practical question to be answered here. Given the hunting and the mountaineering, and now the supposition that he has not been abroad, can we say anything about the geographical background?"

"Same thing as before," Lucius replied. "Either a rich city family, or the countryside."

"Detective Sergeant?" Laszlo said to Marcus. "Would any one region be better than another for this training?"

Marcus shook his head. "You could learn it anywhere that had appreciable rock formations-which means a lot of places in the United States."

"Hmmm," Laszlo agreed, with some disappointment. "Not much help there. Let's let it lie for now and go back to that second paragraph. The language itself would seem to support your theory concerning the 'upper-zone flourishes' of the handwriting, Marcus. This is indeed an imaginative tale."

"That's a h.e.l.l of an imagination," I said.

"True, John," Kreizler answered. "Without doubt, excessive and morbid."

Lucius snapped his fingers at that. "Wait," he said, again going for his books. "I'm remembering something-"

"Sorry, Lucius," Sara called, with one of her curling little smiles. "I've beaten you to it." She held up an open medical journal. "This fits in with the dishonesty discussion, Doctor," she went on. "In his article 'A Schedule for the Study of Mental Abnormalities in Children,' Dr. Meyer lists some of the warning signs for predicting future dangerous behavior-excessive imagination is one of them." She read from the article, which had appeared in the Handbook of the Illinois Society for Child-Study Handbook of the Illinois Society for Child-Study in February of 1895: "'Normally children can reproduce voluntarily all sorts of mental pictures in the dark. This becomes abnormal when the mental pictures become an obsession, i.e., cannot be suppressed. Especially pictures that create fear and unpleasant feelings are apt to become excessively strong.'" Sara emphasized the final sentence of the quotation: "'Excessive imagination may lead to the construction of lies and the irresistible impulse to play them on others.'" in February of 1895: "'Normally children can reproduce voluntarily all sorts of mental pictures in the dark. This becomes abnormal when the mental pictures become an obsession, i.e., cannot be suppressed. Especially pictures that create fear and unpleasant feelings are apt to become excessively strong.'" Sara emphasized the final sentence of the quotation: "'Excessive imagination may lead to the construction of lies and the irresistible impulse to play them on others.'"

"Thank you, Sara," Kreizler said. MORBID IMAGINATION MORBID IMAGINATION then went up on both the then went up on both the CHILDHOOD CHILDHOOD and and ASPECTS ASPECTS sections of the chalkboard, which puzzled me. To my request for an explanation Laszlo replied, "He may be writing this letter in his adulthood, John, but so distinctive an imagination does not spring to life in maturity. It's been with him always-and Meyer is borne out here, incidentally, for this child did indeed become dangerous." sections of the chalkboard, which puzzled me. To my request for an explanation Laszlo replied, "He may be writing this letter in his adulthood, John, but so distinctive an imagination does not spring to life in maturity. It's been with him always-and Meyer is borne out here, incidentally, for this child did indeed become dangerous."

Marcus was tapping a pencil into one hand thoughtfully. "Any chance this cannibalism business was a childhood nightmare? He says he's read it. Any chance he read it then then? The effect would have been greater."

"Ask yourself a more basic question," Laszlo answered. "What is the strongest force behind imagination? Normal imagination, but also and particularly the morbid?"

Sara had no trouble with that: "Fear."

"Fear of what you see," Laszlo pressed, "or of what you hear?"

"Both," Sara answered. "But mostly what you hear-'nothing is as terrible in reality,' et cetera."

"Isn't reading a form of hearing?" Marcus asked.

"Yes, but even well-to-do children don't learn to read until many years into childhood," Kreizler answered. "I offer this only as a theory, but suppose the cannibalism story was then what it is now-a tale designed to terrify. Only now, rather than the terrorized party, our man is the terrorizer. As we've constructed him thus far, wouldn't he find that immensely satisfying, even amusing?"

"But who told it to him?" Lucius asked.

Kreizler shrugged. "Who generally terrifies children with stories?"

"Adults who want them to behave," I answered quickly. "My father had a story about the j.a.panese emperor's torture chamber that had me up for nights, picturing every detail-"

"Excellent, Moore! My very point."

"But what about-" Lucius's words became a bit halting. "What about the-I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I still don't know how to discuss certain things with a lady present."

"Then pretend one isn't," Sara said, a bit impatiently.