The Bride Collector Read Free Page B

paper had been cut
     using a straightedge, then was folded several times before being rolled and inserted into the hole in Caroline’s heel, at
     least several days after it had been written.
    Brad read through the poem again.
    The Beauty Eden id Lost
    Where intelligence does centered
    I came do her and she smashed da Serpent head
    I searched and find the seventh and beautiful
    She will rest in my Serpent’s hole
    And I will live again
    “He can hardly spell.”
    Brad regarded the man. “I’m sorry, James, but I don’t see an imbecile.”
    The SAC raised a brow and pulled out a chair to sit in. At times like this, Brad’s reputation proved useful. And he’d hailed
     from Miami before dazzling the Four Corners. That made James Temple basically kin, at least in Temple’s mind. He would think
     twice before dismissing anything Brad had to say.
    “Is that right? Well, please…” He opened a palm of invitation. “Fill us in.”
    Nikki shifted her gaze to the dark window, struggling to hide her frustration.
    “I think Nikki’s assessment is right,” Brad explained. “We’re dealing with a highly intelligent individual who knows exactly
     what he’s doing within the context of his own world.”
    “Just because he knows how to drill holes and clean up after himself doesn’t mean he’s not barking mad.”
    “No,” Nikki interjected, “but even if he is suffering from psychosis, it doesn’t mean he’s an animal.”
    “I see motivation and intention,” Brad continued, nodding at the note on the screen. “But it would be a significant mistake
     not to assume the author knew exactly what he was writing and why he was writing it.”
    “You’re saying he’s broadcasting his next move,” Temple said, glancing back at the note. “How so?”
    “Assume with me that this was written by a scholar; a poet with the intelligence of Hemingway. And written for our benefit,
     with some bad grammar thrown in to make himself look less intelligent.”
    “Grammar has little to do with intelligence,” Nikki said.
    “I realize that. But go with me. What’s he really saying?”
    “The beauty
of
Eden
is
lost,” Nikki read. “The fall of innocence.”
    Temple closed his eyes momentarily in a show of impatience. “Fine. Something less obvious.”
    Brad nodded at Nikki. She exchanged an inquisitive look with him, nodded her appreciation, and looked up at the screen.
    “He’s saying that where once beauty, innocence, and intelligence were found, this Eden, it’s now lost. The serpent—read evil
     or the devil—is responsible. Not sure about the third line—‘I came to her and she smashed the Serpent’s head’—doesn’t make
     sense to me.”
    She glanced at Brad.
    “Motivation,” he said. “He, the serpent, destroyed beauty but was wounded in the process. He’s upset. Go on.”
    Nikki nodded. “I can go with that. The last three lines seem straightforward. He’s after a replacement for the beautiful one
     who fell, so he can live again.”
    “He’s looking for a wife,” Brad said. “A new Eve.”
    “And this helps us how?” Barth Kramer asked.
    The SAC ignored him entirely, having stood again to pace. “Okay, I’m with you. Tell me more.”
    Brad walked behind the conference table, keeping his eyes fixed on the words, written in the killer’s own hand. He could see
     it all: The desk. Neatly arranged. Perfectly ordered. A pen poised over the paper just so, while the words he had recited
     to himself a thousand times flowed through his mind, sung by a choir, a chorus in a symphony. A requiem that thundered the
     truth, demanding to be heard.
    Now such truth was reduced to mere words on a simple piece of white paper, for his greatest enemies to see. It was like being
     stripped naked, both terrifying and thrilling at once. The killer was coming out. His whole life was here, on this piece of
     paper.
    Brad cleared his throat. “His killings are ritualistic, leading him to life. He’s not doing it