In silence, Sylvie considered the question. A fifteen-year veteran on the force, she knew what crazy looked like. The good professor seemed pretty sane but full of secrets. Dr. Abbott was also terrified. Watching the tug-of-war in her eyes, Sylvie grudgingly admired the sheer force of will that kept the girl in her seat.

Sylvie decided to play along. Her next break wasn’t for nearly an hour, and Dr. Abbott’s story could pass the time. After dropping the album atop a stack of papers on her desk, Sylvie tapped a magenta-tipped nail on the plastic cover. “What am I looking at?”

Erin took a deep breath, opened the album, and launched into her explanation. “After I got the note and the obits, I researched each victim’s death. This chart here.” Erin pointed to a table that listed each victim’s name, occupation, date of death, and the murder weapon. Beside each column, she’d added a letter of the alphabet.

“A. Julian Harris was a city planner who died outside his office. The police found a plastic cord that had been used to strangle him. B. Burleigh Singleton was beaten to death with an object the police officer on the scene identified as a cricket bat. But he couldn’t be sure, since he’d never played the game.”

Surprised by the detail, Sylvie arched a brow. “You got all this from the paper?”

“I found most of the information online. There’s a website about homicides in New Orleans.”

“Damned internet,” muttered Sylvie. “That’s where all the psychos get their tips these days.” Shaking her head, she said, “Go on.”

Erin pointed to the next item. “Here. The police reported that Phoebe Bailey was found strangled near the Newbern Menagerie. She was a dancer in the Quarter. The assailant used equipment from the horse’s stall to kill her. That’s C.” As Erin flipped the page, the words seemed to tumble out. She circled the next entry with a shaky finger. “Police found the body of Juan Johnson, docent for the African Heritage Museum, stabbed in the parking lot near the museum. According to the website, a chisel was used to kill him. I think he’s D or E, but I can’t be sure. Last week, the victim was Maggie Fordham. She’d been strangled with a coil of wire, left at the scene. G.”

Sylvie heard the break in her voice. “You knew her?”

“We were neighbors. She was kind to me.”

Interesting, Sylvie thought, that the young woman sounded surprised by another person’s kindness. She’d file that little tidbit away for now. First, she needed to understand the story she was hearing. “Tie it together for me,” Sylvie instructed. “You’ve given me dates and weapons and names. I don’t see the connections.”

Erin returned to the chart. “See these occupations?”

“Uh-huh.”