“Or a surname,” Eden said. “It sounded familiar, and then I remembered there’s this guy down in Silicon Valley named Benjamin Thackrey. He’s some kind of startup genius who’s become a celebrity. Martin would know the name. That would fit with what Jessica Alvarez told Martin about Elise dating a man who made a fortune in computers. And he could be the one Dr. Bittner described as being smarter than Elise’s other boyfriends.”

“Another thing,” Eden continued, “in several places, Elise circled the word ‘queen’ and wrote ‘murder’ in the margin. I don’t know what it means, but it might turn out to be something.”

“She’s trying to tell us something,” Mahler said. “What was that quote she wrote on her leg?”

Eden looked at him. “‘To take into the air my quiet breath.’”

“Yeah.” Mahler remembered Susan Hart telling him that breathing would be important in this case. “She knew her killer was going to strangle her. Peña said she looked like she knew she was going to die.” Mahler held up the book. “She’s trying to tell us with this.”

Mahler flipped through the pages. As he looked at the inside back cover, he said, “What’s this?” He held the book close to the hanging lamp and ran his fingertips over the endpaper. “Something’s inside.”

Bailey watched him. “I didn’t notice that.”

Leaning close, Eden pointed to the top edge of the endpaper. “The paper’s been cut and repasted.”

Bailey went to the desk and returned with a camera, a knife, and a pair of tweezers. She took photos of the endpaper from three different angles. Working carefully, she inserted the knife blade into the endpaper, ran it along the top edge, and peeled back the paper. With the tweezers, she reached inside and pulled out a single sheet of folded stationery. Inside were several handwritten lines. Bailey slipped the stationery into an evidence bag, pressed the seal, and spread the document flat for the others to read.

Someday, my love, you’ll take into the air my quiet breath. And once your hands have finished their business around my neck, wrap me in something warm and carry me then, my lost angel, to the water and lay me down, to sink and fade to the next world.

Mahler looked up at Bailey. “Is this the victim’s handwriting?”

Bailey shrugged. “I’m not an expert. But it’s like the other handwriting.”

Mahler turned to Rivas. “Tell Martin to look on the hard drives for any reference to someone named Thackrey. I want you and Eden to call the victim’s employer, what’s-his-name, Craig Lerner, and the others—Christopher Bennett, the roommates, Jessica Alvarez. All of them. See if any of them knows this name.”

Eden stepped back from the evidence table. “We can’t talk to Bennett. He’s got a lawyer.”

“Okay. For Chrissakes, talk to the lawyer.”