that's the case, then we need to be ready for the possibility that there might be... more."
I take another deep breath. Maybe, just maybe, the waves of nausea are starting to pass.
"Jo?" Dawson says. "You still there?"
"Gazade's second victim was found three days after the first," I reply, trying to sound stronger than I feel. "If we find another body in three days, we know we've got a serial copycat on our hands. Except... This isn't a regular copycat. This person is more clinical. It's almost like an experiment. I can't explain it, but something feels wrong. Different."
"So do you think..." He pauses.
"Do I think what?" I ask.
"Could Gazade himself be involved in all of this somehow?" he says. "I know it sounds crazy, but hear me out. What if, somehow, he's got some kind of apprentice situation going on? What if he's managed to communicate with someone, and he knows what's happening?"
"No way," I reply.
"Hear me out," he continues. "Gazade has been allowed to receive letters, right? And he's been allowed to send them too. Heavily vetted, of course. I mean, people go through his correspondence and look for anything inappropriate, but a guy like Gazade gets loads of mail from freaks all over the country. So... What if there's some kind of code hidden in the text? What if -"
"You're reading the situation all wrong," I say firmly. "This copycat isn't really a copycat. It's not someone who's trying to get inside Gazade's mind, it's more like..." I pause as another wave of nausea hits me. "It's more like this person is forcing himself, or herself, to go through the motions of everything Gazade did, like they're daring themselves to see if they've got the stomach to be a killer. But at the same time, they hate it. They're taking shortcuts so they can get to the end result as quickly as possible. Gazade tortured his victims. This killer just focuses on getting the job done with the minimal amount of fuss."
"So you don't think it'd help to go and talk to Gazade?" Dawson asks.
"Talk to him?" I pause to consider the lunacy of the idea. "Why the hell would it help to talk to him? The guy doesn't know anything about this. Hell, he probably isn't even aware of Edward Hunter's death. Until we release details to the media, which by the way would be a really bad idea in the current circumstances, the only person who knows what's happening is the killer. Don't over-complicate things by drawing Gazade back into the mix. You..." I stop speaking suddenly as I realize that something's wrong. I feel strange, as if I'm more confused than normal. "Fuck," I mutter, "just... I don't know, just don't..." I pause again. "This isn't a conventional copycat," I say finally, repeating the last idea that made any sense to me. Damn it, I can't talk right now. I'm drifting into one of those chemotherapy fogs again.
"Then what kind of copycat is it?" he asks.
"It's someone who doesn't want to be a copycat," I reply, hoping I can hold my thoughts together for a few more minutes. "It's someone who's driven by a different kind of impulse. Maybe someone..." I pause, as a million ideas race through my mind. I used to be so good at coming up with ideas and explanations, but these days the chemotherapy is affecting my ability to think properly. I keep hitting roadblocks in my mind, and my thoughts keep passing through clouds of nothingness that slow me down. "Maybe someone with an academic interest," I continue eventually. "Maybe someone killed Edward Hunter because they wanted to test whether they could do it, or they wanted to test something else, or..." I pause again. This is the point at which, in the old days, I'd have made a huge leap of logic that would have helped us to move the case forward; with the drugs in my system, however, I've come to a full stop. It's as if I can feel the limits of my mind.
"Okay," Dawson replies. "I guess we'll focus on the details of the Hunter case."
Silence.
"Do you mind if I ask you something?" he adds
I take another deep breath. Maybe, just maybe, the waves of nausea are starting to pass.
"Jo?" Dawson says. "You still there?"
"Gazade's second victim was found three days after the first," I reply, trying to sound stronger than I feel. "If we find another body in three days, we know we've got a serial copycat on our hands. Except... This isn't a regular copycat. This person is more clinical. It's almost like an experiment. I can't explain it, but something feels wrong. Different."
"So do you think..." He pauses.
"Do I think what?" I ask.
"Could Gazade himself be involved in all of this somehow?" he says. "I know it sounds crazy, but hear me out. What if, somehow, he's got some kind of apprentice situation going on? What if he's managed to communicate with someone, and he knows what's happening?"
"No way," I reply.
"Hear me out," he continues. "Gazade has been allowed to receive letters, right? And he's been allowed to send them too. Heavily vetted, of course. I mean, people go through his correspondence and look for anything inappropriate, but a guy like Gazade gets loads of mail from freaks all over the country. So... What if there's some kind of code hidden in the text? What if -"
"You're reading the situation all wrong," I say firmly. "This copycat isn't really a copycat. It's not someone who's trying to get inside Gazade's mind, it's more like..." I pause as another wave of nausea hits me. "It's more like this person is forcing himself, or herself, to go through the motions of everything Gazade did, like they're daring themselves to see if they've got the stomach to be a killer. But at the same time, they hate it. They're taking shortcuts so they can get to the end result as quickly as possible. Gazade tortured his victims. This killer just focuses on getting the job done with the minimal amount of fuss."
"So you don't think it'd help to go and talk to Gazade?" Dawson asks.
"Talk to him?" I pause to consider the lunacy of the idea. "Why the hell would it help to talk to him? The guy doesn't know anything about this. Hell, he probably isn't even aware of Edward Hunter's death. Until we release details to the media, which by the way would be a really bad idea in the current circumstances, the only person who knows what's happening is the killer. Don't over-complicate things by drawing Gazade back into the mix. You..." I stop speaking suddenly as I realize that something's wrong. I feel strange, as if I'm more confused than normal. "Fuck," I mutter, "just... I don't know, just don't..." I pause again. "This isn't a conventional copycat," I say finally, repeating the last idea that made any sense to me. Damn it, I can't talk right now. I'm drifting into one of those chemotherapy fogs again.
"Then what kind of copycat is it?" he asks.
"It's someone who doesn't want to be a copycat," I reply, hoping I can hold my thoughts together for a few more minutes. "It's someone who's driven by a different kind of impulse. Maybe someone..." I pause, as a million ideas race through my mind. I used to be so good at coming up with ideas and explanations, but these days the chemotherapy is affecting my ability to think properly. I keep hitting roadblocks in my mind, and my thoughts keep passing through clouds of nothingness that slow me down. "Maybe someone with an academic interest," I continue eventually. "Maybe someone killed Edward Hunter because they wanted to test whether they could do it, or they wanted to test something else, or..." I pause again. This is the point at which, in the old days, I'd have made a huge leap of logic that would have helped us to move the case forward; with the drugs in my system, however, I've come to a full stop. It's as if I can feel the limits of my mind.
"Okay," Dawson replies. "I guess we'll focus on the details of the Hunter case."
Silence.
"Do you mind if I ask you something?" he adds
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