The church was nearly empty when they arrived at 9:00. Lizzy slid her sunglasses off when she entered the cavernous space, which was dimly colored by light filtered through stained glass windows. Pam's parents were at the front of the church, speaking with a priest when they caught sight of her. They motioned for the young woman to come forward.

Lizzy and Steve walked toward the sanctuary, approaching the coffin. It was positioned perpendicular to the altar, in the forward section of the nave. A plain white linen cloth draped the casket, atop which sat a bouquet of white Madonna lilies. The oppressive scent of the flowers was nauseating even to Steve. He couldn't imagine how the smell would affect Lizzy in her current condition. He felt her steps falter and she swallowed hard, tightening her grip on his hand.

"Please don't let go," Lizzy whispered and tried to stop their forward progress.

"I got you," Steve squeezed her hand in reply, urging her to keep moving.

Pam's parents implored Lizzy to speak at the service. She looked at Steve with panic in her eyes.

"Don't do anything you're not comfortable with." He whispered in her ear.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I just don't think I can do it. Mr and Mrs. Woodward, I loved Pam like a sister and I'm going to miss her every day, but no, please, no." Pam's parent graciously accepted her decision. Steve put his arm around her shoulder, led her a safe distance from the casket and into a pew.

The young man watched the end of the scene play out from the ebony pall of the side aisle. He shut his eyes and took deep breaths to keep his fury in check. It wouldn't be much longer. After Lizzy was seated, he broke from the shadows and slid into the pew, coming to a stop at her side. She turned and gave him a hug, silently thanking him for his presence. Jeff smiled, the extended physical contact renewing his faith in her.

The church began to fill up in anticipation of the service. Lizzy occasionally acknowledged someone she knew, but for the most part sat with her eyes closed, wishing to be anywhere but here. Just breath she thought. At precisely 9:30, the Mass began. It was all a blur as she stood, kneeled and sat on cue. During the Catholic ritual, she refused to release Steve's hand. It was the life support she needed to get through the oppressive rite of the dead. Jeff noticed.

After what seem like an eternity, the final strains of the organ marked the end of the service. Mourners followed the coffin and exited the Cathedral. Those continuing on to the cemetery made for their cars. Lizzy instinctively replace her sunglasses, as the late morning light assaulted her eyes. When they walked down the stairs, Jeff trailed several steps behind, waiting for his prearranged surprise.

Steve opened the passenger side door for Lizzy, walked around the rear of the car and slid behind the wheel. Despite multiple attempts, the Porsche refused to answer the call to duty. Steve let out a frustrated huff while exiting the vehicle, intent on checking the car for simple mechanical problems. Jeff descended the final few stairs.

"Won't start, huh?" I've heard these foreign jobs can be finicky." Steve's answer was a non-committal grunt. He was reaching for the hood when Jeff continued with a warm smile. "Instead of getting all greasy, why don't you two come with me? I'll drop you back after the ceremony."

Steve looked up to see the funeral procession departing. He shrugged his shoulders and opened Lizzy's door. She smiled her thanks at Jeff as they walked down the row to a late model blue Grand Torino.

"Thanks, man." Steve shook Jeff's hand before closing the passenger door behind Lizzy and sliding into the back seat.

00000

Mike had the distinct feeling of being behind enemy lines when he entered the offices of The San Francisco Chronicle. His relationship with most of the fourth estate was generally neutral. They neither helped nor hindered his work, but Joe Randolph was an exception. The receptionist looked at him sideways when he asked for the reporter.

The Lieutenant was a well-known figure at the city desk. As he proceeded through the large room, a buzz of conversation trailed him to the far corner, anticipating a confrontation. Joe Randolph hung up the phone and greeted Mike with ersatz courtesy.

"What a surprise Lt. Stone, to what do I owe this honor."

"You know why I'm here." Mike produced the subpoena. "I need the other two letters."

"I had no idea the SFPD used Lieutenants to deliver subpoenas, I'm flattered."

"Cut the crap, Randolph. Where are the letters?"

The reporter picked up the document and scrutinized it. "You know, I should really get the suits upstairs to check this. Make sure it's all legal. I do have the right to protect my sources. Plus, you have no proof that these alleged letters even exist."

"Mr. Randolph, your desire to protect your sources is admirable." Mike echoed Randolph's faux nobility. "As a police officer, I understand the need for confidential informants, however, your actions may have already cost three people their lives. I have, and the DA agrees, probable cause from your conversation with Inspector Keller, that they exist. Before anybody else dies, I suggest you turn them over. It's a court order and I'm sure you know the judge can hold you in contempt if you don't comply."

Randolph increased his volume, enhancing the interest of his coworkers. "What about the Fifth Amendment? You're a smart man, I'm sure you knows my rights as well as I do."

Mike was getting irritated at Randolph's little game. Nothing made him angrier than uncooperative witnesses using the constitution as a shield.

"That ship has sailed. You've already incriminated yourself turning over the first letter. Do yourself a favor and just give me the rest. If not, I'll go right back to the judge and get a bench warrant. Would you rather finish this downtown after being hauled in by a couple of uniforms?"

"Makes for a better story, don't you think? I can see the headlines, "Hard-Hitting Chronicle Reporter Jailed for Refusing to Reveal Sources. We'll be able to milk that for weeks." Randolph ratcheted up the volume once again.

Not wanting to get caught up in a no-win game played out on the front page, Mike tried a different tactic. "Why did you even meet with Keller if you weren't willing to go all the way? What are you afraid of?"

"I'm certainly not afraid of you, or your heavy-handed tactics." The reporter was practically shouting.

Mike paused as an idea solidified in his head. He had a feeling this conversation was an elaborate piece of performance art, played out in front Randolph's colleagues, to protect his reputation. He lowered his voice, "How about if we take this outside."

Randolph took the lifeline Mike tossed him, "Hey fellas, if I'm not back in ten minutes, make sure you get a camera up here." He picked up his notebook and raincoat and exited the room. Mike followed him out the door and onto the elevator.

They exited the building on Mission Street, walking a block in silence before Mike spoke. "Now that you've finished your song and dance, how about you give me what I need."

Mike drove back to Bryant Street in stunned silence. It was all there, just like Lenny had predicted. A diatribe penned by, what had Bernie and Lenny called him, oh yeah, a nut job. He also knew why Randolph had come forward. The last letter and subsequent phone calls to the reporter were clearly a threat. Randolph had used the information for his own gain, but the letter's sender felt cheated. The declaration of his love had not been included in the newspaper accounts. The killer held Joe Randolph personally responsible when his message was not delivered.

After getting copies and dropping the evidence at the lab, he went to his office. It was nearly noon. As much as he pestered Charlie, the lab still needed more time on the prints. He had a phone call into O'Brien about getting a tap and a trace on Randolph's home line. Randolph had originally protested, but with criminal charges on the table, he quickly acquiesced. Mike was also waiting for Lenny to turn up and review the newest evidence.

Steve would be arriving with Lizzy shortly and Mike was anxious to speak with her after seeing the letters. The cemetery in Colma was about 20 minutes outside of town, so he didn't expect them much before one, but Mike was out of options. With nothing left to check, he went over to Steve's desk, looking for his notebook. He flipped through the case notes until he found the name and address of Lizzy's friend, Jeff. That was the name, He snapped his fingers. The one he met on the stairs. He copied the information out of the notebook and returned to his desk, picking up the receiver.

Lenny walked into the office while Mike was listening to a busy signal. He hung up the phone.

"What do you need Lieutenant? I thought the Da Vinci Case was solved."

"Yeah, according to the mayor. Me, I'm not so sure." Mike pulled the copies of the letters out of a folder and handed them to Lenny, who sat down in Steve's usual chair and read them carefully. He laid them back on the desk.

"You know, I doubted my profiling skills when I saw the press conference, but now, not so much. You sure these aren't from Walters?"

"The paper never got one for Woodward, what do you think?"

"I think you're right. The person who wrote these wouldn't have missed the opportunity to advertise his latest gift. Where does that leave you?"

"Ground zero. I'm waiting for Steve to come back in with the Grisko girl. He took her to the roommate's funeral."

"Has she seen these yet?"

"No. Why?"

"That's a whole lot of guilt and fear you are going to lay on her, particularly after going to a funeral." Mike started to protest. Lenny held up his hands in mock surrender and continued. "I know, I know, none of this is her fault, but I can't begin to tell you how she will take it. Is there any other way?"

"I don't see how, we haven't even got a suspect at this point. Do you think she will have any idea who it is?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. But Mike, you need to tread gently."

Mike paused before he spoke again. "Then answer me this. Is it possible one of her friends might have picked up vibes from somebody around her?"

"Vibes?" Lenny laughed, "Mike you are spending way too much time with your young partner."

Mike ignored the jibe. "What do you think?"

"It's possible, if they were reasonably perceptive and were asked the right questions."

"How'd you like to go on a little field trip and ask the right question?"

00000

Lenny followed Mike up the narrow staircase. While he wasn't keen on field work, Mike had promised him lunch if he tagged along. The apartment was on the second floor of an old house at 495 Bay Street, just around the block from Lizzy and Pam's apartment. One of the bulbs on the landing light fixture was out, leaving the top of the stairs in perpetual twilight. Mike avoided the paper supermarket sack filled with trash, which leaned against the wall, Lenny was not nearly so observant.

Fortunately for the doctor, it seemed to be mostly office waste and newspapers. He carefully scooped up the trash and replaced it in the bag. The last item he retrieved was a dark, flat spool. Lenny cursed as it transferred black smudges to his hand.

"Nice Language, Doc."

Lenny rolled his eyes when he replied, "You know, I once read a novel where they caught the kidnapper by reading the impression of the ransom note on a discarded typewriter ribbon. He dramatically unfurled the ribbon and held it up to the light while Mike laughed and walked on to the apartment.

He was pounding on Jeff Powers' door when Lenny caught his attention.

"Uh, Mike, you might want to come look at this."