My eyes widen.“Do you think she did that, too?”I begin.
“Sir.”A uniformed officer with short cropped black hair materializes in the doorway.His light blue shirt includes a patch identifying him as Crime Scene Unit.“We’ve found something you should see.”
The young Asian male focuses solely on Detective Marc.Of course the rest of us automatically take a step forward as well.
“Stay!”Detective Marc attempts, but is quickly overwhelmed when we all pointedly ignore his command and traipse into the house behind him.
The first blast of air-conditioning makes me giddy.The second gives me goose bumps as the frigid breeze hits my sweat-slick skin.
“I noticed another pattern in the script, west side wall, leading into the kitchen.”The crime scene specialist points toward a sea of black notations.“This one is a bit harder to spot immediately, but if you extract each letter from the rows of numbers, then focus on just the lowercase entries—”
Which I now realize vary across the rows.Uppercase, uppercase, lowercase.Uppercase, lowercase, upper, upper, upper, lower, etc.
“It spells out another message.This one states…” The crime scene tech holds up a piece of paper where he’d been scratching notes.
beauty is power i am her sword
He gazes at Detective Marc expectantly.
Daryl recites, “‘If Beauty is power, then a smile is its sword.’By John Ray, a seventeenth-century naturalist.”In response to our shocked expressions, he self-consciously shrugs.“What?A lot of time to read in prison.”
Beside him, Roberta has also perked up.“It’s Zahra!Gotta be.Her name means beauty.I was talking to Aliah about it last night.So Zahra is power.And Sabera is her sword?”
“More like Sabera is Zahra’s hammer,” Detective Marc mutters darkly.“Honestly, can’t anything about this case be normal?”He rubs his forehead.“Look, excusing the obvious… drama, homicide happens because of three things: money, power, love.Anyone want to translate that to what the hell is happening here in Club Hypergraphia?”
“Hypergraphia means—” Daryl begins.
Roberta smacks him on the arm.“Hey, just because we didn’t go to prison doesn’t mean we’re stupid.”
I focus on the detective’s question.He’s right—every case I’ve ever worked has boiled down to one of those three driving forces.
Money, power, lust… er, love.
Involving a refugee who fled her home country with nothing but the clothes on her back, which suggests this can’t be about money.
Involving a female Afghan trying to survive in a male-dominated world, which would argue she’d never be perceived as a source of power.
Leaving us with lust/love.
Involving a woman who told at least one person her husband isn’t really her husband.
Now, that’s an interesting thought.If only Sabera or her husband were available to pursue it.
I turn to the crime scene specialist.“Your name?”
“Chen.Jay Chen.”
“Are you good at riddles, Jay Chen?”
He doesn’t say yes, but neither does he demur.In other words, absolutely.
“A lock to a key for a key that has no lock,” I recite.“That mean anything to you?”
He contemplates it for a moment.Shakes his head.“Should it?”
“We encountered it earlier.Any ideas on the subject would be appreciated.At least the second half,a key that has no lock, isrepeated here.If you discover the first half, or what the hell any of it means, that would be helpful.”
Chen has the good sense to glance in Detective Marc’s direction.“Sure, why not?”the detective allows.
