Robert Walker - Bitter Instinct

“What is it?”

“Earlier, in the earliest reading, I kept seeing the crime scene, but in a blindingly bright light that eventually coalesced into letters, spelling out the single word rampage. This alongside the number nineteen, sometimes transposed as ninety-one. I just saw another flashing, blinding light that not only spelled out rampage, but the other words I've been getting, too. Remember I saw the word quark and pre/light?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Add to them the word output. It wasn't outing, but output coming through.”

“Is that it? Any additional words that cropped up around your reading?”

“None… that's it.”

“Could these words have something to do with poetry?”

“More likely quantum mechanics,” Kim replied, her shoulders heaving.

“What about photography?” Jessica considered this possibility and balling up her fists, she added, “Imagine… if they have something to do with photography?” She grabbed the phone and dialed Marc Tamburino at Darkest Expectations.

“Who're you calling?” asked Kim.

Jessica put up a hand to her and said into the phone, “Mr. Tamburino? This is Dr. Coran. I have a quick question for you; do you mind?”

Kim heard a raspy, static-charged reply from the phone, the bookstore owner saying, “Sure thing, but whatever it is, it'll cost you more.”

“Whatever you like, but can you tell me if the numbers nineteen and/or ninety-one have any special significance in photography?”

“No, none that I know of.”

“In the world of words, poetry?”

“Again, doesn't ring any bells, not like you know, sixty-nine or nine-nine-nine or six-six-six.”

“What about the word rampage?”

“Rampage?”

“Has it anything to do with photography?”

“Yeah, sorta… it has to do with photo finishing; it's a machine. 317 I “And what about quark and preflight and output?”

“Yeah, all terms in the business, but some of that… well, that's pretty high-quality, resolution-specialty programming shit in film developing. I don't know a whole hell of a lot about that particular specialty, but I'm sure some of the photog profs at the university could tell you. They have classes on everything to do with photography over there.”

“Just tell me what you know about these terms.”

“I'd be blowing smoke up your… skirt. Look, I suggest you speak to the geniuses over to the colleges about these things.”

“Who, Marc? Who do I call?”

“The university has a specialist in film and photography, I'm sure. Why don't you talk to him or her? And by the way, when's my poetry going to appear in the Philly Inquirer? And when do I get it back?”

Jessica hung up to Tamburino's chorus of, “When do I see the bread? When, when?”

Professor Leonard Throckmorton greeted Jessica and Kim in a stern, cool manner. A small man, he looked dwarfed by his desk, but his manners were impeccable. Hadn't their only witness said something about the politeness of the young man he'd seen leaving the crime scene? Throckmorton appeared to be in his late twenties, but in a dark corridor he could easily pass for a younger man. Something diffident in his manner made him seem feminine. Jessica realized that since he was chairman of the department at such a young age, his rise must have been nothing short of meteoric, but some probing told her and Kim that the man answered to Dr. Harriet Plummer, who appeared to like her department heads and colleagues on the youthful side.

“When I called Dr. Plummer to ask whom to speak to in the photography department, she instantly told me that you, sir, were the man to see if I wanted an expert in all facets of photography.”

“She does flatter me.”

“I told her I needed to know some details about film processing.” kim added, “And she instantly recommended you. Professor Throckmorton.”

He remained seated behind the desk, using it as a kind of barrier. “So, how can I help you, ladies… ah, Doctors?”

Kim told him of her psychometric hits. She finished with the list of words that had insinuated themselves into her mind, adding, “Each word gets more forceful as time goes on, as if each has a life of its own.”

Throckmorton chewed on his lower lip.

Jessica asked, “Do these words have any significance for you, sir?”

“They carry great meaning, yes.” Throckmorton informed them, “The list of words Detective Desinor is referring to all have to do with the job of a specialist in film.”

“And that specialty would be?”

“Film output, a film output specialist.”

“And this specialist… he does what, exactly?”

“Processes on a Quark system. You preflight film, trap the image you want, then you print it-that would be output-on a Rampage.”

“Rampage?”

“That is an NT system.”

“A computer photoshop processor?”

“Not unlike the sort you have yourself used at your local Kmart, but this is with film, video equivalents, and the job is done by a technician, a specialist, not a machine.”

“I see… I think.”

Kim asked, “Would this involve photo-processing toxins, say like selenium?”

“Indeed it would.”

“How many such specialists work in the city, Dr. Throckmorton?”

“Oh, I'd say you're looking at between twenty and thirty people. It's a highly skilled task when done the old-fashioned way. In a self-contained computerized system like you find at Wal-Mart, all the ingredients for processing are never touched by the operator. The specialist, on the other hand, gets his hands dirty- chemically speaking, of course-as he is required to do all the mixing and processing work by hand.”

The detectives stared at one another and Jessica said, “Then we have a poet and a photography specialist who is something of a chemist as well.”

“That does narrow the field,” Kim agreed, a slight smile of satisfaction curling her lips.

Jessica again turned to Throckmorton, who worked to light a pipe he'd pulled from a rack. She asked, “What sort of companies use such specialists?”

“Oh, production companies.”

“As in movies?”

“Movies, ads, business tapes, anything to do with video production. The key word for the film output specialist is video. He works with video.”

“Most major companies, including ad agencies, hire their work out, right?” Jessica wanted Throckmorton to give her every shred of information she could get. The man seemed to play the role of expert only reluctantly.

“You got it. The number of such companies is on the decline, and the call for a specialist in this area is rare nowadays, but I saw an ad in the paper just the other day for one.”

“Really?”

“Yes, which likely means-”

“That some poor slob lost his job not long ago?”

“Could be our man,” suggested Kim. “Serial killing is often triggered by a dramatic or traumatic event.”

“As in locating a lost memory?” asked Throckmorton. “I've read a number of true-crime books, and I follow The Edge series on TV,” he explained in an apologetic voice. Say as in a threat to one's life, and losing a job for most ranks right up there with the biggies in the trauma department,” Jessica replied.

“Look, do you recall the ad and the paper you saw it in?” Kim tapped her knuckles on the desk.

“Wrapped some tools in it at home. But it was two days ago, deep in the Philadelphia Inquirer want ads, so… no promises.”