Dubbed the "Poet" because he has left notes containing lines of poetry from the work of Edgar Allan Poe at each murder scene, the suspect has attempted to disguise the deaths of his victims as suicides.

And for as long as three years his victims were counted as such until the similarities of the crimes, including the quotes from Poe, were discovered last week, according to a source close to the investigation.

That discovery prompted the FBI to act quickly in its efforts to identify and capture the Poet. Dozens of FBI agents and police in seven cities are carrying out the investigation under the direction of the FBI's Behavioral Science Services. The investigation currently has its most intense focus on Phoenix, where the latest death attributed to the Poet occurred, the source said.

The source, who talked to the Times on the condition of anonymity, declined to disclose how the activities of the Poet were discovered but said that a joint study by the FBI and the Law Enforcement Foundation of police suicides in the last six years provided key information.

The story went on to list the names of the victims and some of the details of each case. It then included a few paragraphs on the BSS unit as filler and ended with a wrapup quote from the unnamed source saying that the FBI had little to go on in terms of knowing who or where the Poet was.

By the time I was done reading it, my cheeks were hot with anger. There is nothing worse than living by the letter of an agreement when one of the people you made the deal with doesn't. The story was weak, in my opinion, a lot of words around a few facts and all attributed to an anonymous source. Warren didn't even mention the fax or, more importantly, the bait murders. I knew that what I would write that day would be the definitive piece on the Poet. But that didn't move the anger back in my throat much. For whatever the shortcomings of the story were, it was still clear that Warren had talked to somebody in the bureau. And I couldn't help but think that that person was sitting at the conference room table with me.

"We had a deal," I said, looking up from the computer. "Somebody gave this to this guy. He knew what I had when I came in to him on Thursday, but he went to somebody in the bureau for the rest. Probably someone on the task force. Probably somebody-"

"That may be true, Jack, but-"

"He already had this because of you," Thorson interrupted. "You only have yourself to blame."

"Wrong," I said, glaring back at him. "I gave him most of it but not the Poet. The offender wasn't even called that when I was with Warren. That came from the task force. And that blows our deal. Somebody's talking who shouldn't be talking. The story's out. I have to go write what I know today for tomorrow."

A small measure of silence passed through the room.

"Jack," Backus said, "I know this won't do you much good now but I want you to know that when I get some time and space on this thing, I am going to find out who the leak was and that person won't be working for me anymore, and maybe not even the bureau."

"You're right. It doesn't do me much good."

"I need to ask a favor, nonetheless."

I looked at Backus, wondering if he was actually foolish enough to try again to persuade me to hold off on writing a story every TV station and paper in the country would be running anyway that night and the next day.

"What is it?"

"When you write this… I want you to please keep in mind that we still need to get this man. You have information that could irreparably harm our chances of doing that. I'm talking about specific things. Details of the profile. Details about the possible hypnosis, the condoms. If you print those, Jack, and they are repeated on TV or in a newspaper he has access to, then he will change his routine. See what I'm saying? It will only make it harder for us."

I nodded but then looked at him with a hard stare.

"You're not going to tell me what to write."

"I know that. I'm asking you to think about your brother, about us, and be careful of what you write. I trust you, Jack. Implicitly."

I thought about that for a long moment and then nodded again.

"Bob, I made a deal with you and came out on the short end. If you want me to protect you now, there's got to be a new deal. You're going to have reporters coming out of the woodwork today. But I want you to refer all calls to public affairs in Quantico. I talk to and quote from you exclusively. Also, I get the fax from the Poet exclusively. You give me that and I won't mention the details of the profile or the hypnosis in my story."

"That's a deal," Backus said.

He said it so quickly that I started to think he knew exactly what I had been going to say, that he had known all along that I was going to suggest the new deal.

"But one thing, Jack," Backus said. "Let's agree on holding back one line from the fax. If we start getting confessions, we'll be able to use the hold-back line to weed out the phonies."

"No problem," I said.

"I'll be here. I'll tell the front that your calls can come through. No one else from the press."

"There will be a lot of those calls."

"My intention was to let public affairs handle it anyway."

"If the statement they put out includes the origination of the case, tell them not to use my name. Just say inquiries from the Rocky Mountain News started it rolling."

Backus nodded.

"One last thing," I said and then paused a moment. "I'm still concerned about the leak. If I find out the L.A. Times or any other media outlet also got the Poet fax today, then I'll put everything I know into the next story. The profile, everything. Okay?"

"Understood."

"You weasel," Thorson said angrily. "You think you can just come in here and dictate what-"

"Fuck you, Thorson," I said. "I've been wanting to say that to you since Quantico. Fuck you, okay? If I was betting, I'd say you were the leak, so don't tell me anything about being a weas-"

"FUCK YOU!" Thorson roared as he stood up to challenge me.

But quickly Backus was up and putting a hand on his shoulder. He gently pushed him back down into his seat. Rachel watched the whole thing, a small, thin smile on her face.

"Easy, Gordon," Backus soothed. "Easy. Nobody's accusing anyone of anything. Let's keep things cool. Everybody's a little hot and bothered today but it's no reason why we can't cool down. Jack, that's a dangerous accusation. If you have something to back it up, let's hear it. If not, you'd best leave things like that unsaid."

I said nothing. I only had my gut instinct that Thorson had leaked the story to fuck me over because of some paranoia about reporters in general and my relationship with Rachel in particular. It wasn't the kind of thing to bring up for discussion. Everybody eventually took their seats and just stared at each other.

"That was entertaining as hell, fellas, but I'd like to do some work today," Rachel finally said.

"And I have to go," I said. "What line do you want to hold back on the fax?"

"The riddle," Backus answered. "Don't mention Best Pals."

I thought a moment. It was one of the better lines.

"Fine. No problem."

I stood up and so did Rachel.

"I'll give you a ride back to the hotel."

"Is it that bad, getting scooped like that?" she asked as we were headed back to the hotel.

"It's bad. I guess it's like with you guys, the ones that get away. I hope Backus busts Thorson for this. The asshole."

"It will be hard for him to prove anything. It's just going to be suspicion."

"If you told Backus about us and told him that Thorson knew, then he'd believe it."

"I can't. If I told Backus about us I'd be the one who'd go down."

After some silence she changed the subject back to the story.

"You'll have so much more than he had."