The gentle clip of the heels on her boots as Gemma crossed the floor of the police station broke the unnatural silence of a building that normally hummed with activity, giving her a feeling of foreboding. It was the dead of night, though, and she had just returned from a crime scene, which explained both the stillness and her uneasy feeling. This murder had been perplexing for a variety of reasons but the element at the center of the confusion was the small journal found in the man's pocket. The writings in it were numerous but scattered throughout the pages, written haphazardly as though in a frenzy. That alone was not the most curious aspect, though. Gemma removed her jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. The night air seemed unnervingly still as well, sticky and humid. The temperatures should be beginning to fall during the night, as it was already April, but the digital thermometer on her desk still read 17 in glowing green digits. She sighed and turned on her computer before taking a swig from a water bottle on the desk. While she waited for the old machine to boot up, she stole another glance at the journal, furrowing her brow as if willing it to suddenly make sense. At last, having searched the number for the university, she scanned through the smiling photographs of the linguistics professors and glanced at the clock. Maybe one of them might still be awake. With that thought in mind, she dialed the listed phone numbers for the faculty directory and succeeded in contacting one of them. After a long series of questions and answers that seemed to lead nowhere, the man on the other end of the line suddenly perked up. "One of my students was very interested in some mystery writings that look like what you're describing. If you would like, I think I still have his number. His name is Johann van der Westhuizen. I imagine he'll be very excited to speak with you." Taking down the number and glad to finally be getting somewhere, Gemma hung up with the professor. She took another deep drink of water, mentally preparing herself for another stuffy man who seemed hell-bent on making her a doctorate in linguistics herself over the phone through a series of frustrating questions that she didn't know the answer to. Holding her thumbs and hoping that the number picked up, Gemma dialed again and was delighted when the phone was answered on the second ring. "Hello, am I speaking to Mister van der Westhuizen? My name is Detective Fane and I was told that you might be able to help me with something."