"All his movements were executed with purpose and necessity. There was a minimal physical reaction to me, in such sense that during the conversation, he equalled more of a statue than an actual living being. Normally, the old floorboards creak by stepping on select few but I couldn't hear a thing when he appeared, as if he was weightless. Or he knew exactly which ones to avoid, meaning, he must have been inside my home before. I never lock my doors, so how he got in is no mystery. But again, the house was familiar enough for him to one, choose the quickest and easiest way out through the window and two, know where my office is."

Steaming tea against her lips, she takes a breather from recollecting every smallest observation of the killer. Her tongue stings from its heat, but Zoe welcomes the sensation. It is good to be able to feel.

"His speech was articulate and educated, but I guess that's not a surprise. It was impossible to make out any characteristics of his voice though. No pitch and no accent. Just generic words, which weren't actually the least bit generic. He did have a particular way of expressing himself."

Zoe stops to think of anything else that could be of significance, but nothing comes to her mind. Her thoughts are filled with one question only.

"Agent Simmer, may I ask though? I need to know," she begins hesitantly, her eyes looking unsurely between the agents on the couch. This time, both are taking individual notes. Simmer looks up in anticipation.

"Did he sexually assault any of the victims? It didn't say anything about it in the reports but, I feel I should ask this."

There's a long pause before Simmer puts down his notebook.

"No. There have been no sexual acts. In fact, we believe him to be particularly disinterested in sexuality and other primal needs. One of the psychiatrists thinks, the killer believes himself to be above it."

Zoe breathes easier hearing this statement. So much easier.

"The FBI's profilers and psychologists, what do they think the key symbolizes to him?"

He leans back in the old couch, pondering her question.

"They can't make up their minds entirely. Some think the key means the difference between freedom and incarceration, or life and death. For others, it's a symbol of power. It gives the right to choose whether to lock or unlock."

For the first time in a while, a calmed and controlled McCarthy comes to word. "What do you think the key represents, Miss?" he asks with curiosity written across his face.

Zoe thinks about the question for a moment, before she opens the gates to her mind.

"Turn the key in the lock one way and deprive someone of their liberty. Turn it the other way and set them free. On the other hand, think of wordplays like 'the key to inner happiness' or 'the key to success', which means we are unconsciously drawing on the key symbolising arcane knowledge, which was previously hidden or inaccessible. And knowledge equals power. But is it power he seeks? I don't have that feeling. He had the opportunity to take my power from me, but he chose not to."

Simmer jots down her words for safe-keeping, continuously nodding in agreement.

"Then there is also the various religious associations to keys with literary idioms, specific deities or spiritual figures, but I am not certain how he stands towards the idea or practice of organised religion. The Key Killer would never compliment my religious satire if he would feel deeply attached to one religion or another, maybe it could even symbolise a certain mockery of religion or a pledge to the churches mortal enemy."

"Like Satanism?" wonders McCarthy aloud.

"Maybe..." she says, followed by a fullhearted yawn.

They have been talking for another hour or so. The sun shines at an angle by now and the inside of the small living room is basked in orange hues as the rays warm Zoe's skin in comfort. It is early afternoon and she already begins to feel mental exhaustion from all the revelations and contemplations. Her brain cells will need to cool down before they set on fire.

"I will have to say my goodbyes. I am not sure if I will even reach my bedroom before I pass out."

Simmer smiles at her seemingly grateful for the development of their teamwork and she briefly returns it. Even if her suggestions will not be taken seriously, she feels good for choosing what she thinks of as right.

The tired blonde rounds the corner to the stairs, without as much as another glance at the agents.

"Just show yourselves out after you are done looking for those fingerprints that don't exist. And finish your tea. It's good nettle."

"Of course, Miss. Just one more thing! The director ordered to dispatch agents to stay with you and ensure your safety," McCarthy calls after her, ears peaked for a response.

A peal of bellowing laughter can be heard with the thumping of bare feet ascending the stairs.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT."