we're reading stephen king, anne rice, edgar allan poe. how long does it take to write a letter? well... you know i'm seeing other guys, right? yeah. i'm just not ready to get serious with anyone. sure. i knew you'd understand. listen... i better get back before my parents find out i've left. sure. are you going to be o.k.? i'll be fine. go back to the hotel and get some sleep. i hope kevin will be home soon. oh, he'll be back soon. thanks again for your thoughtful offer. ( to himself ): where are my keys? my car keys. i thought they were in my pocket. honey, they're on the hall table. ah. they... they're not here. well, they must be. i saw you put them there. maybe they are in your pocket. no, no they're definitely... they're definitely not in my pockets. well, where can they be? kevin! come on. ( softly ): my car's gone. where's my car? when are you going back to school? tomorrow. jeez, what am i supposed to say? good luck, i guess. you're a sweet guy, kev. good night. thanks, john. do me a favor... if you do hear from him, have him call

no, i'm not a spook like those who haunted edgar allan poe nor am i one of your hollywood movie ectoplasms. i am a man of substance, of flesh and bones, of fiber and liquids, and i might even be said to have a mind. i am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me. like the bodiless heads you see sometimes in the circus sideshows, it is as though i have been surrounded by mirrors of hard distorting glass. when they approach me, they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination-- indeed, everything and anything except me. nor is my invisibility exactly a matter of a biochemical accident to my epidermis, that invisibility to which i refer occurs because of a peculiar disposition of the eyes of those with whom i come in contact. a matter of the construction of their inner eyes, those eyes with which they look through their physical eyes upon reality. i'm not complaining nor am i protesting either. it's sometimes advantageous to be unseen, although it is most often rather wearing on the nerves. then, too, you're constantly being bumped against by tho

only important when you can prove that there was someone that didn't belong there whether it was edgar allan poe, the murders. it has to be an intruder for the crime scene to be conclusive. >> on that. there's also this crazy belief nowadays and maybe it's a csa inculcated idea that everything can be resolved. now don't get me wrong, i'm not at post moderate type of thinker, somehow indeterminate who killed who in a murder case. it's real world and the fact of the matter that there is someone with a gun or a knife who committed the act and we should be able to determined who that person is. but having said that, how do we determine who that person is? we do it on the basis of evidence. and dna nome more than any kind of evidence isn't the slam dunk. we have the slam dunk in certain kinds of rape cases but as you just mentioned if you are investigating somebody where the murders occurred in that home, would you expect to find dna in the home? you kind of wood. how determine it is that? not determinative at all and yet there is a kind of magical thinking that takes over. the dna is going to be a k