Darkest Instinct

FOURTEEN

The Following Dawn

Jessica didn’t recall boarding the boat or how she’d gotten into the berth upon which she had slept, but she woke to the pleasant beat of waves lapping at the sides of the big sportfisherman’s boat, a beautiful forty-five-footer. She sinelled coffee and stretched, located a change of clothes, as she’d slept in her blouse and skirt, and found Quincey and his friend on deck. They were well on their way westward through the channel, heading toward Naples, Florida.

Captain Elliot Anderson took Jessica and Quincey on a west-by-northwesterly trek toward the other coast, where Florida met the Gulf of Mexico. They passed luscious, vivid and untamed areas, as wild as anything in the Amazon, she thought. They passed the Thousand Islands area at Florida’s southernmost tip, an area teeming with wildlife and fowl. Here the waters were strewn with vegetation, dotted and peppered by islands of every size and shape, their deep green and emerald colors meshing with the sea, looking for all the world like a meteor shower of land masses on Captain Anderson’s maps and radar. However, on the horizon, the scattered islands looked more like sentinels, their silent byways witness to long-ago pirates.

Captain Anderson explained that most of the area was a national wildlife preserve, “good for little else except maybe oil drilling, and God help us all if it ever comes to that.”

Only when they neared the eastern coast of Florida did they begin to see some homes deep in the density of the island world, most being houseboats, more squatters. Houseboats gave way to the occasional Texaco sign, and here and there a welcoming wharf, at the end of which would be a watering hole where a person could get a beer and a sandwich. These establishments were soon replaced by the occasional resort, nightclub and full-fledged restaurant fronting the water.

The intense sun beat down, creating a brightness so radiant as to be nearly unbearable as it surrounded Jessica from all sides and reflected up from the water. Feeling strong and a bit daring, she was the first off the boat and onto the dock when Captain Anderson brought them ashore for a quick bite and a rest. She busied herself playing the sailor, snatching at one of two lines which needed securing to the dock and going about this in good fashion while Quince and Elliot exchanged a word about her, whispering so that she couldn’t hear. She smiled across at them and felt the touch of her skin against the thick, black nylon rope the skipper used. It suddenly reminded her of what she’d left behind in Miami and Key Largo and of darker moments in the lab when she’d cut away the exact same brand of nylon rope from the victims of the Night Crawler several weeks before. She composed herself and glanced around from behind her dark glasses. Quincey joined her on the dock.

“ You know Elliot finds you very attractive, Doctor,” Quince said. “Wants you to consider coming down permanently to live on his boat with him.”

Jessica went along with what she imagined a joke between friends. “Can he keep me in all the pina coladas and macadamia nuts I require?’’ “On what he makes?” Quince bellowed aloud for his friend’s ear. “Not hardly.”

Naples, Florida, That Night

Eriq Santiva and Mark Samernow looked across at one another as they sat in Samernow’s squad car, the lights of a Naples street playing over their features.

“ Hell of a gas voucher you’re going to have to put in,” Eriq said to hear himself talk. They’d traversed what the maps referred to as Alligator Alley, the entire strip of sun- bleached concrete slicing through the Everglades, the wild beauty after many miles becoming monotonous and awe- inspiring at once. Now, here in Naples, they had every wharfside, dockside beer joint and restaurant on the Gulf Coast under surveillance. It had taken a massive effort to coordinate, but Santiva had called for assistance and more manpower from surrounding counties, sheriffs’ offices, the Florida Marine Patrol, the Coast Guard, and the local FBI field office.

According to the local authorities, every conceivable hunting ground for the Night Crawler was covered, and now the killer’s description, alias and sketch were all in the hands of law enforcement everywhere. The summer breeze wafting off the Gulf of Mexico felt like a woman’s scarf being pulled lightly across Santiva’s face. It was a night to excite the senses.

“ Whataya think, Samernow? Do we have a chance in hell of catching this turkey in Naples?” Eriq asked, trying to get up a conversation with the stoic Miami detective and wanting a release from his thoughts, which kept returning to Jessica Coran. He wondered how she was doing in the Keys, and why she had not contacted them yet.

Samernow raised his shoulders in response to Eriq’s question and said, “The bastard moves fast when he moves. He could well be up the coast by now, on to Tampa, Cedar Key, points north… the panhandle, who knows?”

“ Ahh, I don’t know,” countered Eriq. “Maybe we’ll get lucky. Our luck’s gotta change, right? Who knows, maybe he thinks he can settle in here like he did in Miami.”

“ You mean, maybe he’s a fool?”

The stakeout had been on for twelve hours, having begun at five in the afternoon, happy hour for most upscale restaurants fronting the Gulf of Mexico. The fatigue was beginning to show in Samernow’s features, but the man was a much happier camper than he had been in days past, Eriq thought. Samernow had seen his ex-wife and his daughter, and apparently, the reunion had been quite successful and there was the hint that they might reunite permanently. Santiva had wished him the best when he’d heard.

“ Let’s go look around, talk to this guy Ford who’s got the most men posted. See what’s going on.”

Captain Richard Ford of the Naples Police Department was inside the Blue Whale, doing his part, working undercover at one of the tables. His best undercover guys and some uniforms who had volunteered to do undercover were doing it in shifts all over the city. It was a fairly small force, but they’d called in all off-duty and temporary-duty cops to fill in elsewhere.

“ Better take the remote with us then, just in case,” suggested Samernow.

“ Right.” Santiva lifted the heavy remote radio and jammed it into his coat pocket. Together, they casually walked across the street and were preparing to enter the Blue Whale when suddenly the radio crackled to life inside Eriq’s pocket.

He found an alcove and responded to the call. A Detective Bear of the Naples undercover squad had a suspect in hand, “apprehended at a place called Bayfront Charlie”s, next door to Captain Jack’s,” he said, “Decker and Riverside Drive.”

Neither Eriq nor Samernow knew Naples well enough to fly straight for the scene, so they waited for Ford to appear at the door. Wired, he’d have gotten the same message where he waited undercover in the Blue Whale.

When Ford came racing out, he saw the men from Miami, and he immediately told them to follow him out toward the northern section of Naples along the waterfront.

They sped toward the scene of the apprehension, each man silently praying this was it: a final end to their shared nightmare and vigil. Over the radio, another call came through from Bear. He was shouting for medical assistance. “Suspect down! Apparent heart attack! Captain Ford, if you can hear me, bring medics with you! I repeat, we need medical assistance at the scene!”

The other restaurant was within twelve city blocks of where they’d come from. When they entered Bayfront Charlie’s, a waiter whisked them through the place and out the back and onto the dockside dining area, where Detective Steve Bear was alternately pounding on the suspect’s chest and administering mouth-to-mouth, but the man lying on the weathered deck flooring looked as stone-still and unresponsive as a mannequin.

“ Damnit, we’ve lost him before we had him!” Eriq cursed, rushing ahead of the others, going to his knees over the suspect. A young girl stood nearby, simpering and blowing her nose; her eyes wide with fear: she kept repeating, “Is he… is he… is he…” Santiva looked down at the blue-faced man below the dim light, knowing that he was dead, sensing it, and also sensing that he was not the Night Crawler. He put a hand on Bear and told him to back off, a bit more harshly than he’d meant to.

“ There’s no more you can do, Steve,” Ford assured his man.

Eriq then took a pulse and found none. Medics rushed in and confirmed Eriq’s quick diagnosis while Eriq and Mark Samernow tried to match the face with the sketch of the Night Crawler. It was close, very close, but there were significant differences. This man was older, for one, more wrinkled; heavily tanned, yes, but it appeared a cosmetic tan, the sort one purchased in a bottle or a salon. His hair was streaked with silver, blue under the lights here, and it was wavier than Patric Allain’s.

“ He… he just keeled over when we moved in to make the bust; just freaked,” said Bear, a burly man doubling as a waiter in a black-and-white penguin-style tux tonight.

Santiva went to the girl. “How well did you know him?”

“ I didn’t… I just met him.”

“ How did you meet him?”

“ He offered to… bought me drinks and dinner, and he… he propositioned me.”

“ Propositioned you?”

“ Said we could do it on his boat. It’s in the harbor. He offered me money. Nobody never did that before…”

Stupid child, he thought. “So you met him here, at the restaurant?’’

“ I was at the bar…”

“ Do you know which boat is his?”

“ No… we didn’t get that… far…”

“ Anybody here know which boat is… was his?” asked Samernow of the lingering crowd and other police officers.

“ He said it was the two-masted schooner at the other end.” said the girl. “Said it was his baby. Said he named it the Southern Cross, after the diamond, not the star. He laughed about it. Said he was a retired real estate broker and former naval officer. He seemed like a real nice gentleman, and then all of a sudden he’s being arrested, and then he grabbed his chest, and… well, now he’s dead…”

“ Checks out from his wallet,” said Samernow, rummaging through the dead man’s cards and photos.

“ Doesn’t quite appear to jive with our information on the Night Crawler-” began Eriq.

“ Night Crawler? This guy’s the Night Crawler?” begged the young lady.

“ We don’t know that,” Mark Samernow assured her, gesturing for her to keep her voice down. “Very likely no.” But it was already too late; by now everyone in the place was buzzing with two words: Night Crawler.

“ Our information on this creep is that he’s capable of disguise and sleight of hand as well as charm, so…” continued Eriq as he once again kneeled over the man, whom the wallet proclaimed to be a retired American naval officer named George V. Slaughter. Eriq placed his hands over the forehead and right cheek, checking for cosmetics, and finding none he yanked at the man’s mustache and hair. “Nothing false about this guy, except maybe his line.” Eriq had noticed a photo of a woman and three children as Mark had rifled through Slaughter’s wallet.

“ What next?” asked Ford.

“ We have a look at his boat. We have to be sure, one way or another.”

“ That might take a court order. Could take a while.”

Santiva pointed down at Slaughter. “He’s got no place to go. Get the search warrant. Meantime, we’ll see if we can’t locate next of kin.”

The young detective who made the collar had turned white by now. He shakily said, “You think… you think my nabbing him, you know, caused his heart attack?”

“ Most likely he has a history,” Ford assured his man. “Don’t go punishing yourself, son. Wait here for IAD and-”

“ IAD?”

“ Internal Affairs’s is going to want to talk to you briefly. Just state the facts as you know them, Bear.”

“ Yes, sir.”

Naples wasn’t exactly a small town, but Eriq found that the police captain and his men had a small-town cohesive- ness which was charming and rare.

“ What about the girl?” Samernow asked Eriq.

“ Send her home for now, but get all her vitals.”

“ Gotcha.”

“ Meanwhile, I’m going to get a bite to eat here and sit on this boat while Captain Ford or one of our local guys gets us that warrant. Federal warrant might carry more weight…”

“ But you don’t think this guy’s our man, do you?”

Santiva shook his head. “No, no, I don’t. Not even in the ballpark.”

“ Then why’re we bothering?”

“ Protocol dictates. We’ve come this far. People here know we’re after the Night Crawler. This is going to be all over the news in an hour. We have to see if we can pluck some phoenix from these ashes, even if it’s a speeding ticket or boating violation. Hell, in a sense we have to cover our asses; this could blow up in our faces, like the police counterpart of a medical malpractice suit. A guy may’ve died as a direct result of our stakeout.”

Samernow nodded, understanding. “You think the guy’s family might sue the city or the FBI, or both?”

“ Nowadays? Who knows-all of the above, including you and me, Mark.”

“ Yeah, right. People’ve tried to sue for a hell of a lot less.”

Santiva went to the bar and ordered a whiskey sour, wanting to see what Jessica Coran liked about them. He wondered how she had fared in Key Largo and Metacumbe, wondered why she hadn’t been in contact, wondered where she was at this moment. When the bartender returned with his drink, he ordered a ham and swiss on rye with fries.

He found himself missing Jessica, missing her company, their partnership and camaraderie. Being apart from her now these several days, he realized just how important to him their friendship was, how much he valued her trust and respect. He admired the way she had barged in with regard to the investigation, and even her attitude toward the release of information which she believed vital to the well-being of others. It showed she had courage and heart, a brave heart. She had shown such backbone, that one…

Around him people buzzed; Ford was trying desperately to keep a lid on things, guiding IAD officers through the maze of what had happened here, and how it had happened, finally leading them to a still shaken Detective Bear. Ford seemed a good man, a solid cop.

Once more Eriq’s thoughts floated away to where Jessica might be. He might easily have taken a hard-nosed approach with her for having released information to the press without his express consent, but he hadn’t, for the simple reason that he had secretly agreed with her move. If the damned agency and the damned politicians would let him do his job, if they’d stop roping his hands behind his back, he most assuredly would have released everything they had on the Night Crawler himself the night Jessica had done so. Maybe then she’d see him in a better light, maybe. It had become extremely important that she not view him as the enemy, and that she continue to hold a positive opinion of him.

Once the proverbial shit had hit the proverbial fan- when Jess had chosen to release the artist sketch and APB on the killer-Eriq had simply told himself to hell with it, but that attitude hadn’t lessened in the least the amount of flak which he’d had to endure from above. He had taken a great deal of crap for Jessica’s actions; half or more of it she would never know.

Now however, here in Naples, removed from the situation and from Dr. Jessica Coran’s presence, he wondered if there weren’t more to it-the admiration and respect he held for this fine woman of science and integrity. Despite the fact that they actually had not accomplished a great deal here in Florida, Eriq found himself admiring her at every turn, and he’d come to realize that he didn’t want ever to lose her trust and friendship to bureaucratic bullshit, neither now nor in the future. Still, something else had been nagging at him all day, and sitting about with Samernow hour after dour hour had given him a great deal of time to think. So he had begun to wonder… If it were any other agent than Dr. Jessica Coran, would he have behaved in the same calm, polite, accepting manner that he had? Anyone else and he most likely would have lobbed off the head and sent the body to Siberia, or at least to Pocatello, Idaho.

He wasn’t sure what his feelings meant or precisely how to deal with them, but one thing he was increasingly sure of: This chief agent in Hawaii, James Parry, was a fool to have lost Jessica.

The radio on Captain Elliot Anderson’s charter boat crackled with stories about arrests taking place overnight in and around the Naples area; apparently authorities everywhere were on a full-scale effort, or so reported WKIK- Kick Radio-in Naples. Jessica learned of the heart attack victim, “who,” the reporter said, “was arrested after he expired, police taking no chances… and every precaution…”

The joke wasn’t lost on either Quincey or Anderson, who shook their heads over the announcer’s words and tone.

Other outlandish arrest stories followed: One female- male impersonator, one African-American, one man with an Austrian-not an Australian-accent. This fellow was a man named Neubaurer who was on holiday, just come from Mickey Mouse Land in Orlando only to be accosted by police in Naples. “The moment he was released,” the radio announcer said, “Neubaurer rushed directly to the nearest law office to file a complaint in the hope of winning the great American dream, a fortune through litigation.”

Along their watery route to Naples, Captain Elliot Anderson had been studying all manner of charts and maps, but now he had snatched down a gazetteer-styled map of the entire state of Florida and its waterways. He spread the map across the top of the cabin of his charter vessel and asked Jessica and Quincey to give him the exact locations where each of the Night Crawler’s victims had washed ashore.

This done, Anderson placed an overlay onto the map which showed precise ocean currents and drift factors. From a small black journal, he factored in wind coefficients and velocities on or about the day of each gruesome discovery. He then began a startlingly intelligent geography of the crimes using educated guesses as to the location of the killer’s boat at each instance a body was, as he put it, “launched” from Patric Allain’s craft.

Given the degree of wind and water current in from the sea, Anderson’s projections were startlingly on target.

Even as an approximation, the map of killings revealed a great deal about the movements of the killer-a great deal more than the large map on the wall back in Miami had ever revealed. Anderson’s quick hand and expert eye had created a clear picture of a ship that’d sailed from the Keys north to Miami and back again along a certain time line. Given the northward drift of the eastern coastal waters, a body that had been discovered as far north as Pompano Beach, north of Fort Lauderdale, which police had not put together with the Night Crawler’s heinous collection could, according to Anderson, be among the victims if the killer had toured at all toward Fort Lauderdale. Jessica looked out over the emerald-green waters of the peaceful Gulf of Mexico and away from the white buildings and red-tiled roofs of Naples on the port side of the bow now.

“ As to your earlier question,” said Anderson, “there is a taxidermist of considerable reputation here, name of Buckner-rather famous, actually. Does all kinds of animals, even does this thing where he puts the head of a gator onto the body of a blue- or yellowfin, or the head of a possum on a fish, names the things and sells ‘em to the highest bidder.”

“ There you have it,” said Quincey. “Maybe our guy’s come to see Buckner’s special creations.”

“ We haven’t had any sort of uncanny luck before in this case, so why should we now?” Jessica asked. She momentarily wondered if Santiva wouldn’t soon be throwing it in her face, that it had all been a wild-goose chase coming here. She wondered if Eriq had determined with any degree of certainty if the handwritten note from the killer postmarked Naples was indeed the same handwriting as earlier notes.

Anderson tried to soothe Jessica’s fear that perhaps the killer had taken another direction altogether and that they were now pursuing a copycat killer. Anderson said, “If the SOB did come this way, he took one of the channels up, just as we did, and we’re in his wake now.”

Jessica remained cynical, crossing from one side of the boat to the other, pacing as she spoke. “Even if we were sure that we were in his wake, as we came along the southern tip of Florida there were literally thousands of islands amid which he might have hidden. We’re working blind here, gentlemen, and I can honestly tell you that I don’t believe I’ve ever worked a case with so little to go on but frustrated efforts…”

“ But if his ship is a seventy-footer and as beautiful as you say it is… “ Anderson rejoined.

“ No,” she corrected him, “we only know what witnesses have said about the boat, and Quince, we both know how unreliable witnesses are. We can’t even be sure if our sketch of the man is accurate, much less his boat.”

“ On the other hand,” Anderson continued as if speaking to himself now, “we’ve passed some of the most gorgeous sailing vessels ever to frequent these waters-there are so many here fitting your description.”

Quincey pushed Anderson in a good-natured way, saying, “That’s right, side with her.”

“ Well, she’s a damn sight prettier than you!”

Jessica, Quince and Captain Anderson now eased into a harbor and boat slip in downtown Naples, a sign proclaiming the slip for the express use of the harbor patrol only. Captain Anderson had warned they might have problems docking here and that he was concerned, as fines were measured out in the hundreds of dollars at a city-owned harbor, telling Jessica and Quince that the harbormaster would rent out as much space as possible to make a buck under the table, cutting corners when it came to holding open slips for Coast Guard and police vehicles. “At the moment, this is a police vehicle-undercover,” Quince assured his friend. “Commandeered, as they say.”

“ That mean I don’t get paid, pal?”

“ Not to worry. Your check’ll come from Miami-Dade as soon as I get back and make out the voucher.”

“ Six to nine months after the voucher, you mean.”

Jessica piped up with, “Maybe with the FBI putting a little juice on it, we can do better this time, Captain.”

Elliot Anderson grimly looked in Jessica’s direction but only found her raising a disparaging shrug and saying, “We’ll see you’re reimbursed for your time and effort here, Captain, my promise.”

As they entered an empty slip-which appeared to be the only one open, just as Anderson had warned-a stubby little man with a clipboard came racing out to them, waving them off and shouting, “Can’t you damned fools read?” The little mustached man reminded Jessica of the gatekeeper in the Wizard of Oz, and he didn’t look above a bribe. Captain Anderson chose the Naples municipal harbor as perfectly suited to their needs, for City Hall and the main branch of the Naples Police Department were within view and walking distance. After securing the boat, Jessica said to Anderson as he was about to alight from the boat, “Captain, please bring your navigational chart, the one you used to get us here, and the map and overlay you created which shows the movements of the killer since discovery of the first body by Coudriet in-”

“ You can take them,” he replied, “but I’ll need replacements.”

“ Replace them while you’re in port here. I’ll reimburse you on the receipts.”

“ Fine.”

“ But I want you to come with Quince and me to show our associates your chart. It’s of great importance.”

“ You want me inside a police station? Don’t know if I’d feel comfortable, Doctor, much as I’d like to help…“Damnit, Elliot,” bawled Quincey. “It’s not like we’re asking you to step into a war camp. It’s just a big office, and you’re not under arrest.”

“ Just a big office, huh? With rooms in the basement with lots of bars-and not the kind of bars I like to frequent.” The man reminded Jessica of Jimmy Buffet as he scrunched up his face and nose, considering his options a moment until he saw Jessica’s pleading eyes.

“ Just long enough to explain the maps to my partner,” she asked.

“ All right… anyone ever say no to you, Dr. Coran?”

“ Sometimes, sure.”

“ Stronger men than I…”

Jessica now took note of the beautiful setting and lush greenery here. The city was alabaster-white, almost all the buildings bright pastels or whitewash with exotic-looking orange- and red-tiled roofs in old Spanish style. Moss hung like strange garlands around ancient trees, giving them the appearance of alien Christmas trees. These ancient oaks and poplars lined wide streets, and palm-lined avenues-corridors to the city-were clean and inviting. From here she could see that the business, historical and government districts all shared the stage along the same spacious avenues. There were no skyscrapers here, the tallest of buildings perhaps ten stories, and these were rare-hospitals and banks. Like many or most Florida towns, Naples maintained a small-town atmosphere where parks along the waterways were filled to capacity with boaters and picnicking families, the children flying kites, chasing dogs and Frisbees and climbing up and down the town gazebo.

All in all, it was an elegant little city, the kind of place found only in dreams, the kind of place where evil died of loneliness, the kind of place where fear, ignorance, rage, prejudice, pestilence and poverty never entered-or rather hid very well amid the scarcity of shadow; still, it appeared the kind of place where only gentleness, kindness and light- heartedness could thrive, the kind of place lost in America’s past and found now only in imagination, the kind of place where people were lulled into believing that peace and safety and brotherhood and sisterhood and tranquillity and an unlocked door could actually exist on the planet. The little city by the emerald Gulf seemed quite out of keeping with the Night Crawler’s usual teeming haunts.

On their walk toward the expensively laid-out grounds of the police station here-a sure sign that all was not well in this little jeweled city-Jessica thought of the allusions in the Night Crawler’s poetry to stage and theater. She now voiced her thoughts to Quincey. “This doesn’t exactly look the perfect stage for the Night Crawler to crawl out on to strut his stuff.”

Quincey cleared his throat and thoughtfully replied, “Well, there’re areas, especially along the outer islands and north of here, that are teeming with nightclubs and nightlife.”

Elliot Anderson added, “If your guy’s here, the bastard’s most likely just casually trawling these waters while on his way to a larger arena…

” Jessica’s step slowed. “A larger arena?”

“ A major metropolis, like Miami,” Quincey filled in. n“ Tampa-St. Pete, I believe,” said Anderson. Quincey agreed instantly.

Jessica sadly agreed as well. “I guess you’re both right on one score.”

“ He needs a big kettle,” Anderson finished for her.

She nodded. “He feeds on the anonymity afforded by a large city.” Quincey quickly added, “Every predator needs a jungle.”

She added. “And every predator’s jungle must conceal him.”