Extreme Instinct

FOURTEEN

Over coffee and J. T.'s breakfast plate, they discussed tourist points on the map, of which there were too many to count. They discussed what they so far knew about the killer, each comparing the notes of the other. They discussed the new message on the mirror and how it fit with the others, J. T. displaying it on his notepad. To date, the list now read:

#1 is #9-Traitors

#2 is #8-Malicious Frauds

#3 is #7-Violents

#4 is #6-Heretics

"Now, logically speaking, his next victim will be number five, right, Jess?"

"We can't let that happen."

''Bear with me, here, Jess. If his next victim is number five, and it follows as it has been going, then we can predict part of his next message will be"-he interrupted himself to add to the list-"this. Right?"

Jessica looked down at his added line, which read:

#5 is #5

"Interesting juxtaposition, wouldn't you say, how five crosses five?" he asked.

''Yeah, but what does it mean? How does it help us to stop the bastard?"

J. T. bit his lower lip, frowning. "I don't know… yet.. "

With maps and tour bus guides laid out across the table, they continued the brainstorming session they'd begun. "J. T., you think it's just a coincidence that two of the victims were traveling on touring buses?"

"Yeah, I have to agree. It is a bit strange, but each victim, Melvin Martin and Eloise Whitaker, were using different tour bus companies."

"Still, the two buses interweaved from sight-seeing point to sight-seeing point."

J. T. considered this, sipping at his coffee. "Yeah. You saw how many buses were pulling out of the lot here this morning?"

"I saw, all right. One almost ran me down."

"Maybe the killer's that bus driver."

Jessica replied with a slight shake of the head, ' 'More likely to be a less than remarkable passenger. Besides, come to think of it, being run over by a monster bus like that, it'd be too easy a way for me to go, so far as this guy's concerned. He wants me to suffer along with what- nine other victims?"

"You think he'll stop at nine?"

"Unless he plans to spin on nine and take it back down to one."

"I'm going to do some checking about these bus tour lines. See what I can find out about them," J. T. suggested.

''Do that. As I recall, that Pierson woman whom Chris Lorentian stayed with said Chris was in the process of- or had gotten-tickets for both of them to escape Vegas. I had assumed she meant plane tickets, but bus tickets would have done just as well."

"Hey, that's right."

"And there've been buses loading and unloading around us since… well, since Vegas."

"My God. If this is true, the killer took Chris Lorentian's ticket and is traveling on her reservation."

"Contact all the bus lines and run down Lorentian's itinerary, and we may know the killer's next destination. Short of that, check also for anyone with the name Charon or Nessus traveling by bus."

"That might take some time."

Jessica gritted her teeth, but looking across the room, she saw her old friend the tour guide Ronny Ropers. She scooted from the booth seat and rushed for the tour guide, asking, "Where do the buses go from here?"

Ropers, looking confused, his hands in the air, asked, "Which buses? They all go in different directions."

"What's tonight's destination for those heading north?"

"Salt Lake City for some; Pocatello, Idaho, for others; and Rock Springs, Wyoming, for others. Depends on site destinations."

"And those heading south?"

"Where we came from, Zion National Park, Wahweap Lodge, Glen Canyon country, or a straight run to Vegas. Ultimately Vegas for most, Flagstaff for others."

"Salt Lake City," she repeated while Ropers stared at her. It stood out as the largest northerly destination at the moment.

She returned to J. T. "He's headed for Salt Lake. It's a large enough city. We could lose him forever, if he suddenly decides to cut his losses and wishes to disappear, but I doubt that's his plan."

"What do we do?"

She started away, saying over her shoulder, "Follow through on your plan. Check with the bus lines. Run down that ticket."

"And what are you going to do?" he asked, chasing after.

"I'm going ahead to Salt Lake."

"Alone?"

"I'll wire Bishop to meet me there."

"I don't know, Jess. I think we ought to stick together."

"J. T., that information on what bus line he's on will be vital. It will tell us not only his next destination but also the one after that. There's no way you can get that info while traveling to Salt Lake. We need to know Lorentian's proposed itinerary and what hotels she would've been staying at, the same ones we hypothesize that he will be using in her stead."

"But Jess!"

She was making her way across the highway to the helicopter again. "Don't you see? That information is vital now, John. Get it! Meanwhile, I'll organize a strike force in Salt Lake, utilizing FBI headquarters there."

"Are you sure?"

Over her shoulder, she called back, saying, "I'll call you here when I'm set up there."

"But Jess… Jess…"

She had stopped listening and continued her march to the helicopter pad, determined now to be at the killer's next destination before him, glad that she had brought along an overnight bag along with her medical bag.

J. T. discovered that many of the people staying at the hotels at or near national parks such as Bryce Canyon and Zion were indeed on one bus tour or another, that on any given night at least two and perhaps four or five tour buses lodged at Ruby Inn and Lake Powell's Wahweap as well. No surprises there. He also learned that like ships at sea, there were weary-worn routes all the buses took, but that some tours included side trips that others failed to take. All of this he learned from the clique of tour guides hanging about Ruby Inn. He also learned something of the history of the inn, that it was a favorite haunt of cowboy and Western stars from Gene Autry and Roy Rogers to Audie Murphy and John Wayne.

From the bus companies he'd contacted, he had heard from only three of seven so far, and none of them listed a Chris Lorentian, a Charon, or anyone named Nessus in any of various spellings on their manifests. It had been four hours since Jessica had left, and no word. He began to worry when Warren Bishop showed up at the inn, seeking Jessica.

"Where is she?" Bishop asked J. T. where he sat before a phone in the manager's office.

"Salt Lake City."

"Why Salt Lake?"

"We believe-or rather, she believes it will be where he next kills."

"How does she know this?"

"She doesn't, not exactly, but bear with me."

Bishop, exhausted from what appeared lack of sleep, dropped stonelike into a chair beside J. T., who then continued, "He's a killer of opportunity. He bides his time, seeking out the weakest to prey upon, someone lonely or despondent, someone alone, and he pounces."

"I follow you so far."

"Step out to the restaurant with me for a moment."

"I'm not hungry. Get on with it, Dr. Thorpe."

"Please, come along," J. T. gently urged.

Taking a narrow passageway, they came upon the dining area. It was dinnertime, especially for the bus tour crowd staying the night at the inn. "Notice how many of these people around you here at the inn, Bishop, are just that- vulnerable one way or another?"

"They're mostly elderly people-couples, and in packs. What do you mean?"

"Women alone, women traveling with their daughters, single women, single men in search of a mate along with their adventure into the wilderness parks. Sure, there are a lot of couples, but there are also the singles. Melvin Martin was a single man traveling alone, and now this Whitaker woman, a single woman traveling alone."

"Then the killer could still be at this lodge, camouflaged among the bus tour crowds," suggested Bishop. "So, you and Jessica have concluded that he's traveling by bus, I see."

"How do you suppose he learned we-Jess, rather- was staying at Wahweap Lodge when he was here, killing again? He's following a bus route, and he has us marching to his drumbeat, and he knows it."

"Then he's thought this thing through thoroughly, hasn't he?"

"We believe so. As you know, he's been baiting Jessica all along. The creep was milling around in Page while we were there, just.. just to taunt us."

"Yes, Jessica feared her path and his might cross there."

"He knew enough to telephone her there, so he either saw her there or assumed she would follow him there…"

"And if he assumed… Well, either way, he's as shrewd as he is psychotic. I got Jessica's wire, flew out to Page only to discover you had all rushed here."

Bishop's apt description of the Phantom as a shrewd psychotic recalled Mad Matt Matisak to mind, along with a host of other satanic killers whom Jessica had helped, either directly or indirectly, to put down or behind bars, and he wondered, as Repasi had, if the Phantom might not be someone with a long-ago grudge to settle with Jessica. He suggested this to Bishop, who quickly informed him that it was unlikely, since a thorough check of all former such opponents revealed no one missing from lockup.

''But what if someone in lockup is holding the strings, telling this puppet what to do and say to terrify Jessica?"

"Maybe… it's a possibility, but Quantico says no. And Santiva has taken measures to stop all communiquйs going out of federal asylums and federal prisons housing anyone who could conceivably hold a grudge against Jess."

"You should have seen Jessica last night after that bastard telephoned her again, Bishop. Mother wanted her to hear Eloise Whitaker's last screams."

''Lowlife-SOB-motherfreaking-rat-bastard.''

"Yeah, my sentiments exactly."

"Maybe it's possible then, at some point, he was at Wahweap Lodge in Page while you two were there," suggested Bishop, imagining it.

"I suspect our paths crossed. The killer didn't have to wait there long, just long enough for the tour guide to round everyone up, minus Melvin Martin, of course, but then a check with Martin's tour bus company turned up no one traveling as Chris Lorentian, so Melvin may not've been a part of the same tour group as the one the killer is traveling with. Actually, as it happens, Melvin was traveling in exactly the opposite direction when their paths crossed. His tour was passing through the national parks from the north down on a journey for a destination southwest-for Vegas, in fact. And the morning after Chris Lorentian was killed? The hotel parking lot in Vegas was crammed full with touring buses."

"He made his escape from Vegas on a tour bus?" Bishop's shake of the head spoke volumes. "We had men watching the buses for anyone looking suspicious."

J. T. frowned, knowing it sounded somewhat ridiculous, but he replied, ''What better way to blend in than to join a gaggle of tourists? And we never found Chris's credit cards or her purse. Besides, as the FBI profile says, this guy is so unremarkable as to be virtually invisible."

"And using a unisex name like Chris, I suppose the tour guide would have little reason to question his sex when he went to use that ticket." Bishop sent his balled fist down on a table, the noise startling everyone in the restaurant area.

"Right," agreed J. T.

"So, supposing they were both-killer and victim- touring with the same or similar bus tour companies," suggested Bishop, warming now to the game of supposition they were playing, "they strike up a conversation, maybe have dinner together, and he slips his victim something in a drink…"

"Just enough drugs to incapacitate. Then he goes up to the victim's room, concerned about the victim's pallor, which the bastard remarks upon at dinner," added J. T.

"And the rest, as they say, is smoke and history…" Bishop's hard-set jaw began to quiver. "Cold, methodical bastard. Quite sure of what he wants, but I'll be damned if I know. Tell me what you know of this untapped phone call Jessica had from the creep at Wahweap Lodge."

J. T. wondered for a moment how Bishop knew the call had been untapped, but he mentally shrugged it off. There'd been no time for Jessica to place a tap on the phone. Bishop must have assumed as much.

J. T. now launched into as detailed a description of the killer's last communiquй as he could muster. He told Bishop all that Jessica had revealed to him about the phone call, and he ended with the killer's professed reason for doing people: "In order to climb from Hell himself, or so he said."

"Nifty and the freshest excuse for murder I ever heard," Bishop sarcastically replied.

J. T. nodded. "The devil made me do it."

"In your search with the bus companies…" began Bishop.

"Yeah?"

"Did you ask after the name she'd registered under at the Hilton?"

"My God. I'd forgotten. Chris Dunlap."

"Let's get back on the horn then."

They rushed back to the phone J. T. had left in the manager's office.

J. T. and Bishop double-teamed the effort, and they tied up the phone lines out of Ruby Inn with the help of the cache of tour guides they'd rounded up, making phone calls to all the various bus companies working the national parks routes in Arizona, Utah, Nevada, Idaho, Colorado, and Wyoming. They'd thought themselves clever by limiting themselves to the national parks tour packages in this area, since the trail of the killer appeared to be that of a tourist interested in the Grand Canyon, Glen Canyon Dam, Bryce Canyon, and the Zion area. They then narrowed their search to buses going to, through, or toward Salt Lake City, Utah, in the past twenty-four hours.

The search proved frustrating, however. The bus dispatchers they talked to were, to a person, reluctant to release information over the phone without proof of Bishop's or J. T.'s credentials. The tour guides had far better luck, their voices and tour package numbers familiar to those within a given company.

Further vexing Bishop and J. T., some of the bus company records seemed in disarray, despite their systems' computerized promises.

At one point J. T. found himself disappointed to the point of considering murder.

Finally, after two and a half hours of nonsense, someone at the other end of the line said, "Yes, yes, sir… I do have a Chris Dunlap registered on our bus tour number thirteen fourteen, which is due into Salt Lake… ahhh, an hour and a half ago!"

J. T. had to check which bus company he was now speaking to, he'd been on the phone with so many today. It was the VisionQuest bus line. One of their buses had almost run over Jessica that morning.

"Thirteen fourteen? That's the number to identify the bus?" he asked.

"No, no… that's the tour group number. Bus number is sixtyyyyy… seven."

"License number?"

"Bus travels through sixteen states. Which license number do you want, sir? Arizona, Nevada plates?''

"Utah… Utah plates'll do."

The voice at the other end slowly enumerated each number.

"Where is the bus now? What lodge or hotel is it at?"

"Salt Lake Hilton, downtown Salt Lake City, sir."

"Thank you, God, thank you."

"Sir, our safety record to date has been-"

"Yes, yes, sterling, I'm sure. Thanks." J. T. finally hung up on a call that had netted them useful information. He felt elated and grabbed the receiver back up to call Jessica, when he realized he had no way of reaching her. She'd managed to do exactly as she'd promised not to do: She was in the snake pit with this guy. She'd promised to contact J. T. here at the Ruby Inn, but so far she hadn't, and it was nearing dusk.

He turned to Bishop, who'd been on another line close to him, but found Warren had disappeared. He went in search of Bishop to find him conferring in a shadowed vestibule between the hotel and the laundry room with Dr. Karl Repasi. J. T. at first assumed that Bishop was getting Repasi's take on the Eloise Whitaker murder when suddenly he saw Bishop erupt in passion, shoving Repasi so hard the other man's weight sent him through the laundry room door, where he toppled to the floor and stayed there while Bishop pointed a daggarlike, accusatory finger and swore at Repasi some unintelligible words.

J. T. was pleased to see someone literally take Repasi to the cleaners. "All right!" J. T. said with a wide grin, feeling it served Repasi right.

Not wanting Bishop to think him a snoop, J. T. stepped back from sight and waited to catch Bishop on his return to the manager's office. When Bishop did so, there was a slight pinkish-redness about his cheeks, giving his Bill Clinton look-alike features an even more Clinton-like look, but the square-shouldered Bishop remained otherwise unruffled. J. T. brought a smile to Bishop's face when he quickly unloaded his good news, saying, "Warren, I've got the whereabouts of the impostor Chris Dunlap."

Bishop's eyes widened like those of a predator. "Let me see that." He grabbed J. T.'s notes from his hand and stared hard at the data. "I'm on the chopper to Salt Lake."

"I'm with you," J. T. replied.

"No, you've got to man a phone here and find out where Jessica is. Tell her to meet us at the Hilton, should she get in touch."

J. T. frowned and complained of being left back.

"She'll need to hear this from you," Bishop said, his large index finger on the notepad J. T. had been using.

The frown remained on J. T.'s face as he watched Bishop disappear for the waiting helicopter where Bishop got on the radio, calling out the cavalry, J. T. assumed. In a moment, Bishop was lifting off into the sun-dappled sky and blood-red-and-orange rock formations of Bryce Canyon, the helicopter speeding toward Salt Lake.

Checking with the various bus companies all this time had been annoying and frustrating, but having to sit here while Bishop raced off to become Jessica's hero was equally repulsive.