Fatal Instinct

Sixteen

The room was darkened, and overhead, larger than life, was the handwriting of the Claw. The childish script of huge swirls and loops looked almost as if it had been intentionally used to throw police off. Dr. Ames, a huge, dark shadow beside the screen, pointed at each line as he discussed it.

“ His rage and anger have been sublimated by this fantastic idea that he has somehow done the right thing; his words here and here, about tearing out his victims' eyes, feeding on the soft flesh, are balanced by his holier-than-thou attitude that he is somehow the agent of a spirit beyond this world, an angel or archangel. He feels that the power controlling him is in fact superhuman, and so if it tells him to kill, if it tells him to feed on those he kills, he does so. Not that he is without fear of the spirit that has overtaken him, but it is this fear that motivates him. He would rather eat out the sins of his victims, swallow them down and accumulate them, than face this being from another world that has taken control of him.”

“ Then there are two killers and not one,” said someone in the group.

“ No,” Ames disagreed. “There is only one killer, but he is a psychopath who receives visits from a second, more powerful personality, the dire, black side of his own soul, perhaps. Voices he takes to be that of God or God-directed.”

“ Then he's one guy with two personalities?”

“ Two personalities, yes, but one is at the beck and call of the other, the weaker will subjugated by the more demonic.”

Jessica was unnerved by Ames' profile of the killer. He was describing Gerald Ray Sims and a host of others either behind bars or executed long ago.

Rychman said in her ear, “We should've postponed this, gotten together with Ames ourselves and hashed it out before we presented it in front of my people. This is going to send them out with a lot of mixed signals.”

Jessica interrupted Ames. “Dr. Ames, isn't it at all possible that the two personalities you're referring to are, in fact, two physically separate men? One dominated by the other?”

“ This is my interpretation of the poem the man has written. It fits the classic pattern of a dangerous psychopath.”

“ But isn't it possible that he could just as well be writing about himself and his dominant partner, the one he protects?”

Ames was decisive. “No… not in my estimation.”

Damn, she thought. “I really need those reports from J.T. now,” she told Rychman.

The lights came up on the confusion of sixty creased faces, each person and each team trying to weigh the theories and decide whether the Claw was a single individual with a dual personality, or a killing couple.

Rychman was as upset with the way things had gone as Jessica, and it appeared, finally, that Dr. Ames realized just how upset they were with him. “I'm sorry if my diagnosis of the situation does not fit neatly into your plans, but I must be honest,” he told them as he began to pack up his notes and files. Priscilla had already abandoned the overhead and was now waiting for him at the door.

Rychman shook Ames' hand and thanked him for coming, as did Jessica. When Ames disappeared, hands went up all over the room. Rychman said in his firmest voice, “I believe Dr. Ames is half-right, and Dr. Coran is half-right. At any rate, quite soon, we will have forensics evidence to prove one theory or the other. In the meantime, you have your assignments. Dig into the medical records of each victim, and think about-think about-the possibility of the Claw being the Claws. Dismissed.”

The room cleared quickly, leaving Rychman and Jessica alone. She said, “Sorry it went so badly.”

“ Oh, I don't think it went too badly,” he politely lied.

“ You're a terrible liar.”

“ When I wanna be, yeah.”

She shook her head, and her knuckles went white when she gripped her cane. “We completely confused your entire task force. It was a fiasco, admit it.”

“ They needed shaking up. Come on, you don't have to take this all on your shoulders, Jess.”

They had moved toward the door, and he turned off the light, leaving them in the dark, at close quarters. She could feel the strength and the heat coming off him as he nudged still closer, dipped his head downward and pressed his lips tenderly against hers. When he pulled away, he said, “I hope this is better than the elevator.”

“ You can't blame it on the wine this time,” she replied, reaching around his neck and kissing him in return.

Her cane slipped away and slapped against the floor with a crack that made her start.

Rychman felt her tremble under his touch, realizing she was teetering; he sensed that part of her wanted to give in to him, while another part wanted no romantic entanglements. He wisely let her go, lifted her cane and returned it to her, saying, “I hope we're still on for tonight.”

“ Tonight?”

“ The play? Dinner?”

“ Oh, I don't know, Alan.”

“ Come on, we both need to get some relief from this case, and what better way than an evening at the theater?”

She didn't readily answer. “Alan, there're a million things to do around here right now, and Dr. Darius and Archer can't do it alone, and-”

“ You've got a bad case of the ands, Doctor, and what is it they say? Physician, heal thyself?”

She smiled back at him. “Is that your prescription?”

“ Stop thinking in ands and show a little concern for your blood pressure, that's right.”

She knew it would be easy to become stressed-out if she chose to work at the lab tonight. And staying alone with her thoughts in her hotel room, uneasy about sleep for fear she'd return to the nightmares that featured Teach Matisak would be just as bad. With an expectant look into Alan's eyes, she finally replied, “What do you propose? Take an evening off and call you in the morning?”

“ Things'11 look a whole lot better in the morning,” he assured her, taking her hands in his. “Trust me.”

“ I want to, Alan, but-”

“ But what?”

“ I've… we've got important work to do here and to get involved in any but a professional relationship… well, it could jeopardize the investigation in ways neither of us can predict, and, and-”

“ There's those ands again. I told you it was a sickness. You're worrying about things that haven't happened and may not!”

“ And besides, there's just no future in our becoming romantically-”

He kissed her firmly yet gently, his passion once more getting the better of him. She felt her breath taken away and she returned his kiss. When they parted, he said simply, “We'll just see the play, have dinner. Anything else will be up to you.”

She laughed lightly. “I guess I do have a bad case of the ands. Maybe you're right. Maybe I do need a little time to call my own. Although I don't believe my boss at Quantico would understand.”

“ Is that an acceptance?”

She put her hands to her temples and said, “Yes and yes.”

It was getting very late, but Dr. Luther Darius was driven, refusing all overtures from his associate, Dr. Simon Archer, to vacate the lab and relent. First there was the double autopsy of the day before, and then a re-examination of the Hamner cadaver, and now personally overseeing every aspect of the laboratory follow-up work on Olin and Phillips. It was too much for any man, but when Simon Archer asked him if he didn't need rest, the old man told Archer that he planned to push himself further by re-examining all earlier evidence-taking that'd accompanied the various Claw-case autopsies.

“ Searching for what?”

“ Any iota of evidence that may've been missed either by Perkins, you, Dr. Coran or myself.”

By now everyone in the lab understood that Darius was obsessing, and that although Archer'd been of great help, assisting in the re-examinations of the Olin and Hamner cadavers, they'd found nothing further. During their close work on the now wooden and grisly Hamner corpse, Darius confided much in Archer, and told him, “Somewhere along the way we've all missed some vital clue. This macabre poem we found wadded up inside the Phillips woman is just the tip of the iceberg, Simon.” Coran had since explained the nature of the communication to Darius. “Dr. Coran believes the killer to be not one but two people, and coincidentally, I have held the same suspicion for some time myself.”

“ I find it all rather doubtful, given the facts,” Archer said.

Still, Darius insisted they comb back through every shred and fiber of evidence with the exactitude he was famous for before his recent illness and bouts with depression and alcohol.

“ You forget, sir, that in your absence during your illness, I've been in charge, and… well… I've found nothing to point to two perpetrators. In fact, all the evidence points to a single individual.”

Darius bit at the inside of his cheek, deep in thought. “Yes… yes, well… of course, Simon… you may well be proven correct.”

“ I'm sure, sir, that I will be, and I am anxious for Dr. Coran's people at the FBI to fully corroborate my findings.”

“ We shall see, Dr. Archer. As for now… would you please close her up and see to final dispensation of Miss Olin here?”

Archer, ever the faithful associate, said, “Of course, sir. I think you may have overtaxed yourself. Dr. Darius. You'd best get a car home.”

“ I can remember a time I could have done four or five autopsies in a twenty-four-hour period; God, when your stamina goes, Simon, it's a horrible thing. Your mind is as fully functional and alive as when you were twenty, but your body begins to resist what your mind tells it to do.”

“ I'm sorry for your… difficulties. Dr. Darius. I take it your doctor's advice hasn't-”

“ Isn't worth a damn, Simon.” Archer smiled and waved him off, Darius hobbling from the area, his body racked with pain.

Alone, Dr. Darius now sat on a bench in the changing room before the locker he had used for so many years, trying to regain enough strength to get himself home. Finally he stood and opened his locker. He began to pull off his green surgeon's shirt, and in doing so, felt as if he were being watched. He saw the eyeless head of Mrs. Hamner staring down from the top tray of his locker.

Darius, shocked, backed into the bench, fell over it and knocked his head against a locker, sending him into unconsciousness.

Darius was found this way by a passing attendant. Medics were called and he was rushed to the hospital, his forehead bleeding.

He woke up in a hospital bed with an IV unit strung over his head, trying to recall what had happened. Then he remembered the black holes staring at him from the head that had been placed in his locker. Or had it materialized out of delirium tremens? He had gone for several days without a drop of liquor and his nerves had been shot as a result of the double autopsy and the way he'd been pushing himself on the Claw case. Maybe he had just imagined Mrs. Hamner's eyeless, severed head there in his locker. Maybe he was going crazy with all the stress that had been placed on him. They couldn't leave him to die in peace? No, the mayor and the C.P. had to push him into this hideous case, likely the final hideous case of his career.

When the doctors had told him about the cancer atop his heart condition, and how short the remainder of his life would be, he had taken to drinking heavily and secretly. So far, only a few need-to-knows had been informed and even these people only knew that half of it. But now all his secrets might surface.

He lay gasping, wondering how he could get a drink. His every nerve felt like brittle paper about to snap. He didn't care about the Claw any longer; he just wanted to find a corner to crawl into with a bottle of J amp;B.

His head pounded from where it had come into contact with the locker. He wanted the pounding to stop. He wanted life, his fevered brain with its obsessions, to end.

He once again began to contemplate suicide. It would be a clean break, and perhaps that way, no one would ever have to know about his weakness and his transgressions. No one would have to know about his cowardly fears, his mental blackouts, his awful visions like the head in his locker.

He swore to himself that no one would ever know the depths to which he had fallen.

Her time with Alan off duty was precisely what she needed, Jessica decided. The kindly Dr. Darius had urged her to follow all passions, as he put it. Now Alan managed to take her mind off the demanding burdens she had been subjected to since arriving in New York, not only those of the baffling, frustrating Claw case but all of the painful memories she had brought with her. She was transported out of herself and her narrow self-interest, and now the stress she'd felt over the past few days had melted away.

Dinner was a sumptuous meal at a wonderful harborfront restaurant high above the city. They'd gotten a window looking out over the glassy expanse of New York Harbor, the boat lights reflecting up at them. She could not recall a time when she'd been more relaxed, more herself, and she genuinely liked Alan, who apparently felt the same way about her.

After dinner he took her for a ride to a place called Belmont Harbor on the Hudson River where they got out and walked along a wharf and past the boats. The rigging beat out a chorus of soft metal clinks, a lilting sound created by the same wind that swept through her hair. In a few moments they stood before a beautiful sailboat with the name MVP painted boldly at the stern. Rychman stepped aboard and said, “Coming?”

“ Is this yours?”

“ Still making payments, but I like to think it's mine, yes.”

“ Wow, do you ever get her out of her slip?”

“ Not often enough.” He held out his hand to her and she accepted it, stepping aboard with her cane, fearful of slipping. He held her firmly and she managed well.

“ You've got to come out with me sometime. You'd love it. We could take a whole day, make our way to Nantucket Island.”

She had a fearful, flitting premonition of a time when, having allowed herself to love Botine, she suddenly and explosively lost him. Any relationship with a cop could end this way, she knew. She also knew she was projecting her feelings for Otto Boutine onto Alan, and these feelings felt right and sure, but they brought with them a great price. Finally she said, “I'd like that; it's a beautiful sailboat, Alan, just lovely.”

“ One of my larger and more expensive vices. Can't afford anything larger, or I'd have a Cobra XS-2100, believe me.”

“ Why didn't you tell me about it before?”

“ Showin's better'n tellin' in circumstances such as these, I've learned. Want to see the rest of her?” He unlocked the cabin door and held it open to her. “Careful of that First step.”

She lay the cane aside and used the handrails, going down into the cabin after he clicked on the lights. It was a beautiful interior, almost entirely of teak, shining and warm. It felt like the coziest, safest place on the planet, she thought.

“ I love it.”

“ I hoped you would.”

He went for the little refrigerator and an icy bottle of zin-fandel materialized in his hands. “I've got some nice glasses somewhere,” he continued as he searched. “Here they are.” He removed the cork as she glanced out through the portholes at the dark expanse of the big river, which looked as calm as peace itself.

“ I've got my scuba gear stowed below the bed,” he said as he poured the wine.

“ So how's the diving here?”

“ Not terrific, but it keeps me in shape. I mean it's not like Mexico or Florida. But we've got a few man-made reefs. Keeps me in practice.”

She took the wine he offered and sipped at it. They then talked about diving and seriously planning a dive trip together once all this was over. He assured her that he would meet her anywhere, anytime. They talked about other concerns, and she told him about her father and how he had taught her to be independent and self-sufficient and strong. Alan spoke of his childhood, which was in no way so harmo-nious as hers, citing frequent battles with his father, who simply never understood him or his brother. He said he envied her relationship with her father.

They talked so easily and so long that they'd both lost track of time and suddenly she realized it was past midnight. “Perhaps I should go now,” she suggested, putting aside the wine she held, getting to her feet and looking about for her cane.

“ You left it on deck,” he said. Then he approached her there in the cramped cabin and put his arms around her. She allowed him to hold her. In her ear, he said, “I can't remember a time when I was so comfortable with a woman, Jess. I want you to know that.”

She looked into his eyes and read the depth of sincerity there. She lifted her mouth to his in an open invitation to him and he did not fail her. Their passionate kiss lingered and became a long, breathtaking one. When they parted, their eyes were fixed on one another. He wanted to say something but was afraid that words would fail him, and she sensed this.

“ Don't say anything,” she instructed him. “You've heard me go on and on about all the places I've been, all the things I've done.”

“ And I've enjoyed every word.”

“ I've never been here before, and I've never made love on a sailboat before.”

He lowered her to the bed. “Neither have I.”

Their lovemaking had them both believing that it would be endless as they fulfilled their desires. Each time they parted, exhausted and panting, a new wave of passion swept over them, erupting like a powerful tide neither wished to stem.

Alan's body was powerful, his muscles like stone. He was strong, pinning her against the bed, driving into her with sure yet gentle strokes, surging and retreating and surging again.

Alan somehow made her feel weightless and without care. She had become Jessica Coran again, someone she had long missed. With him, she realized, she did not have to put up any fronts. She was accepted as his equal yet he managed also to make her feel like a woman again. She hadn't been touched by a man this way since Otto.

Sometime in the night they left the boat and returned to her hotel, where they showered and made love under the spray. When they finally shut off the water, they heard her phone ringing. It was like a death knell to their night. It was almost four in the morning.

Lou Pierce was on the other end of the line, asking for Alan, saying he'd tried him everywhere else he could think of, and that she was his last hope.

“ He's right here, Lou. Hold on,” she told the sergeant, unhappy that she and Rychman had been “found out.”

Rychman came across the room in a towel and took the phone from her, barking into it, “What's the problem, Lou?”

“ It's bad news. Captain, having to do with Dr. Darius, sir.”

“ What is it, Lou? Spit it out.” To Jessica, he said, “Something's up with Luther Darius.”

“ I'm afraid, sir, he's… well, it looks like he's committed suicide, sir.”

“ Suicide?”

Jessica's face went white as she repeated the horrible word. “Suicide?”

“ How did it happen, Lou?” Rychman asked.

“ Jumped from his hospital window, Captain.”

“ Hospital? What hospital? When I last saw him-”

“ He suffered some sort of seizure at the lab, was carried out sometime around seven last evening, after you'd gone. I tried to locate you, but-”

“ Who's handling it, Lou?”

“ O’Toole and Mannion were in the area, checking on some lead, something to do with a clinic in the medical complex; you know that strip of medical buildings along there, several city blocks long. We got Archer in on the cleanup and the E.T. work, sir.”

“ I'm on my way, Lou.”

“ He was a good man, Captain.”

“ Right… right you are, Lou.”

Jessica hung on Alan's every word, trying to piece things together, tears welling up. Rychman got the name of the hospital, which he knew well, and after he hung up he tried to put the pathetic scenario into focus for her as best he could, finishing with, “That old man was working cases when I was a rookie. Got to know him very well. He was a friend, Jess, a close friend, I thought. But I guess you never really know what's going on inside another person's head. Guess the difficulties he'd been having, and now this latest bout, put him over the top…”

“ He didn't strike me as suicidal,” she countered. “I didn't know him long, but I got the impression that giving up wasn't in his nature. He loved his work and life.”

“ I've got to get down there.”

“ So do I.”

“ It's not necessary you go down, Jess. Archer's got it, Lou tells me.”

“ I'm going with you,” she said, turning from his touch and starting to dress.

“ Fine, you're coming.” He began to dress quickly as well, and when they'd finished and were halfway out the door, the phone rang again. They looked at each other.

“ Probably someone else calling with the dire news,” she said, going back for the phone. But when she answered, she heard J.T.'s voice from Quantico, apologizing about the hour.

“ You okay, Jess? You sound a little down,” said J.T., who surely expected a happier note since they hadn't spoken in a while.

“ Got some bad news this morning, J.T.”

“ Oh, sorry to hear that. Anything I can do?”

She briefly explained about Darius.

“ God, sad loss to everyone there and the profession,” he said.

“ So, J.T., what is it?”

“ What is it? I've finally got results for you, that's what. I tried reaching you all evening but obviously you were indisposed? Anyway, I left messages with the desk. Didn't you check your messages, Jess?”

“ 'Fraid I failed to.”

“ Christ, Jess, O'Rourke's been trying to get you, too. Wants to know what's cooking with the case; wants an update. You'd better call her as soon as it's a decent hour.”

“ Thanks for the tip, J.T. Now, what'd you learn about our Claw?”

“ Well, it's not what you think, Jess. Sorry, but I've looked at the samples you sent six ways to Sunday and it all adds up to the same guy in every case, same bite impressions.”

She let out a soft groan of disappointment but composed herself the moment she realized that Alan was staring. “No doubt in your mind?”

“ None whatever, Jess. If it is two guys, one of them's not a meat-eater.”

She thanked J.T. for his troubles, disappointed by this news, but it was the weight of Darius' death that she felt most strongly as she said goodbye and hung up.

“ Jess,” said Alan, “you really don't have to go down to the scene.”

“ I'm going,” she insisted, grabbing her cane and pushing past him for the door. He stopped her, taking her in his arms and feeling her fight for her freedom until finally she gave in to her sobs.?