Grave Instinct

FIVE

Evening, the following day

Jessica found her room at the Ocean View Inn on Jacksonville Beach perfect not because of the spectacular view of the Atlantic, but because it had a bed. Exhausted, she kicked off her shoes and fell into the bed's soft comforter fully clothed, wanting only to lay there a moment and relax and rest her eyes.

Jessica had found the stiff, proper Agent Henry Cutter to be a man of his word, determined to rid Jacksonville and the state of Florida of this ghoulish fiend the press had been calling Skull-digger. Cutter had spent the day debriefing his command and putting them on the street in pursuit of leads. Such activity went on as Jessica spent the day doing a thorough autopsy of Amanda “Mandy” Manning to confirm what she expected to find. She and J.T. believed beyond any doubt it was the work of the same man who had struck in Richmond and in Winston-Salem. Her report to Cutter and the FDLE read that Amanda had not been sexually abused, in keeping with previous victims. Their final judgment: trauma by bone saw to the cranium, causing hemorrhagic shock and eventual death. While the autopsy earlier that day went as smoothly as could be expected, given the extent and nature of the crime, Jessica had to make the difficult call of violating young Amanda Manning once again-and at the head-because Jessica wanted the portion of the back wall of the interior skull carrying the only message left for them by the killer. She wanted it removed and preserved for study under the largest microscope she could find. There might well be clues within the clue, she had told Combs, Cutter and the others.

Cutter balked at the idea, saying a high-resolution photograph would do just as well. Combs agreed and said, “The girl's been violated enough.”

“ No, it's too important. It needs microscopic analysis,” Jessica countered. “It could save lives.”

“ You're talking about mutilating what's left of the skull, Dr. Coran, and for what?” asked Cutter. “An artifact that may well prove useless in the investigation?”

“ Take it up with Chief Santiva. I'm taking the 'artifact,' as you call it.”

“ To add to your collection?” Combs asked, her eyes narrowed.

“ What the hell does that mean?” Jessica stood eye to eye with the sheriff.

“ We're not backwoods people here, Dr. Coran. We know your reputation for taking on the weirdest cases in recent history. In fact, such cases have built your reputation.”

“ Listen, Sheriff Combs, you asked me in on the case, remember?”

“ As a courtesy and only because you had an APB out on this guy's MO,” Combs shot back.

“ I'm taking the bone fragment.”

“ Not before I have a chance to talk to Santiva,” replied Cutter, intervening. “I'm the special agent in charge here, Dr. Coran.” It was their first argument, and it didn't bode well. Cutter and Combs stormed out.

“ Lotta emotion flying, Jessica,” said J.T. “So… I guess we wait until we hear back from Cutter? Meanwhile, somebody's got to explain the delay to the parents. They want the body released ASAP.”

Jessica didn't hesitate. “I'll need your assistance, John, and get us a couple of attendants to turn Amanda facedown.”

“ Are you sure, Jess?”

“ It's too important to bury with her, especially if it has already been buried with two other victims.” She went to the phone, contacted Santiva and informed him of the disagreement, telling him, “You've got to stand with me on this one, Eriq, no matter what arguments Cutter or Combs may feed you.”

Eriq proved more curious about the mark inside the cranial cavity than in the disagreement about how to proceed with it. “Why haven't we seen it before? What did you say it looks like?”

“ We're going ahead with the cut, Eriq. I'll be sending it to HQ for analysis if I'm not sent packing, in which case, I'll personally bring it to you.”

With the help of attendants, they turned Amanda. Jessica pleading with them to be careful not to create a' coroner's snap-a broken neck from careless handling. After the attendants left, Jessica assured J.T., “I'll make the cut as small as possible.”

“ We can replace the piece with a Bonemide,” he suggested. Bonemide was the newest product in a line of concretelike, yet elastic, molding materials designed to replace bone parts. The white finish of earlier products was now replaced by a bone-gray that could easily be cosmetically enhanced to match any cadaver's bone coloration perfectly. It had first found use in dental offices for making casts of teeth.

J.T. added, “I've already created a replacement part for both the forehead and scalp.” He held the cast up for her appraisal.

“ You're a genius, John. Do whatever you can to patch her up.”

“ Working on a latex skin covering. She won't look beautiful, but she'll at least look intact, if no one looks too closely.”

“ As for the interior cut, no one should be looking for it… whereas the wound to the forehead, by the time her parents arrange a funeral, will likely be front-page news.”

“ And how long before the cross inside the skull is front-page news?”

“ We've got to swear everyone here to secrecy. We need this kept in-house, John.”

“ Between us and the killer.”

They both knew the value of that detail being kept under wraps. Anyone apprehended or confessing to the crime would have to know of the strange cross left behind and in what location on the body. That way, they could quickly dispense with any of the hundreds of false confessions bound to come from across the nation.

Jessica lifted the bone saw and was taking a deep breath when Dr. Ira Koening appeared. “Put the saw down,” he said.

Jessica expected a fight, but instead, the quiet little white-haired man examined the find he'd heard news of. “Combs told me about it. This is extraordinary indeed, Dr. Coran… Dr. Thorpe.” He saw that they had readied surgical scissors and shaving equipment, a red marker and a set of scalpels and sponges. A Bonemide kit sat prepared nearby. “I see you've already decided to go ahead with the procedure, Dr. Coran,” said the Jacksonville M.E. “But you know, Doctors,” Koening continued, “the best way to proceed is with a guided laser cutter.”

“ It would take days to get one down here from Quantico,” said J.T.

Such precision instruments were extremely expensive and rarely available. “Are you saying that you have one available, sir?” asked Jessica.

“ My office does not, but the FDLE has recently acquired one, state-of-the-art.”

“ With a precision guided laser, we can calculate the depth of the cut to encompass only the bone, and we can do it straight through the already existing hole in the forehead,” said Ira Koening.

“ That way we remove only the bone, no skin… no hair loss at the site,” added J.T., “and I can reconstruct the bone loss from the inside wall.”

“ Nobody would ever know it was ever tampered with, whereas with your primitive bone saw, there's no hiding the fact,” added Koening.

“ Where is it? Do we need a damned requisition form?” asked Jessica.

“ I've already taken the liberty of ordering the laser be brought to you, Dr. Coran, but it will take ten or fifteen minutes. Paper and tape, you know. So… shall we find a cup of coffee? Take a break while awaiting the instrument?”

AS they relaxed over pastries and coffee in the office turned over to Jessica, Dr. Koening said, “I'll do the cutting, Dr. Coran. That way no one can blame you. It is, after all, my jurisdiction, and I agree with you that it needs to come out for close microscopic inspection.”

“ I think I speak for both of us,” J.T. said, raising his cup as a toast, “when I say that we happily concede the chore, and our sincere thanks.”

Koening returned the gesture and drank from his cup.

Jessica sighed. “I really didn't want to use that awful bone cutter on her or go through the same ritual her killer followed, Dr. Koening. Thanks for alerting us. It didn't occur to me that a laser cutter would be within reach.”

“ It's not every city the size of Jacksonville that has a precision guided laser. It came with a new influx of governmental dollars since Nine-Eleven.”

They then returned to the autopsy room where Amanda's remains awaited them alongside the laser, a robotic-looking tool chest on wheels, a square version of R2D2 from Star Wars, with multiple swivel arms. Dr. Ira, as he asked them to call him, went immediately to work, as the other two suited-up doctors looked on. Ira had obviously handled the laser before. In a matter of minutes, with no noise whatsoever, no markers or scalpels, he had removed the silver dollar-shaped bone fragment with the design etched in it. The laser mechanism had a long needlelike arm with a catch basin at its tip, which Ira had positioned to catch the thick chip of bone, and the procedure was complete. It had taken only two and a quarter minutes. It would take J.T. an hour to reconstruct the inner wall.

“ An excellent job… perfectly done. My compliments, Dr. Ira,” said Jessica.

“ It's hardly my accomplishment. Our thanks to science, Dr. Coran. With the explosion in medical technology, I imagine a time when someone will invent a mechanism that will record and play back our dreams!”

“ I've never heard of that one, Doctor,” replied Jessica, “but you're probably right.”

“ They'll turn the human mind into a DVD player.” He laughed lightly at his own words. “Of course, we won't be around to see the day… but perhaps that's as it should be…”

Jessica looked overhead. In the viewing gallery, she saw Combs and Cutter. The two appeared all right with the compromise that Dr. Ira had worked out by using the laser.

Later in the day, with the bone chip secured in a polyethylene bag, Jessica had arranged for print copies of the sign left by the killer to be made and distributed. The information was also sent to Quantico for dissemination there. The unusual symbol and its placement might lead to something tangible.

She still had to await toxicology and serology reports, but she imagined they would find the same as in the earlier cases-high levels of Demoral, nothing more.

How many people in the state were using Demoral as a sleep aid, she wondered. The killer used it to induce compliance until his victim's own shock mechanisms kicked in. Shock as a merciful savior come to rescue her with the first screaming touch of the bone saw, and the smell of her own skull being cut as she lay helplessly strapped down, her head, hands and legs in restraints.

Jessica must get her thoughts off the awful details of the case for a time, to ease her mind and rest her brain. Easier said than done at nightfall in the Ocean View Inn, she quietly determined. Still, she willed the case away and continued willing it away, searching the eternal blue-green sea in her mind's eye for peace and comfort from where she stood on the fourteenth floor balcony.

When the phone rang, she came in from the pleasingly warm, salt-filled ocean breeze, lifted the phone and brought it onto the bed with her, but she couldn't bring herself to lift the receiver. Instead, she closed her eyes and allowed it to ring on while her thoughts continued where she and Richard languidly existed among stars lying amid the depths of the ocean in a dream world, until consciousness suddenly told her that a telephone wasn't part of her dream state. The phone remained insistent, floating just above her lap in the ocean water, and just out of Richard's reach. It continued to ring, and still her eyes remained closed, yet she saw all the coral colors of the sea and the beautiful creatures of the deep.

Eyes still closed, wondering how many precious minutes she'd been asleep, it occurred to her that the call might be from Richard in China-in the real world. She bolted upright and lifted the receiver, saying into the phone, “Yes? Yes? Who is it?”

The phone kept ringing but no one was on the other end. She abruptly hung up, but the ringing continued. She finally realized it was her cell phone, tucked in her pocket. She tore it out and again asked, “Who is it?”

A woman's voice answered. “Never mind who it is. I have information regarding the Skull-digger.” The voice proved grating on Jessica's nerves, running the length of her spine like fingernails against a chalkboard.

“ Who is this?” she repeated. “How did you get this number?”

“ Shut up and listen.”

Jessica caught her breath and did as told.

“ I know who the Skull-digger is, and he will not stop until you people put him away again.”

“ Again?” Crank call, Jessica thought. She checked the time. Just after midnight. Must be a full moon. But how did the woman get her cell number?

“ I owe a debt, and I want to pay it in full,” said the strident voice on the other end. “I know it's him.”

“ You can file a formal complaint with your local law-enforcement-” “Shut up, you stupid bitch! His name is Daryl Cahil. He lives in Morristown, New Jersey, after being run out of Newark-nobody wants a ghoul in their town, and that's what Daryl is, a ghoul. He was put away as the New Jersey Ghoul by the local authorities but they're working with him now! They arranged for his release just this year!”

“ The Jersey Ghoul?”

“ The son of a bitch once tried to cut my head open for my brain, so I should know he's the one you're after.”

“ He threatened to cut out your brain? Is he your husband or your boyfriend?”

Jessica remained calm and skeptical, having heard this scenario many times now from confessors and accusers who'd come forth for official absolution of their sins-the usual crowd that only wanted to make something of themselves, even if it was a reputation for mass murder or for having shared a bed with one. Both accusers and confessors had shown up at Jacksonville PD, at the FDLE, at the Sheriff s Office, as well as at the doorstep of every law-enforcement agency in the southeast and across the nation. And now somehow one had gotten hold of her private number.

“ He used to do children, for God's sake!” shouted the woman. “I was at his trial, which they closed to the press and cameras out of respect for the grieving parents. I know he took their heads in order to eat their brains.”

“ He murdered children?”

“ Robbed them of their brains, I tell you. He dug up dead children out of their graves… for their brains.”

Jessica tried to picture the image, but it was too awful to contemplate. “Look, ma'am, the Skull-digger kills young women in their early twenties, and he hasn't robbed any graves so far as we know, so perhaps-”

The woman's cracking voice interrupted. “I once thought him innocent by reason of insanity, you know? Morbid obsession, you know? And that he was redeemed, cured, after all, when… when they released him.”

“ Who are they and from where did they release this man-what did you say his name was? And while we're at it, do you have a name and an address?”

“ Never mind me. My name's to be kept out of it. I'm of no consequence, and besides, I don't intend on becoming tomorrow's deadline… Get it, 'deadline' instead of 'headline'?”

Jessica imagined the caller would like nothing better than notoriety, that this alone prompted her call. She must have worked extremely hard and acted extremely well to have gotten Jessica's cell number. Still, Jessica decided it was best to placate the woman, get her off the phone, get back to sleep and change her number tomorrow.

“ All right, does he have a name and address where we can find him, ma'am?”

“ Daryl Thomas Cahil, 153 Orchard Row, Morristown, New Jersey. Now, what're you people going to do about it- him, I mean?”

Jessica gave the woman a final shot at her fifteen minutes of fame. “And what is your name and current address, ma'am?”

“ No way… he'll find me.”

Jessica took a deep breath, blinked sleepily and asked, “Do you have a place to go? To get away from him tonight?” She assumed it was a case of battered-woman syndrome.

“ I left him when he threatened me, and no sooner'n I left, he did it to somebody else! I read about the killings in Virginia and North Carolina, and then I saw the news coming out of Florida about that poor girl down there. I tell you, — it's Daryl's work.”

“ OK, all right… if you know this man's secrets… if you know he's the killer, what private message has he sent to us, Ms. Ahhh..?”

“ Private message?” She sounded utterly confused.

“ Can you tell me what it is and where it's located on the Florida victim's body?”

The caller, faced with this question, abruptly hung up, and Jessica said, “Just as I suspected.” She knew her phone had logged the caller's number, and a glance showed it to be a New Jersey exchange. She'd look into it further tomorrow, she told herself. While statistics and common sense told her it was just a nuisance call, a small portion of her mind asked “What if? The killer profile did have him living with a woman, maintaining a semblance of normalcy, while undergoing some recent traumatic event in his life. Still, with so many “sightings” of the Brain Thief across the southeast, why go looking for the killer in New Jersey? It was sometimes impossible to separate those tips worthy of attention and those merely hallucinatory, or separating outright fantasy and lies from legitimate leads.

Since the voice on the phone had not proven her case well, Jessica returned to her night's sleep. However, as she lay there, she wondered about the grave-robbing remarks, how this Cahil character had supposedly stolen brain matter from the graves of children. She thought it just ghoulish enough to be true as opposed to some macabre film or horror novel. Maybe it did bear some looking into…

Unable to sleep, the strange phone call reverberating in her head, despite her attempts to dislodge it, Jessica rang Chief Eriq Santiva at home. “What've we got in the way of interesting hits on VICAP, Chief? Anything we might like to investigate in connection with the brain takings?”

“ What time is it?” “Just past one A.M. Sorry to bother you so late, but I'm afraid this creep is only going to escalate his attacks.” She looked down at her rumpled clothing and realized she hadn't eaten since lunch. She'd been asleep for several hours when the strange call had disturbed her. “What do we have, Eriq?”

“ Nothing strong or I would've called you.”

“ Yeah, of course you would have. Sorry.”

“ Something bothering you, Jess? Aside from what you found on the inside of the Manning girl's head today?”

She described the unusual call, and he listened attentively. Eriq then said, “I do recall something about a guy on a yearlong grave-robbing spree. Nineteen eighty-nine to ninety, I believe. They called him 'the Ghoul' or 'the New Jersey Ghoul.' Caught digging up kids and making off with their heads.”

“ How many graves did he disturb?”

“ Four, I think… Yeah, four graves, four heads… never recovered… A fifth one, he was caught in a seven-year-old's desecrated grave. Sick sonofabitch was put away in an asylum as I recall. All handled by the Jersey authorities with local bureau help, but Quantico was never involved, either directly or indirectly.”

“ I suppose there's a logical reason as to why it didn't come up on the VICAP search?”

“ Nature of the search question, maybe. We were looking for brain thefts, brain consumptions, brain batterings, not decapitated kids. A lot depends on what the locals did with the information, and as I said, Jersey wasn't keen on our involvement at the time. Consequently, even the local bureau wasn't kept abreast, so maybe it never got to VICAP at all, and if it did… like I say, likely under beheadings or grave robberies.”

“ Thirteen years ago I had my hands full with being the new medical examiner in Washington, D.C.”

Long before I became Division Chief. Look, I'll find out more about the case, get back to you.”

“ The caller wouldn't give any identification on herself, but here's the name and address of the guy she informed on: Daryl Thomas Cahil at 153 Orchard Row, Morristown, New Jersey. That might help you.”

“ You mean this nutcase is on the outside?”

“ The woman claimed he'd been released from someplace.”

“ Yeah, well, I know he was put away, but I didn't know he was out on the street. I'll look into it. You think there could be some connection with the brain thefts?” Eriq's voice gave way to a hope. “I mean, can we get so lucky? As it is, we have zip.”

“ Let's just say it's a rock that bears looking under. And if he is located, I want to interrogate him about the sign left inside Amanda Manning's skull.”

“ Excellent find, Jess. It will help us separate the wheat from the chaff.” Santiva yawned into the phone. “I'll look under that rock first thing tomorrow.”

Pittsburgh Pennsylvania University, dorm room Same night

The Net user, Washington Williams, was caught up in the sheer detail of information and photos of the brain provided by the website he was on. A medical student, he had a great deal to learn, and he had to memorize it by yesterday. His weary, swollen eyes scanned the information as his pen and pad began to create what was beginning to take shape as a self-directed quiz.

The page before him was from Encarta and it read:

Included in the limbic (border) system are the amygdale (almond-shaped), associated with the primitive emotions of fear and aggressiveness, or fight and attack necessary for survival; and the hippocampus, also in the temporal lobe, having to do with memory formation.

The extension of the upper end of the spinal cord, about the size of the little finger, is the brain stem, lying at the base of the skull cavity. Regarded as part of the midbrain, it is some five hundred million years old. It is here that the switchover of nerves takes place, giving control of the right side of the body to the left side of the brain and vice versa.

The upper end of the spinal cord passes through the foramen magnum (large opening), the hole in the floor of the skull, and ends in the medulla oblongata, a prolongation of the spinal cord. The medulla oblongata is…

The medical student's pen slid from his fingers as he lolled into sleep.

July 11, 2003

The day after the strange call on her cell phone had passed uneventfully for Jessica, but on the day after that, she accompanied Lorena Combs to Amanda Manning's funeral. The Jax-town police and Combs's office positioned plainclothes detectives and cameras at every angle, some mingling in with the crowd of mourners. Anyone and everyone attending was put on videotape.

The funeral over, Jessica and Combs poured over the photographic surveillance of the funeral, searching for any likely suspects to the girl's murder. Often, out of a sense of guilt and remorse-or a perverted sort of pride in their work-a killer showed up at his victim's funeral, unable to keep away. Some did it out of a sense of pride at having gone undetected, a final flip of the bird to officialdom, society, the church, the family, the parents and the victim.

Similar tapes had been made at the funerals in Richmond and Winston-Salem. But no one had looked out of place, nervous or anxious beyond the grieving loved ones. There were no loners holding back behind nearby trees or tombstones.

J.T. arranged for a member of the family, an uncle, to review the tapes with them as well. Ted Manning picked out any faces that didn't belong, and he was accurate with all the undercover officers, male and female. Then he hit on one face in the crowd he could not recognize, a blurred profile shot of a man standing at the center of the crowd, left of the coffin.

J.T. had the shot blown up, and still the Mannings did not recognize the man, but Sheriff Combs did, coming out of her seat. “I know that face. He was at the marina the night the body surfaced. He was supposedly off one of the yachts, and he got pushy with my men, real interested in what had happened.”

They detoured back to the Venetia Warf and located the harbormaster, who instantly identified the man in the picture as Mr. Swantor, and he pointed out the man's large yacht. Welcoming them aboard, Swantor showed them gracious hospitality, sitting them down topside, offering them drinks. Combs agreed to lemonade and Jessica thought that sounded refreshing. She expected him to call out to a servant or a wife to fetch the drinks, but Swantor did the dubious honors himself. Jessica thought him overeager to please the authorities, as was reported the night of Captain Abrams's gruesome discovery. Still, while this could point to a hidden agenda, it could also say that Swantor was civic-minded or downright lonely and starved for attention.

“ So… sir… tell us,” asked Combs, “what was your purpose in attending the Manning girl's funeral?”

“ You people… you are so clever. How did you know I was there? Never mind, I'm sure you don't dare reveal your sources or methods to a civilian.”

Jessica set aside her lemonade. “Will you please answer the question, Mr. Swantor?”

He took a deep breath. “Because I felt awful about what had happened to the Mannings and thought it the only thing I could do under the circumstances, you know, to represent the yachts-people. None of whom,” he added apologetically, “could make the funeral, although I made it my business that each should know when and where it would be held. Short of that, I set up a collection, you know, for everyone to chip in something for the parents, called the local TV news channel and asked to form a fund in memory of the dead girl. They said they'd get back to me on it, but haven't so far. So far, I've collected five hundred dollars from guess who?”

Swantor had just set himself up as the exception to the thoughtless well-off people residing on the yachts surrounding them. He was a tall, strong-looking man, robust from the sun on his face and arms, with the pontification of a pacing, fully displaying peacock. Lorena Combs complimented him on his generosity and concern. He blew it off with a suave wave of the hand, saying, “Look… let me show you two ladies the rest of the boat, belowdecks! Ladies… ahhh, Sheriff, Doctor?” He gestured with both hands for them to follow him as he backed down the steps to the cabin below.

He was expansive in showing them his beloved yacht, opening every nook and cranny for them to fawn over. His yacht was magnificent, state-of-the-art and fully equipped with the latest in nautical equipment. Jessica noticed the computer aboard, and he freely talked about its capacity.

“ The damn thing can practically run the ship on its own. Hardly needs me. It can detect objects in its path! Warns me fifty to a hundred yards in advance, depending on the size of the obstruction.”

Jessica saw a separate computer with a large screen and a movie camera attached to it.

“ Where is Mrs. Swantor?” asked Lorena.

“ Oh… no… I'm quite alone aboard,” he explained. “Mrs. Swantor… Lara and I… well, we divorced some months back. Still adjusting to the new life. Not easy, I can tell you. Maybe the trip to Cancun will help. Plan on going there soon.”

After talking to Swantor, they walked down the wharf back toward their unmarked Sheriff s Office vehicle.

Combs said, “Satisfied with Swantor's good intentions?”

“ Maybe… maybe not.”

“ Same here. I always get the creeps when somebody's in such heat to get near the body. And this guy did it two or three times when she was on the shrimp boat, and then he goes to the funeral.”

“ But we've got nothing on him.” While Jessica felt some unnamable nagging sensation at the base of her skull creep down her spine, she knew they had nothing but gut instincts to go on. Not enough for a next step. “I just don't like the guy.”

At the end of the dock ramp, Jessica suggested, “Lorena, I think you should do a thorough background check on our Mr. Jervis Swantor.”

Back at the Duval County Sheriff s Office, Jessica spent time with the first officers on the Manning scene to get their first impressions of the condition of the body, but she also really wanted to know what they had thought of Mr. Swantor. Both officers thought him strange and overbearing that night. Officers Plummer and Bierdsley were leaving as Lorena Combs came into the temporary office given to Jessica. She had the background check in hand. “It's Dr. Jervis Swantor, retired GP.”

“ Doctor? That makes him even more likable.”

“ Maybe that explains why he thought he could help that night, assuming he thought the victim in need of medical attention.”

“ So, why didn't he tell Plummer or Bierdsley or any of the other officers that he was a doctor?”

“ I can't say. All we know for certain is that he was very interested in getting a good look at the dead girl, as if he wanted to know precisely how she died.”

“ What else did you find out?”

“ The check revealed a run-in with the law that involved a messy domestic dispute, sometime before his divorce. It got a little violent,” said Combs.

“ How so?”

“ He had roped her to a tree and was threatening her with a meat cleaver the size of Rhode Island when the police arrived.”

“ Where did this occur?”

“ Someplace called Grand Isle, Louisiana, where they lived at the time.”

“ And Swantor's also a doctor. Wonder why he was so modest about that,” asked Jessica, scanning Combs's report.

“ Well… he's not a surgeon. Aren't surgeons the big-headed ones?”

“ Heavily invested in computer and tech stocks, but his picks all went south right before his marriage did.”

Jessica called Santiva and, putting him on speakerphone with Lorena and herself, asked that he have Swantor's name run through the VICAP program. In a half hour, Santiva phoned with the news.

“ We ran his name and his record reflects the single domestic disturbance warrant, that's all. How good does this guy look to you for the Skull-digger?”

“ Only so-so. He's not a surgeon, and he doesn't drive a van. Though we've only assumed that since our shaky near-victim eyewitness in Fayetteville put him in a van, and then we outfitted that van with restraints and tools as his killing ground, based on the autopsy findings. Suppose the killer drove a rental van to his boat, and the boat was the site of restraints and the killing ground?”

“ But said you had a thorough look all over his yacht, and he you the grand tour without your having to ask.”

“ Suppose he reserves another boat for his butchery?”

“ Sounds like you're reaching, Jess.”

Jessica exchanged a look with Lorena. “It occurred to me, yes, but-”

Eriq cut her off. “You said the guy is or was a general practitioner. Would he know how to make those cuts we've called-what was it-precise, professional, surgical? Although, I suppose, he could learn to cut a hole like that from one of those god-awful pathology books of yours, couldn't he?”

“ I suppose his good intentions act might actually be genuinely motivated out of a concern about the Mannings and the girl. He even talked about getting a fund started in the girl's name.

“ Could be he's one of those rare individuals we seldom see, Jess, a good, caring, wanna-be-helpful, OK person? So rare, we forget that we've ever seen one.”

“ Maybe you're right.”

Lorena piped in, “It's just that both Jessica and I got the same vibes off him. Maybe he's not the Skull-digger, but he's got something strange about him. I've put a watch on him.” “Maybe he is just a pompous ass… makes himself feel better by setting himself up as a spokesperson for the rest of the community on the wharf,” said Jessica.

Lorena added, “He claimed he was representing them someway, but the neighbors are pretty much in agreement they didn't gram him any such authority, and most see him as a self-important mini-potentate out there at the wharf, and he's only been docked there for a week!”

Jessica said, “If he's been plying the coast prior to tying up at Jacksonville… Well, it just points out that if he isn't the killer, then maybe he is in someway trawling for victims as an accomplice.”

“ Don't tell me, the ex-wife is the killer,” Santiva's tone gave the remark a less than serious tweek. “And he's going to blow both their covers out of a curiosity over something he already knows has happened?”

“ All right… We're just saying that he may bear watching,” suggested Combs.

“ What about this Daryl Cahil character, Eriq? Anything you find useful there?”

“ Are you kidding? He's a gold mine, Jessica. He could well be our man.”

“ Based on?”

“ Based on timing.”

“ Timing?”

“ The creep was released a few months ago, after almost twelve years in the detention center. These brain theft crimes began after his release, and Richmond's not that far from Morristown.”

“ Released from where?” she asked while Combs's tall body leaned in an effort to hear more about this possible break in the case.

“ From the Federal Penitentiary for the Criminally Insane in Pennsylvania. I think you know the facility,” Eriq replied. Jessica indeed knew the Pennsylvania facility well. She had placed some of its most notorious inmates there. She had also interviewed more than 160 lunatic killers at the facility in an effort to learn how a sociopath became a sociopathic killer, and what their thinking was like, and how they lured victims, and in some cases where bodies that had been missing for years might be found. But she recalled nothing about Cahil. Perhaps due to his not having actually murdered anyone.

“ You're telling us this guy's resumed his previous behavior after being released?” asked Combs. “What a surprise. Released after twelve years?” she asked. “What happened? Overturned on appeal? Some technicality of arrest or seizure? What? And who is this guy, and why's his record got you so excited?”

“ Slow down, Sheriff Combs,” replied Eriq. “The guy's been on psychoactive drugs for twelve years, and he was a model prisoner, got religion, all of it, the whole nine-”

“ I get the picture, but-”

“ Been in the facility since late 1990. He was the head shrinks model project; that's why you never heard of him. He was a test case for a theory of rehabilitation that Dr. Jack Deitze was championing, and he didn't believe that FBI access and studies about sociopaths fit Daryl Cahil's particular aberration, because he hadn't actually murdered anyone. Remember, he fed off dead people he dug up.”

“ Then he was at the facility while I was doing my study, and now

… only a few months before the Skull-digger shows up in Richmond, Dr. Deitze proclaims Daryl cured and releases him? Coupled with the call naming him-”

Jessica had told Combs about the call, but she'd characterized it before as a crank call.

Eriq said, “Maybe 'cured' isn't exactly the right word.” You mean, it's most likely that his cure and release all had to do with the success of Dr. Deitze's study, I presume.”

Combs added, “Must be an impressive particularized case study-cured of grave robbing tendencies.”

Jessica shook her head. “No… cured of feeding on the brains of dead children.”

Combs, hearing this, winced and swallowed hard. This was the first time she'd heard of Cahil's crimes.

Jessica continued, “Truth is, since this particular loon didn't actually murder anyone, it's unlikely he'd start now.”

“ So? Sounds like his crimes've gone well beyond murder, if you ask me.”

“ I agree,” said Eriq from about six hundred miles away, “but now we have to deal with what's in front of us. He's free and it's a good bet that Daryl has graduated to murdering young women. All Deitze cured him of was the effort of digging for his victims.

“ Nothing solid just yet, and authorities checking the address you gave me say it appears abandoned. No dark vans sitting outside.”

“ Well, if Cahil is committing murders with his van down here, it's highly unlikely he'll have a van sitting outside his home,” Jessica pointed out wryly. “Penn state's federal pen,” she repeated, again giving thought to the facility and her history with it. “They're building a reputation for hiring the worst damned shrinks I've ever come across.”

“ I know the irony's not lost on you, Jess.”

Jessica explained for Lorena's benefit, “Same facility that housed Mad Matthew Matisak, who so ingratiated himself with Dr. Gabriel Arnold that the doctor let his guard down and paid the ultimate price. His foolishness also allowed the way for Matisak's escape.”

“ An escape that left a wide swath of murder across the nation, from Pennsylvania to Oklahoma and Louisiana,” added Santiva.

“ Now Dr. Jack Deitze has fallen under the spell of this maniac Cahil,” Jessica said. “Setting him free.”

“ Deitze wants to meet with us, Jess. He says he has proof that Cahil could not have committed the Skull-digger killings. Can you get back soon to see him? Maybe stopover in Pennsylvania on your way back home? I could meet you there, perhaps?”

“ I suppose, although I don't relish visiting that place.”

“ Soon as you wrap up there, we'll make arrangements.”

Another office phone rang, and Combs went to that line, picking up and listening intently to someone on the other end. Combs hung up and interrupted the conference call by saying, “Jessica, Chief Santiva, that call I just took. News of a brainless body found in a farmer's field outside Savannah, Georgia, only about a hundred and forty miles from Jacksonville.”

“ Did you hear that, Eriq?” “I did.”

“ I've gotta go to Savannah.”

“ Good luck and keep me apprised. I'm going to keep digging into the Cahil lead from here,” he replied before hanging up.

Combs said, “I can get you to Savannah. My patrol car'll get you there as fast as anything else might.”

“ I'm sure you have friends in Georgia, and I'm sure to bristle a few hairs there. I'd welcome your company and assistance, Sheriff.”

“ I know I've allowed myself to become emotionally involved in the Manning girl's murder, Jessica, but I still want to do everything I can to help catch this snake.”

“ And cut off his head?” “You think my anger's a bad thing?”

“ I'm not the one to tell you that becoming emotionally involved in the Manning case is a bad thing. I'm too highly invested in this case myself to point any fingers.”

Lorena bit her lower lip and slipped on her gun and trooper hat. Jessica called the FDLE in search of John Thorpe. Unable to locate him, she left word at the lab regarding what had occurred, and that she'd call him from her cell phone. Together, she and Combs rushed for the waiting cruiser in the underground lot.

COMBS drove the cruiser herself. The two law-enforcement women talked the entire way, learning that they enjoyed many of the same leisure activities, including swimming, diving and flying. They had even visited some of the same vacation spots over the years. They talked about the beauty of Florida's underwater state park, the John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park.

Strobe lights ahead alerted Jessica and Lorena that they were at the location outside Savannah, Georgia, where the victim awaited them. Along the way, Jessica had reached J.T., who had agreed to remain in Jacksonville to tie up the loose ends there and to await the outcome of the tests they had run on Amanda Manning.

Lorena pulled off the gravel road they had been on for the past mile or so, within a foot of thick trees and brush, but while they saw three Georgia State Patrol cars parked to form an oddly shaped triangle, nose to tail like circling wagons, there was no one around to greet them. No one in sight.

It was still daylight, but the woods seemed eerily still. No birds in the trees, no sounds of life whatsoever, not even insect life. A cloud-filled sky and a darkening horizon threatened rain, while the tops of tall pines began to rock in a developing wind, creating a welcomed noise. Then came a rolling thunder from the distance.

“ Where is everybody?” Jessica wondered aloud.

“ Kind of creepy. Like a B horror movie,” commented Combs. “Let's go see if we can find these crackers.”

As they exited the car, Jessica and Lorena heard someone coming through the dense wood alongside them. Lorena fingered her holster but remained calm. From the trees came a uniformed deputy. “That you, Combs? Dr. Coran?” he asked.

“ It's us, Milt,” replied Combs.

“ You look as sweet as ever, Lorena,” replied Milton Stof-fel, extending a hand, his smile cheerful and reassuring. “Sorry we have to meet under such awful circumstances, Dr. Coran, but I guess you meet a lot of people under… Well, I won't say worse conditions, but similar conditions.”

Jessica extended her hand, reading his nameplate as they shook. Lorena had told her all about Stoffel's call to her office on the trip up to Georgia.

“ Unfortunately, Senior Deputy Stoffel,” Jessica replied to him, “you're only too right about meeting me. Most people would rather see Jack Kevorkian coming their way than to see me.”

Stoffel laughed at this. “01' Dr. Death? Hell, you're a sight prettier.”

“ Most of the people I meet are engaged in their work when I meet them, and most I meet deal with death daily.”

He nodded knowingly. “We know about the case in Jax-town, but we just never expected it to happen here. But we do have some good news for you, Dr. Coran, Lorena.”

“ Oh, and what's that?” asked Combs.

“ Killer left something of himself behind this time.”

Jessica instantly wondered if the deputy had found the mark inside the victim's skull. She exchanged a look with Combs, and Lorena instantly asked, “What've you got, Milt?”

He led them cautiously to the triangular center of the three patrol cars, and Jessica saw the marker where a tire print was clearly visible. “Could be the killer's,” commented Stoffel. “Didn't want to lose it before we got a cast made.”

The two women stared at the tire treads in the soft red earth of a bare spot alongside the road, encircled by the patrol cars. Another state trooper came through the thicket and said, “I'm on it, boss. Just have to get the kit from my cruiser.”

“ Thanks, Wil,” replied Stoffel, “and don't forget the shoe prints.”

“ I'm on it! I'll do the shoe prints first.”

“ You've got shoe prints, too?” asked Jessica.

“ We do. It's why I have to lead you in and outta the crime scene. So far, they're intact and untouched.”

Jessica clenched her medical bag to her chest. “I want to see the shoe prints.”

He led Jessica and Combs to the shoe prints, again a sparse area giving way to soft red clay. “Photos've already been taken of the tire and shoe prints.”

The shoe impressions were clear and easily read, like giant fingerprints against the earth, the wild swirls and eddies of the pattern indicating a unique design and wear. As a result of design and wear, no two shoe prints were the same. The prints isolated by Stoffel showed a man going into the field and coming out. “We'll need an impressions expert to be sure, but my guess,” said Jessica, “he weighs between one hundred and seventy and one hundred and ninety pounds. I'm going by the shoe prints pointing away from the body, not toward it.”

“ I calculated him somewhere in there, too, if not heavier,” said Stoffel. “Ground's soft here, so he made quite an impression, especially going in… carrying her weight, we speculate.”

Jessica examined the prints with more care. “Given the size of the foot, we can calculate him at between five-eight and six feet tall.”

“ How do you figure that?” asked Stoffel.

“ There's a definite logic to assumptions about the size and weight. Body parts correspond and align with one another in surprising harmony. A foot this size indicates a tall man wearing casual shoes-sneakers.”

“ Now all we need is for the guy to come in with his shoes,” said Combs.

Stoffel said, “Figure he couldn't get through the thicket in his vehicle, and maybe… just maybe he took the clearing under last night's moon to be a body of water, so he come through the trees, expecting to dump her in a pond or a lake that isn't here. Tells us he doesn't know the area so well.”

“ So we got lucky with the tire prints and the shoe impressions,” said Combs.

“ It's something, Lorena. This guy's left so little behind because he's always dumped them in water before now,” replied Jessica.

“ In Jax-Town, the St. John's runs north, so the body traveled upstream to Venetia Wharf. We couldn't locate the actual entry point, every possibility was littered with tire marks. During the day, those places are busy parks, but at night they're pretty well empty.”

“ Lotta these old dirt roads look alike,” Stoffel added, “but still… Savannah's not that for away. There's water everywhere going east. If he wanted to stow her body in water, he coulda just gone east of 1-95 for a ways. Hell, the tide comes in over there and you got instant lakes surrounding you.”

“ And if the tide's out at the time?”

“ Has been dry.”

Jessica shook her head. “He must've simply run out of time. He's on the road again, likely 1-95 but who knows.”

“ Maybe he's going back to where he came from to begin with, north toward home, maybe?” suggested Combs. “New Jersey, maybe?”

They carefully stepped around the shoe prints just as the officer named Wil showed up with the plaster of paris mixture that would make the impressions permanent and portable.

As Jessica and Lorena were led through the final thicket, Stoffel said, “The crime against young Winona here… Well, it's the worst ever thing I've seen on the job aside from a motorcyclist we once had to get a crane for.”

“ A crane?”

“ To get his headless torso from the top of a pine tree out on County 345A. Fool had to have been hitting 110 when he left the rise at Three Forks. Had sixty or seventy lacerations, his clothes and most all of his skin'd been peeled and was hanging like bloody garland. Some of the officers on scene tried shaking the tree, but that only dislodged the head, which hit one of the officers on the skull and sent him in with a concussion. It took a crane and a lot of effort to peel the rest of the motorcyclist down from that tree.”

Deputy Stoffel spit out tobacco and pulled back the last of the branches and brush. They stepped into a farmer's open field where a tractor and discs sat idle some ten yards from the body of a young woman lying amid a field of decaying and turned under cornstalks. Neat rows of furrows led up to the body where the discs had turned under the dead stalks, weeds and earth, but the other side of the tractor looked like a burned out jungle. The heat and the rotting stalks, whipping now in the growing evening wind, sent up an odor of plant decay. When the killer had left the body, he would have been looking at a field of picked over, dead stalks, several miles of them. He likely did not expect the body to be discovered for some time.

In the distance, Jessica saw a white farmhouse with a green roof, little specks of movement and activity telling her that children were at play there.

“ We've already been up to the house; everything's all right there. Nobody being held hostage. No one being harbored or taken in,” said Stoffel.

“ The girl… you know her name.”

“ Winona Miller, yes.”

“ Does she belong to the house up there?” Jessica pointed.

“ Oh, no… no, that's the Pratt place. What happened was old Lyle Pratt come up on the body in the dark of early this morning.”

Jessica imagined the old man's fright and his proximity in time and space to the killer.

Stoffel continued speaking. “Winona Miller, the dead girl, is-was-a native of Savannah, and I'm told a good kid, normal kid…. You know, typical fun-loving, free-spirited, happy kid. Lived in Savannah with her aunt and uncle, dealing with the usual teen angst and rebellion.”

“ And her parents?”

“ They live in the city, too, but they had all agreed on a trial period with the girl at her aunt's place. Parents filed a missing persons rep›ort with Savannah PD after being told that Winona had failed to come home from a date.”

“ A date?” asked Jessica. “What about the boyfriend?”

“ Boyfriend has been grilled, but he appears to be of little help. Last saw her out his rearview mirror getting into a dark van, possibly navy blue, possibly black.”

“ Wait… the boyfriend saw something?” asked Jessica.

“ We got very little from Nathan. He's shook up pretty bad. Blaming himself for her disappearance. Don't know what he's going to do with the truth.”

“ I'll want to talk to this Nathan, right away,” insisted Jessica.

Combs agreed. “He's the only eyewitness of any sort that we have except for the girl in Fayetteville who may or may not have come across the killer's path. She also said the van was dark blue.”

“ We already canvassed the club where her boyfriend left her in the parking lot. According to Nathan, they'd had a fight, an argument, he says, over her using too many drugs and mixing them with alcohol.”

“ Toxicology can verify or refute that,” said Jessica.

“ Like I said, she was a good kid at heart, but a mixed up kid, too. She might've been using pills or sniffing this or that,” Stoffel said, “but no tracks on her. Still, I know it'll take an autopsy to tell for certain.”

“ Even if she were using drugs, that's no reason to wind up dead and having your g'damn head cut open and your g'damn brains stolen,” shouted a younger deputy who'd stood watch over the body. The anger in his thick-throated attempt to keep from losing complete control was understandable. His nameplate read Hayes. “She was basically a good kid, and she didn't have any real enemies, not a one.”

Beyond her addictions, Jessica guessed in silence.

“ You suppose she was without a care beyond school grades, makeup and make-out woes?” Combs cynically asked Jessica.

Stoffel put a hand on the younger deputy 's shoulder and said, “Jeff here was the first trooper to arrive to secure the scene. It's been a shock. He knows the family and has volunteered to break it to them. Fact is, Jeff s married to the victim's cousin, so I've OK'd his talking to them. So far, all they know is their daughter's missing. There's been no press on it, yet. So, if you don't mind, I'll let Jeff go over to Savannah to break the news to the parents.”

“ No objections,” Jessica said.

No one envied the young man his awful chore. Hayes disappeared into the brush, going back toward the squad cars. The thick brush and trees hid the road and the cars from view, even more so where Jessica squatted beside the body.

It had grown dusky, the sky darkening with clouds. Jessica dug out a flashlight and filled the open brain cavity with light, looking for the sign left on the previous victim.

“ Is it there?” asked Combs, dropping to her knees alongside the body, opposite Jessica.

“ Is what there?” asked Stoffel, inching closer.

At first Jessica had trouble finding it, but then it came into focus. The circle atop the horizontal and perpendicular lines forming a cross of sorts, roughly scratched into the bone at the back of the skull. As Jessica stared at it, a realization hit her, and Lorena saw it.

“ What is it, Jessica?”

“ I just remembered something that might be important. Several weeks ago at Quantico we were shown slides of the first two victims, and I noticed some imperfection on the screen in the grainy blowups. At least, I thought it was the screen. Santiva was impressing the hideous nature of the crimes on his agents. The photos of the violence done to each of the first two victims were external, but looking back now…”“The marks were present?”

“ Perhaps when one or more of the shots was taken, maybe the flash revealed some indication of the mark. But I'll have to verify that.”

“ What is it?” asked Stoffel, staring over Jessica's shoulder. “Some cult ritual thing?”

“ It's a sign of some sort, a signature the killer leaves behind,” explained Combs. “The mark is absolute proof it's the same killer. Milt, this is strictly taboo. Nobody outside law enforcement can know. It could be the Holy Grail to solving the case.”

“ No one but the three of us knows at this point, Deputy Stoffel,” Jessica added, lying to him. “If it leaks out, it can't be used effectively when and if we ever get this monster into an interrogation room.”

“ Understood.”

“ I've got to call Quantico, have an associate take a closer look at the photos of the first victims. I may have been staring at this evidence and simply missed it kltogether in the photo array.”

“ You wouldn't have been looking for it at the time,” countered Combs. “No one who autopsied the bodies reported it; obviously, no one saw it.”

“ It must mean something to the killer, a kind of cryptic code of his intent or motive.” Jessica got on her cellular phone and contacted headquarters. Unable to get Eriq on the line, she opted for Jere Anderson, a young female assistant in the lab, who asked cheerily, “How're you, Dr. Coran? We miss you around here.”

“ Same here, Jere. Look, I need your help. I need you to review those slides Henrietta Wyans has of the two brain cases. The ones used at the briefing last month.”

“ Anything you need… anything I can do, sure,” Jere replied. “Shoot.” Jessica told Jere specifically what to look for in the slides and exactly where she must focus on the wounds to the victims.

She told the young assistant about her suspicion that the mark might have been on the previous victims, but that it had been missed during the autopsies.

“ Are you going to order exhumations on-”

“ No, no! The families have been through enough.” In her mind's ear she heard J.T.'s voice repeating what he'd said earlier in the day: We're not going to get a court order to disinter two bodies on a hunch, Jessica.

“ No, no digging up anybody, Jere,” she repeated, “but I do want a fine-tooth exam of the photo evidence-the blowup slides.”

“ Right… right, for corroboration that the mark was left inside the skulls of the other two.”

“ If you can't establish both, then one. I'm eighty percent certain I saw something on at least one of the slides.”

“ OK, Dr. Coran. I'm on it.”

“ Jere, it may be nothing, a wild goose chase but we have to-”

“ Doctor, I'll chase this one for you. No problem. We all want to see this creep go away, and if there's any slight chance I can help from this end, of course, I will.”

“ Thanks, Jere, and in case I miss you, report your findings to Chief Santiva as soon as possible.”

“ Understood.” After goodbyes, they broke contact.

Jessica then went to work gathering blood, tissue, fiber and hair samples.

Combs, watching Jessica work, asked, “I doubt seriously if anyone in the Savannah area has a laser-guided scalpel, Jessica.”

“ No… not necessary since we have the one bone fragment. We'll just make sure this one photographs clearly.” Combs was kneeling beside Winona's body now. Insect activity-ants in particular-had already become a problem, especially around the large wound to the head-the single most obvious sign that this was the work of the same killer who had so recently struck in Jacksonville.

“ Let me have another look at this thing,” said Stoffel, placing on a pair of glasses and kneeling in toward the body. After a moment, he asked, “What do you think this mark means, Dr. Coran? Looks awfully strange indeed.”

Jessica asked Stoffel for his pen and pad. The deputy obliged, and she quickly drew the sign of the etched cross.

“ Ain't that the Lutheran cross?” asked Stoffel.

“ Right now… we're unsure what it means, Deputy. It could be important to the killer or simply left behind to throw us off.”

Combs, still on one knee across the body from Jessica, asked, “How? How did he lure her in? How did he find her, and how did he target her?”

“ You could ask that of all his victims,” replied Jessica. “At the moment, we don't know. Nothing specifically links the victims. Other than their ages and the horrible nature of their deaths, they have little in common.”

“ Yeah, they all got their brains sucked out, and they all got this mark put on them,” replied a solemn Stoffel, stabbing the crude drawing of the cross on the pad.