They returned to Petersaul and included her in the remainder of the discussion. Laughlin said, “This guy hasn't exactly kept a low profile. Hell, he's at damn Navy Pier tossing Matisak memorabilia off the Ferris wheel. Made one hell of a big show. Yeah, he's just wacko enough-”
“Or arrogant enough-” interjected Sharpe.
“-to stick around to see how his showing goes. He has to know it will be his first and last.”
“I'll make a deal with you, Harry,” said Jessica. “Towne for all the help you can put on the street for this dragnet.”
“You gotta turn Towne over regardless. You've got no bargaining chips, but be assured, I'll put every available man on the hunt, and we'll enlist every agent and detective in the city on it. We canvass the near North Side neighborhoods for any sign, any flyer, any word of mouth at the coffee shops about this guy's debut Chicago showing.”
“If it's not advertised in any of the papers,” muttered Petersaul wincing in pain, “then whoever's got Gahran s stuff to show, the stuff that Lucinda Wellingham supposedly threatened Orion with, Harry? It's going to be a small, small gallery with no ad budget.”
“Hang in, Pete,” Jessica said to her as they left to continue the search for Gahran.
“What else am I going to do?”
The word on Milos was that he was working toward a recovery, but that he'd be away from his job for at least a month, perhaps more.
Agent Cates and Liam Rielsen lay in the morgue in the basement, the body of each man eerily divested of their backbones.
TWENTY-TWO
Scream like the Devil's baby.
CPD and FBI agents fanned out all over Chicago's near
North Side. Every art gallery and bar and coffeehouse that ever exhibited a stick of artwork, particularly those known for “outer limits” artwork, were paid a visit and even if they never heard of Giles Gahran or his artwork, they were questioned about anyone new in the neighborhood, any new buzz in the area about a hot new artist with whom Orion could not hold a candle.
Nothing came of the initial canvass.
Other operatives combed the newspapers, from the most prestigious to the smallest and avant-garde or the unusual like The Art of the Onion.
Three o'clock came and went. Laughlin had chosen to ignore his orders, to claim he had seen them off at the airport and that had been the last he had seen of them, and that they had given him a false lead on the whereabouts of Towne.
The list of coffeehouses, bars and meeting places in the enclaves and tightly knit neighborhoods in and around Wrigleyville, Lincoln Park, Lakeview and others was astounding. Jessica knew they would need a miracle to find this needle in the haystack, and even if they did, there was no guarantee that Giles Gahran would be foolish enough to expose himself again as he had at Navy Pier. That he would be foolish enough to show up at his own gallery showing.
But then where was he?
Every exit from the city had been closed off to him. Both airports. Trains at Union and Northwestern, the Greyhound and Metra stations. Everyone had his picture. Still, he could have hitchhiked out or rented a private vehicle, using a stolen card. There were simply too many highways leading out of this hub to throw up roadblocks and shut them all down. Besides, they'd acted too late for such action to be effective.
“He's hiding here somewhere… someplace close,” Jessica said to Richard. They sat in a coffee shop called BeBo's having Irish coffees. Neither of them had had much sleep in the past twenty-four hours, and each struggled with fatigue.
Time had grown late as the clock neared 6 P.M. “If he does have a showing, it could be tomorrow or the following day and not tonight at all,” suggested Richard.
“True enough, and we're extremely late in not complying with HQ. In fact, they'll be sending U.S. marshals after us if we don't soon turn ourselves in.”
“On the FBI's most-wanted list, heh?”
“We are out of time, Richard.”
“I know now why Darwin hasn't gotten here yet from Portland, Jess.”
“Tell me why.”
“I did some discreet checking. The reason Oregon didn't hold Darwin on charges.”
“Spit it out, Richard.”
“The State Department is conducting the investigation into the matter, into the part we all played in it.”
“That's why we've been ordered back to D.C.”
“And apparently Darwin's flight on an Oregon field office jet was ordered directly to D.C.”
“Explains why Santiva wants us in D.C.”
“Towne's expecting Darwin to join us here.”
“Yeah, he's going to be disappointed.”
“Oregon really must have Towne back and soon. It's all a great embarrassment to them.”
The couple smiled across at one another. Jessica said, “We pulled off the bait and switch of the decade, I think.”
“I dare say so.”
Jessica's phone rang and she opened the cover and answered. “Yes, right,” she began, “hello.” There only came an eerie silence. “Is anyone there?”
“'Dr. Coran?”
She recognized the chilling voice.
“It's me again, Jessica.”
He even sounds like Matisak now, she thought, now that I know the truth.
“I'm sorry… who is it?” she stalled for time.
“Your favorite prey. By now you and everyone else chasing me knows who I am.”
“Giles? Gahran is it you?” She waved and pointed her finger at the phone to indicate to Richard that she had him on the line. Richard was already on his phone calling their carrier for a trace. A satellite trace was difficult and took time, but Jessica had anticipated this possibility, knowing he still had Agent Amanda Petersaul's cell phone. Jessica had alerted her carrier to the possibility, too, and they were on speed dial on Richard's companion phone.
“Where are you calling from, Giles?”
“Wouldn't you like to know. And you may call me Mr. Matisak now, Giles Matisak. Really, it's a good righteous fit, my new skin. Shedding the old one has been liberating. Feels right in this skin. It suits me.”
She took a stab at a hunch, picturing him atop of the Navy Pier Ferris wheel. She discussed it openly, asking him what he thought he was doing tossing out all those news clippings and serial killer playing cards, autopsy photos and police reports. “Liberating yourself from that damnable box and its contents? Why don't you go beyond the box, really liberate yourself, Giles?”
“Too late for that. I am born in my father's image. I look like him, even think like him.”
“No, Giles, it isn't you. It's only your mother's inculcations you're acting on, as you always have, and Giles, get this.”
“What, Dr. J?”
“We ran a DNA match and-”
“I know, saved that poor Devil on death row. I heard on CNN. His life was courageously won.”
“You don't understand. We ran a scan on Matisak's DNA and compared it to yours, and guess what, Giles?”
“You're lying.”
“What possible reason would I have to lie about such a thing, Giles?”
“I don't know… going to have to figure that one. Pretty sneaky of you… to throw a curve like that at me. Likely your way to keep me on the line while your partner runs a trace.”
“No, I just wanted to know the truth. How about you? You interested at all in the truth of your lineage?”
“Bullshit. You're bullshitting me.”
“Well, look, if you're not going to get to the point, Giles, and just run up Petersaul's minutes, I'm hanging up.”
“Agent Petersaul? Amanda need not worry about Cingular now.”
“You talk like Amanda's dead.”
“And you want me to believe Amanda's still alive?” He laughed. “Let the games begin.”
“She is quite alive and recuperating. Took all you could dish out and still survived. Oughta build a new reality TV show around this woman.”