As they entered the main lab, Lieutenant Sturtevante said to the coroner for the city of Philadelphia, “Shocky, it's time for the show.”
A stoop-shouldered gnome of a man with a greenish tinge to his skin turned from the cadaver he was scrutinizing with forceps, probe, overhanging magnifying glass, and the intensity of a medieval alchemist or some aged wizard in a fairy tale. Dr. Shockley stood, feet planted, rubber-gloved hands on hips, staring as if he were stumped by a complex mathematical problem, his eyes wide behind bottle-bottom glasses. Suddenly allowing a smile to spread across his wizened features, he said in a delighted tone, “Well, if it isn't the last of the female studs, Stud-e-vant! Have you caught yourself a man yet? Can't catch a man, how're you supposed to catch a murderer?” He laughed at his own jokes, and it was clear that the two were following a familiar routine.
“I've got you, Shocky. All the man I can handle at one time.”
“If there was ever a woman I couldn't satisfy, I suspect it'd be you, dear.”
“That's enough of that, Shocky. Let me introduce-”
He waved Sturtevante off, going directly to Jessica, peeling away his rubber gloves, fluids and pieces of tissue flying as he grasped her hands in his, eyes twinkling as he heartily pumped her arm as if hoping for water to spout from her mouth. His grip felt like steel, stronger than she had imagined, as he nearly shouted, “So, Sturtevante, our two famous detectives have arrived, Dr. Coran and Dr. Desinor. Been so looking forward to it, ladies. Around here, the more the merrier. As for you, Jessica, I feel a hug coming on.”
“Really? And it's wonderful to see you, too, Uncle Leonard.”
“Uncle?” asked Sturtevante. “Not by blood but by affection,” said Jessica. “One of my father's best friends.”
“One of? I was your father's best friend, sweetheart,” he countered.
“Sorry, Doctor. I meant-”
“Never you mind. It's just wonderful to have you here and on the case with me.”
“Do you really mean that, or are you just being polite?” she challenged the old man.
“Unlike many of my associates here in Philly, I'm not afraid to say it. I need all the help I can get!” He took Kim's hand next and shook it as heartily as he had Jessica's.
Shocky, as Sturtevante had called the ME, had gotten their names and faces right, explaining, “I recognize you, Dr. Desinor, from your pictures, and you, little Jessica, how you've grown.”
“Dr. Shockley and my father worked in the military together for a time,” Jessica told the others.
“Well, this is like old home week for you, then, isn't it, Dr. Coran?” asked Sturtevante, letting on that she knew about Jessica and Parry's past involvement. No doubt Jim had told her, but why? Did he have some burning need to confide in another woman, someone safe? Or did he feel he owed it to Leanne Sturtevante to give her this deep background knowledge, for the good of her case?
Shockley continued, oblivious to these undercurrents. “I remember seeing you in L.A., too, at the convention, but then you disappeared. I learned only later that you'd gone off after yet another maniacal killer.”
“Yes, a sociopath whose murder weapon was a blowtorch,” said Kim.
“Not near so subtle in his MO as this fiend you're dealing with here,” Jessica told Shockley.
“Yes, we have one hell of a subtle monster roaming our streets, Jessica. A most perspicacious SOB, to say the least, one too swift for local authorities to net. The newsies are having a field day with Sturtevante's supposedly inept handling of the case. Right, Leanne?”
“Go to hell, Shockley,” replied Sturtevante.
“All right, then let's talk about Las Vegas, dear Jessica, shall we?”
“Vegas?”
Shockley guided her away from the others. “It was so very disappointing to learn that your session at the conference on rebuilding the crime from a single desiccated forearm-as you managed to do in Hawaii-had been turned over to Cyril Hanley.”
“I heard that Hanley did a first-rate job,” Jessica protested.
“Hartley's a good forensics man, yes, but he lacks something… hasn't the fire you have, Jessica, not even a spark of it. Besides, you're a good deal easier on the eye than Cyril, even in his best plaid shirt and bow tie.” He finished with a hearty laugh, his impish face inviting them all to laugh with him, but no one did.
“Cyril has had problems with the fashion police before. Thank you, Dr. Shockley. I'm sorry you were disappointed at missing me in Vegas.”
“Never you mind. There will be other conferences. Besides, who else could have put an end to that madman you trailed all across the west?” He turned to Sturtevante, adding, “The vile maniac turned perfectly good people into toast, using a torch! Yes, we are most certainly fortunate to have Dr. Coran and Dr. Desinor here, on this far more beguiling case.”
Sturtevante remained impassive, simply saying, “Yes, we are indeed fortunate, and in the meantime-”
“In the meantime,” Shockley repeated with a leering smile. “Yes, yes, yes… in the meantime, we have our own peculiar murder to deal with. One wonders if the killer does it tongue in cheek.”
“Really? I sense no humor in the poems he leaves behind,” countered Kim.
“I refer to his method! Such flare is usually reserved for the magicians of story-mystery writers. Imagine it.”
Jessica did so; she imagined the panache, the flamboyance, the staging and the theater that went into the murders. She imagined the care with which the killer must procure his victims, while Shockley's words mirrored her thoughts. Shockley finished with, “Yes, he's a showman, this fellow, and he likely thinks long and hard about his deeds, rationalizing them away. Still, I suspect he spends at least as much time with his chemistry set, mixing his poisonous concoction, which we're still in the dark about.”
Kim, hands behind her back, said, “I understand that the poison was taken in at the cuts created by the pen on their backs.”
“What could be simpler?” Shockley asked with a grin. “Come, come this way. You'll find our first victim in good repair, all the autopsy protocol in shape as well. You two suit up. You'll find everything you need through there.” He pointed to a door marked ladies.
After quickly donning blue medical garb, masks, booties, and surgical gloves, Jessica and Kim returned. They then followed Leonard Shockley toward a second autopsy room where the body lay.
Shockley spoke as they walked. “I suppose you're curious about the victim type?”
“I do have some concerns along those lines,” said Jessica.
“The detectives have surmised that the victims willingly submitted to the killer's pen, but it's unlikely they knew what they were in for. What's unusual is the absolute care the killer took with each victim to preserve their environment and their bodies.”
Jessica nodded. “No hacking, no mutilation, no disarray of the rooms, I've heard.”
“Exactly. Rather the opposite. He is meticulous with his victims.”
“Lovingly meticulous, I understand.”
“For God's sake, Jessica, the bastard provides a pillow, a blanket, a careful placement of the arms and legs. Comfort is key. The body is not only given a gentle send-off, but the condition of the body is near perfect.”
“Perfect health, you mean?”
“No sign of anything whatsoever to check out, no.”
“So, although he's giving them this peaceful kind send-off-”
“He has certain standards.”
She squinted at the old ME. “Standards?”
“None of the victims were in pain or suffering or ill health, no.”
“What about mental state, depression?”
“Every kid this side of the Mississippi is depressed.”
“Any history of depression in the victims?” she persisted.
“None that I know of, but it may be a viable line of inquiry,” agreed Shockley, opening the door to the room where the cadaver awaited her inspection. He stopped her before the sheet-covered corpse. “But, Jess, I'm talking about the killer's victim type-someone in perfect physical and I suspect mental condition. Perfectly healthy and young. That's what our killer wants.”