"Why don't you Quantico folks let me take care of this bit of nasty business," continued Repasi, a stout, squat, yet powerfully built man whose ego was also stout. ''Go on along now, the two of you. The Vegas coroner's been called. There's nothing more you can do here."
It was obvious Repasi wanted the case, or at least to be a large part of it; he no doubt had decided on entering and seeing the sooty writing smeared across the mirror that this would be a high-profile case, one that might bring him some notoriety. Part of Jessica told her to do as Repasi wished-step away and leave it for others to clean up. She didn't need this. Another part of her recalled the screams of the young woman lying now like so much petrified wood on the burned bed.
J. T. half-whispered to Jessica, ''Then it was her on the phone."
Jessica was slow to agree. There seemed something indecent in the circumstances, something vile in having just spoken to the dead woman, and despite the fact that Jessica hadn't played a voluntary part in Chris Lorentian's brutal murder, she somehow felt responsible. But these feelings must be kept capped; it wasn't something she wanted to open and examine here and now.
But Karl Repasi remained keenly curious. ''Are you telling us that the victim telephoned you just before the murder?" he pressed.
"That'd be impossible," countered Fairfax. "Her hands and feet were tied. The ropes are burned into her flesh."
"Then the killer dialed for her," replied Repasi, "telephoning you, Dr. Coran. Why? What does that mean?"
"Yeah, whataya make of that?" chorused Fire Detective Fairfax.
"The killer… the man who did this… telephoned Jessica," J. T. admitted. "Moments before the murder, to tell her what he planned. Isn't that right, Jessica?"
''Not quite. He never spoke a word. He just wanted me to hear her shrieking death as she burned to death, the unholy bastard."
Repasi's mouth fell open, but he managed to say, "He called you? From here? From the crime scene? And you asked if I used the phone?'' His twitching mustache combined with his doughy, round-faced features to fill the bowl of consternation looking back at her.
Jessica's simple reply held an elegance of its own. "There's a record of the call with the desk, yes."
"Then he called you before the fire?" pressed Repasi, fascinated now. "He actually spoke to you? Told you what he planned?"
"I spoke with her, not him, never him." She pointed to the dead woman as she corrected Repasi. "She asked for me, for my help."
''By… by name?'' asked Fire Detective Fairfax, amazed.
"And the killer? What did he say?" Repasi again pressed.
"Nothing, not a word."
"He said nothing to you?"
"Nothing and everything," she countered.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Bastard just wanted me to hear her die, and I did. I heard it all…"
The men in the room, including her friend and partner John Thorpe, stared in blank astonishment at her words.
"He wanted to make sure I knew what he did to her; wanted me to hear her suffer, wanted me to hear her pleas to him, and her pain when he turned her into a ball of flame. And he got exactly what he wanted…"
"What exactly did she"-Fairfax pointed to the body with the pen he'd been waving around-"say to you?"
"She-what I take as our victim here-she asked if it was me, asked by name… told me her name, Chris Lorentian, she said."
Fairfax's face scrunched up as if trying to decipher the information.
Jessica continued, "She was crying, blubbering, terrified."
''Told you her name?''
"Chris, she said… Chris Lorentian."
"Sounds familiar," Fairfax replied, setting his hat back on his head, contemplating this.
Jessica lifted a fist and added, "She said something about gasoline, that he doused her with gasoline. I heard the whoosh of flame, heard her scream… heard him-''
"Her attacker?" asked Repasi.
"Heard him laughing, cackling, at the sight of her tied to this bed and burning atop it."
"My God…" J. T. tried to find a pocket of breathable air.
Jessica, too, felt faint. She tried to think of pleasant places, blue skies, green meadows, Hawaii, James Parry, anything but this reality before her.
"She wasn't tied to the bed," Repasi corrected Jessica.
"What?"
"She was bound, hand and foot, face up and watching when he put the torch to her. Fairfax believes he had to've used an easily controlled and focused flame, as with a wand and torch, say a butane torch, right, Fairfax? Fairfax says he concentrated the burn at the eyes, but that he did a pretty good job of frying her altogether, since he doused her body and clothes with gasoline."
Jessica went for the door, where she held tight to the moldings, her emotions intermingling with the recent memory of hearing Chris Lorentian's agonized screams, the thought now overpowering her emotions. She glanced out into the hallway over her shoulder where people were being gently assured that they might return to their rooms, that there had been a false alarm, no fire. In the crowd of faces, she saw that morbid curiosity that comes with the smell or the sight of death. In the hallway, she thought that perhaps she might find some semblance of clean air, perhaps escape this nightmare. Instead, she found the drooling crowd and wondered if the killer himself might not be here, watching… overseeing his handiwork..
J. T. agreeably joined her, himself anxious to leave the death room odors and sights.
"Good idea," she heard J. T. say.
Repasi joined them in the doorway and muttered, "Yes, good thinking. I'll take care of things from here, Doctors."
"Be my guest," J. T. told him, wrapping an arm about her, and while he attempted to lead her from the death room, Jessica stood her ground, a sooty carpet. With his failed attempt to get Jessica away from room 1713, J. T. tried dark levity. "This is going to put a hell of a crimp into the convention, huh?"
"It is so odd, Jessica," began Repasi again. "You say you don't know her, yet she calls you for help." A big man who might've played linebacker in college, Karl instantly dropped his stare, realizing how crude he was being, or perhaps he had gotten a glimpse of himself, his reflection, in her hazel eyes; she was unsure which. Karl's eyes now fixed on her bare feet, and indicating the soot all around, he suggested, "You might want to bag your feet, if you're staying." His own shoes were covered with polyethylene bags, and the carpet was scorched in irregular patches, mostly about the bed, where the fire had scattered like so many sprites and unthinking fairies at play.
Jessica wasn't answering Karl, nor did she notice the stares garnered by her from Fairfax and the photographer who'd obviously overheard enough to make him stop shooting pictures. Jessica stepped away from Repasi and located a box of polyethylene bags near the door and placed them onto her feet, securing them with rubber bands.
"I want a closer look," she announced and stepped back into the charred ruins of the room.
FOUR
Swift as fear.
Fire Detective Charles Fairfax described the condition of the room when firemen first arrived, relating what others had told him. The body was already burned to a crisp, and smoke plumed out the door. The door was left ajar by the killer. He wanted her found just as she lay as quickly as possible after writing out his message. But if he used her body creosote and his hand to write his message, then he must exist on carbon monoxide, unless-''
"Unless he wore a gas mask of some sort."
"An oxygen mask, like a firefighter," Jessica guessed.
"Even so, with all the smoke he created, he'd have to get out extremely fast before becoming disoriented and unable to see."
"Another minute or so," explained Fairfax, "and a flashover would've occurred here. Everything in the room, including the mirror, would've melted. But this guy somehow controlled the fire he set."