"All madness, complete madness."
"We have reason to believe he's hearing voices, that he's driven, obsessed, possibly possessed, or at least he believes himself possessed."
"Of a demon?"
"Or demons. I've sent this list along to Quantico, from where it has now gone out to the nation's leading academicians and the mental health professionals in the hope someone somewhere might recognize the thinking. Put it together with the fevered mind that has obsessed over it."
"Yeah, I see, like they did in the Unabomber case."
"Yeah, something like that."
"I read something about it."
"Read something about it? The Unabomber case, you mean?"
"No, no… your case, Dr. Coran."
"Where?"
"Your earlier list, the first one you showed me. It was published in The New York Times, the L.A. Times, and every other major newspaper in the country as well as being aired on national television."
"No one told me!"
"Sorry, I thought you knew."
"I've been… out of touch…"
"Thinking seems sound enough. Someone, somewhere must know this head case and his background, where he lives, right?"
"Yeah… we can only hope. We've also got a line of inquiry following an itinerary, a bus schedule we believe he is on. That's how I got here as quickly as I did."
''Yeah, you mentioned as much when you first informed us."
Jessica wondered how Repasi was connected to Lorentian, and she decided that Karl was hired to keep a running tab on the progress in the case, and that Warren, who had somehow become hopelessly indebted to Frank Lorentian, had succumbed to using his office for Lorentian's personal vendetta in this matter. Repasi was in the hospital, too, but he was busy downstairs with the autopsy on the latest victim, whom Jessica felt guilty over since she had not even gotten the woman's name.
"I'm going down to the morgue to see Dr. Repasi," she told Gallagher.
"I'll accompany you, Doctor."
"As you wish."
They found Repasi just finishing up. When he saw them, he said, "No surprises. Same MO down to the gasoline hot spots about face and upper torso."
Jessica needed to get away from the body and the smell of smoldering flesh adhering to the room. She felt as if she could no longer breathe. Gallagher, a sensitive man, saw her need and ushered her out almost as soon as he'd accompanied her into the morgue.
Gallagher escorted her to a hallway, and at the end of the corridor they found a balcony that overlooked the now darkened city. The warm, fresh air felt good on Jessica's skin, and it invaded her nostrils, attempting battle with the odors from the death room that had taken hold.
Gallagher now asked, "This bus itinerary-it tells you where his next destination will be? Can we get there before him?"
"I'd hoped that for Salt Lake, but we were too late for Salt Lake."
"Thanks to Bishop, yes."
"I wish you wouldn't condemn Warren before he's even had a chance to… to defend himself."
"All right, sorry again. I'll give him the benefit of a doubt. Meantime, where is the killer's next stop, if you don't mind sharing?"
"Wyoming. Jackson Hole, Wyoming, I believe," she replied. ''Can you get me there quickly?''
"As soon as you're ready to go."
"I have to know first how Warren is doing."
"The other side of the hospital, there's a helipad. We can take off from here together for Wyoming. It's not far by air."
She sighed, taking in a deep breath of the clear air, and despite the humid night, a chill, made primarily of fear, wafted through her nerves as she contemplated her next encounter with this madman who'd created some sort of fantasy involving Dante's Inferno, Satan, nine to possibly eighteen murders, and Jessica Coran. She leaned in against the balcony, steadying herself, feeling Neil Gallagher's reassuring hand on her shoulder, hearing his whispered words.
"This must be a nightmare for you. I've only seen the one example of this madman's work. You've now seen five. Now that we know what bus he's traveling on," suggested Gallagher, "we're staking it out to see if he's stupid enough to attempt another boarding tomorrow morning. Frankly, I don't hold out any hope of his doing so, but as they say, crime makes you stupid, so… And frankly, Doctor, I'm a bit confused why you and the others chasing him didn't stop and board the bus before it got this far."
"Don't you think that Warren must've given it thought? Radio the state patrol and surround the bus? Maybe get everyone inside killed? But you've got to realize, we only learned for certain that he was on that specific bus after his arrival here in Salt Lake. There was no opportunity to take him out somewhere along the road before he became a Salt Lake problem, Gallagher."
"I see."
"Besides, there're some thirty or so other passengers on that bus."
"Of course. And if we didn't know before how dangerous it is to approach this lunatic, we certainly know now, don't we?"
"Yes, of course. Any attempt at an assault on the bus would have cost more lives."
"All the same, this morning, when the bus pulls from the curb, it will do so only after a thorough check by my people. By the way, the victim of the fire was a tourist to our city, a passenger on another tour bus. Her name was Evelyn Grey."
"We know he's crazy, but he's also cunning. It's highly unlikely he'll rejoin the tour group or follow the now known path of tour thirteen fourteen on bus sixty-seven of the VisionQuest lines. Still, he has a plan that involves killing four more people at the very least. Whether he shows up in Jackson Hole or not is anyone's guess. And as for staking out the bus, he now knows we're on to him, close on his trail. He's hardly likely to show up tomorrow morning to board that bus.''
"All the same, Quantico has asked for my full support, and as far as I'm concerned, Doctor, you people need all the help you can get. From here on out, I call the shots. Two of my men are guarding Bishop and those two questionable fellows whose faces were rearranged by your killer, possibly dying, certainly maimed for life, due to the ineptness of the investigation thus far. Now, tomorrow morning, my men will be there when tour number thirteen fourteen readies to leave the Hilton. We've interviewed the driver and the tour guide, and they know of our interest in
Mr. Dunlap, should they ever lay eyes on him again."
"He's not a fool."
"We'll take him down, one way or another. The bus driver is being replaced by an agent, and we already have the other end covered, too."
''What do you mean?''
"At Jackson Hole. There we'll greet the bus as the owner-operators of this place he would have been staying at tonight, a place called the Wagon Wheel Motel."
"If you knew where his next destination was, why'd you bother asking me?"
"Call it a test."
"I see."
"After Bishop's performance… rather hard to know whom to trust."
"Sure… I can understand that." Jessica inwardly fumed, but she kept careful control of herself. "Refreshing to find a man with a plan," she told him, thinking his plan foolhardy and full of holes.
Still, she kept silent. "Do it." She knew that Gallagher's plans would net him nothing, that the killer wanted to be caught up with by one person alone: her. That his bread crumbs and leavings thus far had all pointed to one thing: that she be his ninth, his last victim. He was no fool. He would not return to the company of tourists on a bus with a known itinerary, not now, now that they'd come so close to catching him. If nothing else, Warren had thrown a scare into the fiend.
"Then you will join us in Wyoming, Dr. Coran?"
"Go ahead without me. I'm here until Warren regains consciousness."
Still awaiting news at Salt Lake Memorial Hospital, Jessica finally learned that Warren Bishop remained in an hours-long intensive surgery and that he wasn't expected to regain consciousness anytime soon after the operation, nor would he soon have use of his left side even if he should survive the surgery. The killer's bullet had been a spreader, a single bullet exploding from a cut jacket, creating a series of winding, twisting, tearing pellets coursing through Warren's body. He'd been wearing a Spectra vest, a technically superior vest to the Kevlar line most FBI men were still wearing, but the bullet entered at close proximity, the powder burns on his clothes telling the story, and the bullet entered just above the sternum, where the vest hadn't been completely secured by Bishop. From there, the bullet took its winding courses-up, down, around, back and forth, cutting small but deadly paths through vital organs, arteries, and veins.