"How can I help?"
"I want a false report sent out to the newspapers."
"What?" The woman instantly shook her head, as if Jessica had suggested something vile, something perverted. "I can't do that."
"Even if it saves lives?"
Now Mrs. Crighten's lips closed and pursed. "What kind of misinformation are we talking about? And how will it save lives?"
"Trust me, it will save lives. Two, possibly three lives, maybe more."
"Explain further."
Jessica smiled, somehow knowing that she'd come to the right woman. She felt hopeful that now she could turn the tables on the Phantom. She explained to Mrs. Crighten how the killer had been operating. She laid out before Mrs. Crighten's astonished eyes the killer's cryptograms, telling her how they'd been left, how they'd been written using the victims' own fatty secretions, after they were burned alive. She told of the phone calls, how much she personally had suffered. Finally she got around to exactly how she planned to confuse the killer.
"If three men die here tonight, then the killer has reached eight victims for his deadly charade, if he counts his shooting victim, Chief of Operations Agent Warren Bishop. That would leave only one blank space to fill in his demented, infernal game. That leaves only one more victim."
"If he takes Agent Bishop's death, and the death of the other two agents who were burned in the fire as equal, on a par with one of his burn victims," she replied. "I see. But what if he doesn't take Bishop's death as enough?"
"Then we'll have saved two lives instead of three."
"Yes, I see, but suppose he, the killer, doesn't want to count any of them?"
"He will. He's anxious for this to be over…"
"How do you know that?"
"We have a relationship," Jessica firmly said. "I believe-no, I know-how he thinks. He believes everything happens for a reason. He's quite fatalistic. He'll at the very least count the burn victims; he'll see them as reward for carrying out his… his duties, his responsibilities, thus-"
"Duties," muttered Mrs. Crighten, shivering where she sat, "responsibilities."
"He's quite mad."
"Of that I'm sure."
"Will you put the misinformation out there?"
"It could backfire. Family members must be alerted to the truth before it gets around. It could cost me my job."
"The FBI made you do it?"
The woman smiled and took Jessica's hands in hers. "We'll do it."
Jessica gave her a prepared statement that she had written out in longhand. It gave names for the additional two agents as Agent Thorn Morganstern and Agent Raleigh Howler. To protect his office from embarrassment, Gallagher had earlier allowed hospital authorities to treat three FBI agents and not just one, but he'd left all three under heavy guard.
Finished here, Jessica said to Mrs. Crighten, "Thank you.. thank you… Now, how do I get to Salt Lake's largest TV station and newspaper office?"
Crighten called in her aide, telling the young woman to chauffeur Agent Coran to wherever she wished, when Crighten's phone rang.
Jessica and the aide were halfway out the door when Mrs. Crighten announced that the call was for Jessica. ''I think it's one of your people," she cheerily said, offering the phone to Jessica. "He says he has information for you alone, Dr. Coran."
Jessica took the phone and immediately recognized the voice of the killer at the other end as he said, "Satan, disguised as a one-eyed Minotaur, carried me on one hell of a journey until I could see down into an endless hole where flesh and fire, like wick and candle, were one."
"Dorphmann," she let his name fall on him like a bomb, "Feydor Dorphmann, we know now who you are and why you're driven to kill."
It was as if she were whistling in a wind tunnel; the surprise seemed to have no effect on Dorphmann as he continued speaking over her. "The journey kept me always on a downward spiral, and there were rungs on either side of the belly of this place, like they were made from Satan's ribs, you see…"
"Just as in Dante's Inferno," she suggested. "But Feydor, don't you see? If you turn yourself in now, I'll get help for you."
"Perhaps the historic Dante Alighieri in the 1300s was himself visited by Satan, because Satan wants us to praise him, you know, Dr. Coran. He wants us to never forget his presence. He must've made Dante's life a living hell like mine, turning his skin to boils and red rashes, making it impossible to live in his skin. He must've persuaded Dante to chronicle his domain, his dark kingdom. He's very good at persuasion techniques, you know, far superior to your FBI in that regard."
"You don't have to kill any more people, Feydor," she told him. "You've killed eight now by our count."
Jessica watched Crighten's face as it turned ashen grey with the realization that the killer was on the hospital line, her line. Feydor Dorphmann paused momentarily at her words but then continued, "He got Dante to sing the praises of Hades…"
"The two men you burned during your escape, two FBI agents, and a third you shot, Feydor. They've all died here at the hospital."
''But those killings were incidental, not part of the bargain."
"How do you know that? Satan works in mysterious ways, Feydor."
"They all must die by fire, all but one-you, Doctor… "
"But these men did die by fire."
"Two of them, yes."
"Then why not count Dr. Stuart Wetherbine, Feydor? You torched his body, remember? And he was trying to help you, remember?"
This silenced Feydor momentarily. "Then you do know all about me. Good, Doctor… very good. Now you will come for me all the more."
"What about it, Feydor? What about Wetherbine in San Francisco and the two agents you burned to death here in Salt Lake? It means you can be finished with your work, whatever contract you made with… with Satan that much sooner, Feydor."
"Perhaps… perhaps…"
She prayed he was considering the possibility she held out to him.
He coldly said, "I'll have to wait, see what he says about all this."
"Feydor, every FBI agent in the territory, every cop with a gun is now going to shoot to kill, knowing you killed three of their own. The stakes have gone up, Dorphmann. We not only know who you are, Feydor, but we know your shoe size and preference, we have your fingerprints and likeness, and it will appear in every newspaper and on every television screen across this country. There's no place you can hide now."
"Don't waste your breath, Dr. Coran. I've had assurances none of that will matter once I've finished with you."
"Even if you succeed, Feydor, in killing me, number nine, there'll be no place for you to hide."
"Satan will provide. He's already removed my fingerprints and my hair, and he's working on my bone structure, my height, weight, skin color. You see, it's all part of the deal."
How do you bargain with a madman? she wondered. "Give yourself up, give yourself up to me this moment. Tell me where you are and I'll come there personally to see no harm comes to you." It was a half-truth. If he invited her, she would see to it he was put out of his misery before he could fire-kill her.
"Harm? You have no idea how much harm I've already gone through, you foolish bitch. No, I won't be giving myself up. There's still work to do. Still, I do want you to come for me."
"Where and when?" she replied instantly, challenging him.
"Soon, soon now you will know."
She knew it was hopeless, but to encourage him, she added, "Read the morning papers, Feydor, then contact me again if you don't believe me. Will you do that, Feydor?"