“ Christ,” he muttered to himself, “maybe Jessica's theory has merit.” The hypothesis was tempting for another reason: if his detectives accepted the supposition, they could narrow the field, focusing on criminals known to have worked in tandem before. He'd give it more thought, talk to Jessica again, and perhaps at the next task-force meeting, which had now been postponed until tomorrow morning at 6 A.M., he'd pursue it.
While teams of detectives scoured the neighborhood, he and Lou Pierce found a nearby diner and ordered up breakfasts. Just as the steaming second cup of coffee, their bacon and eggs with toast and jelly arrived, so did the TV and radio reporters. It was already a long day.?
Thirteen
Jessica Coran and Dr. Luther Darius had enjoyed a peaceful breakfast. Darius had shut off his beeper, as was his habit when he had had enough. He'd announced the fact with a mischievous grin. While they'd eaten, they'd been treated to a delightful sunrise in New York Harbor where the tugboats bellowed out their intentions and large freighters and cruise ships were assembled below the watching eyes of thousands of sea gulls.
As they walked back to the lab, their heads cleared of the spider webs that had accumulated from lack of sleep. Each was anxious to get deeply involved in the forensics information they had gathered, and Jessica was particularly interested in hearing from J.T. in Quantico.
They spoke of many things, but the conversation somehow worked its way back to Darius' physical condition and his present situation with the coroner's office.
“ They're shopping around for a replacement, but haven't done so well. Who wants the headaches? I gave it the best years of my life, and what happens? The moment I have a bit of a health problem, they want to discard me like yesterday's newspaper.”
“ I'd say a stroke is more than a little health problem, Doctor.”
He frowned. “It was a small stroke.”
“ And now they've asked you to return?”
“ Until they can find a suitable replacement.”
“ No one could replace you.”
“ We're all expendable, Dr. Coran, believe me.”
She knew what he meant. She felt her relationship with her own superiors was shaky and she mentioned this. Then you have some idea how they can make an old man feel.”
They spoke no more, simply enjoying the walk and the company.
When they arrived at the lab, they found the place buzzing and learned the search for them had been on. Apparently the police had located and entered the apartment of the elderly woman, and it was clear that she had been killed by the Claw in her Brooklyn apartment-miles from Scarsdale.
“ I want to get out there,” she told Dr. Darius.
“ Archer is there; he will do a fine job. You should get to work here.”
She took a deep breath, considering this. “Perhaps you're right.”
He smiled. “I am right. I am always right.”
A few hours later Jessica stopped work and went to the telephone in the office that was temporarily hers. She dialed FBI headquarters in Quantico. Her assistant, J.T., came on with a glum tone, and after the amenities, she asked him what was wrong.
“ I got back this morning and found your first-priority case was back-shelved.”
“ What?”
“ I had Glenn working on the materials you forwarded, thought all was going well, and then found out O'Rourke ordered him off it and onto something she called more pressing.”
“ God damn her. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear she was trying to drive me out. Undermining every damned thing I do, lately.”
“ Let's not get paranoid, huh, Jess?”
“ It's paranoia that's got me as far as I am.”
“ Not this time, Jess. You must've heard about Senator Keillor's death?”
“ Heart attack, right?”
“ They're not so sure anymore. Seems he had some track marks.”
“ Drugs? Christ, wasn't he on the President's Drug-free USA Committee?”
“ He was.”
“ And so Glenn Hale was yanked to study his tracks instead of my teeth marks?”
“ That's right.”
“ Well, Hale's not the only guy at Quantico who knows flesh marks. Get Kinnon or-”
“ Kinnon's in Africa.”
“- or Springer. Springer's had some experience in-”
“ Jess, I'm doing it myself-”
“ You?”
“ And I'll get your results to you this afternoon.”
“ All right, J.T.”
“ Got the specimens in the SEM right now.”
“ No second chances here.” She knew that the SEM destroyed the evidence as it photographed, bombarding the tissue with a shower of electrons. If the photos were marred, there'd be no evidence and no way to tell if the teeth marks sent J.T. were identical or not.
“ Not to worry, Jess. Now, how're you doing in New York?”
“ Not so good. Two more victims last night.”
“ Jesus… two…”
“ Yeah, our boy-or boys-is or are getting bolder.”
“ This guy's shaping up to be another Matisak.”
She was silent a moment, thinking of Matisak's involvement in her case, wondering again how he had arrived at the same theory as she. Maybe it took a madman to understand a madman, and if that was the case, did it mean that she, too, was mad?
She hoped the syllogism held no water.
“ You still there, Jess?”
“ Yeah, J.T., and thanks. I'll be hearing from you soon, then?”
The moment she hung up the phone, she decided that as much as she loved J.T., she'd better start doing what she could on her own. She returned to the two corpses brought in from Scarsdale. Dr. Darius was overseeing the autopsy of the younger woman, with Jessica assisting.
The autopsy took less than the usual four to five hours because the body had already been eviscerated, usually the job of the coroner. The autopsy was, however, complicated by the fact that a number of the organs did not belong to the subject. It made for a most uneven examination of the victim.
Where appropriate, they had returned the correct organs to the second body, the process making Jessica feel like a reanimator, a Dr. Frankenstein attempting to force order onto death and chaos.
Dr. Darius, by comparison, seemed composed, at ease, in his element. All of her professional life Jessica had been looked upon by those outside of medicine-reporters, lawyers, even rugged cops-as something of a ghoul for being capable of doing her work amid the most horrific of conditions. But she now had to bow to Darius as far more detached and capable than she.
But suddenly her estimation was qualified. The body jerked in a spasm and Darius jumped in response, laughing nervously. “I… I'll never get used to that,” he said before continuing on with his report. He was fastidious and sharp, she thought, as she watched him work.
“ It appears the slash marks came from a right-handed man, from across this way.” He pointed to the body's right shoulder and drew an imaginary, jagged diagonal line toward her navel. “The killer did this three times. It seems his favorite number, as it corresponds with all earlier victims. As can be seen by the vital reaction around the rents, the bruised blue, the victim was very much alive when she was ripped open.”
The overhead microphone taped the words automatically. It also taped Dr. Darius' cough and the sound of him clearing his throat. The typescript would eliminate all nonessential information, and copies of the autopsy reports on both victims would be on Alan Rychman's desk before 3 P.M., if the second autopsy went as smoothly as this one was going.