Absolute Instinct

by Robert W. Walker

  “Just pray the lab has the DNA map done and forwarded by time you get here,” she told him, putting a finger to his image on the phone screen.

  “I take it you've softened up the governor for our presentation.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “You mean he's at least willing to entertain the idea we may have uncovered new evidence and to give us a fair hearing?”

  “Let's just say he's willing to listen.”

  “I see. Everything hinges on the outcome of tests here. I wish we had more time.”

  “Mean time this waiting period.”

  “I know it's hard on you, Jess.”

  “Swore I wouldn't get this emotionally involved but it's so easy to fall into it, you know?”

  “Of course I do. And what's the alternative for people who do what we do, love? I certainly don't wish to return to the jaded, cold, unfeeling person I was before... well, before we met.”

  “Nor I... Nor I.”

  “How's Darwin holding up?”

  “Convinced him to take a couple of my sleeping pills. He's out for now. It's particularly hard on him.” Jessica again brought up that Towne was in fact Darwin's half brother.

  She watched as Richard stepped into a hangar and waved down someone.

  “Have you given any thought, Jess, to what happens if the tests match Robert Towne's DNA? Putting his DNA under Louisa Childe's nails in that coffin all this time?”

  “While I've given that possibility little air time in my brain, I admit it has floated in and out, yes. But damn it, I've come to trust Darwin's instincts, his knowledge of his brother.”

  “I love you, Jess, and will see you when I get in tomorrow late, unless I can get help here from the Flying Tigers freight people. If you don't hear from me, assume around six-thirty tomorrow night.”

  “God, Richard, why so late?”

  “Can't get a flight out for hours, and even then, it takes me to San Francisco for a connecting flight to Portland. It's all that's flying.”

  “Let's hope the Tigers can help you out then. I have so missed you, Richard. I'll be at the airport to greet you.”

  “I'll call you from wherever I am. Let you know. How has Portland treated you so far?”

  “I think if Christ came to Portland under present circumstances, they'd inject him with a death cocktail, too.”

  “That bad?”

  “That bad. Public sentiment against Towne has been whipped up to a frenzy here.”

  “Watch yourself then. Take all precautions.”

  “Not to worry.”

  “G'night then, dear. I love you.”

  “After this is over, we're going to reassess our lives, you and me, Richard. I'm considering alternatives.”

  “That offer I made you? Or are you talking about the offer from D.C., to return to the M.E.'s office there, or the Virginia state lab?”

  “Carte blanche I'm told. I would have total, complete control at Virginia. Don't think I could go back to D.C., not comfortably, and certainly not with what Virginia's offering.”

  “Certainly, you of all people, have earned retirement from the FBI, but what about my proposal?”

  “I survived the FBI for over a decade, survived the horrors and what it's done to me, what it's made of me. As for marriage, darling Richard, I-I'm just not sure we're either of us ready just yet. You still have issues with your former wife, and you've got your children to think of, and I... I still have this fear we will break what we have if we change anything.”

  “You are an intelligent, articulate, giving, beautiful soul, Jessica Coran, but in this you are wrong.”

  “I'm also a chicken, a fearful chicken.”

  “I know of no one braver.”

  “Not when it comes to relationships and getting my heart broken.”

  “Sounds like perhaps you are the one with the issues.”

  “Emotional baggage, it's called, and it's why I can't marry you, Richard, at least not now, not until I deal with it all. It'd only drag you down into my emotional—”

  “We can work through any problems together. I can be your support, Jess.”

  “Sweet... you are so sweet, Richard. I am so lucky to have you. Please be patient with me.”

  “My name before I changed it was Patience,” he joked. “And you really are lucky to have me, you know.”

  “Ohhh, I do know that.”

  “And that you are blinded by your devotion to me? Did you know that?”

  “I confess it! I confess it all!” She then closed her eyes and blew him a kiss through the miracle of the cam phone. He sent it back to her.

  She thoughtfully said, “Back into private sector. No more of this screwy FBI crap for me. Sounds like peace and paradise.”

  “Whatever you decide, you know I will support you, Jess.”

  FOURTEEN

  Curious about evil since they had never known evil, the gods produced evil by interacting with mankind, usually a woman who was soon impregnated with a misfit child.

  — DR. ABRAHAM STROUD, ARCHAEOLOGIST

  The following day in Portland

  JESSICA was awakened by a pounding on her door, but it turned out to be the adjoining room's door—Darwin, shouting something unintelligible on the other side. While she threw on her terry-cloth robe, she worked out in her head what she was hearing. Darwin continued shouting, “We've gotten a terrific break in our case, Jess. On the tube, now!”

  She tore open the door and he barged past her, searching for her remote. Finding it, he snapped on the television set.

  “What is it?” she asked, following him into her room. “Darwin?”

  “Watch! CNN, MSNBC, Fox, they all have the breaking story, and it's going to blow that fucking smug Governor Hughes outta his pants. They gotta give Robert a reprieve now. They won't have a choice.”

  Jessica sat on the very edge of her bed facing the TV screen as it filled with images of a police raid, a box crate the size of a small pool table confiscated, shots of a man in handcuffs, his long hair and clothing looking like that of a rock star. Jessica tried to put it all together, wondering what it had to do with their case.

  “It's Chicago, and the guy they're snatching around and forcing into the squad car, that's Orion, Keith Orion. Seems an old girlfriend's corpse turned up.”

  “You mean Orion pulled an Ira Einhorn?”

  “Yeah, and in similar fashion. Crated up a murder victim—someone my team in Milwaukee believes we've heard about before.”

  “My God, who?”

  “Lucinda Wellingham.”

  “The art gallery girl, the one who backed Orion's exhibit in Milwaukee? This could be our trump card to get your brother off death row.”

  “Yeah, but it gets even better. Listen.” Darwin pointed to the tube, and her gaze followed.

  CNN newswoman Paula Zahn was reporting.

  “I thought Zahn went to night-time television,” Jessica said.

  “She's back to daytime. Will you just listen?”

  With a look of frightened consternation creasing her forehead, Paula Zahn read the TelePrompTer. “... following a breaking story out of Chicago... just in... just gruesome... something out of an Evan Kingsbury novel.” Zahn took a moment to compose and gather her assaulted sensibilities, obviously shaken. “In a bizarre and gruesome find, Chicago UPS workers, sorting mail at their Grace-Ravenswood-Lakeview facility, discovered a large, leaking container. With terror alerts still at orange, UPS management immediately notified officials, and the leaking container remained a mystery for the better part of the day as seven hundred eighty employees were evacuated and Chicago biohazard team and the EPA went in.” Coanchor Bill Zimmer cut in with, “After initial tests, chemists on hand at the UPS facility discovered the fluid staining the container and floor to be the result of human decomposition—fluids from a decaying body.”

  “How could she be decaying so quickly,” asked Jessica, “if no one even knew she'd disappeared until now? Unless...”

&nbs
p; “Yeah,” said Darwin, “unless. Keep listening, Jess.”

  Paula Zahn, through gnashed teeth and frown, continued. “The crate was ordered opened, and within was found a nude young woman in mid-twenties who's back had been so completely splayed open that her killer had actually... Oh, dear God...”

  Zimmer had to pick up the story from here. “The killer had actually removed the victim's entire backbone, which remains missing! Paula.”

  Paula looked as if she wanted to storm off. Again Zimmer took up the slack. “Investigators suspect there might be a connection between this and three previous murders in three other states involving the taking of spinal columns— for what grisly purpose no one yet knows.”

  Zahn finally recovered and turned to her coanchor and mock-gagged, repeating, “'Backbones'? A killer interested in backbones? Uggghhh... whatever for?”

  “Well, Paula,” replied Zimmer, “police aren't saying for certain that they have the murderer in custody, but they do have what CNN sources are calling a person of interest in custody.”

  Paula shook off any thoughts of hyperventilating and interjected, “And given UPS's penchant for a lot of paperwork, they strongly suspect the man to whom the box was being shipped, as Keith Orion is believed to have sent the crate to Chicago from Milwaukee—where he was having a showing of his artwork.”

  Zimmer picked up the story there. “We're not likely to hear anything definite on the identity of the lady in the crate anytime soon from authorities, but there is rampant speculation at this hour as to her identity. Some saying that it is this woman.”

  They flashed a photo of Lucinda Wellingham, smiling, bright, cheerful, eyes alive with excited enthusiasm. “We are told,” began Paula, “at this time that while police won't speculate on the identity of the victim, CNN has obtained a second photo for comparison.”

  They flashed the second photo, this one a morgue mug shot of the victim. “Geez,” complained Jessica, “how do these parasites do it? How do they get photos from an M.E.'s office?”

  “Big bucks change hands,” was all that Darwin replied, glued to the set.

  Zahn continued speaking now. “Many speculate it may be Lucinda Wellingham” again they put up the vivacious photo of Lucinda, but this time side by side with the morgue shot. “Friends knew her as Lucy, and she was last seen in Orion's company at an opening in Hamilton Museum's Fine Arts Center in downtown Milwaukee. Eyewitnesses said the couple quarreled and got into a shouting match during the largest opening in Orion's career.”

  Jack Cafferty, the third wheel on the show, piped up now off-camera, saying, “I thought we couldn't release the name of the victim until police have notified the next of kin.”

  “That's easier said than done if you are so well known in the arts community,” replied Zimmer quickly and calmly.

  “Just hope we can take the heat when her parents come at us with a lawsuit.” Cafferty's chuckle could be heard off camera.

  Paula Zahn added, “Many in the art world in and around Milwaukee and Chicago will likely recognize her photo and we will soon have a positive ID.”

  “We will keep you posted on this developing story,” added Zimmer moments before breaking for an Altoids commercial.

  Darwin looked as if he might jump on the bed and bounce to the ceiling. “It's what we've been waiting for, Jess, a break in the case! Evidence the real killer is indeed still out there, still operating and not some copycat killer. Two such mutilations involving backbone theft in a matter of weeks in Milwaukee.”

  “Certainly, it's gotta cut some ice with the governor.”

  “Cut some ice? Wake up, Dr. Coran. Hell, it'll free Robert. Damn fine morning for Robert, this news.”

  “Not so fine for the young victim.”

  “We gotta call Chicago authorities and get the details.”

  Paula Zahn's image came back on screen. Unaware she was on, she was saying again to Jack Cafferty, “Backbones? What the hell's he doing with the backbones?” Then she shivered as if something like rough sandpaper had scratched across her spine.

  Cafferty indicated the camera was rolling, and he replied to her question, “He must've wanted to be certain she couldn't stand up and come back to haunt him maybe?”

  Zimmer shook his head as in mourning. “Each time we hear someone at CNN say, 'And I thought I'd heard it all,' we know better. There's always more at CNN, America's number-one choice for up-to-the-minute, unbiased news reporting.”

  Paula waved a new sheet of copy over her head, announcing, “Now we turn to lighter fare, the New York City's Bronx Zoo's ninetieth anniversary fair.”

  Zimmer cut in. “Paula, sorry but we have more news on that horrible story coming out of Chicago. Our sources tell us that the box's origin was indeed Milwaukee, its destination the controversial artist and sculptor, Keith Orion, care of Chicago Prop Works Inc., a company owned by Orion that sets up and breaks down theatrical, educational and cultural events, including but not limited to plays, music concerts, film production needs and art showings.”

  Again Paula read from the TelePrompTer. “Keith Orion has never been without controversy as he creates shock-value artwork calculated to get a reaction from viewers of his art. Called the Marilyn Manson of the arts community in and around Chicago, his notoriety has followed him across the states, wherever he has shown.”

  Smirking to suppress a laugh, Zimmer added, “His record for art show shutdowns stands alone. His last showing in Milwaukee, while sold out, saw people leaving in droves before promoters had time to uncork the champagne bottles and serve the cheese.”

  “Do we have film on some of Orion's more shocking pieces?” asked Paula of an off-camera producer.

  “Sorry,” she apologized to the public, “but perhaps later, we will bring you an example of Mr. Orion's decidedly shocking work. I am told he has gone so far as to hang crucified cats, dogs, and other small animals in relief against his paintings.”

  “He calls it odorous art,” commented Zimmer. “Wait till Bill O'Reilly gets wind of this.”

  Cafferty joined the other two co-anchors in a belly laugh, adding, “Indeed.”

  Jessica switched it off to an elated Darwin who looked ready to bounce off the walls. “If we can say we have someone in custody in Chicago, and new evidence has surfaced now in Chicago as well as Minnesota with DNA matching, and we can show a connection between Orion and Millbrook then—”

  Jessica put up both hands to him and cautioned, “You're reaching way ahead of yourself, Darwin.”

  “But this is good! Great!”

  “You're reacting, creating rationalization to arrest Orion on the basis of a news story that has him connected in some way to this recent body, but he's a long way from replacing your brother in the death chamber.”

  “I tell you there's something sick about that motherfucker. You saw his art. Hell, you smelled it—roadkill on the canvas, and he's guilty as hell of... of...“Of what? Rodent murder? Call in animal control. What's he done beside be a prick? Where's the evidence he's actually killed anyone? You and I can't work on suppositions, Darwin.”

  “He's the Spine Thief. I just know it.”

  “Sure he's despicable and distasteful and has a hate on for women, but that does not prove he's the killer we seek, and I don't have a good feeling about him suddenly falling into our laps like this.”

  “Regardless, Hughes has to listen to reason now. I know... we'll confiscate all Orion's art.”

  “That crap'll go through the roof in value. Become the hottest collectors' items on the market thanks to this notoriety. Look, hell, we don't even know who the victim in that crate is, not for sure, and it could all prove to be an elaborate hoax for attention, part of the bastard's public-relations effort—got a body from a morgue or a funeral home, some sick shit like that. Hell, I can imagine someone even wanting to set Orion up—possibly the real killer.”

  “What're you saying?”

  “It's all just too pat is what I'm saying.”

  Darwin
gritted his teeth, paced the room and wound up at the window, staring out over the expanse of gardens and trees of a nursery across the street. “We still gotta find out. We gotta know what Chicago knows. I have Agents Amanda Petersaul and Jared Cates teaming on it.”

  Jessica blew out a long breath of air, a signal of exasperation. “Who's Cates?”

  “A five-year man with our field office. He's good and thorough.”

  “I'm glad you have an experienced agent with Pete.”

  “Pete's a fine agent. She's sharp as a tack, and she is dogged about getting the facts.”

  “Now you're talking. Let's get some details and facts. The Devil is in the details as they say.”

  “That's my intention.”

  “Your people need a little paving of the way in Chicago, I know some of the agents in our field office there. Worked a couple of cases with them.”

  “What about the M.E. there?”

  “As a matter of fact, I know the Chicago M.E. well. Keene, Horace Keene. Runs a fine crime lab and morgue. Fact is, we both studied under Holcraft, just not at the same time.”

  “That's good. You two'll be on the same wavelength.”

  “Keene is quick and efficient. By now he'll have any facts ascertainable from the crate, and maybe he can verify that the body is in fact Lucinda Wellingham’s.”

  “And if it is?”

  “Then we learn what evidence they have against Orion, circumstantial or overwhelming.”

  “And then?”

  “Then we go at the governor with all the facts, and we shove it down his fat face.”

  “Now you're talking.”

  Still, something nagged at Jessica and she was not ready to celebrate. “But what troubles me is that from what we know of Lucy Wellingham, she does not fit the victim profile.”

  “So Orion changed the pattern. It happens. I've read about it happening in your own book.”