Pure Instinct (Instinct thriller series)

by Robert W. Walker

  “Call me selfish. I wanted to get back to work too. They've had me caged up at Quantico. The bastard's out there free to kill and kill again, and I'm the prisoner now. Well, to hell with that.”

  Kim admired her fire, the spirit that inflamed her soul, so visible in Jessica's terrific aura.

  Jessica almost shouted, “I'm not going to play the part of some rabbit in a warren, waiting for that son of a bitch to snare me. I won't do that; I can't, at least not anymore.”

  Kim said nothing, her face stern and emotionless, but her eyes fastened to Jessica's. Jessica feared how much of herself she'd already given away. “That sounds like a healthy attitude to me,” Kim finally replied. “Look, Jess, if you want to start chasing this monster immediately, why wait until we're in New Orleans with all the complications there. Let me have your ankles.”

  Jessica breathed in deeply, and she slowly nodded while kicking off her second heel at the same time. “You really mean it? I mean... here, now... in the air?”

  “I can't think of a more peaceful environment in which a psychic might work, can you? Close as we're likely to come to the stars, the planets, God...”

  “Well... yes... I mean, if you're sure it's all right.”

  “It's actually very freeing, being among the clouds like this. So then, why not get started?”

  “Those scars are pretty well healed,” Jessica said as she placed her stocking ankles across Kim's lap.

  And what about those of your heart?

  “All right... whatever you think best...” Jessica kept talking as Kim's eyes closed, her hands going over the nyloned ankles until she abruptly stopped.

  11

  Now that my ladder's gone. I must lie down where all the ladders start. In the foul rag-and-bone shop of the heart.

  —Yeats

  Kim asked that the cabin lights be shut off and all the window portholes be closed against the sun. She then told Jessica to go to the rear of the plane and remove her panty hose before returning her ankles to Kim's touch.

  This done, Jessica returned, her natural skepticism returning too, for now she sat across from Kim and placed her bare legs across the coffee table between them, atop the file folders there. Kim then placed her hands around the old scars inflicted by Matisak some three and a half years before when, after sedating her, he'd cut her Achilles tendons and hung her up like a side of beef to be bled from the throat until dead.

  No one before now, not even her lover in Hawaii, James Parry, had ever caressed the scar tissue about her Achilles tendons, not since “Teach” Matisak.

  Kim's tender touch alone brought memories welling up inside Jessica, memories of a horrid night in Chicago when she first encountered and was snared by the maniac who signed his notes to her as Teach. He had fixated on her blood that night, and every night since his incarceration. She wished now she had killed him when she'd had the chance.

  Kim Desinor got immediate psychic impulses, her jaw tightening and her face contorting with what she saw behind her closed eyelids. After almost five minutes of eerie silence in the plane, Jessica's mind pleaded to know if Kim could help her.

  She had tried hypnosis without effect. She had tried medication and shrinks. Nothing. She had tried drink, and that had failed miserably.

  “He will come... he is driven to come for you. His only comfort now is in you....”

  Jessica's mind screamed through her mental hallway. Tell me something I don 7 already know!

  “When the sky falls... he will come...when the sky falls.”

  “What?” Jessica was confused, wondering if the other woman might possibly be joking. “Isn't that a bit extreme, like Chicken Little0”

  “All I see is debris from a falling, black sky. Glass shards, water, lightning, the falling of planets ...”

  “Planets?”

  “Stars and moon will fall.... When the sky falls, he will attack.”

  “Beware the falling sky....” Jessica's lingering skepticism got the best of her. “Really?”

  “He plans to die with you; a suicide pact. Wants you to want him; wants you to end it with him...”

  He was saying as much in his fucking blood poetics. “Is there any indication where he is now... at this moment?”

  “A dark, large area, perhaps a warehouse? Barn like... yes, light unable to penetrate. Others... other eyes looking on ... perhaps animal eyes, lurid eyes all around ... Large-eyed demons, cat's eyes, blackbirds or crows descending and rising and descending again...”

  “What, now we're talking about an aviary or a zoo?” Jessica's cynicism broke harshly into Kim's decidedly foggy vision. She'd not gotten much, only bits and pieces sluicing by like krill in the sea of her soul.

  “Matisak's a careful SOB; he's not going to try anything in a public place,” Jessica stated.

  “I'm sorry ... that's all I'm getting. Perhaps later, I can do a psychometric reading on the items you brought along.”

  “So watch for falling skies, huh? Cats and crows with big eyes. That kind of thing...” Jessica's look was verging on disdain. She'd hoped for and expected far more; she'd offered up her own body as catalyst for the reading, and what she'd gotten was hardly worth it.

  Kim cautioned her. “Often what I see, Jess, is merely a symbolic representation. The black crow, for instance, could be in reality an undertaker or a booze label, in which case this information must be taken with great care. A cat's eye could be a child's marble, a face mask, a brand of cereal or a logo for a paper mill. On that level, the image, say, of the falling planets, well, it could mean any number of things.”

  “Such as the end of the universe? The Big Bang returned?” Jessica pulled back her legs and located her high heels.

  “Anything,” continued Kim, “in an allegorical fashion.”

  “Oh, then we are talking Chicken Little.”

  “No, we're talking about a falling billboard sign with a sky backdrop, say, or a theater backdrop coming down, a ceiling, a roof caving in...or—'' She abruptly stopped short of what she'd failed to plan not to say.

  “Go on. What?” Jessica pressed, seeing Kim's fine features ravaged by concern. “If I see the roof caving in and I'm under it, he's got me?”

  “For all I know, you are the roof, Jessica.”

  Jessica's face blanched white. The fear of a complete breakdown hadn't been totally ruled out by Dr. Lemonte either. She wondered just how much Lemonte had confided in Kim Desinor, psychic and shrink, just how much doctor-patient privilege meant to her so-called friend when confiding in another doctor about an interesting case involving a homicidal maniac recently escaped and seeking revenge and a release of his perverted lust against the doctor's patient—whose own fixation on and fear of this unholy human had led Jessica to a near-collapse of personality.

  She stared at Kim Desinor, her mind turning to granite over the thought, the single question she feared asking the other woman: Am I an interesting guinea pig for you two shrinks to ponder over? Is that what I've become?

  Jessica snatched up her panty hose and returned to the cockpit, where Ed Sand, a person she could talk to without any fear of psychoanalysis, might keep her laughing, at least until they landed in New Orleans.

  New Orleans

  If they were expecting a quiet reception on the ground, Kim knew the instant the plane landed that such an idea was literally gone—out the window, so to speak—when a motorcade of police vehicles careened up to the plane, causing her to wonder and stare.

  Once the plane had safely landed and was taxiing for the hangar. Kim tore open the cockpit door to find Jessica and the pilot embracing. Kim had two sweeping sensations at once: a feeling of chagrin and a certainty that Jessica was behaving irrationally and out of character, not simply for Kim's benefit but because she could not help herself. Kim covered by shouting, “What the hell's going on outside the plane, Dr. Coran? I thought we were going to be 'secreted' in, remember?”

  “Don't know,” replied Jessica, sitting opposite the pilot in the copilo
t's position, her panty hose draped over the back. “We're trying to get information now.” She had raised a hand for Kim to remain silent while Ed Sand, the handsome, uniformed pilot, talked into his microphone, then listened, snatched off his headset and began explaining. “There's been another Hearts killing. They want you, Dr. Coran, to get in the limo provided by the city and go with the motorcade. The two of you will be staying at different locations in the city to keep your cover, Dr. Desinor, so you're to remain on board the plane until all the hubbub dies down.”

  “Then what?”

  Lieutenant Sand looked at her quizzically for a moment as if the question was beyond him, then stated, “I... I assume then some one'll be along to pick you up as well, Dr. Desinor.”

  “You mean I have to sit here and wait?” Kim complained.

  “Sorry...some welcome to the Big Easy, huh?” The pilot's dark eyes then flashed on Jessica. “Later, Jess, I'd be happy to show you some of the nightlife. What a ya say?”

  Jessica looked from Ed Sand and back to Kim Desinor, and with a near-mean grin, she said, “Sure, Ed... I'd love it.”

  Kim, unsure why Jessica's attitude toward her had so quickly and coolly changed, stepped away from the door and allowed Jessica and Ed another private kiss, which Jessica seemed to initiate for Kim's benefit, as if to show Kim that Jessica was far more woman than the psychic who'd frightened off Paul Zanek. Or was it part of the self-destruction which Jessica seemed bent on?

  Kim didn't bother closing the cockpit door.

  On the shimmering cracked concrete surface of the taxiway, P.C. Stephens was standing in a bright wash of light in a beige suit, waving at the plane and signaling Jessica Coran to dash for the limo, where his entourage stood all around him, men in dark suits, all looking quite official and important. Some of the others looked like dignitaries and luminaries of New Orleans, prepared to hand Jessica the keys to the city. “Yeah, that bastard Stephens sure knows how to keep a secret, doesn't he?” Jessica said, snatching down a carry-on from an overhead compartment.

  From the carry-on bag, Jessica pulled the strange black rosary beads with the crystal amulet that had so unsettled Kim in Paul Zanek's office. “Thought you'd want to get this back,” she explained, handing the rosary to Kim. “Use it carefully and wisely, right?” She sounded kind and gentle when she said it, her mood swings perhaps partially due to medication she was on, Kim silently decided as she took the dubious offering.

  “See you in the media,” Kim replied. “And so will Matisak, Jess. But I have no doubt your pilot friend will make you feel safer.”

  “Hey, if I wanted safe, I... I'd have stayed in Virginia, surrounded by guys a lot bigger and tougher than Ed in there.”

  “You see any media out there?” Kim asked.

  “Where there's cops, there's media. But by the time Stephens pulls out with me, you'll be in the clear. Ed'll see to it you get to the scene if no one shows, so never fear. Who knows, Ed might even loosen you up a bit, Doctor. And remember, from here on, we don't know each other from Adam, okay?”

  Jessica was about to deplane when Kim reached out and held her firmly by the forearm. Their eyes met. “I didn't mean to imply any more than what my signals tell me, Jessica— about the falling sky, I mean. You came to me, remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember, and maybe I'm already regretting it.”

  “Come on,” shouted Ed. “They're getting real antsy at the bottom of the ramp for you, Jess. Got to get you into that limo quick's possible. Soon as the door opens, go, and I'll see your bags make it to the Hilton.”

  “Later and good luck, Dr. Coran,” Kim told her as Jessica dashed from the plane. Kim cautiously peered on from a hack window at the scene, feeling an overwhelming sense of detachment from the ballyhoo below, yet also a great, rising concern for Dr. Coran. At the same time, she wondered what the other woman wanted or expected of her.

  She watched Jessica Coran now as she raced for the limo, and in a moment she was swallowed up in its plush interior, seated alongside P.C. Stephens and Lew Meade, New Orleans area FBI chief, a bland, squat little man who looked more politician than policeman, making a nice counterweight to Stephens only in build.

  Kim wondered just who they'd send for her—and how long she'd have to sit here pretending she didn't exist before someone came for her. She still wondered about the fanfare below, why Stephens had made such a to-do of it all. “When're they going to send someone for me?” she asked the pilot.

  Ed Sand's boyish, even devilish, grin flashed over her. “Not to worry, Dr. Desinor. No one's likely to overlook you, not in the least.”

  She ignored the innuendo and the glint in his steely eyes, saying, “If the fools wait long enough, the crime scene'll be so cold, I'll make a complete ass of myself.”

  “Hardly likely from what Dr. Coran tells me about you, Dr. Desinor.”

  She wondered what Jessica had confided to the pilot and why. “Well, if this is the way they want to play it out, then maybe I'll just be on the next plane for Quantico and be back in my lab before lunch. What a ya say?”

  There was a call from the tower and Ed Sand retrieved his headphone set, taking in the message. He finished with a look of ebullient pride showing. “They told me to tell you that your ride's on the way, an unmarked vehicle and no cameras. They'll take you to the crime scene, and like I said to Dr. Coran, I'll see your bags get to the Mississippi Marriott downtown.”

  “Thanks, Lt. Sand.”

  “No problem, Doctor.”

  “Say, Lieutenant, how long has she—Dr. Coran—been flying?”

  “Not long. Just took it up, in fact.”

  “Is she any good at it?”

  “Fact is, she's damned good... got a natural gift for it, I'd

  say.”

  Kim nodded. “I've heard she's very good at whatever she takes up. How long have you known her?”

  “Well, not long really ...”

  “Not long?”

  “Well, we just sorta met on takeoff.”

  “Jesus, Lieutenant, and you allowed her to take off? You didn't let her land this thing, did you?” How damned persuasive the woman is, she thought.

  “Told me she'd flown with other pilots out of Quantico,” he replied as if this explained everything. “And the way she handled the controls, and given who she is... well, I just didn't see any reason to doubt her.”

  “Did she? Land the plane, I mean.”

  He hesitated before lying, worried now about the kind of trouble Kim could get him in.

  Letting him off the hook, she said, “Ed, will you do me a favor while you're in New Orleans?”

  “Well, if I can, sure.”

  She picked up a trace of West Virginia in his drawl. “Watch her while she's here in New Orleans, will you?” she told him.

  “Sure... I intend to... intended just that.” He smiled widely now at the task Kim had given him.

  “How long can you stay in the city, Lieutenant?”

  He cleared his throat as if he had to think about this. “I got some leave coming. Thought I'd requisition it by fax this afternoon. Maybe a week... maybe more. Depends what's cooking... at the base, I mean.”

  Kim breathed heavily, the motorcade a dim sight, the sirens now a whisper in the distance. “Where the hell's my ride!” she moaned. Then down below, an unmarked car pulled into the gates facing south and skirted amid the shadows of a series of nearby hangars until it came to rest below the Lear jet. Ed was careful to keep himself and his uniform from sight, and there were no markings on the jet to indicate to the casual observer that it was in any way connected to the U.S. government.

  Kim grabbed her own carry-on, and from atop the ladder she tried to make out the occupants of the car, but the front windshield was masked in a stark, tropical glare until Kim put on her Coasta Del Mar sunglasses. As she made her way down the Lear's carpeted steps, her Polaroid lenses cut cleanly through the daunting glare sprawled across the windshield. Her glasses, the same as those used by Virginia Sta
te Troopers, allowed her to see the Hoss Cartwright look a like in the passenger seat and the handsome features of Alex Sincebaugh behind the wheel.

  Somehow she knew they'd send Sincebaugh for her.

  “Alex Sincebaugh?” she called out, extending her one free hand through his window.

  “Yeah.” He held onto her hand for a moment. “But how'd you know?”

  “Been reading your reports on the Queen of Hearts killer.”

  “There's nothing in those reports to tell you a thing about me.”

  “Oh, but that's not true. They told me a lot about you.”

  Ben deYampert had leapt from his side of the car, and was now opening the back door of the sedan to her and taking her handbag, a leather Gucci satchel, which he placed on her lap after she climbed in. With a smile, he said, “Welcome to New Orleans, ma'am.”

  “And you must be Sergeant Detective Ben deYampert?”

  “That'd be me, yes, Miss... ahhh, Dr. Desinor.”

  “What're you, the welcome wagon, Ben?” Sincebaugh snapped. “Time's wasting, Big, so let's have at it. Climb in. We got police business to attend to.” Sincebaugh sounded as annoyed as a delivery man whose time schedule had been thrown off, and the officious use of the phrase “police business” was a sure sign of his ire. It was highly unlikely that he'd wanted to make the detour to pick her up.

  “What can you tell me about the latest death?” she asked from the rear.

  “Today's?” asked Sincebaugh with a rough laugh. “Nothing yet. Yesterday's? You can read the report. Bastard's escalating' all I know.”

  Ben, half turning to look into the rear and meet her eyes now, cleared his throat and added, “Escalating his mutilation technique too.”

  “Meaning?” she asked.

  “Severed yesterday's guy's head near clean off 'long with his... everything else, ma'am.”

  “And today's discovery, also headless?”

  “No, don't reckon this one's missing his head,” said Ben. “If that were the case, it'd be all over the police band by now.”