Darkest Instinct

by Robert W. Walker

  Henri gained control of the air and the weight tugging at his machine, lifting them all ahead of the hungry sharks, then speeding off.

  Jessica heard gunshots. Tauman still had hold of her gun after all. Was he firing at Jim and her? At Lansing’s chopper as Don tried to save him? Or was he firing at the feeding sharks? Lansing was in no position to know, but Ja or Henri must have radioed him that the shots were being directed, for the moment, at the sharks and not the chopper.

  Jessica glancing over her shoulder as she and Jim were hauled off, wondered if Don Lansing might not simply leave Tauman to the sharks. And why not? He had ner­vously moved a little off after the first shots had rung out. But now Lansing lowered in on the fugitive again.

  Henri’s chopper having risen sufficiently, Jessica had a better view of what was happening with the snake amid the sharks to the north of their position. Tauman was pumping his bullets into the sharks. With each near approach, he would fire into one of the animals, the water now thick with blood, so that the number of sharks only increased. Tauman would soon run out of bullets. Jessica wondered if he planned saving one slug for himself, as she had in­tended to do. Ja’s cousin Henri, seeming to have gotten the hang of this thing now, almost gently deposited first Jessica and next James Parry into Eriq Santiva’s waiting arms aboard the killer’s boat. Jim then took over from Eriq the duty of draping a blanket over Jessica. Parry and Jessica stood at the stern of the boat as it closed in now on the shark party and Tauman, who was finally responding to Lansing’s res­cue effort, reaching out and grabbing on to the rope ladder dangled before him.

  James Parry had draped his arms about Jessica as they watched the unfolding drama before them. It looked as if Tauman would be rescued, but Jessica recalled how diffi­cult it had been to pull her weight and drenched clothing up along the rungs.

  The boat was closing in on the scene, and now Eriq maneuvered the boat closer and closer in hopes of dispers­ing the sharks and possibly coming to Tauman’s aid, but it was dicey, extremely so since their fugitive was armed with a lethal weapon. But then came the hollow click-click of the empty chamber.

  “He’s run himself out of bullets,” Jessica said aloud.

  “Move in faster!” shouted Jim to Eriq, who revved the boat.

  Lansing’s lifeline looked like Tauman’s only hope, but Tauman had refused to let go of the gun and now slipped from the ladder, falling back into the waiting sea. Tauman had foolishly continued searching for a bullet in the cham­ber, obviously in a state of shock or knowing nothing about the type of firearm he’d grabbed hold of. They could hear the useless click-click-click of repeated attempts to bring a bullet into the chamber as if by some magic.

  Eriq brought the sailing vessel ever closer and they watched as Lansing, using the rope ladder, tried his level best to place this lifeline over the now trapped Tauman, the sharks having circled and circled and tightened their circle as they’d done so. One of the sharks took a run at Tauman, who slammed the gun into its snout, deflecting the brute. A second creature took a run at him, tearing a chunk from his body somewhere below the surface, sending Tauman’s scream to the brilliant blue heavens.

  Warren Tauman’s shouts could be heard across the wa­ter. But he was now shouting with a giddy happiness, for he’d latched hold of the rope ladder a second time, and now the chopper began to rise, tugging at his wet body, lifting him from the water. It appeared the snake would live to face charges after all, and would become the contention of three countries, the subject of extradition orders, mass interest and countless newspaper articles. It appeared the Night Crawler would stand trial before a judge and jury and a fascinated public.

  Jessica and Jim looked into one another’s eyes. “It’s over,” he said, trying to soothe her, feeling her tremble and shiver beneath the blanket and his embrace. He held her tighter still when suddenly the tone of Tauman’s voice went from that of a cheer to that of a scream of horror and pain. This sent Eriq forward, and along with Jessica and Jim, he looked out over the bow to see Tauman’s torso lifted from the water by Lansing’s upward pull. But both his legs dan­gled loosely there, and were suddenly amputated by a duo of sharks who leapt from the water and took them off at the hip.

  Lifted from the water, Tauman’s torso and arms seemed wrapped up in the rope ladder, twisted and twisting like a frantic eel, clinging to life, his bottom half leaking blood like a busted oil can. Lansing continued to carry what was left of Tauman higher and farther away from the shark pool. Tauman’s arms had become so twisted up in the netting of the rope ladder that his weight held there. Jessica had to turn her eyes away, as did Jim Parry, while Eriq, captivated by the sight before him, stared in amazement, for Tauman was still alive and in great suffering and pain.

  Warren Tauman’s final anguished, unholy wail, and his wide eyes, reached out across the water for a mercy that was not forthcoming. Then there was silence.

  “The snake’s head and his heart are gone,” Jessica said. “What’s that?” Eriq asked. “It’s over...”

  “It certainly is.”

  “But we need what’s left of the body, Eriq,” she told the others. “It will help tremendously to prove it’s Tauman, that this guy is the Night Crawler, without the slightest doubt.”

  “God, he’d better be at this point,” Eriq moaned.

  Parry instantly got on the radio and got to Lansing, tell­ing him to be as gentle as possible, that he was still carrying Tauman’s body below on the rope ladder and that it was needed for examination and identification.

  “God, mister... what do you want me to do with it?”

  Jessica was beside Jim, having torn away the blanket, and she snatched the radio from Jim. “Don, try your best to lower it over the boat. We... we’ll take it in from here.”

  “Aye, aye. I’ll do my best.”

  Eriq shouted from the stern, “Damnit, we’re losing him!”

  Jessica and Jim looked up to see that Tauman’s torso now dangled by one knotted arm and that with each second, even this connection was loosening. Below the twirling lad­der, a stream of blood had baited sharks to follow. The remains were ugly and contorted in the Caribbean sun, which beat down relentlessly and in stark juxtaposition to the moment, as if God’s awful, inscrutable reality had fi­nally turned on Warren Tauman, the Night Crawler, and had decreed all of him to be consumed by the sea.

  Like a drunken, disabled diver, Tauman’s remains awk­wardly came loose, dangled, loosened further and sailed heavily downward to the waiting sharks, who then fed vo­raciously on them.

  “Damn... damn,” muttered Jessica.

  Lansing came over the radio saying, “I’d like to say I’m sorry, but I can’t quite work myself up to sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” Eriq assured Jessica. “We know it was him.”

  “But can you prove it?” contested Parry.

  “Yeah, we can prove it, can’t we, Jess?”

  “There’ve got to be papers about. You can show it’s his handwriting, Eriq.”

  “That’s hardly enough in a court of law,” countered Jim.

  “It’s one nail in the coffin, then,” she contested.

  Jim nodded and asked Eriq, “Did you see any papers lying about below?”

  “Nothing lying out, no, but there’re papers inside the cabin somewhere, and possibly far more incriminating ev­idence aboard. The ropes, the taxidermy stuff, chemicals maybe.”

  “Have you seen any of this?” Parry asked, continuing to play Devil’s advocate.

  “No... but who’s had time to search?”

  “We’ll need to search the boat from top to bottom.”

  Jessica said. “We’ve got to show, beyond any doubt, that it was Tauman who was killed here, that it was the Night Crawler.”

  “We’ll have the boat returned to Miami, get the wit­nesses to ID the boat,” suggested Eriq as if he’d just closed the matter.

  “If we can get the boat out of Ja Okinleye’s hands,” hinted Parry.

&nbs
p; “What’re you talking about?” asked Eriq. “This is ev­identiary property of the United States government now.”

  “Tell that to the Cayman Island government.” Jim turned to Jessica and explained, “I’m pretty sure your friend Okinleye is interested in parlaying something out of all this. He’s going to want assurances.”

  “Yeah, I sensed it earlier on,” agreed Jessica.

  Eriq asked, “What kind of assurances?”

  “The kind the U.S. makes to all its allies all the time.”

  Eriq set his teeth. “That weaseling, black—”

  “—national... He’s looking out for the interests of his own. Can’t say as I blame him—not too much,” said Parry, who’d had a great amount of dealings with native Hawai- ians over the years.

  “We’ll deal with Okinleye and the Cayman government fairly,” Jessica said. “Meanwhile, they’re in no position to do a complete DNA search. If we find any DNA evidence on the ropes, on the deck, anywhere, matching any single victim, including the murdered Marine Patrol officer in Tampa, we’ll have incontestable proof.”

  Santiva was nodding during her entire speech, and now he added, “Well, at least we will have no doubt.”

  “Yeah, the SOB tried to kill us,” Jessica said, chorusing Lansing’s point.

  “Whatever is decided and however it goes, Jessica here needs to be off the case,” Parry said to Santiva, their eyes meeting. “What are you talking about, Jim?” she replied. “No, no, Jess, Mr. Parry is absolutely right,” said Chief Santiva.

  “Eriq! This is my case; has been my case from day one. and now that it’s over, that you’d even consider such a... such a... proposal is—”

  “It’s time, Jess, you got a little R and R, and I think Mr. Parry here is just the fellow to see to it you get all the R and R you need.”

  “What about blood splotches, fingerprinting, the evi­dence search?”

  “I have some authority, Dr. Coran!” Eriq returned. “I’ll have a team sent down from Florida or Quantico if nec­essary. Meanwhile, you two can enjoy the Caymans. Go do that ‘Wall’ thing you all do here.”

  “Try Rome and Athens,” countered Parry. “I have two tickets, Jess. Will you go with me to Rome and Athens? No work, just play?”

  She looked stunned. She looked from Jim to Eriq and back again, finally turning to Eriq and asking, “Are you absolutely sure?”

  “Just do me one favor.”

  “And that is?”

  “Talk to Okinleye. Get us the best deal you can.”

  “That pirate. Sure, I’ll do what I can, of course, and by the way, he likes it if you can pronounce his name cor­rectly.”

  “I thought I had been... Okinlee, right?”

  “No, Okinlee-ye; a bit of emphasis on the ye at the end, please. It might help in all the negotiations when it comes to them...”

  “He knows you best; maybe friendship still counts for something in this world?”

  Jessica smiled, Eriq laughed and soon the three of them were nearly hysterical. She hugged Eriq, kissed him on the cheek and hugged him again.

  “I was so worried for you,” she told him. “That was the bravest thing I ever saw anyone do, climbing out on that ladder and jumping onto this deck at the speed this boat was going.”

  “You did it yourself.”

  “No, not at the same speed.”

  “Let’s get turned around for the island. I’m burning up out here and sweating like a pig,” complained Eriq, pre­tending he was uncomfortable with the flattering compli­ments. Looking back over his shoulder as he went for the controls, he added, “Hell of a schooner, wouldn’t you say, Parry?”

  “She is beautiful; yes.” Parry again had his arm around Jessica, who had dried in the sun and wind now, her hair hanging in stringy ringlets about her brow. Overhead both helicopters had taken up a hovering position, and now both radioed down that they were running for George Town.

  Eriq, using the radio, thanked the two pilots and Okin­leye for their excellent assistance in what had turned out to be a treacherous raid on Tauman’s killing ground. He then alerted George Town port authorities that they were coming in with the boat and to be prepared to place the boat under quarantine in order to keep any prying eyes and hands off. No one was to go near it. If there were any incriminating evidence aboard, he certainly didn’t want it to be contam­inated any further than it already had been. He then turned back to Jessica and Parry, calling up to them from the well of the cabin, saying, “Listen, you two, while I’m getting us back to shore, I think it safe to begin searching the boat for anything incriminating to help our case once we get back to the U.S. God, I sure hope Tauman didn’t swap boats somewhere between here and the States.”

  “We’ll start a search,” agreed Jessica. “Meantime, everyone is to try as hard as possible to avoid the blood spatters. We’ll take some of Tauman’s blood in evidence, but unless I miss my guess, we’ll find evidence of other blood spatters aboard this death ship. Look there.” She pointed at a section near the starboard side center-rear. “Notice the pinkish hue where blood has soaked into the deck?”

  “That could as well be fish blood,” suggested Parry. “I’ve seen like stains on a thousand boats.”

  “Just the same, our boy didn’t appear to do a great deal of fishing. I want that panel cut and raised for lab inspec­tion, Eriq. It’s a place to start. The material is porous enough that, even after cleaning—and it obviously has been cleaned—trace DNA evidence could quite possibly be lifted for the electron microscope.”

  “Leave a list of instructions. We’ll get a team down here,” Eriq assured her. “We’ll get the best.”

  “That’s impossible, Santiva,” replied Jim, “because the best is leaving with me.”

  “Get J.T., John Thorpe,” she suggested. “He and his team will do an excellent job. And you’re right. I’ll make a list.”

  Together, Jessica and Parry began to carefully canvass the boat from the inside out as Eriq brought it in toward Grand Cayman.

  • EPILOGUE •

  Fear on fear, like light reflected

  from the dancing wave,

  visits all places, but can rest in none.

  —Robert Jephson

  Seven Days Later

  Athens and Rome were stunning, and it was delightful to get away from the profundity of both her work and the horrors of the Night Crawler case. James had arranged everything down to the last detail, and he had managed to make her forget all about Warren Tauman and the atrocities he had created in his wake. Their vacation was complete, for she cleared her mind of what might or might not be going on back in the Cayman Islands, Miami and Quantico. She hadn’t given a whit’s thought to the collection and delivery of evidentiary materials from Tauman’s boat to the microscopes at Quantico. She felt confident that John Thorpe could do a more than adequate job in her place, and besides, hidden away in a secret compartment was a book, a diary of sorts which Tauman kept. It was mostly a cap­tain’s journal of ports of call, places he and his ship had been, and on the surface of it, there was nothing incrimi­nating there, since he spoke not a word about the killings. He had put all his passion about the killings into his notes to newspapers, apparently. There were, however, names of every port he had visited, along with the dates, and this placed him at every locality where some young woman had disappeared. And there were vague references to his god, his belief system, a belief system that was more than simply scattered and confused and out of focus. There were vague references to his having given “offerings” to his god. But there was nothing whatever that pointed to what exactly he had offered up or how he went about these obscure rituals. However, there was one thing about the journal that was most clear indeed—it was written in the same mad script as the hand of the Night Crawler. Eriq Santiva was satisfied about that the moment his eyes fell upon the script.

  This alone was not enough, however, so the book was also dusted for fingerprints, and several of them were lifted from its leather co
verlet. Tauman’s prints were also found on the consoles and on the speargun he’d left behind, the weapon believed to have killed Marine Patrol Officer Man- ley back in Tampa. Other evidence would take more time to construct and reconstruct at the microscopic level, and Jessica was banking on the section of stain she’d noticed while aboard the death ship, hoping that it might be matched to Rob Manley’s or Ken Stallings’s blood type and DNA.

  It was a foregone conclusion that, in time, they would prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that it had been Warren Tauman aboard the boat they’d boarded, and that Tauman was Patric Allain, and that both were one and the same as the Night Crawler. Being the Night Crawler was perhaps the only time he felt whole.

  So it was with an easy mind that Jessica, after having worked out some preliminary negotiations with Ja Okinleye and several of the highest-ranking officials on the islands, had left Eriq to his own devices in Cayman. That had been a week earlier, and neither she nor James had been bothered by headquarters, newspaper reporters, politicians or ghosts, other than those that roamed the Aegean Sea and the an­cient ruins of Greece.

  Amid the beauty of Greece and the solitude of anonym­ity, which they prized above all else here, Jessica and James rekindled their passion and renewed their unspoken vows to always love one another, no matter the distance between them or the circumstances they found themselves in.

  Jessica now lay out at the pool of the Hilton in Athens, beyond which blinked the gorgeous blue Aegean Sea. With James beside her, she merely baked, soaking up the sun as if it were water, realizing that they’d both been absorbing its effects for over an hour. It was nearing noon and hunger had begun to bite, but Jessica felt a deeper hunger arising in her when she looked over at James, his body spread with buttery oil.

  “Let’s go back up to the room,” she suggested. “Already?”

  “Trust me...” He perked up at the tone of her voice. “Trust in the doctor,” she seductively added. “You know you’re the author of my desires,” he replied. “It probably sounds like a corny cliche, but you know...” She waited for his final words, but seeing that he’d swal­lowed them, she pressed, “Go on. I like corn.”