Extreme Instinct

by Robert W. Walker

  Jessica flagged a cab, and in the ride back to the Fla­mingo, she stewed about all that had happened and all that she felt must happen in the next few hours. She needed to coordinate with local law enforcement through proper channels, and this meant she needed Quantico's okay and support as well as their manpower. She also very much needed a psychological profiling team assigned to this fire phantom. Most of all, she needed Quantico's immense storehouse of knowledge, its computers, to search for like killings that might be tied to the Phantom.

  And she needed to get to Eriq before the news services did, if she weren't already too late.

  Jessica's phone call to Eriq Santiva at Quantico Head­quarters netted a good feeling of backup. While Eriq had the physical evidence of the crime in his hands, and he had gotten bits and pieces of what had gone on in Las Vegas, at the time of Jessica's second call, Eriq had not gotten all the details of how the killer had chosen Jessica as his conduit to authorities until now, until she told him. She also told him that the newspapers had jumped on the story there in Las Vegas, calling the killer the Fire Phan­tom.

  Eriq assured her that FBI would put all of its powerful machinery into motion at Jessica's request for assistance, and Eriq meant to personally see to the back-shelving of other important cases in the bargain. “Quantico is at your disposal, Jess. Anything you need. I'll put the red flag on the locals and the field office there. You need it, you got it.”

  “Thanks, Eriq.” She thought, He's now a good and tried friend and associate. If you say the word, Jess, I'm on the next flight there.”

  “That's not necessary.”

  “Then you're all right?”

  “Yeah, I'm dealing—”

  “As usual? There's nothing usual about this business, Jess. My concern is not just for your physical safety. I'm also concerned about your emotional state. This kind of thing, the way this guy is toying with your head, Jesus, I mean how?”

  “How?” she asked.

  “How did this... this fiend behind the pyromurder of Chris Lorentian know where you would be staying?”

  “Easy enough. Convention's been in the papers here and it's centered at the Hilton.”

  “Still, how'd he so effortlessly orchestrate this foul scheme—much less think it up?”

  She sensed that Eriq's fear barometer, along with his concern, was also on the rise. And Eriq, as long-winded as he was, managed to ask all these questions in quick, fluid, Latin-accented succession. It made her think of their work together in Miami, where together they tracked the trackless Night Crawler all the way to the Cayman Islands. “You should be getting a request for a nationwide finger­print search through the Vegas branch office, and my friend Chief Warren Bishop.”

  “We'll give it first priority to be sure. God”—he stopped to gasp—”I mean, it's truly sick, and the notion that this detestable monster's in a suite not three floors below yours when he contacted you, allowing the smoke and fire of his flaming victim to mask his movements. It's sheer horror.”

  “It gets worse.”

  “How so?”

  “The fingerprints.” She explained to him how they had obtained prints in only one place, and how the killer had written his code using the burned flesh of his victim as ink. Eriq fell silent at the other end for some moments.

  “Did you get all the photos and notes I sent you on the crime scene?” She finally broke the silence, staving off any further fits of hysteria from him.

  This got him talking again. “Well, yes, I did.”

  “So, have you had time to analyze the handwriting?”

  Eriq's forte remained handwriting analysis and docu­ments. Being chief of a division now afforded him little time to do actual investigatory work, but he loved the work, and he liked keeping his hand in. “The fact he chooses to write out his message across a mirror rather than a wall may say something about him, but that's just conjecture at this point.”

  “Oh, I think he likes watching himself at work, that's for sure. Give me something I can use,” she protested.

  Eriq replied, “We blew up the shots immediately, and I put a team on it. Not much of a message; very few letters to deal with, you know. We didn't know that the words and letters actually consisted of... the victim's own cre­osote residue. I'll clue everyone in on that little factor. We're still studying each photo, including the crime scene photos. I have a profiling team at work on a victim and a killer profile. Have these to you, hopefully, by end of busi­ness day.”

  “FedEx 'em as soon as possible,” she pleaded. “Going to need all the help I can get on this one. Talk to Dr. Desinor. See if she'd be willing to do the scene photos for us, okay? I have J.T. with me, and don't worry about my safety.”

  “Oh, sure, J.T.'s a deterrent to any maniac,” he said, chuckling. “He's been a big support; don't pick on him.”

  “I've taken some time to study the lettering myself,” he finally confessed, “and...” Eriq was known for his ability at handwriting analysis. “Yes, well, it's quite re­vealing.”

  “Revealing of what, precisely?” she prompted. “It's my educated guess that we are dealing with some sort of schizoid fanatic type, almost... well, like a terror­ist mentality.”

  “A split personality, you mean? Like someone listening to voices in his head, telling him what to do? What do you mean, 'like a terrorist mentality'?”

  “A fanatic, possibly a religious fanatic. Could be that he hallucinates, yes, or follows the dictates of a second, stronger personality. Or worse yet...”

  “What worse yet?”

  “Like I said, a religious fanatic, with the zeal of a right­eous religious nut, maybe.”

  “Religion, you mean like burning at the stake in the name of the Inquisition, all that?''

  “In the name of the Holy or unholy.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “The guy's scrawl is large, no center line to speak of, stiff and erect on the lines but erratic. Again, there's too little here to go on, but that's my best estimate.”

  “I would've liked to have forwarded the original, but it weighed eighty pounds and measured six by four feet, and FedEx isn't good with mirrors.”

  “Do you want me out there with you, Jess?” he again asked in a tone making it clear that he was prepared to take a jet the moment he got off the phone, if she so much as hinted her wish for him to do so.

  “No, Eriq. I know you've got your hands quite full enough as it is with that awful child molester/killer where you are.”

  “Yes, well, that's true enough. He's causing havoc, all right, in the shadow of the White House. Where do you think our energies and resources and priorities ought to be spent, Jess? All the same, Jess, if you need me or anyone on the team, give a shout.”

  Jessica, like everyone in the country now, knew of the brutal, sadistic killer calling himself the Capital Punisher. This monster took precedence, for it had a penchant for child victims, and it was wreaking havoc in D.C., the na­tion's capital, and while Jessica had worked on some of the forensics and the profiling of the killer there, she was not herself a principal player on the case.

  Jessica understood the media attention being given the creep in Washington. He was, after all, a pedophile of the worst order. He not only seduced and raped children, but also came out of the experience feeling extreme guilt and hatred of himself and what he'd done, but rather than cut his own throat or another appropriate appendage, the ma­niac turned his rage outward to the very objects of his perverted desire, the children, and in his uncontrollable rages, he murdered. “I'm sure you'll catch this guy soon. The profile has him pegged. Meanwhile, don't worry about us out here in the Wild West. We're chugging along, plugging at our man.”

  “This creep we're after, Jess. He knows every back alley, open courtyard, basement window, and dark comer in D.C., and every schoolyard.”

  “As our profile says, he's a killer of opportunity, a dif­ficult monster to stop. He wanders the streets by van and on foot, spends long hours simpl
y moving around, a pred­ator of the first order, waiting to pounce if given the slightest opportunity. Makes me wonder...”

  “Wonder?”

  “If our two killers aren't somehow... connected, re­lated, Eriq.”

  “How's that?”

  “Oh, I don't mean in the sense they know one another or are blood brothers or anything.... Just that sometimes you've got to wonder from what cloth these so-called men are cut.”

  “Yeah, yeah . .. maybe.” Eriq spoke now as if to him ­self. “A child of eleven is ignored by his older sister and wanders through a gate, into a courtyard behind a fence, never to be seen again, his body never recovered. A little girl of twelve follows a bouncing ball into a shadow, and he is there. Only the ball is found. Later, her body is dis­covered stuffed in a drain pipe off Old Plymouth where it bisects Jackson Boulevard.”

  “Has Dr. Desinor been helpful?” Jessica asked, know­ing that FBI psychic detective Kim Desinor had been called in on the Punisher case.

  “She's made some impressive hits, particularly locating the bodies after their disappearances, but so far little head­way on the preventative side.”

  Jessica gave some thought to Dr. Kim Desinor. When last Jessica had spoken with Kim, the psychic detective had confided that the Punisher case had eroded any faith in herself and her power to do anything for the victims and their families.

  Jessica finally asked, “So how's Kim really doing with the Punisher case, Eriq?”

  “Are you reading minds nowadays, too?”

  “Not good, I take it?”

  “True.”

  “You're not thinking of pulling her off the case, are you?”

  “If she doesn't pull herself together, I don't have much choice, now do I, Jess?”

  “It's your call, Eriq, but there's always a choice, and just remember what she did for us in New Orleans.”

  “Not likely anyone's forgetting that, Jess... but we're talking another day here.”

  “So, it's business as usual... . What've you done for me lately, huh?”

  “Hey, I'm crass, but I'd hoped you hadn't seen that side of me,” he joked to lighten the moment. “So, you and Parry have a good time overseas?” Although she'd been back from her overseas vacation with Jim for some time, and although she and Eriq had worked the Punisher case to some degree together since then, it had been at remote points, as was the Phantom case now—she in her lab, he in his office, the two of them across a conference room filled with others on the tactical profile team of the Behavioral Science Unit (BSU) at Quantico. With additions such as psychic profiling, the team was no longer the small club it had once been in the days when Otto Boutine had first nurtured the unit into existence.

  She knew it best to give concerted attention to how she replied to Eriq about James Parry and her ongoing, long­ distance love affair with her Hawaii friend. “Rome was splendid, Athens like a dream.”

  “That good, huh? Why don't you gush a little?” he continued to joke. “So, was Parry splendid, too?”

  “When in Rome...”

  “I don't see it, but if you say so, Jess, he must have something special.”

  “He is something special. Do you really want me to expound?”

  Obviously not, for Eriq quickly changed the subject with his own question. “Jess, are you sure you and Thorpe can handle things there alone?”

  “We're hardly alone, Eriq. We've got the LVPD and Warren Bishop's local bureau to reach out and touch if we need it. Thanks now to your influence?”

  “You don't sound worried about this creep's having reached out and touched you personally, Jess.”

  Jessica wondered for half a second if Eriq could mean Frank Lorentian, but she hadn't bothered to tell him of the threat Lorentian posed to the investigation. “I'm not wor­ried about my personal safety, Eriq.”

  “You sure that's being wise? And God, but you do at­tract the perverts, Jess.”

  “Thanks, but I don't deserve 'em, as for worry... worry? What's that? Me, worry? Eriq, he's a maniac, a killer, but remember when Matisak was stalking me? This guy's but a faint shadow of Matisak, even fainter of that Night Crawler bastard we caught together last spring in Grand Cayman. I'm on top of it.”

  “You just give a holler, then.”

  “1 will. So, any more initial impressions of this creep's handwriting?”

  “Initial... clever girl, Jess. Well, he's all over the spec­trum, clearly demonstrating a madness, but as I said, there's little to go on with, but the one word and the two numbers.”

  “Make any sense of that, 'number one is number nine' and 'traitors'?”

  “First impression? She pissed him off like a cat, nine times, nine lives maybe, and maybe the ninth time, whammo maybe, although she was his number one squeeze, because she was a traitor, and she didn't live past her ninth life? Who knows? “Good question: Who does know?”

  “Besides the killer? Well, Billings and Leonard Win- stone in documents and literature are having a look-see, so not to worry. Something'll come of it. Those guys are the best.”

  “We need the best on this, Eriq,” she returned. “Any rate, I need you to see to it that previous MOs are checked in the history banks, see if this boy's been bad before, okay?”

  “Sure thing, Jess. As we speak, it's being done.”

  “Then I'll hope to hear from you soon?”

  “Very soon.”

  “Thanks, Eriq, and good night.”

  “You expect he'll call again?”

  She hesitated answering, not wishing to voice her fears. “I've had my phone tapped. Hopefully we'll get a voice- print, if he is that stupid.”

  “Crime does that to you... makes you stupid. Good thinking on the tap. Then someone'11 be listening in with you. You won't be alone with the Devil, as they say, if the creep contacts you again.”

  “Warren Bishop's seen to it, or so I was told.”

  “Good man, this Bishop?”

  “Tops.”

  “Oh?”

  “Warren's a friend. I knew him when I was going through academy training. He's a great guy. He was one of my training officers.”

  “Good... good...”

  “And good night, Eriq.”

  “Not so quick, Jess. I mean it. I want you to take all due precautions. Don't get careless with this 'faint shadow of Matisak,' as you call him. There really are no faint murderous maniacs.”

  “The Phantom's a wimp...”

  “What?”

  “The press is calling him the Phantom, even though he's only killed one we know of; someone in the fire de­partment put out a statement that he may be linked to other fire deaths around the city and outlying areas. See what if any truth is in that.”

  “Is he linked to other fire deaths?”

  “Nothing even closely resembling this modus operandi in the previous fires alluded to that I can see, certainly no phone calls to me, no. And no fire investigator worth his salt would call these fires connected. This fire investigator guy probably just got carried away with the press atten­tion.”

  “What's your gut reaction to this guy they're calling the Phantom, Jess? Honestly, now.”

  She let out a long spray of air in chaotic response. ”Guy just may shoot himself in the head or bum himself up before he kills again, for all we know at this point.”

  “How did he get your number?”

  “As I said, he must've somehow found out I'd be stay­ing at the Flamingo, where the convention is being hosted. Likely just assumed as much, called the desk, and con­firmed. We got a composite from the desk clerk 'cause the killer signed in using Chris Dunlap's registration. But the damn composite looks like a clown.”

  “Well, keep us apprised here, and like I said... You need anything, give a call.”

  “Thanks, Eriq.”

  They hung up, and she paced the room. It was a bit overstated in its decor, this place, far too much pink and flowers for her taste. She had wanted to attend some of the sessions today at the conference; there
were always new methods, procedures, and information to learn at such conferences, and it was part of her duty as a medical ex­aminer to keep abreast of the latest in forensics and science in general. Still, she was torn. There was much to do with regard to the Lorentian girl's death. Her friends, school associates, other relatives ought to be interrogated. Who­ever got to her seemed to have known her movements. As it happened, she'd had a previous reservation or two at the Flamingo, quite possibly as a rendezvous place for a lover or lovers. From her pictures, she'd been quite beautiful.

  Still, all such information could as well be gathered by the local police, and since they were on the case, Jessica decided to take advantage of the day to make the best of what had become an awful stay.

  She dressed comfortably and casually for the day's ses­sions, went to the ones that piqued her interest and curi­osity, and got her mind off the Phantom, his victim, and Frank Lorentian's unveiled threats.

  SEVEN

  Sin is a sort of bog; the farther you go in, the more swampy it gets.

  —Maxim Gorki

  Jessica was awakened in the middle of the night by an insistent phone at her bedside, where a digital clock read 3:10 a.m. She hadn't answered a telephone ring since hear­ing from—she wondered if she dared think it him now— the Phantom Killer. Not knowing how many rings had already come, she still hesitated answering the annoying machine, like some clawing Rumpelstiltskin at her bedside. Her hand, as if independent of her mind, halted in the air over the receiver. A fearful dread continued to blot out her resolve.

  Possibly... probably Jim... calling from Hawaii. It's late there, too—1:10 a.m.—and he's thinking of her, and he wants to hear her voice. Or perhaps it's Eriq Santiva, or someone else at Quantico with an urgent message, something about the case that simply couldn't wait till day­break. Perhaps it was Kim Desinor with some psychic words of advice . ..

  She lifted the receiver. Placed it tentatively against her ear. Muttered a soft, “Hello?”

  “Dockkkk.” The word was chillingly choked off. “Kkk-Coran?”