Gray Matter

by Shirley Kennett

  “Got the case solved now?” she said. She stretched her arms above her head and arched her back. “I should bring in a pillow. For my back, that is, not to sleep on.”

  “I have to admit there could be some potential in this.”

  “High praise from the Sultan of Skepticism.” She rotated her neck, trying to stretch the tired muscles. “I added some information to the simulations based on finding out that the brain was missing from the recovered head. Would you like to go over it with me?”

  She said the words in a straightforward manner, but Schultz heard the emotion underneath.

  “Just a minute. Would you mind if I invited Dave and Anita to sit in on this? The truth is,” he looked down at his hands on the desk, “I’ve been getting some flak over not involving them more in the computer stuff.”

  “From Anita?”

  “From both of them. I told them about the original simulation, the one you showed me a few days into the investigation. I think they were jealous. They’re just kids, after all.”

  “Kids? Dave is over thirty, isn’t he? Go ahead, see if they’re available. I’ve been meaning to spend more time with them anyway.”

  “I should warn you that they’re a little intimidated by you. Unlike myself, of course.”

  “Fetch, Detective.”

  Schultz was back a few minutes later with his two assistants. Dave had pushed a chair down the hall from his own desk. Schultz and Anita settled in the two folding chairs. Dave slouched in his chair, his six-foot frame draped in it with the careless flexibility of the under-forty crowd. Anita sat up straight, her pixie-like appearance delineated by the light of PJ’s desk lamp. They made an odd pair, but worked well together. Each filled in the other’s weak points, plus Anita added that spark of independent thinking, so that together they made a pretty good detective. Schultz thought that he was probably being too critical. There had been a time when he had eagerly hung on every word of his superiors. He also thought, cynically, that maybe they were just being careful not to outshine their boss.

  PJ put the two newcomers at ease with small talk. He admired that; it was smoothly done. With so many people jammed into PJ’s tiny office, Schultz felt his personal space getting cramped, shriveling up like his scrotum in a cold shower. He liked to keep people not just at arm’s reach, but beyond. The small white fan was giving its all, but the temperature began to rise almost as soon as he closed the door. He wondered if PJ knew that her office, which she had fixed up as nicely as possible, used to be a utility closet.

  “Say, Doc, did you paint this place?” he said, gesturing around the room.

  “Thomas and I did it late one night,” she said with obvious pride.

  “Looks nice,” said Dave. “You’d never know this used to be a utility room.”

  Schultz winced, but the comment didn’t seem to faze PJ. He made a note to talk to Dave about tact, subtlety, chain of command, and his lowly position therein.

  He sat back and observed as PJ went through her spiel on virtual reality again, watching the reactions of those who were watching the computer screen during a simulation of the Armor murder.

  “That’s basically it,” she said. ‘There’s some additional equipment which gives you much more of a feeling of being inside the virtual world rather than just looking at it on the screen.” She pointed at the headset and gloves, which had migrated to a narrow table shoved up against the wall. “Schultz and I have just gotten to that point today. You’re welcome to try it out individually. Right now I’d like to go over a newly-added portion of the simulation you just saw.”

  She punched some keys and the screen showed the killer leaving Armor’s apartment and loading the carrying case into the passenger seat of a car. Then the images faded entirely and were replaced by a mirror-image action: the killer unloaded the case and carried it inside a generic-looking house. In the kitchen, he removed the head, long hair trailing, soiled with blood. Genman put the head on a wooden cutting board and chipped at it with a hammer and chisel. Schultz again took inventory of the faces watching the screen. PJ and Anita were impassive. Dave looked a little green. The figure on the screen used a large spoon to scoop the brain out into a bowl. Dave now looked more than a little green.

  This is as far as we can go with the facts we have,” PJ said. “The condition of the simulated head now matches the real one that was recovered. There are a lot of possibilities from here on, but of course they’re all speculative. I’ll run through a few, and then we can talk about them, plus any additional thoughts you have.”

  He hadn’t seen this part. Schultz sat forward with interest as Genman went through three different scenarios.

  In the first, Genman dumped the brain into a large jar, topped it off with liquid, and put it on a shelf containing other, similarly filled, jars.

  In the second, he dissected it, studying the tissue carefully and comparing it to charts in textbooks.

  In the third, he took a knife and fork and sliced off a piece, and then another, and another, eating them raw.

  Schultz didn’t bother to check Dave’s face; he knew what he would see.

  “Comments?” PJ said. She looked as composed as a professor lecturing a class of freshmen.

  “I can’t see this killer as the cerebral type,” Anita said immediately. “No pun intended. I don’t think he’s hauling heads around to do anatomical studies of the brains. It’s too clinical.”

  “Saving the brains as trophies in jars doesn’t make any sense either,” said Dave. “After all, you can’t tell one victim from another if all you’ve got is jars of brains. Wouldn’t they all look alike? How would he relive the specific experience for each victim?”

  “Easy,” said Schultz. “Photos. Tape one on the front of each jar.”

  There was silence for awhile as each mulled over the possibilities. Finally PJ spoke. “I really don’t see how we can rule out any of these scenarios now, let alone ones we haven’t seen on the computer. There’s just not enough information. But I’ve got a hunch.”

  Schultz studied PJ. He saw the eagerness in her eyes, and thought back to that time in Millie’s Diner when he had seen that contemplative look on her face. He listened attentively. Hunches could be very important in his line of work, and PJ had already proved the value of hers when she had been convinced that Sheila Armor was in danger. She cloaked her excitement in a lecturing tone of voice, but Schultz saw through it.

  “I think the killer is consuming the brain,” she said. “In many cultures, eating certain body parts of an animal is thought to confer an attribute of that animal. For example, it’s a common belief in Pacific Rim countries that eating a tiger’s penis or a rhino’s horn increases virility. Since the time of Peking man, that principle has been applied to the human animal also. Consuming the brain is a ritual means by which the vitality, strength, or prowess of the person eaten might be obtained.”

  “So the creep’s trying to take on the characteristics of his victims,” Schultz said.

  “Not all of the characteristics. Just their special skills, like dancing or painting. Perhaps he feels that his own existence is featureless, and he needs other peoples’ abilities to add to the quality of his life.”

  “As though his life is black-and-white TV and he needs an injection of someone else’s essence to liven up his life to the level of color TV,” Anita said.

  “Yes. Exactly. Someone else’s essence…” PJ drifted off into her own thoughts.

  “And it’s addictive,” said Dave. “Once he’s experienced color TV, there’s no going back.”

  CHAPTER 24

  PJ PICKED UP THOMAS from school and took him out to Giorgio’s for an early pizza dinner. All during the meal, she kept picturing Mike Wolf across the table from her. Thomas gazed at her with questions in his eyes. He probably wondered why Mom was so mellow. They got home when it was still light, since the days were considerably longer now that full summer was practically on top of them.

  “Mom, what’s wr
ong with the flower bed?” Thomas said. They got out of the car and went over to look. The lilies of the valley were crushed, and the whole area looked as though a troop of dogs had scratched and scraped at the soil to bury a treasure trove of bones. A feeling of dread came over PJ, like the apprehension of a mouse hearing the wing beats of an owl, huddling, not knowing when or where death will come from.

  “I don’t know, sweetie, I just don’t know,” she said, trying to hide her emotions. “What a shame. Maybe a stray dog got in the yard.”

  Then she noticed the letters spray-painted across the back of the house. “STOP KUMPUTR” was on one side of the door in letters two feet high. On the other side of the door was “FUKIN BICH”. She took in the shock and it spread in cold waves from the center of her body to her arms and legs. The back of her throat burned, and she swallowed and struggled to keep her stomach from heaving. She turned abruptly, hoping that Thomas hadn’t seen the writing yet, but he had. He seemed to shrink in on himself for a moment, then he straightened, and spoke with the courage of the person he would become.

  “Looks like the killer owes you a dollar, Mom. He used a word from the A list.”

  It took some time to sink in. When PJ finally reacted, she laughed nervously and pulled her son to her in a tight hug, shutting out the horrors of the world.

  “A dollar and a quarter. Don’t forget about the B list word,” she said.

  He let himself be hugged, resting his head on her shoulder, then pulled away. “Let’s go call Schultz. Can I dial the cell phone?”

  “Sure. I guess we’re getting to be old hands at this.”

  She wasn’t sure whether she was comforting him or herself. PJ was glad that she had gotten the portable cellular phone, as Schultz had suggested. She always left it in the car because it seemed to her that she would only need it if the refuge of her home or office was denied to her. Besides, that way the phone would be available for Thomas to use, too, which wouldn’t be the case if she carried it around with her. He had a key to the car along with his house key. While Thomas dialed, she pulled the car around the front of the house and parked on the street. No need to shove their noses in the disfigurement of their home.

  Schultz and a patrol car that he had summoned arrived at about the same time. He waved to PJ and disappeared with the officers around the back of the house. Schultz came back to PJ’s car to get her house key. He said it didn’t look like anyone had been in the house but he wanted to make sure. She let him fuss. It was probably therapeutic for him. After he left, she was startled when the cell phone rang for the first time since she had gotten it. She moved to answer it, but Thomas was quicker. He grabbed the phone before her fingers could curl around it.

  “Doctor Gray’s number.” Thomas had learned phone etiquette early. PJ used to get a lot of business calls at home. He listened for a moment.

  “Yeah, it works. I’m in the car,” he said.

  Apparently the call was for him. PJ was mystified.

  “Cool!” Thomas said. “See ya.”

  She could see that he was excited, and she pushed a smile onto her face, trying not to think of why they were sitting out in the car at the curb. “So what gives?”

  “That was Winston. Remember I said this morning that I had something in the works for this summer?”

  PJ nodded.

  “I’m going to stay at Winston’s house. His dad just said yes.”

  PJ’s eyes flew open wide. “You might have asked me first, Thomas. I barely know Winston, and I haven’t even met his father.”

  “His dad’s OK, just kind of sad. His mom has been away at a drug treatment center for awhile. She’s living in a place called a halfway house now, and they think she’ll get to come home in a few months. But for the time being, it’ll be just us men. Plus Megabite. They both like cats a lot.”

  “I don’t know what to say. This is so sudden. I suppose I could give Mister…what’s Winston’s last name, anyway?”

  “Lakeland. His dad’s name is William.”

  “I could give Mister Lakeland a call, and we could talk about it.”

  “Don’t say no, Mom. It’ll be neat! Besides,” he said, “after what just happened, you’re going to get really anxious to get me out of here.”

  Clearly her son was enthusiastic, and this was the most positive emotion he’d shown in quite some time. She didn’t know whether to be angry with him for making these arrangements or proud of his independence. “OK, son, I’ll really try to make it happen. But I have to talk to Winston’s dad myself.”

  “There’s something else.”

  “What? You’re joining the Peace Corps and moving to Africa?”

  “No, not quite. Not for a few more years, anyway. There’s this summer course where you learn about computers, almost like a summer camp. It’s very intensive, real advanced stuff. I’m dying to go. Mom, and Winston is too.”

  “It sounds interesting. Where can I get some more information on it?”

  “Right here,” he said, pulling open his backpack. After a brief search, he extracted a brochure that had been thoroughly handled and repeatedly scrutinized.

  “It’s at Washington University, hmm…” she said while glancing at the brochure. “Oh, Thomas, this course is for high schoolers.”

  “I’ve talked to the instructor, and she says Winston and I can attend. We meet the prerequisites.”

  All of a sudden Thomas sounded so grown up. Instructor. Summer course at college. Prerequisites.

  “Well, you’ve certainly given me a lot to think about,” she said.

  “Think fast, Mom. The course starts Monday, and we’re already registered.”

  “Already…”

  “Winston’s dad can drop us off there in the morning on his way to work. The class is over at three, so we’d have to wait at Olin Library for a couple of hours before he could pick us up, but we don’t mind. There is one complication, though.”

  “Just one?”

  “Winston’s dad doesn’t have a lot of money. We told him Winston got a scholarship.” Thomas looked sheepish. “There aren’t any scholarships available.”

  PJ sighed. Money was tight, and Thomas certainly knew it. She had not tried to conceal their financial situation from him. She hadn’t had insurance when she first moved into the rental house, although she did now. Her desktop personal computer was a total loss, and she hadn’t replaced it yet. It looked like she wouldn’t be shopping for a new one in the near future.

  “I’ll make it up. I’ll get a job mowing lawns after the class is over.”

  “You certainly will. Starting with ours.”

  “Does that mean yes?”

  She looked at her son’s eager face. “Yes…”

  “All right, Mom!”

  “After I talk to Mister Lakeland and meet him in person. If everything works out, I don’t see why you couldn’t pack a few things and get over there tonight.” So I can paint over the letters tomorrow by myself, she thought. Her son was practically bursting. There was something else.

  “Don’t tell me…” she said.

  “Yup. I’m already packed.”

  PJ and Schultz sat in the kitchen of her home. She had already spoken to William Lakeland—Bill—on the phone, and he had invited her over at eight that evening. He seemed very pleased that Winston was going to have company, and proudly declined PJ’s offer to pay room and board for Thomas, although he mentioned that Winston wouldn’t have been able to attend the summer class without the scholarship. PJ saw no reason to burst his bubble about that, but she made a note to herself to talk to Thomas about white lies.

  “Can you do me a favor?” she asked Schultz. “Could you check Bill Lakeland’s background, make sure he isn’t a convicted child molester or something?”

  “Sure. And if he is, I’ll go over there and crack him in the balls and get your son out of there. His friend, too.”

  “I’m sure you would, Detective. Your protective nature is one of the things that make you so lo
vable.”

  “That so? Didn’t work on Julia. Seriously, Doc,” he said, “I’d feel better if you’d get out of here, too.”

  “Where would I go where the killer wouldn’t find me? A hotel?” She shivered as she thought of what had happened to Ilya Vanitzky in his hotel room.

  “Out of town?”

  PJ shook her head.

  “I didn’t think so, but it was worth a try.”

  “I’m scared, but I’m not going to be run off. I do feel a lot better that Thomas will be out of this. Whatever’s going to happen, that is.” Their eyes met, and she saw something reflected back at her in Schultz’s eyes: his assessment of her courage. Or stupidity. “Coffee?” PJ had started a pot of coffee, and the smell filled the kitchen. She poured cups for herself and Schultz.

  “I guess there’s no question now that this,” Schultz jerked his head toward the rear of the house, “is related to the killings. Dave and Anita are going to interview your neighbors, see if anybody saw the guy.”

  “The thing we have to figure out is this: where is he getting his information? And why has he got it in for me?”

  “That’s two things. Either somebody’s leaking information about your involvement, or the murderer is a member of the Department.” Schultz slurped his hot coffee noisily. “He must have some reason to think that you, specifically you, are getting too close.”

  “Do you routinely tell others about the details of this investigation? Who else knows what CHIP is doing?”

  “That’s the problem, Doc. This has been played close to the chest, but that still means a lot of people are involved. I talk to you, to Wall, to Anita and Dave. They swear they haven’t talked about the investigation to their families, but pillow talk just slips out sometimes. Plus of course there are the officers who were first on the scenes and the evidence techs. Did I mention the medical examiner’s office?”

  “No,” she said with a sigh. “The first time this happened, you said you would poke around, see if anybody in the Department seemed unstable.”