Robert Walker - Bitter Instinct

On entering the morgue's outer corridor, she saw a white-haired Dr. Leonard Walter Shockley through what seemed a series of prisms-glass office windows, rows of them. He looked to be conducting some test on a gas chromotographer no doubt, attempting to separate out various chemical substances in order to make some scientific determination about some evidence. He looked like a ghost, a very busy and preoccupied ghost. As they came toward him, he didn't show the least interest in them and didn't even look up from his work.

Jessica wondered how Shockley might react to her and how she should treat him-professional to professional or as the daughter of an old friend. Shockley had known and worked with her father many years before, and had in fact attended Jessica's graduation from medical school. Jessica rarely saw him anymore, since the death of her father. She already felt surrounded by people she must prove something to, and now she feared another was about to be added to the list.

As Jessica stared at her surroundings-the Philadelphia PD's Crime Lab Unit and adjacent medical examiner's office-a feeling of deja vu swept over her, and for a moment, she thought she might be returned to a time when she was chief medical examiner for the District of Columbia. The place could not be more identical. Perhaps designed by the same architect in the mid-fifties? Like hundreds of other such places, Philadelphia's crime lab appeared as busy as any in the nation, and just as understaffed.

As they entered the main lab, Lieutenant Sturtevante said to the coroner for the city of Philadelphia, “Shocky, it's time for the show.”

A stoop-shouldered gnome of a man with a greenish tinge to his skin turned from the cadaver he was scrutinizing with forceps, probe, overhanging magnifying glass, and the intensity of a medieval alchemist or some aged wizard in a fairy tale. Dr. Shockley stood, feet planted, rubber-gloved hands on hips, staring as if he were stumped by a complex mathematical problem, his eyes wide behind bottle-bottom glasses. Suddenly allowing a smile to spread across his wizened features, he said in a delighted tone, “Well, if it isn't the last of the female studs, Stud-e-vant! Have you caught yourself a man yet? Can't catch a man, how're you supposed to catch a murderer?” He laughed at his own jokes, and it was clear that the two were following a familiar routine.

“I've got you, Shocky. All the man I can handle at one time.”

“If there was ever a woman I couldn't satisfy, I suspect it'd be you, dear.”

“That's enough of that, Shocky. Let me introduce-”

He waved Sturtevante off, going directly to Jessica, peeling away his rubber gloves, fluids and pieces of tissue flying as he grasped her hands in his, eyes twinkling as he heartily pumped her arm as if hoping for water to spout from her mouth. His grip felt like steel, stronger than she had imagined, as he nearly shouted, “So, Sturtevante, our two famous detectives have arrived, Dr. Coran and Dr. Desinor. Been so looking forward to it, ladies. Around here, the more the merrier. As for you, Jessica, I feel a hug coming on.”

“Really? And it's wonderful to see you, too, Uncle Leonard.”

“Uncle?” asked Sturtevante. “Not by blood but by affection,” said Jessica. “One of my father's best friends.”

“One of? I was your father's best friend, sweetheart,” he countered.

“Sorry, Doctor. I meant-”

“Never you mind. It's just wonderful to have you here and on the case with me.”

“Do you really mean that, or are you just being polite?” she challenged the old man.

“Unlike many of my associates here in Philly, I'm not afraid to say it. I need all the help I can get!” He took Kim's hand next and shook it as heartily as he had Jessica's.

Shocky, as Sturtevante had called the ME, had gotten their names and faces right, explaining, “I recognize you, Dr. Desinor, from your pictures, and you, little Jessica, how you've grown.”

“Dr. Shockley and my father worked in the military together for a time,” Jessica told the others.

“Well, this is like old home week for you, then, isn't it, Dr. Coran?” asked Sturtevante, letting on that she knew about Jessica and Parry's past involvement. No doubt Jim had told her, but why? Did he have some burning need to confide in another woman, someone safe? Or did he feel he owed it to Leanne Sturtevante to give her this deep background knowledge, for the good of her case?

Shockley continued, oblivious to these undercurrents. “I remember seeing you in L.A., too, at the convention, but then you disappeared. I learned only later that you'd gone off after yet another maniacal killer.”

“Yes, a sociopath whose murder weapon was a blowtorch,” said Kim.

“Not near so subtle in his MO as this fiend you're dealing with here,” Jessica told Shockley.

“Yes, we have one hell of a subtle monster roaming our streets, Jessica. A most perspicacious SOB, to say the least, one too swift for local authorities to net. The newsies are having a field day with Sturtevante's supposedly inept handling of the case. Right, Leanne?”

“Go to hell, Shockley,” replied Sturtevante.

“All right, then let's talk about Las Vegas, dear Jessica, shall we?”

“Vegas?”

Shockley guided her away from the others. “It was so very disappointing to learn that your session at the conference on rebuilding the crime from a single desiccated forearm-as you managed to do in Hawaii-had been turned over to Cyril Hanley.”

“I heard that Hanley did a first-rate job,” Jessica protested.

“Hartley's a good forensics man, yes, but he lacks something… hasn't the fire you have, Jessica, not even a spark of it. Besides, you're a good deal easier on the eye than Cyril, even in his best plaid shirt and bow tie.” He finished with a hearty laugh, his impish face inviting them all to laugh with him, but no one did.

“Cyril has had problems with the fashion police before. Thank you, Dr. Shockley. I'm sorry you were disappointed at missing me in Vegas.”

“Never you mind. There will be other conferences. Besides, who else could have put an end to that madman you trailed all across the west?” He turned to Sturtevante, adding, “The vile maniac turned perfectly good people into toast, using a torch! Yes, we are most certainly fortunate to have Dr. Coran and Dr. Desinor here, on this far more beguiling case.”

Sturtevante remained impassive, simply saying, “Yes, we are indeed fortunate, and in the meantime-”

“In the meantime,” Shockley repeated with a leering smile. “Yes, yes, yes… in the meantime, we have our own peculiar murder to deal with. One wonders if the killer does it tongue in cheek.”

“Really? I sense no humor in the poems he leaves behind,” countered Kim.

“I refer to his method! Such flare is usually reserved for the magicians of story-mystery writers. Imagine it.”

Jessica did so; she imagined the panache, the flamboyance, the staging and the theater that went into the murders. She imagined the care with which the killer must procure his victims, while Shockley's words mirrored her thoughts. Shockley finished with, “Yes, he's a showman, this fellow, and he likely thinks long and hard about his deeds, rationalizing them away. Still, I suspect he spends at least as much time with his chemistry set, mixing his poisonous concoction, which we're still in the dark about.”

Kim, hands behind her back, said, “I understand that the poison was taken in at the cuts created by the pen on their backs.”

“What could be simpler?” Shockley asked with a grin. “Come, come this way. You'll find our first victim in good repair, all the autopsy protocol in shape as well. You two suit up. You'll find everything you need through there.” He pointed to a door marked ladies.