Robert Walker - Pure Instinct

Surprised, she lifted a hand to Stephens and they shook, her eyes never leaving his, her mind still wondering where Santiva was and what this meeting had to do with her. Outside the window behind Stephens, she could hear a man barking orders at recruits who were doing their morning calisthenics on the parade ground.

Zanek continued the introductions. “Mr. Stephens came here specifically to see you, Doctor, and this”-he indicated the tall woman now extending a hand to her-”well, this is our own famous Dr. Jessica Coran, pathologist in the Psychological Profiling Division, you know, the division you're aspiring to join.”

“ Jessica Coran… I mean, Dr. Jessica Coran?” she asked, astounded, while images of Coran diving in Maui and bringing an end to a killer in Hawaii swirled amid visions of Richard Stephens's New Orleans that came racing in at her boulder like, knocking her off balance. New Orleans had been home to her in a childhood she'd tried desperately to put out of her mind, and what she knew of Dr. Jessica Coran could fill a textbook on forensic science and investigation.

She felt foolish, and tried to recoup the words even as she repeated herself. “What's… going on here?”

After shaking her hand vigorously, Dr. Coran offered her a seat, which she accepted. “I read Bulletin 131, FBI Protocol, your monograph on the use of psychology and psychic tools in law enforcement, Dr. Desinor, as has Commissioner Stephens here, and I was greatly impressed in how you related psychic ability to this thing you call the blue sense, the talent most investigators possess. Anyway, it struck me immediately that we need your help in New Orleans.”

“ You no doubt have read about our Queen of Hearts murders,” Stephens added.

“ Is that what this is about?” She looked across at Zanek as she asked the question.

“ Right… yes, it is.”

“ I was impressed with your record for psychic hits,” Jessica Coran said.

“ She made a real believer outta this guy Parlen in Georgia I told you about,” declared Zanek, fingering a photo of his wife and kids atop the large steel and glass desk. “Converted him to her religion, you might say. Led him right to the culprits-the ones who killed Sendak.”

Kim Desinor, staring directly at Zanek now, said, “She- the daughter-Paul, was just a frightened and cornered kid. She was in a desperate no-win situation that got out of control, and she didn't know how to fix it.”

Zanek nodded. “You've heard then from Parlen?” Zanek had had the information the day before, but had chosen to withhold it at the time.

“ He sent flowers. Anyway, Sendak's illegitimate daughter-despite all the evidence-agonized over what she'd gotten her biological father-a stranger to her-into. The boyfriend had a powerful control over her; he was the domi-nating force in her life. But it was through her overwhelming remorse, guilt and agony that I was able to perceive the events in the manner I had. And if we weren't working with a KGB/ CIA mentality, I could give Parlen a deposition to that effect which might help in the daughter's defense.”

Zanek was unable to respond for a moment, trying to understand exactly what Kim was saying to him. “Parlen shared this information with you?”

“ No. It came to me in bits and pieces after the psychometric reading of the other day. It's information I could share with Parlen, if you're willing.”

He considered this a moment. “Well, we're not in the business of defending the guilty here, but… do you hear what she's saying here, Stephens? Isn't she everything I've said, Commissioner, and more?” He followed this pep rally up by coming from behind his desk and half-leaning, half-sitting against the edge in a show of friendliness, a kind of male peace offering. Once she pretended to accept the peace offering, he continued. “Kim, Dr. Desinor…”

“ Yes, Paul?” she insolently asked, forgoing his title.

“ P.C. Stephens and Dr. Coran both want you to accompany them to New Orleans.”

She looked hard across at Zanek, puzzlement and anger fighting for control within. “You mean to physically go there?”

“ That's right.”

“ I see.” She told herself, I really do see, Paul. Just farm me out to New Orleans, allow things to cool here while I'm working a field office as far from you as you can arrange. What's the matter, no murder sprees in Alaska this season? The bastard had found his solution. “But we're going to be too busy here, what with-”

“ Your duties in New Orleans will in no way curtail your work here, Dr. Desinor,” Paul began, “as it's only a…temporary assignment and while you're gone, we'll find a suitable replacement.”

“ But what about the move over to Santiva's division?”

“ Santiva's just getting accustomed himself. A big shake-up like that… well, let's just give it time, okay, Doctor?”

“ This has all been set up for some time now, hasn't it, Paul?” she said, challenging him.

Stephens opened his hands and waved, a gesture he felt awkward with, along with having to plead. “Dr. Desinor, please, we desperately need your help on an unusual and most important case.”

“ It's to be the test case, Dr. Desinor, for the future of psychic detection within this agency,” Zanek drove home his point.

Stephens's red hair was so thin it looked blond, but his scarlet eyebrows were thick. He looked of Irish descent. She knew by now that Stephens must surely have had a careful look at her background via Zanek's information on her, so he must know that her own olive skin and dark features were those of a Creole native of Louisiana. Abused and abandoned by a stepfather after the death of her mother, she'd been a product of a strict Catholic upbringing at St. Domitilla's School for Troubled Children. She'd long since renounced all formal religion as a result of her years there, calling herself a reformed and recovering Catholic. Others might call her an Indoctrinated Ingrate. Either way, she'd find her faith in her own way, and coming to this decision had felt right; it had felt as if the shackles of religion had been lifted from her with this decision made the year she graduated high school from St. Domitilla's in New Orleans.

She'd managed a state scholarship, had spent two years at Louisiana State, going on to Trinity College in New Orleans. From there she'd joined the Florida Department of Criminal Investigation as a psychologist. Unable to fit in “properly” there, she'd entered the police academy, and on graduation, she'd bounced around from one Florida police jurisdiction to the next as a working cop, before she'd returned to psychiatry. Her work had been somehow and almost fatefully noticed by Paul Zanek of the FBI, who'd encouraged her to apply for the FBI Academy. Zanek had brought her along ever since. Little wonder that, when he began to pay attention to her as a woman, she'd responded so completely, allowing her heart to be snared and lost and finally broken, all within the span of a few short years.

“ I suggested you for the case two weeks ago, Kim,” Zanek said, coming off the desk he'd been leaning on. “It's a chance for us… for you… to test your theories in an ongoing investigation, show everyone what psychic detection is capable of, including Santiva. It'll take it out of the realm of the laboratory. It'll be more than an exercise for a film. You've got to welcome that.”

She knew that Paul had been preparing a paper on the effective use of psychic investigation in the right hands, in the hands of the Bureau, and that she was his secret weapon. For his theories to work, he needed to go beyond research grant money and into mainstream budgeting, to put psychic detection on the FBI grid. These were all aims and goals she herself had wanted along with him, goals they had worked for side by side.