Robert Walker - Grave Instinct

“ We don't want to alarm the family, but we must know the truth. It's our duty to find the exact cause of death, and as yet, we have only suppositions and unknowns.”

“ Still, it seems highly-”

“ It's not! I mean, it's not so unusual as you might think. Happens at times, Erdman. Here, in my files, I'll show you another case where exactly the same thing happened six or seven months ago.”

Kenyon worked hard to find the file he had mentioned, and he went to a lab table with it. “Here… have a look.”

Dr. Erdman read it over; indeed the procedure involved holding on to a woman's brain after the rest of her had been sewed up, returned to the family and cremated. “What did you eventually do with what was left of the woman's brain?” asked Erdman.

“ Went out with all the other medical waste.”

“ I hope it helped you to understand why she died.”

“ Tumor was found, yes. It's all there.”

Erdman read on. “Buried so deep that none of the tech-nology could locate it?”

“ Deep in the fissures. Took slice after slice to locate it. Changed death from unknown source to undetected brain tumor. Made a great deal of difference to the family in the long run. Medical claim was settled for quite a tidy sum.”

Erdman examined the autopsy file for a Mrs. Georgia Bhrett and nodded. “And you have the same feeling about Allandale?”

“ Exactly. Now do you understand?”

“ Why not lay it out for the family; get them to wait?”

“ I'm not a medical examiner or coroner, Doctor,” countered Kenyon. “I don't have the kind of muscle to require the family to submit to my wishes on the matter. We're just small city hospital pathologists here.”

“ Gotcha, yeah… Look, I just wanted to know if you'd like to go to a ball game.”

“ Football game?”

“ I've got two tickets and can't make it, and I know you like the game, so…”

“ That's decent of you, Erdman, but it won't win any brownie points when your quarter review comes up.”

Erdman had nervously laughed at this. “I only meant… I mean, I didn't mean for you to read anything like that into… It's just a simple-”

“ Just kidding Erdman… just kidding, my friend. Thanks for the tickets. Just leave them on the table there. They're much appreciated.”

Erdman looked from the table to the scale for a final glance at Allandale's brain. “Amazing thing, the brain,” he said.

“ Yes, very extraordinary…”

“ What's the next step for Allandale's?” “On ice, of course. Have to freeze it before I can cut into slices for the microscope.”

“ Yes, of course. Well, I'm off. Have to catch up with Sandy.”

Kenyon gave his intern a perfunctory wave. “I'm almost finished here myself. Have a good night.”

Kenyon thought he'd covered himself well, but weeks later, he was called to the administrative office, where he faced the chief of staff and the chief of surgery. Both Whitehead and Bondesen went ballistic over Erdman's allegation that Dr. Kenyon was practicing some unspeakable act on Allandale's brain. They wanted to know what he had done with the brain, and they had protocol files on both Allandale and the female patient, Georgia Bhrett, that Erdman had snuck out from the morgue. The story regarding insurance claims for both proved bogus. Never one capable of thinking fast on his feet, Kenyon told his superiors that with Halloween approaching, he had made off with the brain to use at a local YMCA haunted house, and that it had proved extremely successful. “So successful in fact that someone stole

This made his superiors wince.

“ That still leaves the woman's brain,” said Bondesen. “That was around Easter. You didn't take it to the Y for Easter, did you?”

“ All right… all right… I've been doing some research on the side. I'm on the verge of isolating cells I believe that might have something to do with the Lupus disease.”

A red-faced Whitehead replied, “Do you have any idea at what risk you have placed this hospital, Dr. Kenyon? And for what? Whether a Halloween prank or secretive research projects, you put us at great jeopardy indeed.

Kenyon pleaded, “It was the only way I could get more hands-on experience with the brain. I have long wanted to specialize in the brain.” It was an explanation they at least accepted as less outrageous than the ones coming before.

Kenyon, placed on low-level scut work usually reserved for internists, could perform no autopsies until the matter was reviewed. Two weeks later, a review board found Kenyon's medical ethics and conduct in question. None of them knew exactly what Kenyon was guilty of, but they didn't like the ideas and assumptions that sprang to mind. They didn't like the idea of unnecessary surgery, even on a dead man. Still, in the end, they gave Kenyon the benefit of doubt, that he was, as he'd said, attempting to learn more. All the same, they couldn't condone such behavior. He was quietly removed and found himself unemployed.

He could not explain to his wife how it had come about. He could tell no one what had happened to old Mr. Allan-dale's brain, because he didn't fully know himself. Only one person knew the complete story, the voice inside his head, Phillip, who had fed on previous corpses for their brains for a long time. To cover himself, Kenyon had created the false autopsy protocol for Mrs. Georgia Bhrett in the event someone like Erdman should stumble onto Phillip's activities.

Unable to continue in his normal life, with no one to speak to about such matters, he turned once again to the computer website that encouraged his bizarre cravings. It was only there that he could feel at ease.

And now even that was cut off to Grant and Phillip. Had he been re-arrested? This time as the Skull-digger? If so, and the authorities believed him guilty-and that they'd put an end to the terror-there was no one now to contact. No one to send any more treasures to, as he had with the island of tissue dug out of his first victim in Richmond-a present to Cahil, one that would incriminate him. Apparently, it had worked. Grant knew now that he should end his career as the Skull-digger. Disappear and let Cahil take the rap for the four murders he himself had committed. At the same time, he wondered how Phillip would react to such a conclusion. He knew the answer: His other self-Phillip-would not allow it to end. Not for long. Not for anything.

Valdosta was closed up, silent. Nothing and no one about the darkened streets. He thought of going back to the hotel but then thought better of it. He needed to get out of the Georgia-Florida area and onto new ground. If Phillip were to strike again, it must be in another region.

He drove on, out of Valdosta, southwesterly for I-10.

One week later

A week had passed and in that time no new victims of the Digger had surfaced, leading many in the bureau to believe that Daryl Thomas Cahil had perpetrated the murders. Lorena Combs in Jacksonville had determined that Amanda Manning indeed had been in contact with Cahil's website, a significant hit. FBI field operatives continued to work with the families of the other victims to determine if there were similar connections among the other victims.

Eriq was elated over the news, believing it the final nail in Cahil's coffin, but Jessica's doubts had only grown larger in her mind.

She knew time was running out, that the mechanisms to put Cahil away for the rest of his natural life were in motion. The cases across the southeast wanted closing. Jessica had pleaded for Eriq to at least keep news of Cahil's being charged as the Skull-digger out of the press. Eriq did so, despite the pressure on him to bring the case to a close and to speak to the press. Meanwhile, a twenty-four-hour watch had been placed on Cahil's website. Those manning it were paying close attention to any new visits from the Seeker in particular, and getting none, which further solidified official thinking that Daryl Cahil was their killer.