Robert Walker - Fatal Instinct

“ Don't say anything,” she instructed him. “You've heard me go on and on about all the places I've been, all the things I've done.”

“ And I've enjoyed every word.”

“ I've never been here before, and I've never made love on a sailboat before.”

He lowered her to the bed. “Neither have I.”

Their lovemaking had them both believing that it would be endless as they fulfilled their desires. Each time they parted, exhausted and panting, a new wave of passion swept over them, erupting like a powerful tide neither wished to stem.

Alan's body was powerful, his muscles like stone. He was strong, pinning her against the bed, driving into her with sure yet gentle strokes, surging and retreating and surging again.

Alan somehow made her feel weightless and without care. She had become Jessica Coran again, someone she had long missed. With him, she realized, she did not have to put up any fronts. She was accepted as his equal yet he managed also to make her feel like a woman again. She hadn't been touched by a man this way since Otto.

Sometime in the night they left the boat and returned to her hotel, where they showered and made love under the spray. When they finally shut off the water, they heard her phone ringing. It was like a death knell to their night. It was almost four in the morning.

Lou Pierce was on the other end of the line, asking for Alan, saying he'd tried him everywhere else he could think of, and that she was his last hope.

“ He's right here, Lou. Hold on,” she told the sergeant, unhappy that she and Rychman had been “found out.”

Rychman came across the room in a towel and took the phone from her, barking into it, “What's the problem, Lou?”

“ It's bad news. Captain, having to do with Dr. Darius, sir.”

“ What is it, Lou? Spit it out.” To Jessica, he said, “Something's up with Luther Darius.”

“ I'm afraid, sir, he's… well, it looks like he's committed suicide, sir.”

“ Suicide?”

Jessica's face went white as she repeated the horrible word. “Suicide?”

“ How did it happen, Lou?” Rychman asked.

“ Jumped from his hospital window, Captain.”

“ Hospital? What hospital? When I last saw him-”

“ He suffered some sort of seizure at the lab, was carried out sometime around seven last evening, after you'd gone. I tried to locate you, but-”

“ Who's handling it, Lou?”

“ O’Toole and Mannion were in the area, checking on some lead, something to do with a clinic in the medical complex; you know that strip of medical buildings along there, several city blocks long. We got Archer in on the cleanup and the E.T. work, sir.”

“ I'm on my way, Lou.”

“ He was a good man, Captain.”

“ Right… right you are, Lou.”

Jessica hung on Alan's every word, trying to piece things together, tears welling up. Rychman got the name of the hospital, which he knew well, and after he hung up he tried to put the pathetic scenario into focus for her as best he could, finishing with, “That old man was working cases when I was a rookie. Got to know him very well. He was a friend, Jess, a close friend, I thought. But I guess you never really know what's going on inside another person's head. Guess the difficulties he'd been having, and now this latest bout, put him over the top…”

“ He didn't strike me as suicidal,” she countered. “I didn't know him long, but I got the impression that giving up wasn't in his nature. He loved his work and life.”

“ I've got to get down there.”

“ So do I.”

“ It's not necessary you go down, Jess. Archer's got it, Lou tells me.”

“ I'm going with you,” she said, turning from his touch and starting to dress.

“ Fine, you're coming.” He began to dress quickly as well, and when they'd finished and were halfway out the door, the phone rang again. They looked at each other.

“ Probably someone else calling with the dire news,” she said, going back for the phone. But when she answered, she heard J.T.'s voice from Quantico, apologizing about the hour.

“ You okay, Jess? You sound a little down,” said J.T., who surely expected a happier note since they hadn't spoken in a while.

“ Got some bad news this morning, J.T.”

“ Oh, sorry to hear that. Anything I can do?”

She briefly explained about Darius.

“ God, sad loss to everyone there and the profession,” he said.

“ So, J.T., what is it?”

“ What is it? I've finally got results for you, that's what. I tried reaching you all evening but obviously you were indisposed? Anyway, I left messages with the desk. Didn't you check your messages, Jess?”

“ 'Fraid I failed to.”

“ Christ, Jess, O'Rourke's been trying to get you, too. Wants to know what's cooking with the case; wants an update. You'd better call her as soon as it's a decent hour.”

“ Thanks for the tip, J.T. Now, what'd you learn about our Claw?”

“ Well, it's not what you think, Jess. Sorry, but I've looked at the samples you sent six ways to Sunday and it all adds up to the same guy in every case, same bite impressions.”

She let out a soft groan of disappointment but composed herself the moment she realized that Alan was staring. “No doubt in your mind?”

“ None whatever, Jess. If it is two guys, one of them's not a meat-eater.”

She thanked J.T. for his troubles, disappointed by this news, but it was the weight of Darius' death that she felt most strongly as she said goodbye and hung up.

“ Jess,” said Alan, “you really don't have to go down to the scene.”

“ I'm going,” she insisted, grabbing her cane and pushing past him for the door. He stopped her, taking her in his arms and feeling her fight for her freedom until finally she gave in to her sobs.?

Suicides were treated as homicides until murder was completely ruled out, and that was how the NYPD was working the death of Dr. Luther Darius. The story of one of the foremost authorities in forensic science who, facing cancer and despair, took his own life would be splashed across newspa-pers all over America.

And yet it didn't fit him, didn't stand to reason. The man Jessica had breakfasted with the previous morning hadn't appeared in the least suicidal. But appearances were often a masquerade.

Stories about Dr. Darius began to circulate, about his problem with drink, about his growing morbidity. People who worked in close association with him had known for some time now of his despair over his inability to perform at peak performance.

Dr. Simon Archer was on hand at the hospital to tell Rychman word for word the dire and prophetic last conversation he had had with Dr. Darius only hours before in the autopsy room.

“ Then you have it on tape?” asked Jessica.

“ Matter of fact,” Archer replied thoughtfully, “I do believe the tape was still on at that time. I'll… I'll fetch it for your investigation, Captain.”

“ Good, good… If it's as bleak as you say, then I guess we can assume the worst here.”

Darius' body had been scooped from the pavement, eleven stories down. Blood still pooled about the spot where the police chalk outlined the man's small form.

“ I'd like to know if there was anything in his system to indicate-” began Rychman. “I'd like to assist in the autopsy. Dr. Archer,” Jessica interrupted.

“ You sure that's wise, Jess… ah, Dr. Coran?” asked Rychman.

“ Dr. Archer?”

Archer nodded like a grieving pallbearer. “Certainly, certainly.”

Rychman took her aside. “Don't you think you'd be better served by concentrating on the case you were sent here to work on?”

“ Dr. Darius was a friend of my father's, Alan. I owe him this much.”