Robert Walker - Killer Instinct

“ I need your backing, that's all.”

“ All right… if it means that much to you.”

“ I'd kiss you if you weren't married.”

“ Go ahead anyway.”

She did so on the cheek and hurried out, saying, “Don't be late, room 222.”

“ Gotcha!”

On the floor above there were six autopsy rooms, and within room A, the main autopsy room with overhead viewing seats, there were no fewer than six stainless-steel tables. A number of universities and medical centers in the area used the facilities when they were not otherwise engaged. Each autopsy room came with the appurtenances of the profession: hanging scales, sinks with running water, drains on the floor, hoses, freezing compartments, microphones and huge magnifying glasses on birdlike swivel arms. The lighting was painfully harsh. The tables were deliberately placed close together so that medical examiners could easily confer when necessary, and because of the inevitable and necessary noise of electric saws and other equipment, a soundproof booth stood in the comer for the M.E. to dictate her notes, if necessary.

Jessica wandered past room A for room C, where she stood examining the schedule, determining when she might have C, should she be able to gain access to a body in the ground since winter. Exhumation was always a big hurdle, and transportation of the body to Quantico another. She'd like to get at least one of the former victims on a table in room C under her scrutiny-preferably before the killer struck again. If her suspicions were correct, he would strike again; he must to feed his insatiable bloodlust.

C had only one autopsy table in it, next to a full array of X-ray equipment. The more meticulous and sometimes the more contagious cases, and cases of special medical difficulty, like exhumations, wound up in room C. A large room, it had specially designed features built into the air-conditioning system, making it airtight and as safe as possible. The A.C. sucked infectious gases from the body and transferred these to an incinerator on the roof, where they were destroyed. It was perfect in cases of advanced decomposition.

She knew she was getting ahead of herself, that she'd have to get a court order, not to mention the paperwork necessary from her own sector chief, Leamy. Still, she filled in the request for the room, taking her best guess at when she'd need it and for how long. Currently, it was in use, and it'd see use off and on through the week.

She went from here to the investigation division on the same floor. Here men and women worked on color-photo processing, photo files, and in the rear were additional X-ray rooms, the offices of the dental forensics center and the neuropathology laboratory. She needed items from just about every section. She needed the photos of the scene, dental verification that the decedent was indeed Copeland, the X-rays and photos hopefully blown up by now.

She needed med reports corroborating her initial findings at the scene and during the autopsy, reports on the array of slivers she had carved from various organs from the Copeland body, from the brain to the spleen. Jessica had learned from Dr. Holecraft that there could never be enough corroborating evidence.

Jessica knew which people under her she could call and which she needed to confront in order to get what she needed for the meeting, now only an hour away. She had taken the few hours left her to conduct a few tests on her own, skipping lunch, too nervous to eat anyway. Word'd gotten round that the chief of the entire sector, William Leamy, would be at the psychological profiling session over which she and Boutine would preside. Leamy wished to see firsthand the results from Wekosha. An interest in a case from so high up could mean one of two things-promotions or firings. She thought of the small confidences that Otto had shared with her, slivers of information, innuendos. Something was in the air.

Everyone knew that Boutine had personal problems, that he had a wife at Bethesda who had succumbed to a debilitating coma and had become a financial and emotional drain on him; and some said the strain was beginning to show and tell in his work.

She had herself called for Otto to check on a fact and was unable to get him and was told that he was at Bethesda. She cringed at the thought of having to conduct a full-scale meeting with a psychological profiling team on a case of such magnitude without Otto beside her.

She'd now gathered up all her energies and every scrap of information available to her on the Copeland killing except for what J.T. had promised her, the most telling and useful information in what would be a shocking and revealing portrait of the killer. She worried that J.T. would let her down. He should have contacted her by now. Did he have everything ready yet?

Get hold of yourself, she silently scolded.

She had done all that was humanly possible, and she had run roughshod over her people, urging each to give Copeland top priority, knowing at the same time that rushing a scientist was like rushing a tortoise, that it took time to reveal so grand a thing as the grace of a tortoise, or a forensic truth.

She had been frustrated by some of her own people, however, and by the reference literature she'd consulted on blood spatters and evidence gathering. She'd thought her research would be a simple matter, drag out Helpern and Gonzales's Legal Medicine, Pathology, and Toxicology, but there was absolutely nothing on the properties of blood as it might drain from a victim's jugular when tied in the “swine” position described by Candy's pimp, Scar. She rushed to the most comprehensive volume she knew on blood characteristics. Flight Characteristics and Stain Patterns of Human Blood, by MacDonell and Bialousz. The slim Law Enforcement Assistance Administration volume had nothing on Tort 9s.?

Jessica saw by her watch that it was late, and that she could no longer wait for J.T. and the enlarged SEM photos he was supposed to have met her with at the door. Inside, she could hear Boutine's booming voice, getting the meeting started, and no doubt wondering where the devil she was. Irritated, she was about to step through when she heard J.T. shout the length of the corridor, racing toward her, waving the slides in his hand. “I'm sorry, Jessie, really!”

“ Forget sorry, just get in there and set up the shots.”

He nodded sheepishly, grinning in an attempt to further apologize. “Madhouse around here,” he muttered, but she pushed through to the conference room.

Boutine instantly welcomed them, his voice cordial. Around a large oak table some of the sternest-looking men and women she had ever seen gathered in one place stared at her. She knew some of them by name, others by reputation. They were all top-notch agents brought together as a think-tank team to brainstorm what had happened at Wekosha. One job they had to do was to determine if in fact the Wekosha killer was a serial killer or not.

Jessica stared back at the eyes pinned on her. Some of these people must surely resent the intrusion her presence represented. It was a break with the way things were normally done, and they must wonder why. Boutine began by introducing her, a completely unnecessary gesture, since they'd all heard that she was coming to the meeting. Earlier her presence at such a meeting was purely absentee, representation only through forensics reports. Boutine had been around for enough years to remember the time when coroners and pathologists were called in much more often, when physical evidence and psychological profiling were more closely aligned. He was speaking of that now.

“ We're trying an old approach, and we're calling it psychological autopsy. Psychological autopsies have been done since Marilyn Monroe's death, to determine the psychological state of the victim by behavioral scientists, but we're going to twist that a bit and add to our behavioral scientists in this team, a medical examiner, so that the 'autopsy' in psychological autopsies isn't forgotten. Enter Dr. Coran, who, by the way, did the field forensics work we've been discussing. I trust she has more for us to ponder. Jessica,” he finished, gesturing for her to take the floor.