Robert Walker - Extreme Instinct

"I'm sure Lorentian has a few enemies," suggested J. T.

"He isn't buying that theory," Repasi replied. "A kidnapping for ransom, he believes maybe, but not a hit to hurt him. He and the types he runs with, according to Lorentian, know not to mess with family, if you get my drift."

"But he could be wrong," J. T. replied.

"But there were no ransom notes, no demands?" asked Jessica.

"No, none forthcoming."

"Then it tracks back to me," she said, stepping closer now to the shriveled body of the dead woman. From the look of her, she'd been tall, about Jessica's own height. Her bone structure told Jessica that she was curvaceous, but what remained of her features left no clue as to her beauty or lack thereof. All that remained was a blackened, red- and brown-splotched mask of mottled and fire-bronzed cardboard, the epidermal layer of skin as burned away as the woman's clothes, all to feed the smoking inferno. Her eyes had, of course, been reduced to sockets, the soft tissues having sizzled away like bacon on a hot griddle, the oils easily feeding the flames. Still, somehow, the ugly, eyeless mask looked as if she were crying-impossible and quite unscientific, of course, yet very arresting. Of course, it was simply fatty tissues frozen in a moment of time-at the flash point of superheated air-intermingling with the natural bodily decay. There was no crying corpse here.

"Bring me up to date, gentlemen, please," Jessica requested.

"Well, no gunshot wounds, no contusions, abrasions, or hammer blows to the skull, nothing to indicate death before the fire reached her," answered Osborne.

"Except the single sharp blow to the temple, which I detected," corrected Repasi.

"I was getting to that, Karl," said Osborne with a moan. "The temple blow may've stunned her, but it wasn't a killing blow. That's clear."

"Fire investigation team found traces of butane, just as Fairfax had predicted, along with the gasoline." Repasi spoke in a near whisper in Jessica's ear. "Fairfax has quite a nose for such things. What do you think that might suggest?"

J. T. shrugged. "What do you mean, Fairfax's nose or a butane lighter? Neither fact is of much help."

''No, the traces of butane were at much greater concentration levels than caused by a lighter, and no lighter was recovered from the bed."

J. T. exchanged a look of confusion with Jessica before asking Repasi, "Then they're clearly saying that our killer used some sort of butane torch?''

"That's what Charles Fairfax believes," Lester Osborne replied, and believe me, Charlie's the best fire investigator in the city. He's an old friend of mine, and he was in the hotel… for the convention."

Repasi quickly added, "I'd seen him in the casino, so I had him paged when I saw what I… we had."

Lester nodded, saying, "Karl knows I don't even step into a fire-death scene until Charlie's completed his work. Saves me oodles of time and effort."

"And, last night, more time at the gambling table as luck would have it, right, Les?" Repasi teased. Repasi then turned to Jessica and said, ''We told Lester here what you told us; told him about the whooshing sound you heard over the phone."

Jessica's eyes glazed over in thought as she pictured a butane torch with a long wand so the killer wouldn't burn his pinkies. Then he leans in over the smoldering body and sticks his fingers into the soup he's created of the victim to pen his cryptic message.

Repasi pushed her buttons further, asking, "Don't you see, Dr. Coran? You say you heard a great whoosh of air over the phone just before she screamed? Don't you see? Fairfax's instincts verify what you heard, Doctor," Repasi told her.

"That sounds about right, Karl. Now, is there anything else you two wish to share?" asked Jessica, trying to remain calm.

"Her hands were tied with a man's tie, her feet with a belt, and small remnants of a handkerchief were found amid the charred bedclothes."

"Any prints on any of these items?"

"None."

"Burned away, wiped clean, or he wore gloves."

"The phone?" she asked.

'''Nada.''

''All carefully planned down to the nth detail, and then he leaves prints in the message," Jessica said, wanting to curse the bastard responsible for this, responsible for killing Chris Lorentian for what appeared to be a random selection just to taunt Jessica Coran into giving him her undivided attention. Or did the killer know Chris? Was the charade some sort of attempt to hide the true nature of the murder?

"How did you know there'd be prints in the message?" asked Repasi.

Osborne added, "Yeah, Jess, where did that come from?"

"I smelled it, realized it was grease from fatty tissues. I just took a wild guess."

"Some wild guess," replied Osborne with a little shake of the head.

"I'd like to talk to Lorentian myself. Learn what I can about Chris. See if it helps," she suggested.

"My secretary outside has his number," replied Osborne. "Feel free."

Repasi followed her to the door and stopped her, asking, "Are you making it an FBI matter?"

"I think the killer already has, don't you?"

Both Repasi and Osborne exchanged a long stare, and they came to the same conclusion as J. T. during that moment of silence. Jessica finally spoke their fears aloud. "He may be just getting started."

Repasi instantly replied, "Yes, it's what he wants, isn't it? He'll continue to bait you this way, won't he? But what is his ultimate goal in all this?''

"He may"-she didn't want to believe it-"he may just want to outfox me."

Repasi twisted the invisible knife, adding, "He'll go on killing until someone stops him."

"And who's going to do that, Karl? You?" asked Osborne, a sheepish grin building on his face.

She drew in a deep breath of air. "It's either what he apparently wants, or it's an attempt to cover his true motive for killing Chris Lorentian."

J. T. instantly jumped on this theory. "Ingenious. Kill someone for common enough reason and mask it with a wild charade like this, calling you, Jessica, and getting the FBI chasing some mad lunatic when in fact the killer knew Chris Lorentian and he acted coolly, calculatedly in both the murder and in planning exactly how to throw authorities off. Could be… could be…"

"Are you going to…" Osborne's assistant cleared his throat with a handful of words and tried again.''Are you going to tell Frank Lorentian that his daughter died because some sick wacko crazy wants to play cat-and-mouse with you, Dr. Coran?" The assistant stood, arms across his chest, across the table from them, the younger man unable to hold his words back. ''I was there when the man identified his daughter's remains… what was left of her to identify, that is. The man crumpled."

She looked at Osborne's man. "I'm not sure what I'm going to tell the father at this point, Doctor, and I suggest no one speaks to the press of this until we've had time to learn more about this psychopath."

Osborne raised a hand and began to object, but she cut him short with, "Is that understood?" With that, she and J. T. left the autopsy room.

"What's next, Jess?"

"We find out more about Chris Lorentian. Where she went when she ran away, where she was staying and with whom. Her hideouts and haunts. Apparently she didn't run so fast and so far as she might've; perhaps if she had, she'd be alive today; perhaps she was being given sanctuary by a friend or friends?"

"So we find out who she hung with…"

"Who she knew. Where she was before this monster's path came to cross hers. We find out where she had her last meal, where she last bathed, where she last shopped, and we find out what her plans were."

"Sounds logical, but shouldn't you leave it to the local cops to talk to Lorentian?"

"I could, but I don't think the killer expects anything less from me. I've already abdicated the autopsy to Lester. God, I don't think I could've handled this one, knowing what we know… that she died because of… of some twisted sicko's attachment to… to me, because-"