Pure Instinct (Instinct thriller series)

by Robert W. Walker

  Thommie glanced about the room, his fake eyelashes catching everyone's attention. “Vic... he never spoke about you either, man. Said his family pretty much disowned him. Did say they had money, but that was all.”

  The other man giggled lightly. “He wasn't always proud of me or the rest of the family. Look...look closely, around my eyes, the cheekbones, the way my lips are always pouting.” He posed for Thommie. “Now you see the resemblance, don't you? Don't you see it?”

  The noise of band and screaming performers filtered in one ear. “Yeah, now you mention it... yeah, you do look a little like Vic.”

  “He never liked being called that, Vic, you know. Never really liked Victor either. He preferred Vicki or Victoria, but never Vic... never.”

  “Yeah, you're right about dat; he surely didn't like being called Vic, no. He sorta put up with me calling him Vic, though.”

  “He was tolerant of others.”

  “Yeah, he was... and he was really a sweet guy, really. I loved him for that.”

  “You loved him?”

  “Yeah, anybody would,” Thommie said.

  “You took a piece of his heart, didn't you?”

  “Yeah, you could say that, but he took a piece of mine too. It works both ways, but you probably know that, right?”

  “Took his sweet heart and you broke it, I'll just bet.” He puckered and feigned a kiss at the air, and this excited Thommie.

  “Well, it was an amicable split, actually. You see, we both wanted out of the relationship. You know how it gets a little too heavy at times, so you back off s all.”

  “Broke his heart according to his diary.”

  “He say that in his diary?”

  “That and more, yes.”

  “I'm not so sure I want you or anyone else reading about me in Vic's—Vicki's diary. Cops couldn't find it. How'd you get it? Fact of the matter is, the cops didn't ever say a word about you either.” Thommie's natural suspicions reignited.“They didn't know about me.” Emanuel drank from his pink drink, shrugging at the same time. Even his shrug was alluring, coquettish, Thommie thought. “And as for the diary, well, Vicki sent it to me a few days before his horrible death, almost as if... as if he knew, as if he'd had some sort of strange premonition, you know?”

  “Did he say anything about a premonition?”

  “No, never.”

  “Not even in the diary?” Thommie was curious. He thought hard on Vicki Surette's face and recalled it with great fondness. He was so gentle, meek even in bed. The meek shall inherit the earth, he silently chanted. “So, you didn't at first know—that is, hear about his death?”

  “Not until I came to visit, no.”

  “God, that must've been tough. Getting it in the face like that, I mean.”

  “Learned it from the landlord of his building,” Emanuel almost sniffled.

  “So what're you doing now? Staying on in the Big Easy? Sorta doing your own thing?”

  “Sorta conducting my own, you know, unofficial investigation, if you want to know the whole story?” Emanuel's lips were large and full and sensuous, Thommie thought, the more so when he spoke.

  “Gee, that's kinda neat, like in the movies or something, kinda romantic in a way. But don't the cops notify next of kin?”

  “How could they? He was living under an assumed identity. His family would have nothing to do with him. He was completely cut off, alone, except for his lovers... except for you and the others.”

  Thomas Whiley dropped his gaze. There was so much fire in this guy's eyes, so much pent-up energy. He did remind Thommie of Victor Surette; he brought back old memories which had haunted Thommie on and off since Victor was found mutilated a year ago.

  “Well I guess you read the papers,” Thommie said. “You know about the others since your brother, don't you... others like us found murdered?”

  “Their hearts dug out of them with some kind of nasty carving knife, yeah... I know all about it now. I've been interviewed by the cops, a million questions about Victor's friends, acquaintances.”

  “Did you give 'em the diary?”

  “Yeah, sure... soon as they asked for it. But I kept some of the information, like about where you live and where you hang.”

  “Jesus, you don't think I had anything to do with Vic's getting killed, do you? The cops talked to me; they must've told you I'm in the clear.”

  “They're actually worried about you, Thommie.”

  “Worried? What a ya mean?”

  “They think whoever's doing this Jack-the-Ripper number could come after you too.” Thommie shook his head slowly from side to side, his mouth for the moment not working. Finally, he squeezed out his thoughts. “I... me, no... nobody's getting me like that, no way.”

  “Whoever this maniac is, Thommie, he likes sweethearts like you. Frankly, I can see why.”

  “Whataya mean by that?”

  Thommie felt Emanuel's hand rising to his groin below the table. After a brief massage, Emanuel said in a heaving voice, “I wouldn't mind digging around a little for your tender heart myself, Mademoiselle Dumond.”

  Thommie smiled coyly and leaned in over the table, asking, “Why, sir, what are your intentions?”

  “Strictly dishonorable, madame, I can assure you.”

  “Then maybe I'll take a piece of your heart too.”

  “Hey, you've got some line, Marie.”

  “So do you, Emanuel. Pretty name, Emanuel...”

  “So's Marie... I much prefer Marie to Thommie.”

  “Really? Good ol' sweet-tassled Vic...Vicki, in a way it's like he's working from the grave, you know?”

  Emanuel looked strangely at him, eyes questioning.

  “You know, the way he's led you to me?”

  Emanuel smiled, eyes alight with fire now.

  “Come on,” said Thommie, finishing his White Grenache. “I know somewhere where we can be alone.”

  Emanuel countered. “I know a make-out spot where we won't be disturbed.”

  “Why not my place?”

  “Is it nearby, because I'm extremely horny.”

  “Getting very hot in here myself, hon. It's just around the corner.”

  “First, I need to use the little boy's room.”

  “C'mon, you can take a leak at my place.”

  “All right, if you insist.”

  “I insist... and if things work out, I may insist again.”

  The stranger laughed sweetly at this, and Thommie Whiley laughed with him. Others seeing the pair took them for lovers having a good time in one of New Orleans' oldest gay nightclubs, but no one paid very much attention when they got up and left together, as everyone was after his own conquest tonight.

  They couldn't wait for the privacy of Thommie's bedroom, or at least Thommie couldn't, and in the elevator he tore at Emanuel's clothing with his hand, and then his mouth with his own, but E, as Thommie had teasingly begun to call the other man, kept him at arm's length, saying, “Calm down, baby... whoa... you want to have the neighbors complain-ing? Take it easy... we've got all night. Besides, like I said, I need to drop a loaf. But I did bring something to wear.”

  Emanuel snatched a red teddy from the brown leather bag he carried slung over one shoulder resting on the opposite hip. “How'd you like for me to wear this?”

  “Jesus, I like... I like... think you can fit into it?” Thommie half joked.

  “Don't worry, I'm slim at the hips and I brought falsies.”

  “Good... good and plenty and sweet...” Thommie's mouth was watering now. “Maybe later, I can try it on?”

  “Sure... sure, sweet thing. Whatever turns your crank.”

  The elevator deposited the would-be lovers at the top floor and Thommie worked the lock open with nervous fingers. He kept talking nonstop. “Vic...Vicki was a tender guy and a great, great lay, and we respected each other tremendously, like I told the cops, but like I said, we just grew a little apart... you know... shit happens...”

  “Grew a little apart,” Em
anuel repeated, nodding. “Sure, I understand. Don't worry about it, Thommie Marie.”

  As soon as the door closed behind them, Thommie Whiley, a.k.a. Marie Dumond, was at him again, forcing him against the door, kissing and caressing, his tongue finding Emanuel's deep throat, jabbing in and out, enjoying E's intoxicating, provocative perfume. E knew how to give what he got, and he smelled so damned good.

  “Wait... easy... back off and let me get situated and dressed for you, Marie... and Marie, get out of that dress...” He spoke through gasps and kisses.

  “Sorry...just so... I don't know... turned on by you. What's that perfume you're wearing? God, you're good-looking, you know that?”

  “Thank you; now, I'll see you in a moment. Why don't you get undressed and pull the covers down, huh? Got anything to drink? Why don't you pour us something to drink?”

  “Coming right up. Bathroom's that-a-way.”

  Thommie Whiley impatiently and breathlessly waited, going naked about the room, pacing and moving several times from the bed to the bathroom door, almost knocking, speaking through the door, asking if everything was all right inside, wondering how long E was going to take and just what he had to do to freshen up. He'd never known a guy with so much cool and restraint before.

  “Everything all right in there, Ms. E? Am I going to have to come in after you? Spank your behind? Can I call you EZ?”

  “Just a minute,” Emanuel repeated in his most feminine voice for an insufferable third time.

  When he finally came out, E was stunning with long, smooth legs and an incredible shape, dark, alluring eyes and sensuous mouth, filling out the little teddy like a pro on the runway at the Blue Heron, Thommie thought as he went for him, or rather her, Thommie's hands outstretched, the drinks he'd poured earlier forgotten, the ice in them melted.

  “Wait,” she said, “my bag ... bring me my bag.”

  God damnit, he silently cursed, but with a little frown of impatience, he glanced around and then retrieved her bag, a large, leather Gucci. “Jeeze, whataya gol in this thing? It must weigh a ton.”

  “The icing on the cake,” Emanuel replied in a soft, purring whisper as she now pulled forth first a vibrator to his delight, allowing him to take charge of this, and then she pulled forth an enormous carving knife with serrated edges, the blade glinting in the half light of the room.

  “What the hell's that for?”

  “Like I said, hon, I'm after your heart.”

  “What the fuck's that supposed to—”

  ''Ayyyyyyyyyyyl'' Emanuel screamed and lunged at him with the blade, but Thommie dodged the blow, lunging for the floor beside the bed where he tore from below the bed a baseball bat which he'd kept there forever for protection.

  He brought the bat to bear, but he was twisted round in such an awkward position that he couldn't negotiate it properly, unable to get his weight behind it. With the swing, however, he lost his footing, and E was rushing at him a second time with that damnably huge knife, trying to find his chest and his heart, and all in that one instant, Thommie realized that Surette had been butchered by this motherfucking fiend who claimed to be Victor's brother, and that this monster had also killed and mutilated all the other Queen of Hearts victims, so Thommie put what force he could into a backswing blow from a kneeling position, lashed out at the raging madman's hairless legs, but E just kept coming, and suddenly Thommie felt a sharp pain to his temple, the bone crack sound reverberating in his brain, and next Thommie felt something sharp penetrate the skin beside his ear and sink almost to his left eyeball before he passed out.

  When Thommie came to, he was lying on his back in bed, where E had placed him, blood caked at his temple; he was disoriented and seeing through a thick blur, the sound of his own blood and pounding heart in his ears, threatening to send him into deafness so loud was the sound of it along with a sentient ringing noise, as if his own internal alarm clocks were all going off at once. When his eyes fully opened and focused, he realized that Emanuel's red teddy and enormous, blood-smeared breasts were dangling pendulum fashion over him, and E's curly head worked back and forth, her hands doing something up and down along a slippery path.

  Christ, atop every other indignity, he really is a she.

  Thommie's eyes coming clearer now, he saw E reach into an enormous cavern that'd opened up in Thommie's chest, and he felt the other's hands tugging at his beating heart when Thommie suddenly saw only a blinding white light which he allowed himself to fall into; it was not a natural light but a light that blinded both his vision and his feelings, like a shower of mercy and Thommie gratefully retreated into it. All life was severed with the connections between his heart and body and Thommie stepped into a never-ending sleep.

  17

  The world stands out on either side No wider than the heart is wide; Above the world is stretched the sky— No higher than the soul is high. The heart can push the sea and land Farther away on either hand; The soul can split the sky in two. And let the face of God shine through. But East and West will pinch the heart That cannot keep them pushed apart; And he whose soul is flat—the sky Will cave in on him by and by.

  —Edna St. Vincent Millay

  IAD had advised Alex to remain home until the incident at Tully's was officially declared a righteous bust, and that he was cleared of any wrongdoing in the discharge of his weapon. Still, he reasoned that since no one was so much as grazed by a bullet, and since he'd wounded only a trash can on firing in the line of duty, Sincebaugh took them at their word: Advised meant advised.

  He had too damned much to do at headquarters to slack off now, and so at precisely three P.M. the next day, the beginning of his new rotation, he was standing in the middle of the squad room with all eyes upon him. From the cold stares, he knew something was up.

  Dr. Jessica Coran had no doubt filled the captain's ear with a lot of technical forensics jargon that he'd need to catch up on, to see what he could learn from her about yesterday's vie. He was anxious to look at Coran's reports on the latest heartless corpse, believed to be the latest victim of the maniac he'd been pursuing since June, hoping she could provide more than Wardlaw had in the past.

  He immediately sought out Ben and found him at the coffee machine, where he was on his second caffeine hit and finishing up a Snickers bar.

  “Hey, Alex, how's it hanging? You all right after last night?”

  “Couldn't be better; actually slept. Now where's the goddamned coroner's report on the body fished out at the Toulouse Wharf, which was going to be on my desk when I got in this morning—and I quote?”

  “Complications at the coroner's is all. Slow up, pal, will you?” Ben was sleepy, unaccustomed as he was to the new rotation.

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “You ain't heard yet?”

  “Goddamn it, Big, heard what?”

  “They're not so sure anymore that the Gretna vie is one of the Queen of Hearts killings. I thought you were told by now, that Landry would've informed you.”

  Sincebaugh recalled the victim. “So what're you saying, Ben? That yesterday's victim wasn't number five?”

  “Not if they're right. If they're right, the Toulouse body's really number five since Gretna was a copycat job.”

  “What're they going on, Ben?”

  “A little of everything, I think. Either way, should make you happy. This means they're going over everything with a fine-tooth comb, going over every word you and me put to paper, and—”

  “You don't write more than a thimbleful, Big.”

  DeYampert pretended not to hear. “Every lab report Ward-law's done on the case. Hell, I'd have thought you'd be pleased.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  “Got a queer way of showing it.”

  “So, they're finally thinking the Gretna body's a copycat killing now, huh?”

  “You called it first, Alex. Landry knows that you beat out Wardlaw, the FBI M.E., and the psychic on this.”

  “Sure he does.”

  Ale
x stood there seething, wondering, trying to guess the enemy's next move. Ben tried to make light of it.

  “It's no biggy, Alex, really.”

  “Christ, Ben, are you out to lunch on this? It's time you woke up, partner. They're replacing us on the case and you're doing a tap-dance routine.”

  “Landry wants us to stay on the case. He told me so. Besides, would it be so bad if we were reassigned, Sincy? Hell, we'd both sleep better.”

  “Landry ... how long do you think Landry's going to remain in charge of the investigation now that the FBI's involved. Ben? What planet are you living on?”

  “Well, god damnit, Alex ...” Ben's voice was an angry whisper. “If they want the case. I say give it to 'em lock, stock and barrel. Would it be so freakin' bad? Hell, you know how it's been like with Fiona, the kids? And what about you and your damnable inability to sleep, pal?”

  Sincebaugh stared across at his partner, saying nothing.

  “We're burned out on this one. Alex. We both know it.”

  Sincebaugh gave his partner a glare, wondering what was on his mind and with whom he'd been talking. “So, that's the latest opinion poll?”

  “Maybe you'd better just talk to Landry or... or go see this Dr. Coran for yourself.” A strange look flitted birdlike across Ben's eyes.

  “Something's up. What is it? I felt it the minute I walked in.”

  Ben frowned, looking as if he'd been caught in a lie. “Seems the captain's called in our medium to lay hands on the body, and yesterday Alex, she told 'em all that the Gretna guy was poisoned by someone close to him and hacked up later. Said his head was cut off after death too.”

  “She put it on record, just like that? When?”

  “Late yesterday.” Alex looked away, shaking his head in disbelief. “At least you two agree... seem to be on the same, you know, wavelength. Coran's report's going to back her contention too. Least that's what Carl Landry told me.”

  “What the hell do we know about this Dr. Desinor, Ben?”

  “What, you want a full background check? She's a psychic... a trance medium... a psychic detective out of Florida... Miami area...” Ben watched him closely as he continued to speak, waiting for any sign of an explosion.