Pure Instinct (Instinct thriller series)

by Robert W. Walker

  “Paid by whom?”

  “People high up, that's all I know. Hell, if I knew any more, I'd have got my fair cunt outta here too, but Davey wouldn't tell me nothing, the little bastard...wanted it all to himself— the money, that is. Had some fool notion he could buy Daddy's love with it. Stupid shit... said it was for my own good that we never speak on it, not ever. Said it could cost me my life, which I didn't at first believe, but then the killings kept on happening, and then I decided maybe he wasn't lying after all.”

  Alex was skeptical, and deYampert laughed aloud, saying, “So, you want us to believe there's been some big conspiracy here, that people in high places don't want the Queen of Hearts killer's identity known? Baby-cakes, that kind of bullshit will get you nowhere with us, you understand that? Nowhere. Right, Alex?”

  “Two fuckin' dumb cops who can't find the most vicious freakin' killer this city's ever known, and why? Because you can't see past your slimy noses. Why do you think they called in a psychic? They want to manipulate this whole case.”

  “Who are they?'' pressed Alex, snatching the cigarette from her mouth and tossing it into the sink.

  “Why do you think the fucking governor and the mayor and all those muckety-mucks are interested in the case? For tourism's sake? For God's sake, open your eyes. The killer is one of their own, and—''

  “What the hell're you talking about, snatch?” shouted Ben, approaching her like a stampeding rhino until Alex held up a hand to him.

  “I'm talking about the country-club set. I'm talking about people with enough money and power to bury all three of us in this room tonight, if they wanted.”

  “You're talking about some sort of cover-up surrounding Surette?” asked Alex, wondering again about the complete lack of paper in Surette's apartment on the night they had searched it.

  Jodi-alias-Susie sniffed back a tear of concern. “They're covering it up by paying off people like Davey to get the hell out of town.”

  “Craziest wad of crap I ever heard,” said deYampert, dismissing the entire notion. “Come on, Alex. Let's see about reality. Let's go, Miss Susie.” She only frowned at the big cop, but her eyes went pleadingly to Sincebaugh. “Look, what reason do I have to lie? I'm just telling you what little I know. Davey wouldn't say much, but he was paid plenty to leave town.”

  “Who paid him to leave? Who?”

  “He wouldn't tell me.”

  Alex nodded and forced a fifty into her hand.

  She pushed the cash back at him. “My life's worth more to me than fifty bucks, pal.”

  “All right, sure.” Alex retrieved the money. “We'll be in touch.”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  Alex then followed his partner down to the waiting unmarked squad car. Ben got on the radio, struggling with a pack of gum at the same time.

  “Put out a warrant on Gilreath,” Alex said.

  “We tried that once before, remember?”

  “This time extend it to Palladium. Have the cops up there pick him up for us.”

  “//he's there.”

  “You have to be so skeptical all the time?”

  “Hey, skeptical's part of what we do, or have you forgotten that, Alex?”

  “Some thing eating you, Big?”

  “Shit, Alex, think about it. You're taking advice from a lesbian prostitute on how to conduct an investigation? When before you refused any help whatsoever from Dr. Desinor? Give me a break, Sincy.”

  “So who are you calling?”

  “I'm making a phone call home to Fiona and the kids. I know, I know, the brass don't want us patching through and tying up the lines, but do you see a working pay phone within a mile of here?”

  “That's okay, Ben.”

  “Damn right it's okay. It's okay to check in to home once in a while. Maybe if you had a home... oh, for Chrissake, Alex, we're chasing phantoms here.”

  “Hey, we've chased phantoms before. New Orleans is full of phantoms. Home of Anne Rice and the Vampire Lestat, remember? So what's got you so steamed and on edge?” Alex could feel there was a problem.

  “Ahh, nothing that can't be fixed with another one of those home equity loans. Sorry, partner. I'll make that bulletin call.”

  “Never mind. Drive! I'll call in the warrant.”

  “Drive where?”

  “Let's have another look-see at Surette's old place.”

  “Are you kidding? The tape came down on that freakin' place a year ago; no idea who's living there now; you go in there poking around and the landlord loses a tenant when the new people decide the friggin' place is haunted or something; then we get another citizen's complaint, and Landry'Il have our—”

  “Hey, it's not like Surette met his violent end there. He's not likely to be there in spirit.”

  “Then what in hell do you expect to find there after all this

  time?”

  “I'm not sure. I just want to nose around.”

  “But Alex, we did that when the body was still warm, remember? And we found nothing useful. Like you said, not so much as a photograph, not even of himself in drag.”

  “And didn't that strike you as strange?”

  “Strange? What's strange among all these weirdos, Alex? Give it a break... strange... where the hell've you been?”

  “Dammit, it was like someone had gotten there ahead of us and cleaned the place out. No paper, no bills, no laundry lists, no goddamned letters, nothing.”

  “Even if that was true, going back now... I mean it's not like we overlooked anything, partner.”

  “But we did. We overlooked the emptiness of the damned place.”

  “Did you look around Sue Socks' place, Alex? Listen to yourself. These people got no family albums, pal.”

  Alex turned back to that moment in time when Surette's apartment would have been vulnerable to someone scavenging it. He'd remained a long time with the body out in the woods because Frank Wardlaw was dragging his butt. By the time Wardlaw had officially I.D.'d the body and it had gotten out over the wires, Ben had gone to Surette's place ahead of Alex, and when Alex arrived, Ben had told him how pathetically empty the place was, showing him the barren fridge and vacant bookshelves. The only thing remaining of Surette was his elaborate wardrobe, a collection of pumps and other shoes, handbags and the like—and except for cosmetics, even these were empty.

  Alex wanted to return to the Surette apartment tonight, perhaps foolishly, just to snoop around for anything that might have fallen through the cracks, particularly anything in the realm of paper. Paper couldn't be gotten with a search warrant, however; there was no probable cause to serve the new tenant or tenants with one. Still, he couldn't convince Ben that it was necessary that they go back to Surette's place tonight, and Ben won the argument.

  Later, near midnight, sleep was finally shutting down the feverish activity of puzzle pieces which only gave the illusion of fitting into place, and Alex's body screamed for an end to the internal war. He gave in, and was sleeping deeply when he was rudely startled awake by the ringing, insistent telephone, which he knocked to the floor. Picking up the receiver, he heard an excited female voice.

  “Alex, Alex... it's me... it'„s me, Kim, Kim Desinor.”

  “Oh, yeah, Doctor... what the hell time is it?” He yawned unceremoniously. “What can I do you for?”

  “I need your help.”

  “You need my help?” Alex was sounding flip, but he was mostly curious. Why in God's name was she telephoning him at this hour? Insomnia, inability to sleep knowing someone on the NOPD hadn't fallen for her psychic scam maybe?

  “It's... well, it's... Dr. Coran.” The hesitancy in her voice made Alex sit up in bed.

  “Exactly what's the problem, Dr. Desinor?”

  “She's... Jessica's gone from her hotel room.”

  “Well, she is a big girl, and I'm sure Meade's got someone watching her night and day, so...”

  “You don't understand. She's gone out to one of the cemeteries tonight, and... and...” />
  “What, another exhumation?”

  “No, no... nothing of the sort.”

  He was getting impatient now. “What then?”

  “I promised her I would tell no one, but I'm terribly worried about her safety, and—”

  “Tell no one what?” He yawned again.

  “That she's meeting with that madman Matisak at the cemetery, to... to have it out with him... alone... do you understand, Alex?”

  He went silent, piecing all of it together. The pilot's headless body, the gruesome head dangling at Kim Desinor's hotel room door, the whole, bloody incident hushed up, kept off the police band, the press kept out of it entirely. The murdered pilot turning out to be FBI, a bodyguard assigned to Dr. Coran in the event she fell into peril. Lot of good that had done. He also recalled the strange, thin, tubular little shard of glass which Dr. Coran had plucked from Ed Sand's cheek. Coran had said that she'd have the lab test it for poisonous substances, believing that Sand had been too easily and quickly overpowered for his size and build.

  “Did Matisak contact her directly?” he asked now. “How does she know where to meet him?”

  “I... I can't say. She didn't tell me,” Kim lied badly.

  “Where are you? Are you calling from your hotel room?”

  “Yes. I tried to talk her out of going out there alone, but she's... she's...”

  “Stubborn, bullheaded?” He sounded as if he were speaking of all women.

  “Determined.”

  “Determined to get herself killed?”

  “Determined that no one else should suffer at this fiend's hand so long as she lives. She's begun to blame herself whenever he kills, and he kills often.”

  “Which cemetery is it? I'm on my way there,” he said, getting to his feet.

  “Swing by here and pick me up first. I want to be with you.”

  “If there's a chance this bastard shows up, Doctor, I can't put you in jeopardy.”

  “You pick me up, or I don't tell you where she's gone, Lieutenant. Swing by and I'll be waiting out front.”

  “There's no time to argue, Doctor.”

  “Then don't waste time doing so!” She hung up and hung onto the information he so needed.

  A half hour later, with Alex still replaying their one-sided last conversation in his head, he and Kim were racing toward Metairie Cemetery, Alex's dome light flashing. Kim was clearly upset and agitated, obviously tom between what was right and what was necessary. She'd made a promise and had had to renege on it, her conscience not allowing anything else.

  “God,” she moaned, “I should've called you earlier.”

  “What made you change your mind?”

  “No psychic visions or anything of that sort, I can assure you. Just old-fashioned remorse and fear. If anything's happened to her...”

  “We'll get there in time.”

  “Is that a good ol' New Orleans gaar-ron-tee?” she asked in a moment of jest.

  He put the accelerator to the floor.

  “Are you going to level with me now, Doctor?” he suddenly asked.

  A car pulled from the curb ahead and was planning to tum onto an adjacent, facing street. Alex laid on the horn and aswerved in one fluid motion, the other driver stomping his brakes and Alex weaving around to miss the other car by mere inches on the passenger side where she sat. Kim could feel the metal on her side suck in its breath and arch inward to avoid the impact; it was that close.

  “Stupid moron!” Alex uselessly shouted to the other driver, who, in the rearview mirror some fifty yards back now, sat frozen, likely in a state of shock.

  Kim mentally agreed with Alex's assessment of the man who'd failed to signal, but she also thought Alex had only made the situation worse, that there was a streak of reckless-ness in him. They could hardly afford a collision at the moment.

  But as Alex ignored the near-fatal lesson, they continued to soar along at sixty and seventy down the quiet backstreets he'd selected to reach the cemetery grounds, the strobe light atop the vehicle pulsating like a living heart, telling everyone to get out of the way.

  Kim stared at Alex's determined profile. Obviously, to him, a guarantee was a guarantee.

  “Are you going to tell me the truth about what's going on here between Jessica Coran and this madman Matisak?''

  “The bastard's become obsessed with wanting to kill her and kill her slowly, by draining her of her blood.”

  “Damnit, I know all that. I want to know how Matisak contacted her, and what the hell's going on in her head that she'd be so goddamned foolish as to come out here alone Now, how did he contact her?”

  “By phone, I think...she wouldn't tell me.”

  “For a psychic, you sure have a problem telling lies, Dr. Desinor.”

  She looked curiously over at him as the speed of the car rocked it against the impact of old brick streets in this district. “Am I to take that as a compliment? Coming from you, I would judge yes.”

  “Well, what you did with our police shrink, that was really something. My partner ran the names and numbers and you were right on about Thommie Marie Dumond Whiley.”

  “I'm only glad that I can be of help here, Alex, but you've got to know that by now. I never wanted to oust anyone from the investigation, and I hope you no longer feel threatened by my—”

  “Threatened? I never felt threatened by you, Doctor.”

  “Ahh, well... good then... good.”

  “And it's time we stopped feuding.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Or withholding information from one another.”

  She nodded and replied, “How much further to the cemetery?”

  “Five, ten minutes tops.”

  “You mean if we don't run over somebody or into something?”

  “You let me worry about the driving.”

  “Always...” She hesitated saying more.

  He glanced over, catching a glint of amusement in her eye. “What's that suppose to mean?”

  “Oh, nothing...just that you always seem to be in need of the wheel. A control freak.”

  “No, that isn't so. I just have to first trust in a guy or a lady who's at the wheel before I'll put my life in his or her hands. Is that asking so much?”

  A stock cop answer, she thought, but she only replied, “No... no, I don't think so.”

  Then they were at the cemetery, and Alex plowed through the gate, sending it in two directions, his headlights careening off the pale, staring tombstones and crypt walls, the strobe sending crazy shadows in all directions.

  Alex ordered her to stay with the car as he leapt from the seat and tore out his .38 police special. He rushed to the trunk and located a twelve-gauge shotgun, and then he headed out into the darkness beyond the headlights of the car—as if he were going down to the river to fish for bass, she thought.

  She quickly exited the car and fell in behind him.

  “Damnit, do you ever do as told, Kim?”

  “I got lonely back there.”

  “I don't see or hear a thing,” he admitted. “Me neither.”

  “What does your... intuition tell you?”

  “It's not good.”

  “What?”

  “She's not here.”

  “Let's do a sweep. Call out to her, just in case.”But there was no answer to Kim's repeated calls.

  They wandered through the densely populated necropolis, the city of dead giving up nothing now but silence, and yet Kim felt a thousand eyes upon them.

  Many of the tombs appeared expensive, and Kim knew that the cemetery was filled with famous politicians and prominent businessmen dating back to the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. She saw elaborate and grotesque architectural styles of all sorts here, from Egyptian to rococo, including medieval period pieces complete with monstrous, bug-eyed gargoyles on haunches with batlike wings and human features sewn together by demonic hands. Some of the statuary and bizarre examples of funerary art were on a monumental scale, further giving the impre
ssion of a skylined city of the dead within the city of frivolity, beer and jazz.

  She searched the fog, searched the stones, cautious at every alleyway, byway and intersection, noting the well-kept, manicured grounds, so totally at odds with the city-owned paupers' cemetery where Surette's body had lain until they'd gone in search of it.

  She felt like they were the only life on the planet when suddenly they came upon a sign which read: Free tape-recorded tour of the cemetery available at the Lake Lawn Metairie Funeral Home, 5100 Ponchartrain Blvd., or call 555-6331. Tacked to the sign were several notices which blew in the wind. A distant rumble of thunder threatened more storms from the lingering hurricane activity in the Gulf of Mexico.

  Kim was wondering how Matisak had made off with Jessica. How had he chosen to materialize here? From the shroud of fog, from a tomb he'd broken into? What sort of a stand had he made? Had he taken her by complete surprise? Did he have her now in his power? Were they too late to save her? What sign could she hope for?

  She looked down along alleyway after alleyway of the necropolis peering into the black rows of funerary tombs, when suddenly she stopped cold. There was a howling of dogs in the distance and a light, misty rain came up from nowhere, as if it blanketed only the Metairie Cemetery. Without a moon or light, she could make out no definable shapes amid the purple and burnt sienna and umber-colored kaleidoscope of leaves flurrying in the night sky where an ancient oak resided.

  “I don't believe this, the balls of this guy Matisak. Look at this,” said Alex, drawing her attention to the sign and a message tacked to it bulletin-board fashion. “It's a message to us from him.”

  Matisak figured Jessica would call in help; he figured there'd be backup, and so he'd come and gone before they arrived, Kim realized as she read the note Alex handed over to her. It merely read: “You're getting closer.”

  “How're we going to find her?” asked Alex.

  “Shhhhhh...” She tried desperately to get something out of the note, something extrasensory. “Do you know of a nearby warehouse, anything used for storage? A large industrial area?”

  “There are several within an hour's drive.”

  “Then let's get going.”