“We get the sense that this guy wants her to suffer over as long a period as he can make her suffer. It's about revenge.”
“In that case... Yeah, I'd say then you have twenty-four, forty-eight hours tops.”
“You can't be any more specific than that?”
'Too many variables. Is she getting water? Is she getting any nutrients? Has he tied her back-to-back, face-to-face, face-to-back? Has he placed her in the sun? The corpse's weight used against her? The level of putrefaction to begin with, yet another unknown. We're working with too many unknowns here.”
“Then our time clock is forty-eight hours max.”
“I believe so.”
Fielding blinked as he spoke and as he thought, with a wisp of light strands over a pale face. She had to admire the man. He had made his life's work the study of human decaying flesh in all its permutations and in every circumstance. He had been instrumental in creating the FBI's infamous Body Farm. And there was not a working M.E. in the country who had not benefited, directly or indirectly, knowingly or unknowingly, from the work of men like Bass and Fielding.
A body left for days in the sun, in the shade, in water, in sandy soil, in humus, inside the trunk of a car—they all showed different rates of decay. Fielding had been among the men who had catalogued these fine differences, and in effect had brought many fugitives to justice as a result However, the corpses used in the experiments—primarily prison inmates who had donated their bodies to the advancement of science while in no way knowing just how science would use them—had that fundamental difference from DeCampe. DeCampe was presumably lashed to Jimmy Lee Purdy's rotting corpse, but her flesh was alive, healthy, a vital heart pumping blood to every capillary. Her body would fight off the decay to some degree before eventually losing the battle. So Jessica had to know how much time she had left. Only a man of Fielding's experience might be able to give ho- a time line. The word deadline, she had avoided; it had taken on a whole new meaning in this case since she had met and spoken with Father Pinwaring.
Fielding now wanted to show her some insect data, larvae that hatched from one of his bodies out at the Body Farm, determining some special facts about the type of mite he was currently fascinated with. He mumbled something about larval sacs having a kind of beauty all their own.
“Yeah, I expect they do, Dr. Fielding.”
“Are you staying over long enough to have dinner?” he then asked. “I would love to take you to dinner.”
She realized now how hard he had been staring at her, and why. She did not interest him as much as his insect findings, but she did interest him. “No, I'll be going directly back. Time being so limited, you see.”
“Of course. Maybe you'd like to return for another visit? Really get familiar with what we do here.”
“Perhaps in the future.”
“It does indeed sound like a most impossible case, an absolute horror. I certainly do not envy you your job, Dr. Coran.”
The man works nine to five studying decay in corpses, and he's pitying me, she glumly thought.
She stood to leave, and he insisted on walking her back to the waiting helicopter. “You know, all the variables that make it impossible for me to be precise on how long Maureen Decampe has to live could also be working in her favor, you realize?”
“The nights of dry lightning, no rain, drought conditions, yes, they have worked in her favor, I'm sure.” Jessica knew that decay fed more rapidly in dampness.
“But then a bam like you describe is in itself a micro- ecology,” countered Dr. Fielding, ushering her along the corridor and out into the light, “and it will be dimly lit, no sunshine, and little wind blowing through, if he's using it as a prison, a place to keep someone locked inside, and to keep others out.” Jessica nodded several times. “Then we must find her tonight.”
“But you understand, this is all assuming she has had no respite from contact with the decaying corpse.”
“What do you mean?”
“If her captor is wishing to prolong her agony, he will feed her, give her water, drag it out.” Fielding gritted his teeth and shook his head as if to shake out an image. “My God, all the years I've worked with decaying corpses, and it would never have occurred to me that someone could concoct so horrid a murder as you are suggesting.”
“Vengeance is a strong motivator, Syd, and often it acts as the mother of invention.”
Dr. Fielding's eyes opened beyond the sad, fleshy slits they had become with early middle age, working in the field he did. “You think the killer inventive? Imaginative?” He actually smiled like a teacher trying to embarrass her. Was it a trick question?
“Not really; he's just very familiar with images he's taken from the Bible.”
“I should like to learn more about this citizen among us.”
“I would love to tell you more, but I have to get back to the task force.”
“Sorry I couldn't have been of more help to you,” he said, accepting her hand in his, shaking it, and warmly smiling. “You remind me of a tenacious colleague of mine.”
“Oh, and who would that be?”
“Dr. Bass, of course, another jack bull.”
“Me... a terrier? Funny, I do seem to recall someone characterizing me as a tenacious bitch on more than one occasion.”
“Oh, no, I only meant it in the best possible light, that you are tenacious—a good quality to have for a medical examiner and seeker of truth.”
“Why, thank you. Doctor. I've been called just about everything, but that is the nicest thing I've heard in a long time.”
“You have a high PQ.”
“PQ?”
“Persistence quotient”
She smiled and again thanked him. They parted with promises to see one another again, Jessica telling him that when she could find the time, she would come for a longer visit to the facility.
The helicopter flight back gave Jessica the freedom to think; she weighed up everything they knew at this point including what Fielding had said about the variables quite possibly favoring that DeCampe remained alive still.
SIXTEEN
A case of serial murder is heinous, a hate crime awful, and a case of self-righteous and fanatical vengeance just as brutal as any ...
—FROM THE CASEBOOKS OF DR. JESSICA CORAN
TIME passed, and a number of possible leads were looked into without result. Everyone in and around the Washington, D.C., area having anything to do with crime fighting by now had learned what the task force was interested in. In fact, RE/MAX had become a half-joking battle cry. Then a phone call came in from the D.C. Police Department's Missing Persons Unit. A Detective Charles Price grumbled out that he had gotten wind they were interested in any Missing Persons case involving a realtor.
“What have you got for us?”
“Got your APB, so when a report came in sounding like the ball park...” After listening to what Price had to say, she replied, “And you say this is a RE/MAX local office? Give me the address where she works.” Jessica jotted the information down.
When Jessica looked up, she saw that all the others in the ops room were staring at her. “It's a case recently called in, a daughter worried about her mother. She coincidentally works for RE/MAX; left work and never got home. I'm going to interview her coworkers.”
THE realtor's name was Nancy Willis, and she had gone missing, and no one knew why. The partner's name was Carmella Drew, a leggy, well-dressed, and businesslike person with fine features and an unfortunate nose. Jessica asked her a series of questions, but Carmella made it clear that she knew nothing; in fact, she appeared to be so clueless that Jessica began to wonder if her business partner's disappearance had nothing whatever to do with Purdy and the DeCampe case, and all to do with a case of murder unraveling before her, one that involved getting rid of the bothersome business associate.
“So you have no idea whether she went out on a call or not?”
“No.”
“No record of an appointme
nt?”
“None, no.”
“I see. Did she keep a calendar? An appointment book?”
“She kept her appointment book with her at all times.”
“A desk calendar?”
“Yeah, her office. This way.”
Jessica scanned the calendar for a week before DeCampe's abduction. A look at her watch told her it was nearing nine P.M. She'd had to drag Carmella back to the closed office to have a look at Nancy's desk. “Any new clients recently who looked like this man?” Jessica asked, holding out the newly drawn composite of Isaiah Purdy.
“She didn't always check with me when she rented out a place. We each generate our own business, you see, and at the end of the month, we give out perks and benefits and bonuses if things are going well. Lately, we've had few things to cheer about.”
“So she didn't always bring clients into the office?”
“That, and I wasn't always here. I've only just returned from some time off.”
Jessica saw several names of prospective customers and appointments on the calendar. She read them off to the partner. “Any of these clients rent property out of the way, in a remote setting?”
“Lately, that's all anyone wants: remote, preferably with a moat.”
Jessica read the names aloud. “Gideon Brown, Mark and Marilou Piper, Damon Shaw.” They were all jotted down on days just before the abduction.
“Any of them ring a bell?”
“She closed deals with all of them. Let me see.”
“No, let me see your sales records.”
“That might speed things up,” she replied.
“I hope they're up to date and in order.”
“Around here? Don't bet on it.”
Jessica exchanged an exasperated look with Richard, who had stood back and allowed Jessica to deal with the frustrating woman.
“Here's the file room,” said the partner.
They looked into a closet in which boxes were piled high, most wedged between two upright filing cabinets. “Always going to get around to the filing next week,” she muttered, “but next week never comes. Well... knock yourselves out.”
“Whoa up... wait a minute. Are you in the least interested in locating your partner?”
She took in a deep breath. “The woman lives alone with her cat, and she's seeing someone, and by this time tomorrow, she'll come waltzing in here, a big smile on her face, and Nancy will wonder what all the fuss has been about. Her daughter is a little, you know, overprotective. You know how that is.”
“Has anyone called her boyfriend?”
“Her daughter said Dave doesn't know where she is either, but Nancy's, you know, a free spirit.”
“Was she upset with any of the people on that list I read you?”
“Come to think of it, she was complaining about one of them.”
“What kind of complaint was it? And which one?”
“Usual second-guessing. She did a lot of that. Not sure the person renting would be a good tenant, 'fraid he might destroy the place in one fashion or another. She'd go on about such things forever, so I always quit listening after a while.”
“Which tenant was she complaining about the loudest?” Sharpe's voice was the epitome of unmasked dislike, but it went right over this woman's head.
“Gee... I don't know. I remember it was one of the single men, Shaw or Brown, but which one, I couldn't tell you.”
“Can you tell us which properties the two men took?”
She scrunched her petite face into a wadded little ball and said, “Sorry.”
Richard had to fight the urge to strangle the woman.
“Look, where are the most recent contracts, ahhh... placed in here?” Jessica asked.
“Look in the in-bin, there in the comer.” She pointed but remained in the doorjamb.
“Gotcha, and thanks.”
“Don't mention it.”
“Don't worry “
Jessica and Richard tore into the stack of papers found below another stack covering the in-basket. “You want to order in some coffee?” asked Richard. “This could take some time.”
“No, let's work through. Here, you take this stack, and I'll take the other half.”
“Contracts are mixed with junk mail,” Richard complained.
“Watch for anything with Brown or Shaw on it.”
They fell silent, searching.
After a moment, finding nothing, Richard said, “You realize this could all be a blind alley, don't you?”
“Yeah... I know that, but I also keep thinking about Kim Desinor and the clock continues to run out for De-Campe.”
Richard bit his lower lip and nodded and continued to pore over papers.
Jessica then said, “On meeting Miss Manners in there, I thought maybe she did away with her partner or bored her to death, but now I admit, she's too stupid to murder someone and properly hide the body, and she likely knows this better than anyone, so...”
“Are you kidding, Jessica? Two or three bodies could be below all this paper.”
“Yeah, reminds me of my days in the dorm when everyone was sweating final research papers. The room was jammed with paper and books. Didn't see my roommate for three days. She was there... I could hear her... we called out to one another from time to time, but no... couldn't see her for all the paper.”
“Maybe we should just call out Nancy Willis's name. See if we get a faint voice from the other side,” joked Richard. Jessica laughed aloud. It felt good; she hadn't had much to smile about lately. “Mr. Gideon Brown! I got handwriting on a phone form here,” said an excited Richard. “It's requesting a rural or remote rental, something resembling a farm, he says, something with a bam. Wants a place he won't be bothered in his old age, where he can raise chickens and tend a few animals like when he was a boy in Illinois—says here.”
They took the note to Willis's partner, read it to her, and asked if she recalled anything unusual about this man Brown. Carmella said, “I did think him a bit odd, as I recall. Didn't care for the client in the least, and Nancy kept wondering what he could possibly want the old Killough place for. She told me she didn't like the feel of it—the deal that is, but again, I was only half listening. I had heard it all before, you see.”
Jessica turned to Richard and indicated the correspondence. 'Tell me there's a response clipped to it, an address?”
“No... says he will be in on the eighteenth and that he would be pleased if she had some suggestions for him.”
Jessica again tried jogging the memory of Miss Manners, but she had nothing further she could add, until Jessica's stare bore a hole into her head.
“All right. Let me see it,” said the partner, who had prepared two cups of steaming coffee for the FBI agents.
After handing the two law enforcement people their coffees, the woman studied the letter for some time. “Oh, yes, I do remember something else of Mr. Brown now. He called in once while Nancy was at lunch. Gruff, callous voice, raw, actually. He was in heat to speak to her, finalize things, and I couldn't help him, and he became angry with me.”
“Let me guess. He wanted to rent by the month?” asked Jessica.
“How'd you know? Oh, yes, of course, you are a detective, aren't you. But it was worse. He also wanted a kill fee.”
“A kill fee? Isn't that unusual?”
“Shows he was a shrewd man when it came to property. If things didn't in the end suit him, he could step out of the contract and regain most of his down payment, you see.”
“Why didn't you alert us to this earlier if it's so un-usual?” asked Jessica.
“You... you didn't ask if anything unusual had occurred in the context of client contract.”
“Oh... oh, I see,” mocked Jessica, but again the ridicule was wasted on this woman.
“Look, I told Nancy I didn't half blame him—about the kill fee, I mean.”
“Oh, and why's that?”
“The property abuts a chemical factory—actually, a paint factory
. It's rather a wasteland. It fronts a dump site. Place has been cited so many times for environmental damage by so many different agencies that no one knows who's handling the lawsuits anymore. “Jessica said, “I think I remember reading something about it, but that was years ago.”
“They've somehow managed to keep it in court all these years, and the place is producing less product, but still...”
Jessica replied, “If this man Brown is Purdy using an alias, I imagine the place suits the old man's needs perfectly.”
Richard concurred. “I can just see the old man disposing of two bodies there.”
“You think your partner, Willis, may have had second thoughts on renting the property to Brown? That she might have gone out there to have a look at how he was using the property?” Jessica asked.
“Actually, she does that sort of thing from time to time... all the time when things are slow. She's a bit of a busybody that way. Costs us a lot of clients. She's a dear, you know, a kind, big-hearted soul, but she has this one fatal flaw in this business.”
“Oh, what's that?”
“After the sale, you don't meddle. She meddles. Nancy can't really help herself; it's rather a compulsion with her. Every instinct against it, and yet she goes and meddles after the sale. Like some people have a compulsion to rewrite procedure manuals from one day to the next, she has this compulsion to know how a client uses the damned property, especially a rental.”
“Here's an agreement signed by Brown,” said Richard, waving it overhead, pleased with himself. “I think we can match the handwriting; it looks like the letter sent to the Post”
Jessica studied the agreement. 'Too bad he didn't bother to include a photo ID. The guy ponyied up cash, though. No plastic. Isn't that unusual these days?” asked Jessica.
“Yes, but we don't look down on the old-fashioned way. Money is money.”
“What about Shaw?” asked Sharpe, who now sipped at his coffee.
“Shaw?”
Unnatural Instinct (Instinct thriller series) Page 24
