Absolute Instinct jc-11

by Robert W. Walker

  “Good. I'm glad those field operatives who were late picking us up at the airport weren't getting signals from you or your staff to do so. That takes a great deal off my mind and the director's.”

  “I hope you will convey my apologies to Mr. Fischer… ahhh… that is when you next speak to him. I had no idea such… games were being played. But you hafta understand how high emotions are running here on the eve of Towne's execution.”

  “Can we cut to the chase, Governor?”

  “Absolutely.” He sipped at his brandy, took a long pull on his cigar, and stood, coming around his desk. There he leaned his considerable behind into the sharp apex of the edge where two sides met. She thought him a water buffalo scratching an itch where the sun had never shone. He rubbed at the itch through his tailor-made pants. From his new position, he towered over her where she sat. “Indulge more, Dr. Coran,” he said with undisguised abandon now that Dornan had again left the room and he found himself completely alone with Jessica.

  She shook loose from her head the awful picture of him nude. She got up and paced the room, putting some distance between them.

  Jessica, huddled near the window, keeping her distance. Using a conference table, she spilled out autopsy photos, including those of the two victims from Minnesota and Wisconsin as if in error. It effectively stopped his advance.

  “What's the matter, Governor? Can't you handle the truth? Go ahead, look at them.” She held up Sarah Towne's autopsy photo. “All three women are victims of the same brutal monster, the single Spine Thief. In all three cases neither the killer nor the backbones have been dragged into the light, no recoveries. Only questions.”

  “Exactly, all you have are questions. I see no new evidence laid before me.”

  “Your own prosecutors never found the goods to positively link Towne with his wife's murder. Now we will have compelling new DNA evidence coming out of the two-year-old Minnesota case, and we are building a case in Milwaukee against the real culprit.”

  He pointed to the clock on the wall over his shoulder. “You're telling me nothing that will stop time, Dr. Coran. That's not going to happen unless I see some real proof. While I don't doubt your sincerity, emotion alone cannot sway me from my duty.”

  “All right, we have a match on the killer's blood type, and further tests will reveal the killer is not even a black man, and soon after we will have the real killer's precise DNA fingerprint, sir, and that, combined with the vigilantism obvious in the court transcript that proves Towne could not get a fair trial here is all the more reason to warrant a stay of-”

  “A few days while you run tests. Will you remain here during that time?” he asked.

  “If that's what it takes. Until we get the results from Cellmark on the DNA.”

  “Quite a speech, Doctor. Perhaps you can sell it to the press, but I remain unmoved.”

  “But the blood type found at the scene of the crime in Millbrook, it…”

  “It what, Dr. Coran?”

  “It does not match Robert Towne's blood type!” she lied.

  “Really? I'm flabbergasted.”

  “So you can't possibly contemplate going ahead with this execution knowing that?”

  “Like the Titanic, this ship is set on a course, and it will take an iceberg to keep it from its destination, Doctor, and your little fib about the blood test isn't quite a big enough chunk of ice, nor do I see two-year-old blood scrapings suddenly uncovered in a lab in St. Paul-quite possibly engineered by the brother out there in the hallway-”

  “Christ,” she muttered. “The blood was scraped from the dead woman's nails during a formal, on-the-record exhumation overseen by a competent M.E. and one of our top agents.”

  “Yes, your live-in lover, I am given to understand.”

  She rankled at this. She knew any moment now she would so lose it as to be escorted out of the building. The man was infuriating. “You had me investigated, too, then.”

  “I like to know with whom I am conducting business, and it appears from the casual observer that you Eastern FBI folk have some sort of pool going as to whether or not you can come clear across the country and tell us what to do in Oregon.”

  “Geez, how did you ever get elected governor?”

  “Good old-fashioned politicking, dear. Want that brandy now? I know from your dossier, Dr. Coran, you tend to drink a little heavy in times of stress.” He poured her a large tumbler with the emblem of state on it. “The three of you, Sharpe, Towne's brother, and yourself, Doctor, to any out-sider, you look like a crusading clique bet up out of some misguided notion gotten up at a liberal prayer meeting, like one of those Baptist revival meetings. Now take the g'damn brandy and drink.”

  “Are you going to look at these other bodies, Hughes?”

  He stood holding the brandy out to her, his eyebrows rising and lowering as if suggesting they get a great deal closer before he consider anything further she had to say on the subject. “Toast gets buttered on both sides in Oregon, Dr. Coran…Jessica. May I call you Jessica'?” he asked again.

  “No, you may not”-she registered his shock at this- “and I'm not here to butter your toast. I believe you have Dornan to do all the buttering up you require. Now it's time for you to recognize the extraordinary detective work on the part of the accused's brother, Agent Darwin Reynolds and Agent Richard Sharpe. You vile man. All this time you've strung this out, entertaining Darwin's calls, his letters, seeing him tonight, all just a fucking game with you, all just to watch him squirm for Towne's life while you never once considered the man's innocence, not once!”

  “Of course, I have! Who in his right mind… in this position… Look here, all has changed. Knowing what motivates Reynolds is blood. The man's prejudiced in the extreme. He's family. His brotherly affection for Towne is what drives him. Even Hitler had a mother someplace who likely kept saying, 'My boy couldn't possibly do such awful things.'“

  “No doubt, but Towne is no Hitler, and Agent Reynolds has compiled an impressive list of items that surely must give you pause.”

  “Pause is one thing, a reprieve is quite another. This state has a long-standing history of punishing the guilty, Dr. Coran, and that means carrying through with jury decisions. And who am I, one man, to overturn a jury decision?”

  He let the unspoken unless hang in the air.

  “You're not simply one man, sir. You represent the pinnacle of law in your state. You are governor.”

  “I am quite aware of my office!”

  “Then exercise it for a change!”

  They glared across the crime-scene photos at one another. She finally broke the icy stare and silence, saying, “Suppose, just suppose in the next few weeks or months we can prove beyond a shadow of a DNA-fingerprinted doubt that Robert W. Towne is indeed innocent of murdering his wife in this hideous fashion, at a time when your execution machine here has already rolled on Towne? If he is summarily killed by you, by your jury, by your great state of Oregon, and the world learns of his innocence, what then? How will that play out on national TV? Do you think the sympathy vote will swing your way or to an opponent who will be only too willing to also play politics with this execution?”

  “Nice speech, Doctor, but conversely, if I don't allow that switch to be pulled on time, and Towne is proved guilty once more by your precious DNA print?”

  “Then what will it have hurt?”

  “The integrity of this office and state! Besides, my political enemies will play that card just as quickly.”

  “Do you hear yourself, Governor? You are playing politics with a man's life.”

  “A confessed killer who is deemed guilty by the system. A man who refused his own defense appeal.”

  “A system we know is flawed.”

  “What in life isn't flawed?” He touched her, his hand going to her breast.

  Jessica flinched and pulled away. “I assure you, Governor Hughes, I am not sleeping with you so that you can hold the power of your position over me. You can forget whateve
r cesspool notions are swimming round in your-”

  Darwin pushed open the door. “You need help in here, Jess?”

  “No, no Darwin. We're just getting a little heated on the debate here. Wait outside now, go!”

  She watched Hughes watch Darwin go quietly back outside. “You've certainly got him well trained. You could train me, Jess, and afterward, we can talk about this Towne affair in more… shall we say depth.”

  “We have a DNA comparison… from blood found in Minnesota during the exhumation, blood not the victim's, blood that proves it could not have been Towne who-”

  “Killed some woman in Minnesota. We are in Oregon, darling. It does not sway me. Too many variables. The so-called evidence has passed through too many hands, too many opportunities to taint it, and one too many relatives involved in gathering this evidence.”

  “No way, this comes directly from Cellmark of St.-”

  “Do you have any idea what kind of crucifixion I would have to endure if Towne is shown mercy?”

  “Just postpone it. Just do it. Do the right thing.”

  His response was to again attempt to put his hands on her. She backed along the table, lifting the autopsy photos and files she'd dumped there. “I think we're through here.”

  He placed a hand over hers. “Of course, I will look at any new and compelling evidence you bring me, Dr. Coran, the operative words being new' and 'compelling'. And I will entertain your suggestions, but I cannot promise you or Agent Reynolds anything. Is that understood?”

  “Be open to the new evidence that is on the way from Minnesota as we speak,” she calmly replied. “That is all I ask.”

  He pressed in against her when suddenly Mrs. Dornan stepped in. “It's your wife, Governor, on line one. She's insistent, sir.”

  Hughes had backed off with a calm born of practice when Dornan had broken the silence in the room. Hughes loudly said to Jessica, “So far, I see nothing in my possession that warrant's a stay of execution. I'm sorry.” To Dornan he added, “I'll get it, Agnes.”

  “I was just leaving,” Jessica said, joining Dornan for the exit.

  “When your Agent Sharpe arrives from Minnesota, I will gladly look over any new information that warrants my attention, Dr. Coran.”

  She thanked him from the safety of the door.

  When they were on the other side of the door, Dornan said to Jessica, “It can't be easy on James… ahhh… the governor. It's so troubling, this whole matter of holding a man's life in one's palm.”

  Yeah, unless you get a kick out of it, Jessica thought but only said, “Some phantom killer running loose over the moors doesn't seem to bother him in the least. What about you, Mrs. Dornan?”

  “Sometimes the facts don't make for good copy for any of us. The idea that a man can do such a thing to a woman with impunity and… and remain free to roam, but somewhere in all of it… someone must pay.”

  “But we must not execute Towne for the actions of this fiend or our failure to recognize our shortcomings.”

  Mrs. Dornan bridled at this as if it were a personal attack on her. “I'm sure Governor Hughes will see your Agent Sharpe and the two of you again when and if you come bearing something in the nature of new and compelling evidence. What other step can he take?”

  Jessica nodded and took in a deep breath. “Agreed, and thank you, Mrs. Dornan. Do keep the light burning for us.” “You make a persuasive opponent, Doctor. Most persuasive. Debate society?”

  “When in college, yes.”

  “Impressive. Perhaps you ought to teach young Reynolds a thing or two about negotiations.”

  “Yes, I will do that.”

  Jessica left the governor's personal assistant, not believing she'd made any headway with either her or Hughes. She found Darwin pacing the outer hallway like an expectant father.

  “What'd he say? What's the upshot of it all? Tell me.”

  “He's going to give Richard Sharpe a hearing as soon as he arrives.”

  “What about all that we brought him, the theory, the pattern, the blood type?”

  “He's not interested in theories and patterns, Darwin, or tests not yet performed. He wants-”

  “But it's a pattern crime, and it's going to be repeated as sure as we're standing here.”

  “He needs hard, irrefutable evidence, Darwin. And we've got to pray Richard's found it.”

  “We still need to compare whatever Sharpe finds in Millbrook with Robert's DNA strand, and we're running out of fucking time, Jess.”

  “I know that, Darwin. I know.”

  “Get on the phone with Sharpe. Find out where the hell he's at. Get-”

  She raised up both hands to him. “Whoa up, Darwin. Calm down! We're going to get Richard here in time. We have to.”

  “Call him.”

  “When we are back at the inn, I'll call him, and I'll let you know when we can expect to get out to the airport to greet him. Meanwhile, we'll have the local FBI lab prepped and ready to do the blood typing and the DNA match, so it does not look like the fix is in.”

  Darwin visibly calmed, nodding. “OK… OK…” “We've got the governor to agree to this step. We're batting a thousand, Darwin,” she lied.

  “That'd be great if this was a fucking baseball game.”

  Darwin stormed off ahead of her, going out the huge doors and into the Oregon night. She dropped her head and sighed. In a moment, she found him on the mansion steps, seated, head in hands, slumped and quietly holding back tears. Jessica allowed him a peaceful moment before sitting alongside and placing an arm over his shoulder.

  He muttered, “Robert doesn't deserve this… doesn't deserve any of this.”

  “I know… I know… He's his own worst enemy, Darwin. If he'd gone for appeal, we'd have had months to prove him innocent.”

  “The blood test'll prove it. Hell, I know it will. Then they've gotta listen.”

  She allowed him this, his final illusion. Secretly, she prayed Richard would somehow miraculously be waiting for them at the inn with the DNA strand they so needed.

  Later the same night at the Minneapolis Airport

  “I can't believe I missed the fucking plane out of here,” Richard Sharpe complained to Brannan.

  “Hey, there's another one in a couple of hours. At least you've got the goods from the lab, right?”

  “Not exactly, no.”

  “Whataya mean, 'no'?” Brannan replied with a short inward gasp that spoke of a developing ulcer.

  “They're going to hot-wire the results over the Internet to the FBI lab in Portland. It's the best I could do under the circumstances. Just hope it's not too late.”

  “I'll stay behind… sit on 'em for you.”

  “That might help. Thanks, Brannan.” “Hey, this was my case first.”

  Sharpe nodded. “Dr. Howland says they simply need more time and can't perform miracles.”

  “What exactly can they hot-wire over the Net that will be useful to create a match-or hopefully a mismatch- with the DNA sample here?”

  “Basic results. A replica of the DNA strand. Definitely something they can match up with what Oregon has on our man on death row.”

  “OK, all right… good… You did well, here, Sharpe. Don't berate yourself. Go on to Portland with the blood-type confirmation, and don't worry. I'll stay on Howland and her people.”

  “Buy you dinner?”

  “Nah, better get back. No decent food in the whole damn airport, and besides I'm off fast foods-fries, soft drinks. Doc's orders.”

  They shook hands again.

  “Sorry you gotta fly commercial, that your field office couldn't get you a lift.”

  “It'll be all right. I just have to fly to San Francisco and make a connecting flight to Portland. Seems crazy, but there you have it.” Sharpe waved him off.

  “I miss my days of the red-eye flights,” Brannan shouted over his shoulder.

  “Not me,” muttered Sharpe.

  Even though Brannan looked to be earnestly shuffling o
ff, the Millbrook detective turned and held up a thoughtful index finger to his temple. “Hey, pal. You mean to tell me that you informed the Minneapolis field office what this is all about, and still they couldn't get you out on something?”

  “ 'Fraid so.”

  “I used to be a detective in Houston, Texas, you know. Did a lot of extradition work, flying all over for the job. You think to try Flying Tigers?”

  “The cargo-transport people?” “I've used them on occasion. They can be quite cooperative with law enforcement. Most of 'em are gung-ho retired military.”

  “I'll give it a go.”

  Sharpe, with time to kill, went in search of the Flying Tigers hangar. As he made his way through the terminal and out on the tarmac, guided by a security guard, he telephoned Jessica in Portland.

  Jessica brought Richard up to date with the bad news about the stubborn idiocy of Governor Hughes. She did not want to tell him about the man's leering advances. She didn't want either Darwin or Richard to go rushing at Hughes like an angry pair of bulls. They hadn't as yet played every card, and they might need J. J.'s dubious help somewhere down the line.

  “Just pray the lab has the DNA map done and forwarded by time you get here,” she told him, putting a finger to his image on the phone screen.

  “I take it you've softened up the governor for our presentation.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “You mean he's at least willing to entertain the idea we may have uncovered new evidence and to give us a fair hearing?”

  “Let's just say he's willing to listen.”

  “I see. Everything hinges on the outcome of tests here. I wish we had more time.”

  “Mean time this waiting period.”

  “I know it's hard on you, Jess.”

  “Swore I wouldn't get this emotionally involved but it's so easy to fall into it, you know?”

  “Of course I do. And what's the alternative for people who do what we do, love? I certainly don't wish to return to the jaded, cold, unfeeling person I was before… well, before we met.”

  “Nor I… Nor I.”