Unnatural Instinct (Instinct thriller series) Read online

  “If we have your full cooperation, Mr. Marsden, you're outta here in the time it takes to answer a few questions.” Jessica's lie would have to suffice for now.

  The others all knew that with a confession of having killed his wife, they would have to return Dr. Marsden to the Georgia judicial system, likely to stand trial for mercy killing.

  The broken giant, tears in his eyes, asked, “You want to know how that man got her, don't you?” Marsden thanked Keyes, who offered him a handkerchief from her purse.

  Impatient again, Jessica held herself in check, saying, “Go on, Mr. Marsden.”

  “I saw how he zapped her.”

  “Zapped her?” Jessica perked up at this.

  “I heard the buzz and smelled the flesh bum. I was that close. In my usual comer.”

  “Go on,” encouraged Keyes.

  “She fell like a piano with no legs. After he zapped her, she went to her knees and right into him. She almost knocked him over with her weight. He dragged her to a van, put her inside, and drove out. That's all I know... all I know.”

  “Zapped her? Zapped her how?” repeated Jessica.

  Marsden looked again directly into Jessica's eyes. “One of them rods, an electronic gizmo you might use on a cow.”

  “A cattle prod?” asked Keyes. 'That's it.” Jessica, who had remained standing at Marsden's side, now stared across at Keyes. She had watched Dr. Keyes closely and again felt pleased with the woman's technique. She gave Marsden the feeling that he was the only person in the world she wanted to be with at the moment. She shrewdly nodded at everything he said, not flinching once, and her body language didn't give her away either, not even at the worst moments in the interview. At the same time, Keyes listened intently for every nuance, studying their only witness to the crime.

  “Are you sure of what you saw, Mr. Marsden?” asked Keyes, her glasses playing hip-hop with her eyebrows.

  “ 'Cause, he was a little guy... scrawny as a scarecrow. Clothes hung on him. No way he coulda overpowered that woman any other way.”

  Jessica asked, her eyes burning into Marsden, “At what age would you place the man who attacked her?”

  “Old... way old, you know.”

  “Old, how old?” asked a surprised Keyes, who, like the others, had been going by the usual profiling measures, which statistically placed the attacker at between the ages of eighteen and forty. “Define old.”

  “Granddaddy old. Looked like somebody's grand pappy. Wore a suit, but it looked like he'd slept in it more than once. All skin and bone, you know, sun-baked hound-dog- leather skin, you know, like they say in Georgia.”

  “Do you think you could describe him to a sketch artist, Mr. Marsden?”

  “For a hot meal and some coffee? Sure.”

  “Deal, sir. I'll just arrange to get an artist in here,” replied Jessica.

  “Sir... used to be my name... sir. Then the thing with Millie... hit me so hard, first her sickness, dealing with her mortality, and then... then having to do what I had to do...

  Jessica girded herself for this uncalled-for confession. She gritted her teeth before staring into Keyes's eyes, and then she stared at the one-way mirror at the back of the room. “Maybe we ought not say any more about Millie, Dr. Marsden.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Shannon Keyes, “let's keep that between... among us for now, OK? We can get you a court- appointed lawyer to discuss that with you.”

  Jessica added, “And Dr. Keyes here is a psychiatrist. You can tell her all about Millie later. How's that?”

  “Pains me to talk about it.”

  “I absolutely understand,” replied Keyes, smiling warmly and adding, “I think we all understand, Dr. Marsden.”

  “It's been a long ... way down... a whataya call it... free fall.” The big man had a feminine, even childish air about him. “Just walked away... right off the face of my life. Stopped making payments. Walked away... got on a bus, then a train... don't recall how I got to D.C., not really.”

  “I'm sure Millie was in a lot of pain,” offered Keyes.

  “Pain... we're talking horror. She had a rare form of cancer in the blood you don't often find in canines.”

  Both Jessica and Keyes found their mouths had dropped open. Now, staring at one another, they knew they had been had, not intentionally, but had nonetheless. Keyes falsified a coughing jag to cover her mirth.

  “Did you say canine, sir?” asked Jessica.

  “Millie was my support, my linchpin, my fulcrum, my unconditional love, and all round best friend. It's true what they say....”

  “But she was a dog, sir?” pressed Jessica. They shoot horses and dogs, don't they? ran through her mind.

  “She wasn't just a dog, detectives. You people... you all pretend to be so understanding and sensitive, but that's only a means to an end. With Millie and me ... there was never any inkling of that, ever. Not even when I put her outta her misery.”

  But Millie licked your face for food, thought Jessica; still, she censored herself, saying instead, “Well, sir, we certainly understand how much you must have loved Millie.”

  “Love... still do.”

  “Yes, of course....”

  Keyes, still crushing out a full-blown laugh directed as much to Jessica and herself for being so gullible, added, “That's... painfully obvious, Mr. Marsden.”

  Jessica imagined Richard, Santiva, and J. T. behind the one-way mirror, likely laughing it up on learning that the mysterious, ailing Millie had turned out to be a dog and not the man's wife or lover. For a moment, she wished herself to be behind the mirror, where she could safely vent her feelings at having wasted so much time over this interrogation. Still, Jessica felt both the room and the outer room fill with great relief that Marsden had not killed his wife but had put down his dog instead—animal euthanasia—still not a crime in America, despite all the lobbying to make it one by certain animal rights groups. One chimp in the news had his own lawyer now.

  “Ahhh, Shannon... Dr. Keyes, will you arrange for a Boston Market meal for Dr. Marsden while I arrange for a sketch artist?”

  “Absolutely, right away, Dr. Coran.” Keyes's rolling eyes told Jessica she could not wait to get out of there.

  “We'll want a complete description of the van the old, cattle-prodding guy used, too, Dr. Marsden. Did you get a clear look at it?”

  “Not real clear, no. A dark van, tinted windows. Didn't get the license plate, but it was curious, since it was out of state.”

  “Out of state?”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  “What state was it?”

  “Something like Iowa.”

  “Something like Iowa, or Iowa?”

  “Iowa, yeah... it was Iowa.”

  “Anything else distinguishing about the old man or his ride?” pressed Keyes, now held up at the door by the turn of the conversation.

  “It was spanking clean and brand new, one of those newest models, foreign-made for sure.... Couldn't tell you which, but large enough to hold two caskets side by side. Man looked like the Grim Reaper himself.”

  'Truly, sir, you do have a way with words,” replied Jessica, picturing this image. A van large enough to hold two caskets.

  “Did you ever at any time think that maybe you ought to... you know ... intervene, Dr. Marsden?” asked Keyes, an edge that had not been there before now creeping into her voice.

  “Hell, I can't straighten out my own life. I wasn't about to get involved, but I did kinda sorta confront the old man.”

  “You confronted him?” asked Keyes.

  “You had words with him?” asked Jessica. Both women approaching the old man anew, their eyes pinning him to where he sat. “How?” asked Jessica, her eyes telling the old man that she wanted every single word of this latest revelation, and she wanted them now.

  Marsden's voice quaked a little bit, a small anxious crackling sound, as if he might go either way, explode with words or contract into himself and say little or nothing. “Just after...”


  “Just after what?” Damn this man, Jessica thought.

  “Just after he... he put her into it.”

  “Into the van?”

  “Into the casket... the casket in the van.”

  “Whoa, wait up there, sir,” replied Jessica. “Are you saying that he actually did have two g'damn coffins in back of his van?”

  “God's honest truth, yes.”

  Again the women exchanged a long, amazed look. The conversation had held Keyes planted in the room, and she, like Jessica, had turned her full attention to Marsden. 'Tell us, sir, how you actually confronted the abductor.”

  “Well, maybe not confront... that may not be the word.”

  “What is the damned word?” Jessica felt on the verge of slamming her fists onto the table. The man infuriated her. Keyes must have sensed this. Shannon placed a soft hand over Jessica's and asked Marsden to go on. “I... I mean we had words. We spoke to one 'nother.” Just like that? Jessica wanted to scream. “What precisely did you say to him, sir?” she pleaded.

  “I asked him... let me see... asked if he thought... if he was... you know... if he was doing the right thing here.”

  “Jesus,” Jessica muttered. 'To which he replied?” asked Keyes calmly. “The old feller said something from the Bible straight out.”

  “What... what from the Bible did he say?” pressed Jessica, her back now like a staff.

  “He stood there eyeballing me like I was an old friend the whole time, but never letting his eyes off me, burned a hole through me.” Now came the explosion of words out of the former Georgia school principal's mouth.

  “What did the old man say to you?” Jessica again pressed. “Said, 'Fear not, for I am about the Lord's work, and you'—he said to me straight out—'you have come from God as a messenger, John out of the wilderness,' and how I was a sign... yeah, a sign.”

  “A sign?” asked Keyes.

  “A good sign that he was doing exactly as God intended him to do.”

  “Damn,” cursed Jessica. “We not only have a lunatic on our hands but one that is inspired by God's divine message.”

  “The worst kind,” agreed Keyes.

  Jessica's hand meandered across the table in Marsden's direction, stopping short of his. “You say he put the woman into a coffin in the van?”

  “Yes ma'am.”

  “And you let him leave without another word?” demanded Keyes, finally losing some of her control.

  “He had a look about him that told me it wasn't none of my business. Fact is, he had a strange look in his eyes.”

  Jessica kept eye contact with Marsden. “What kind of look is that, sir?”

  “Like he was doing what he said he was doing.”

  “God's work, you mean?” asked Jessica.

  “The business of God's work, yes, and his eyes... that look he had... told me I wasn't to interfere, that no one was to interfere.”

  “Is there anything else? Did he say anything else to you?” Jessica was glad the interrogation had been taped.

  “There was one other thing he said. He said, 'Who can know or judge God's work,' he said.”

  “I see.” Jessica stood again, turned, and spoke to the others behind the glass. “Sounds like our man is hearing voices from God.”

  “Or reading too much into 'Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord,' “ added Keyes.

  Jessica had to control her anger with Marsden. She sucked it up and returned to him, sat, and calmly asked, “You didn't think to call the police?”

  “He had two coffins in the back of his van!” Now Mars-den began to show some agitated anger, weakly defending his inaction. “Damn it, I didn't want to be put into the other coffin beside her, and that van... it smelled... smelled of a horrible odor.”

  “What kind of odor?”

  “Like decay and death all balled up into one.”

  “And you aren't exaggerating about the size of the van,” asked Keyes, “or that it contained not one but two coffins?”

  'Two coffins, side by side.”

  “This means she could be buried alive somewhere,” said Keyes, trembling.

  Marsden began to prattle, “I thought it was some old guy come to carry his woman or maybe even his child on back to a home she run from. I saw an old Iowa farmer come to fetch what belonged to him. Maybe she was his runaway wife or daughter, I told myself. Maybe he was rescuing her from a cult or something. How should I know?”

  “Daddy come to fetch his little girl with a box to restrain her in, all to save her from the big bad city, huh?” asked Keyes, shaking her head.

  “That's 'bout what I was thinking, ma'am,” replied Marsden to Keyes. “Like that, yeah. I didn't get a fair look at her to determine if it was the wife or daughter, but yeah ... that's why I didn't get involved. Thought it was family business, you know?”

  “Family business,” repeated Jessica, feeling weakened by this process of getting information out of this man. Still, she felt great relief that she had excluded Santiva and the other men from the questioning. Perhaps not Richard or J. T„ but Santiva most certainly would have shut Marsden down like turning off a faucet. At least she and Keyes had been patient in finding and turning that faucet on. Eriq Santiva would most likely have sent the mole scurrying to the dark underground of a splintered personality that existed deep within him, and they would have gotten little or no information from Marsden. Even J. T. might have exploded on learning that Marsden had wasted their time with a doggie death, while all this vital information about DeCampe's abductor remained off the table and inside the man's head.

  “Family business,” muttered Keyes.

  “That's 'bout what I was thinking, ma'am,” repeated Marsden, his eyes glued on Keyes yet vacant. “Like that, yeah,” he repeated. “Were you drunk at the time you witnessed the attack?” asked Jessica, looking for something mitigating about the sheer cowardice of the man.

  “Not nearly drunk enough. Bothered me some that I didn't help out that woman.”

  Jessica released a long breath of air. She had smelled Marsden's odors long enough. She stood beside him, where she slapped Marsden on the shoulder as if they had been lifelong friends, telling him how much he had already helped them. His worn, tattered coat reacted to the slap on his shoulder by sending up a flurry of dust and mites. Jessica backed off, saying, “Now you just quit blaming yourself for any of this, Dr. Marsden. If you'd gotten involved any more than you had, you might be down in our morgue right now and unable to help us one iota.” Certain amount of truth in that, she thought. “As it is, you've put us onto the right track.”

  “I have done that, haven't I?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Superintendent. Now relax here, and one of us'll send in some coffee and a meal and be right back, Dr. Marsden.”

  As Jessica hustled Keyes out and let the door close on Marsden, the man said, “You don't have to call me doctor no more, and I don't hold title to superintendent no more; I know it's just your technique to get friendly, but you don't fool me any, detective.”

  Not smart like Millie at all, am I? Jessica thought and felt a moment's relief to be away from the strange giant she'd left alone in interrogation.

  EIGHT

  And when the thousand years are expired, Satan shall be loosed out of his prison.

  —REVELATION 20:7

  JESSICA felt as if she had been in a marathon run when she stepped from the interrogation room. She wanted to grab old of Richard and hug him, but instead, she told him, “Keep your eyes on this nutcase. He can't be allowed to waltz out of here.”

  Richard stood alongside J. T., who stood beside Santiva at the one-way glass, where they had seen and heard the entire story. Santiva wore a smirk on his face.

  “What's so funny?” she asked Santiva.

  “Been a while since I've heard a good dog-saves-man story.”

  “I think he's mixed his milk toast with his rye once too often,” replied J. T.

  “Pitiful wretch, actually,” added Richard, his eyes still on Marsden.<
br />
  Keyes got in Jessica's face and asked, “Are we sure Millie's really a dog, Dr. Coran?”

  “No... Guess we can't be a hundred percent.”

  Santiva, biting his lower lip and shaking his head, re-plied, “Yeah, maybe somebody ought to contact authorities in Jasper, Georgia.”

  “Just to be sure?” asked J. T., a wide grin making him the Cheshire cat. “Did you get a load of that red scar along his neck? He's obviously been in some back-alley scrapes.”

  “Yeah, this dog will fight, but he didn't raise a hand to help the judge that night. Why?” asked Jessica, still angry with Marsden.

  Keyes raised an index finger and said, “Something about the old man's demeanor. All the biblical talk may well have frightened anyone, and if he had an insane look about him, carting two coffins about with him... not sure I'd get involved, either. Would you?”

  “Damn straight I would.”

  Keyes didn't blink. “I think Marsden may well have been half or fully blitzed at the time, and so that much more easily convinced that DeCampe's abductor was in fact doing the 'Lord's business,' as he put it, and with Marsden's pitiable self-esteem issues... hey, who's going to go out of his way to piss off God?”

  “Or his servant,” added Richard Sharpe.

  Jessica bowed to this notion, letting Marsden off the proverbial hook for now. She then turned to John Thorpe. “OK, J. T„ you're my main expert on rural America types. Look into Marsden's Jasper, Georgia, story. See how much of it checks out.”

  “Gotcha.” Jessica stared through the glass at the Rock Hudson- sized man inside. “Cleaned up, he might look like a Baptist preacher or a school superintendent.”

  “Yeah, Jack, why don't you check his story out,” Santiva, who liked calling J. T. Jack, piped in. “Keyes, see to getting the man some hot food and drink. Jessica, we need to talk.” Santiva asked Richard to cuff the strange man in the interrogation room to the table. For a moment, they all stared through the one-way window.

  “Yes, sir, Chief.”

  “I need a sketch artist inside with him, Eriq,” Jessica said.

  “Already called; she's on her way.”

  Jessica nodded as he took her arm and guided her out of earshot of anyone. “I'm getting a great gob of loaded heat from upstairs. They want some bone thrown their way, Jess, something—anything—I can take back. How much of this guy's story do you believe?”