Grave Instinct Page 7

  Jessica exchanged a look with J.T. No one wanted to break such news to the family in a normal death, let alone a mutilation death, and yet they had to have a positive ID. The two previous victims had been identified and put to rest, so those parents, family and friends at least had the closure of a burial. “Part of the killer's MO has been to take with him anything that might help officials identify the victim,” J.T. said to Combs.

  Combs replied, “Worst part of the job. I told the possible parents that it would be easier on them after we got her to the morgue, that they could view the body through a window, but they're adamant and on their way here.”

  “Determining where she entered the water might well be of help in the investigation,” Jessica said, changing the subject. “Might locate some tire prints, some cigarette butts.”

  “We can only hope.”

  They now stood on the dock, high over the boat captain in the hull. Abrams's clothes marked him as a working crewman as well.

  “Dr. Coran, Dr. Thorpe, meet Captain Abrams.”

  “Permission to come aboard, sir?” Jessica asked the skipper.

  He laughed in response. “You know how many people have come and gone here? You're the first to ask permission.”

  “So, may we?”

  He returned his cap to his head. “Why not? Permission granted. I'm going to find a drink.” He stormed off to his pilothouse.

  Jessica noticed the tarp someone had positioned over the body, and now she and J.T. went toward it. J.T grabbed hold of the tarp and pulled it down to the victim's chest area. Jessica went to her knees beside the dead girl and tore the cover away entirely. She found the body now just as it had been described to her—as having been rolled. The victim lay on her stomach, no visible sign of injury. “Help me turn her, carefully.”

  J.T. did so as the others held back. When the body was fully turned, Jessica heard Police Chief Sheay, standing well back, moan and say, “My God, Cutter. Do you see what this butcher did to her?”

  “Gentlemen,” said J.T., “this is surely the third such victim found in this horrid condition within a month. But it's not a butcher's job he's done on them.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Chief Sheay.

  “The cutting open of the skull, the manner in which it's been done here . . . this is no amateur at work. He's highly skilled with a scalpel and bone saw.”

  Jessica let them know she agreed with J.T. “Scalpel, bone saw, forceps. The killer had all the right tools for his ends.”

  “Forceps?” asked Combs.

  “He had to have used forceps to snatch hold of the brain and remove it through the front like this,” Jessica explained. “It's as if he's trained to do it or has seen it done. It only happens on autopsies. Brain implants or brain surgery usually leaves only an oval in the affected area.”

  “But this guy wants the entire brain,” said Combs.

  “Why?” asked Sheay, handkerchief covering his nostrils and mouth.

  “To eat it, to weigh it, to dissect it?” asked Special Agent Henry Cutter. “We don't pretend to know why, Chief. Even the FBI's never seen this kind of thing before.”

  “If we knew why, it might help us find him,” said J.T. “But we honestly can only guess at his motives.”

  Jessica added, “Our earlier examinations have shown that he uses a surgical saw, rotary style from the findings we've seen. Makes clear striations against the bone. If we could locate this guy and his saw, we could nail him on the saw markings to the skulls alone.”

  “How do the other victims compare to this one? Physically, I mean,” asked Cutter, stepping closer, wincing at the wound.

  “Approximate size and shape, hair color difference, color of eyes no match.” Jessica bent down and stared into the eyes to determine an answer to her own question. “Blue. The others had brown and hazel eyes.”

  “So he isn't too picky. Not in search of a specific type with blue eyes, brunette hair, size, weight?” pressed the hawk-nosed Cutter.

  “It appears his only interest is what lies inside their skulls,” replied Jessica. “None of the previous victims were raped either. Tests are likely to show the same here, I suspect.” She examined the eyes more closely for any telltale signs of strangulation—the minuscule red dots of hemorrhaging in the eyes. She found none. She next felt about the exterior of the throat for any damage there, and other than the now-familiar restraint marks at the throat and temples, where the head had been held in place by some elaborate restraint, she found nothing of particular note, certainly no merciful sign of strangulation. “J.T., that medical head strap you brought,” she said, hand out. J.T. obliged, handing the strap to her.

  She fitted it about the neck and head of the deceased. It matched perfectly against the head restraint marks left on the girl. “That tears it. This guy knows medical supplies, John.”

  “And no signs of strangulation?” asked J.T.

  “None.”

  “Like the others.”

  The two M.E.s knew that this indicated a death that came with the shock of having one's skull split open by a bone cutter.

  Agent Cutter asked, “Any sign of drug use in your earlier victims?”

  “The only significant amount found in either was the drug Demoral.”

  “Demoral?”

  “Used mainly as a sedative and muscle relaxant,” said J.T.

  “Found in both prior victims, and no apparent injury to any other part of the body. We've determined that they all died while alive—while under this madman's scalpel and saw.”

  “That's what the autopsies show?” Combs's obvious empathy for the victims showed in her eyes now.

  “Afraid so. This guy works methodically. We've found residue of red marker. He maps out the cut just after shaving the hair away from the crown and eyebrows. His first incision is with the scalpel, after which he brings the bone saw to bear along the scalpel lines. We've determined that he is left-handed from the angle of the pressure he brings to bear on the marker.”

  “And he'll strike again?”

  “If he can, yes.”

  Combs hesitated. “Strange, all so strange . .

  The case was indeed strange, Jessica thought. “It fits no pattern I've ever seen in all my years as a forensic scientist.”

  Jessica examined the bruised wrists and ankles, noting that they appeared to have been caused by handcuffs. J.T. concurred.

  “Well then . . . if her head and limbs were restrained . . .” Combs's light brown eyes grew dim.

  “Then we know the killer has mapped out his every move,” said J.T.

  Jessica said, “Be clear on one thing, people. It's not enough that the bastard kill her. He wanted her to know what he was doing, wanted her conscious. He wanted her brain still palpitating when he got to it.”

  “So if he's eating it, he wants it fresh and warm,” added J.T.

  “And he's into torture as well as murder.” Combs almost choked on her deep sigh. “You have no doubt of that?”

  “None.”

  A policeman escorted a well-dressed couple to the crime scene. They were in search of their missing daughter. The couple clung to one another as if for breath and life. Supporting one another like a pair of beams that had fallen over, the father introduced himself and his wife as the Mannings. He looked as shattered and fearful as she.

  Finally, they mustered the courage to come close enough for a look. The sight of the victim caused her to faint, and he fell to his knees holding her. “It's Amanda. . . . It's our little girl!” moaned the tearful father. “My God, what have they done to her?”

  Combs got the parents up and off the boat with the help of uniformed officers. The sad processional going from wharf to street level was heartrending to watch. Like two children in the dark, the parents stumbled the entire way.

  “Jane Doe has a name now,” said J.T.

  “Amanda . . . Amanda Manning,” replied Jessica, who stepped away from the body long enough to breathe in the air coming over the rive
r.

  “They'll want the body released as soon as possible, Dr. Coran,” said Combs upon her return.

  “Yes, certainly. We'll do all we can to accommodate Amanda's parents.”

  Jessica and J.T. returned to the body and began the work of gathering microscopic data in vials and on slides. Jessica studied the fine features of a young woman barely out of her teens, a dimpled cheek and a lovely curvature to the face and eyes, accentuated by a slim nose. All of it and the girl's life marred by the missing forehead and empty skull, marred by a madman's twisted and awful designs.

  Just then a shaft of sunlight illuminated the dark cavity of Amanda's empty cranium, and Jessica stared into that well, as if studying it might release some answer to the mystery.

  “Well . . . let's get the morgue involved,” said J.T, about to wave on the attendants.

  Combs agreed, adding, “Amanda will be waiting for you at the FDLE morgue, Dr. Coran.”

  “Wait. . . There's something else here,” Jessica said, her eyes widening as the other two started away. “Something inside her skull.”

  J.T. and Combs got down close to see what Jessica referred to. J.T. fully expected Jessica had found some small crustacean had taken up residence inside the empty skull. “What is it?” he asked, his nose bristling with the odor of dead fish ground into the boards of the old boat.

  “It's etched inside the back wall of the cranium . . . some sort of mark or ... or symbol, I think,” said Jessica. “Must be something the killer intentionally left behind. He's trying to tell us something.”

  J.T. crouched in closer and his knees popped as he looked into the space of the empty skull and at the back wall. Seeing the mark, he added, “Definitely not of nature's doing.”

  Combs bent even closer in over the body. “What is it?”

  “A ... a circle sitting atop a cross.” Jessica drew the sign on a small yellow pad fetched from her case. She held it up to them, and everyone studied the strange glyph.

  “Looks like some kind of religious cross or other icon. But in this context. . . What does it mean?” asked Combs.

  “I'm not sure.”

  The boat captain, Abrams, had reappeared and was studying the sign on the pad. “The upright line like the number one represents upright man, the horizontal line crossing it represents the horizon, while the circle atop the vertical and horizontal represents God.”

  “Was this symbol found on the other two victims?” asked Combs.

  “Unless they missed it... I mean it was nowhere on the protocols. Maybe it was missed.”

  “The sign wasn't on the other two,” said J.T. “I read the reports, too.”

  “Can you go back, take another look?” asked Combs.

  “Both of them have since been buried,” J.T explained.

  Jessica sighed heavily and shook her head. “I'm certain the attending M.E. would have seen it if it was there.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “Who can say? Perhaps that he's doing this out of some holy crusade only he understands.”

  “Son of a bitch is so twisted he thinks God approves of what he's doing?” Combs had to move away. She went toward the front of the boat and stared across the river at the teeming city coming to life, morning rush hour in full swing now, an army of cars passing over the 295 overpass. Jessica joined her there.

  You OK, Sheriff?”

  “No ... are you?”

  “No . . . not really. Hell of a number this guy did on her.” On the outside, Jessica knew she presented the picture of calm, but inside she shivered each time she looked back at the corpse's head.

  Combs lit up a cigarette and offered one to Jessica, who waved off. They both fell silent a moment, each with her own thoughts until Combs said, “You think you've seen it all, then something like this comes along. Blows your mind.”

  “Yeah ... I know ... I know the feeling.” After a moment, Jessica added, “Agent Cutter wants to set up a joint task force—state, county, city and federal involvement.”

  “I already told Cutter fine. I have no jurisdictional ego battles in my department. Whatever works . . . whatever gets us this . . . this creature.”

  “Murder still gets the chair in Florida, right?” asked Jessica, the wind coming off the river playing havoc with her auburn hair.

  “It's too good for this guy, but it's the best we can do. What he really ought to face—”

  “I know,” concurred Jessica.

  “—is the kind of torture he put his victims through. God, can you imagine having your head cut open while you're alive?”

  “And under no anesthesia,” Jessica added. “As for the parents, they don't need to know the details until and unless they insist.”

  Combs nodded and took another long pull on her cigarette. Jessica returned to the body to finish her preliminary examination. Everyone had fallen silent. Jessica spoke to J.T. “Imagine Amanda Manning when she was filled with life and love, J.T., filled with tenderness, pity, heartache, sorrow, contentment, jealousy, frustration, shame, despair, pride, triumph, hatred, rage, accomplishment.”

  “Anima,” said J.T., summing it up. “Her anima was taken along with her organ. I know.”

  “All her noisy, boisterous, excitable, passionate, determined, anxious self—stolen in one night of horror.”

  “Now it's all gone,” added Combs, standing nearby.

  J.T. had been sketching out the scene on a pad to indicate precisely where the body was in relation to objects around it. He sadly noted that since they were on a boat, there really were no fixed objects unless the boat was tied down permanently.

  “Do your best with what we've got, J.T.”

  Jessica took scrapings from beneath the victim's nails. Combs asked, “Do you think that Amanda ripped some skin or blood from her assailant?”

  “I wouldn't count on it, but only time and tests will tell,” Jessica replied. “You can wave in those ambulance attendants now, if you will, Sheriff.”

  FIVE

  The descent to Hades is the same from every place.

  —ANAXAGORAS, 428 B.C.

  Evening, the following day

  JESSICA found her room at the Ocean View Inn on Jacksonville Beach perfect not because of the spectacular view of the Atlantic, but because it had a bed. Exhausted, she kicked off her shoes and fell into the bed's soft comforter fully clothed, wanting only to lay there a moment and relax and rest her eyes.

  Jessica had found the stiff, proper Agent Henry Cutter to be a man of his word, determined to rid Jacksonville and the state of Florida of this ghoulish fiend the press had been calling Skull-digger. Cutter had spent the day debriefing his command and putting them on the street in pursuit of leads. Such activity went on as Jessica spent the day doing a thorough autopsy of Amanda “Mandy” Manning to confirm what she expected to find. She and J.T. believed beyond any doubt it was the work of the same man who had struck in Richmond and in Winston-Salem. Her report to Cutter and the FDLE read that Amanda had not been sexually abused, in keeping with previous victims. Their final judgment: trauma by bone saw to the cranium, causing hemorrhagic shock and eventual death. While the autopsy earlier that day went as smoothly as could be expected, given the extent and nature of the crime, Jessica had to make the difficult call of violating young Amanda Manning once again—and at the head—because Jessica wanted the portion of the back wall of the interior skull carrying the only message left for them by the killer. She wanted it removed and preserved for study under the largest microscope she could find. There might well be clues within the clue, she had told Combs, Cutter and the others.

  Cutter balked at the idea, saying a high-resolution photograph would do just as well. Combs agreed and said, “The girl's been violated enough.”

  “No, it's too important. It needs microscopic analysis,” Jessica countered. “It could save lives.”

  “You're talking about mutilating what's left of the skull, Dr. Coran, and for what?” asked Cutter. “An artifact that may well p
rove useless in the investigation?”

  “Take it up with Chief Santiva. I'm taking the 'artifact,' as you call it.”

  “To add to your collection?” Combs asked, her eyes narrowed.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Jessica stood eye to eye with the sheriff.

  “We're not backwoods people here, Dr. Coran. We know your reputation for taking on the weirdest cases in recent history. In fact, such cases have built your reputation.”

  “Listen, Sheriff Combs, you asked me in on the case, remember?”

  “As a courtesy and only because you had an APB out on this guy's MO,” Combs shot back.

  “I'm taking the bone fragment.”

  “Not before I have a chance to talk to Santiva,” replied Cutter, intervening. “I'm the special agent in charge here, Dr. Coran.” It was their first argument, and it didn't bode well. Cutter and Combs stormed out.

  “Lotta emotion flying, Jessica,” said J.T. “So ... I guess we wait until we hear back from Cutter? Meanwhile, somebody's got to explain the delay to the parents. They want the body released ASAP.”

  Jessica didn't hesitate. “I'll need your assistance, John, and get us a couple of attendants to turn Amanda facedown.”

  “Are you sure, Jess?”

  “It's too important to bury with her, especially if it has already been buried with two other victims.” She went to the phone, contacted Santiva and informed him of the disagreement, telling him, “You've got to stand with me on this one, Eriq, no matter what arguments Cutter or Combs may feed you.”

  Eriq proved more curious about the mark inside the cranial cavity than in the disagreement about how to proceed with it. “Why haven't we seen it before? What did you say it looks like?”

  “We're going ahead with the cut, Eriq. I'll be sending it to HQ for analysis if I'm not sent packing, in which case, I'll personally bring it to you.”

  With the help of attendants, they turned Amanda. Jessica pleading with them to be careful not to create a' coroner's snap—a broken neck from careless handling. After the attendants left, Jessica assured J.T., “I'll make the cut as small as possible.”