04.Final Edge v5 (16 page)

"Detective Stonecoat is a great believer in the power of the olfactory nerves to bring back visual memories, Stu. Being a psychiatrist, I'd have to agree."

"It is, after all, the first sense used in tracking an animal," Lucas commented.

"I tell you, there was something odd clinging to this guy ……."

"Go on," urged Lucas, "an odor like the inside of a really raunchy pair of old sneakers perhaps?"

"No...not exactly."

"Or the back room of a moldy tenement?"

"Yeah...mold, only...only a little different than that...something like...like mildew, only added to a faintly nauseating chemical odor."

"Chemical odor?"

"You know, like you smell in a hospital."

"Excellent," said Meredyth. "You do remember something, Mr. Long, and it's more than a medium memory."

"Oh, and there's something else I remember that was unusual about the guy now," replied Long. "He had this mole right here on his left cheek." Long pointed to the spot. "Like...like that kid character in the Waltons, John Boy? Only...only there was a nasty hair growing out of this mole. Damn, I didn't tell that to the sketch artist."

"Anything else?" pressed Lucas.

"Keep recalling that odor on his clothes, on his skin," added Meredyth. They both knew that recalled odors brought back more recall in the visual imagery centers of the cortex.

Long announced, "His eyebrows were black."

"And so how is that important?" urged Meredyth.

"Well, his hair was blond...maybe dyed. Maybe that was the smell coming off him? I told the artist he had blond hair, but now I think about it, the roots were dark, and definitely the eyebrows were dark brown or black. Didn't get that detail into the sketch either."

Lucas asked, "You sure it wasn't a wig?"

"Could've been...I suppose."

"Did the sketch artist give you his card?"

"Yeah, she did. I'll give her a call. In the meantime, Dr. Sanger, you'll want to see the early edition of the Chronicle." He held the newspaper in his hands up to her. "I swear I had nothing to do with this. I like my job too much."

Meredyth took in the front page headline: "SHRINKING IN HORROR—Killer Sends Victim's Eyes, Teeth to Police Shrink."

"Damn," she moaned, shaking the paper. "They've got the story already."

With Stu Long helping passing residents at the door, Lucas read over Meredyth's shoulder. The details remained sketchy, and the reporters had used no names, but she and Lucas knew they'd soon be reading follow-up, in-depth pieces, and that radio and TV news would soon be airing the story as well—with all the gusto and details their crack reporters could muster.

"Who the hell're these unnamed sources?" she wondered aloud.

"Probably Bye-bye Byron?" His suggestion fell flat.

"No...not Byron."

"Why not? His fifteen minutes of fame?"

"He wouldn't, that's all."

"Like you know him well enough to know?"

She went to her mailbox, opened it, and snatched out several bills and junk mail.

"Mere, you didn't expect him to run outta the condo and leave you holding the bag either, but he did."

"Lucas, he's not going to be allowed back into my bed, all right? Satisfied?"

"Then why're you hanging onto his letter?"

"It's trash and I don't litter. I'll bum it upstairs if you like, but I won't be convinced that he's talking to the press."

"Even if he isn't talking to the press, they're likely tailing him right to you."

"Drop it, Lucas!"

"Whoever the unnamed sources may be, it won't be long before the hounds sniff out news of the severed hand," he replied. "And once it becomes public...about where this connected incident occurred, anyone might surmise the central characters in the story are you and me, Mere.

"I'm so glad my parents are out of the country."

"It's likely just what this certifiable creep is looking for, his fifteen minutes of fame," he suggested, dropping the newspaper back onto the information desk.

Lucas turned to find her gone. He had to dash to keep pace. Meredyth had stiffly stalked off, rushing through the posh lounge area, pushing through an inner door, and now she leaned into the elevator call button. He caught up with her there, still talking. "It's the new American way. Mere— do anything, go anywhere for a fleeting moment before the new idol in the desert."

"What the hell're you onto now, Lucas? Have you been into your stash this morning already?"

"The golden calf's now the golden camera, and you Anglos have created your own nightmare," he said, ignoring her question.

"What's that supposed to mean, Lucas?" she fired back, reminding him of how fragile their relationship really was.

"In a culture that can award an Emmy nomination to the Osbornes for best TV reality programming," Lucas began as she boarded the elevator and he stepped in behind, "a culture that rewards a sniper killer with literally millions of minutes of air time and creates an event out of the most wanted man in America, a cowardly murderer, it should come as no surprise that some nutcase thinks he can make prime time by turning a murder into a game show for a perverse idol—himself.!"

Moments before the elevator doors closed, an elderly woman with a schnauzer came aboard, the little dog yip- ping at Lucas as he continued lecturing Meredyth. "Look at our case, Mere. The media attention is already in full swing. What body part will next appear? Ears, toes, arms, what? Odds-makers in Vegas and on the Internet will be making book on it, believe me, and Real 7V'll have their cameras rolling."

The dog continued barking, and the white-haired lady hugged the dog protectively in the folds of her coat, cooing his name, soothing him. "Pudgy-woo, pudgy-coo...it's all right, baby." She gave a disapproving look in Meredyth's direction. "Really, Dr. Sanger, there's been so much disruption in our building of late."

"I'm sure everything's going to calm down now, Mrs. Chandler. You and little Pudge don't have to worry."

"I've had inquiries, you know, from all sorts of people, but as I tell them, I know nothing of what's happened in the building."

The elevator doors opened on her floor, and Mrs. Chandler and Pudge alighted from the cab.

Lucas and Meredyth rode up the rest of the way in silence, each contemplating what lay between them and ahead for them, dividing their thoughts between a lunatic who had targeted them and their struggling relationship.

As they now approached Meredyth's door, they saw there was no eerie little package left in her doorway. "This is crazy... like walking through a minefield just to get home," she complained.

Lucas thought the analogy apt, that the killer had put them through an emotional minefield.

Opening her door, stepping inside, they found stains still on the carpet. "I have a cleaning service coming in tomorrow. They couldn't fit me in any sooner," she told him when she noticed Lucas staring at the marks on the plush gray pile. He watched her eyes roam the room to be certain nothing had been left inside by any well-meaning doorman.

"We made it," he declared for her.

She tossed her purse and keys on a table and said, "I gotta get a shower, wash away the stress. Want to join me?" she called out over her shoulder. Not waiting for an answer, Meredyth instantly went for her bedroom and shower, telling Lucas, "If you're not coming in, at least make yourself a sandwich. Make yourself at home."

"I need to make a call, okay?"

She was gone. He heard the spray of the shower like the dull cascade of a waterfall wafting down the corridor from her open bedroom door. Lucas called into the precinct, telling Kelton he and Dr. Sanger would be late arriving this morning, that she'd needed time to recuperate. "And I'm not leaving her alone here, understood? Anyone desperately seeking either of us, we can be reached at her home number."

"Good idea. She's been through hell. You've gotta get this creep, Lucas, and fast."

"My sentiments exactly. Workin' on it."

"You see the Chronicle?"

"Saw it."

"Can't keep a story like that under wraps, Lieutenant. May as well try to keep a wolverine in a birdcage."

Lucas grunted and asked, "Put me through to the crime lab, Dr. Davies if he's available."

Lucas waited to be patched through. "Yes, this is Tom Davies."

"Detective Stonecoat, Doctor."

"Oh, good...glad you called. Saves me calling round for you and Dr. Sanger."

"Then you have news one way or the other regarding the dental records and the teeth?"

"I do. We have a winner, a hit."

Lucas's fist clenched in the gesture of victory. "Great! Excellent."

"Want to take a stab at which of the three matched?" Davies offered.

Lucas recalled the M.E.'s determination that the hand found with the writing on it indicated a left-handed victim. "Mira Lourdes," he guessed.

"Uncanny," replied Davies. "Someone told me you were psychic."

"I had a lot of help on this one, Doc."

Davies went on. "The victim's teeth, an upper and lower, one bicuspid, the other a front tooth, matched perfectly with Lourdes's dental chart."

"No doubts or margin of error here, Dr. Davies?"

"I've made nineteen comparison points on one tooth, fourteen on the other. Enough to hold up in any courtroom in the land."

"That's good news. Doctor. You must have worked all night. Don't let anything happen to the evidence."

"Not to worry. After hearing about what occurred in the garage last night, I felt it best to make short work of it, Detective."

"Thanks again."

"My pleasure. Hope we can end this nightmare for the two of you."

"Mira Lourdes was a woman with a boyfriend who claims she disappeared when trying to sell her car. Claims she was abducted from her own driveway."

"It has happened before," Davies replied.

"Something screwy about the guy."

"If you say so, Detective. You seem to have terrific instincts. Look, I'll have a copy of my full report on your desk by mid-morning. The original will go to Dr. Chang to accompany the mounting evidence against our man, whoever he is."

"Yeah, now all we need is to answer the question of who would want Mira Lourdes dead and why."

"And why the game with the body parts?"

"Someone who can tell us all about what only he and we know."

"Chang says the hand was severed with a powerful rotary saw, exactly the sort used in an autopsy," added Davies. "Very odd game he is playing with you and Dr. Sanger, odd indeed. Well, I'm exhausted and am going home now."

"Yeah, kind of tired myself. Think I'll go take a shower."

"Good luck on tracking down this fiend, Detective."

"Thanks, I'm doing my damnedest."

Lucas hung up, deciding he could use that shower and some foreplay with Meredyth, and perhaps convince her that they should take the day off. He went toward the bed-room, stripping away his shirt and pants, going for the shower. Inside the bathroom, a steam cloud filled the space, billowing out at him and the adjacent bedroom. He stripped down completely now, dropping all his clothing and stepping into Meredyth's cloud, recalling her peyote dream of the other night.

When he opened the shower door and stepped through the cloud and into the cascading spray, he took her in his arms and kissed her, his long mane of hair blending with hers.

"Just what the hell're you doing?" she said in mock alarm.

"I've come to fulfill your dream."

"We're not the least conceited now, are we, Lucas Stonecoat?"

"No, I mean, I am stepping into your cloud...like in your dream? Coming into your dream cloud." He held his arms out to indicate the steam cloud around them.

She laughed. "Oh, yeah...I get it, stepping into my cloud."

"You see me now, don't you? That I belong in your cloud with you?"

"Perhaps clearly for the first time," she replied, wrapping her glistening, soap-covered arms around him. She kissed Lucas, and he returned the kiss. She ran her fingers through his long hair, saying, "Let me wash that long mane of yours, my Indian lover."

Lucas turned his back to her and allowed her to do exactly that.

BY MID MORNING THEY were driving to downtown Houston and the precinct. On the trip, Lucas brought Meredyth up to date on Dr. Davies's findings, that they had an identity for the Jane Doe whose body parts some geeky- looking wacked-out maniac was sending to them piece by piece.

When Lucas told her the name of the victim, Meredyth repeated it, "Mira Lourdes...Mira Lourdes...means nothing to me. What possible connection is there between us, Lucas? What do we know about her?"

Lucas told her all that they had learned of Mira Lourdes, and how she had supposedly disappeared. "I suspect her abduction was random, that it had to do with her placing the ad, and inadvertently letting her guard down, placing herself in a vulnerable position by going with this couple seen by the neighbor, unless the boyfriend's story is a complete fabrication. I'm sure we'll be talking a great deal more to him if he doesn't lawyer up."

They fell silent as the car whizzed past gas stations, fast-food restaurants, newsstands, parking garages, bus stops, churches, mosques, all reflecting off the windshield. "Wonder what that chemical odor was that Stu smelled on the guy who delivered the package," she said, breaking the silence.

"Anything from disinfectant to formaldehyde, I suppose," replied Lucas. "Points again to a medical type of some sort."

"Do you really think we're dealing with some kind of medical Jack the Ripper?"

"The way the organs were sliced...the precision...the way her hand was severed so cleanly with a surgical saw. Not to mention the removal of the teeth, and the eyes intact. Yeah, I'd bet on it; our guy is a medical man."

"Or a butcher, or a carpenter, or a barber. Hell, he could be anyone, Lucas! A lousy failed gynecologist or Navy chef, any moke with the right tools for plucking out eyes and pulling teeth and cleaving off a hand."

"Whoever did this also opened up the chest cavity and removed internal organs. Mere. It requires some precision to make the cuts he left for me. Even Chang was impressed."