hat, the dark glasses. Light hurt him. Light hurt him like it hurt a fucking vampire. It all had to do with his disorder, a disorder he had kept hidden from everyone. But should he get too much sun…
He prayed for a cloud cover, prayed for rain. He had used up every excuse. He'd have to turn on the shower and rinse down and get out of the tub. He hated wasting the blood, so he decided to keep the plug in and reheat it when he returned, after seeing Mr. Sarafian about the goddamned orders.
# # #
“ Why can't we get the body shipped here? If we could do the work here-”
“ The best we can do, Jess! Truth is we were lucky to get this much.”
She stood in the middle of Boutine's office, pacing. “Weren't there others you were suspicious of?”
“ One we can't even locate. Nobody seems to know where she was buried.”
“ And the other?”
“ They won't let the body out of town, much less the state. Families can be very-”
“ Stupid-”
“ No, Jess, not stupid.” His voice slurred. “Thing is, I understand exactly why they feel the way they do.”
She realized he was referring to his wife. She sat down across from him and said, “I'm sorry… just so frustrating. If we can do some good here, stop this maniac… Whatever it takes, we have to do it. You know what kind of conditions we're likely to find in these rural places. It'll be like Wekosha all over again.”
“ You found the evidence of the tube in Wekosha, Jess. You can do it again.”
“ With a decomposed body? In an unsafe and poorly arranged lab?”
“ You can do it.”
She thought of the waste of room C upstairs. “All right, what about the second one? Which one do I go see first?”
“ Afraid there's another problem there.”
“ Oh, no.”
“ The order is for the same time period. Someone else'11 have to go to the second location.”
She dropped her tired head forward, her long hair burying her face, all in a gesture of desperation. He came around to her and sat on the edge of his desk, as if simply wishing to get closer. “I figure J.T. is the best choice for the Illinois site. What do you think?”
“ We're running multiple tests on the Copeland samples, the semen, the DNA.”
“ You've got capable lab people for that.”
“ All right, all right.” She looked into his eyes, saw a glimmer of the earlier, dagger like stare before he broke away for the window to glance over the field outside. She got up and went to him “Otto. “Yes?”
“ Something… I think we ought to talk about what happened earlier today.”
“ Nothing to talk about. I'll see you when you get back; army transport's the best I can do for you this time, Jess.”
“ That'll be fine.”
“ Leaves in two hours. I'll call Iowa City, have the papers waiting for you. Return trip'll have to be Greyhound if you can't work something out with the guys at the military base.”
“ I'll get home, don't worry. You'll do the same for J.T. so he can get to Illinois?”
“ Consider it done. You really came through for me, Jess. So now you get yourself packed.”
“ I've felt on standby since Wekosha, expecting a call at any time, so I am pretty well packed already.”
“ Good.”
“ I'll just see that my people in the lab know what to do, and I thought I'd get some range time in before I left.”
He nodded. “Behind on mine, too.”
“ Join me there?”
“ I'd like to but…” He lifted a stack of files and papers and let them plop on the desk before him.
She wondered if his reasons were more complicated than the work load, but she said nothing, nodding. “I'll see you then when I get back.”
“ Sorry that I won't be able to see you off.”
“ Well, that can't be helped, I'm sure, and I am a big girl.”
He laughed lightly at this. “You've certainly impressed my team and Leamy, Jess. We've made some great strides in reinstating the importance of physical evidence in psychological profiling techniques. Thanks mainly to you.”
She bit her lower lip, forming a pout. “I understand why you can't see me off, Otto.”
He stopped the shuffling of papers and looked deeply into her eyes. “I'm very glad that you do understand.” She closed the door to his office, understanding completely. He was feeling guilty, and he was worried about what J.T. had seen, or thought he had seen. He was worried about keeping up appearances, she decided.
As she stood there, hesitating, she realized that Otto's secretary was staring at her.
# # #
Every FBI person working as a field agent was required to log in a minimum of three hours a week at the shooting range. Unlike most people in the labs, Jessica Coran liked the firing range and enjoyed the feel of a gun in her hand, and the power it unleashed and the frustrations it exploded. For her, the shooting range was a place of catharsis, clearing her head, relaxing in its simplicity, representing as it did the ultimate solution to a problem. Even if the solution was symbolic instead of real-the target paper instead of the Wekosha fiend who had tortured Annie “Candy” Copeland-the act of imagining it so, helped her soul in the way a hot shower or a walk in the park might for someone else.
For the period of time that she concentrated on the target, putting. 38 shots into the head of the black silhouette of the monster that had killed the Copeland girl, and possibly Melanie Trent in Illinois and Janel McDonell in Iowa, she felt the same kind of rush she got when closing a case. That feeling of putting an end to it was only temporary here on the firing range, but it was better than the scattered pieces that, so far, represented such a maze that no end seemed in sight.
She emptied her gun in rapid-fire succession, and after the deafening echo died down, she heard Jim Bledsoe's voice coming through her protective earphones. “Hey, hey, Dr. Coran! You're about the best shooter we got going through here these days. You going to make the contest on Saturday?”
Bledsoe was speaking from his soundproof office, a small cubicle some thirty yards away. She pressed a call button on the wall and replied, “Doubt I can make it, Jim. Things have gotten pretty heavy for me, just lately.”
“ Yeah, so I've heard.”
She was an excellent shot, with the accompanying confidence that assured her of placing every bullet where she wanted it. She had learned to shoot as a child from her father, who had also taught her everything he knew about firearms. When she banged the switch that sent her target flying toward her, she saw that every shot had gone into the head of the silhouette, but that not all her shots could be accounted for, because several had passed through the same hole. Bledsoe's binoculars told him the same story, and his close inspection of the target would confirm this.
Her watch told her she hadn't any more time if she planned to shower and catch that transport. She had told J.T. to report to the airstrip also, that he was going to southern Illinois after the throat of Melanie Trent. She had given detailed instructions to her staff regarding the remaining Copeland evidence and the tests to run. She had expressly asked Dr. Stephen Robertson, a specialist in blood and semen analysis, to determine if the specimens displayed any disorders.
She holstered her weapon, ripped down her final target and grabbed her lab duster off the hook and made her way to the range master's office, where she turned in her target. Jim Bledsoe knew her well, and he both admired and liked her.
“ Another perfect shoot, Dr. Coran. You're wasted in a laboratory. Chicago or New York could use you.” He laughed lightly. “I'd like to get back into the field myself, but my leg… what happened in Akron…”
She'd heard the story many times before from Jim and did not have time to listen to it again. He had been wounded during a manhunt. Bledsoe was a big man, and even wounded, he had brought down his man, and for this act of bravery he was decorated. Now Big Jim Bledsoe logged time and targets for younger men and women on a shooting range.
He was an athletic-looking forty-six with the features of a golf pro. He kept himself in excellent health and
