After the meeting broke up, Alan Rychman asked Jessica Coran into the adjacent office, which Eldritch had designated as his. Once they were alone, he said, “I didn't appreciate your little masquerade in there, Dr. Coran.”

“ I was informed that you were told of my-”

“ I'd say it's fairly apparent that I was unaware that you'd arrived. How long have you been in the city?”

“ I arrived late yesterday, took the evening to familiarize myself with the case-as much as possible, given the lack of information. I had a meeting with Commissioner Eldritch and was asked to be here this morning. No one notified me about last night's homicide.”

Rychman followed her speech with a series of “I sees.”

“ In the future, I'd like to be on the call list,” she added.

“ Whatever you say, Doctor.”

“ I'm anxious to help in whatever way possible.”

“ I guess you've seen this kind of thing before.”

“ A killer whose teeth imprints were lifted from the intestines of one of his victims? Not quite, but you might say I've seen enough ghouls so that I won't swoon.”

She had a tough line, he thought, appraising her. She was a stunning woman, even with the distraction of the cane. “Matisak's victims surely suffered longer, and Gerald Ray Sims may've been sicker than this freak we've got on our hands. Doctor, but the way this bastard operates, the way he leaves their bodies… it may even shock you.”

“ What's that supposed to mean, Captain? That my reputation has preceded me? That I'm unshakable? That you'd like to see me shake?”

She'd read a complete file on Rychman, who was bom in 1948 to working-class parents, the third of five children. He attended New York City schools, spent two years at John Jay College, dropped out for a stint in Vietnam and entered the Police Academy in 1973 on his return. He'd quickly risen through the ranks from patrolman to detective after a series of dazzling arrests. He moved from Vice to Homicide in '79 and had remained a homicide detective since. In 1989 he was named captain of the 31st Precinct, a precinct considered the worst in the city until he turned it around, making it immune to corruption and internal problems. Now the 31 st had one of the highest arrest rates in the city. He'd done so well with the 31st that he had since been moved to two other “dirty” precincts to clean them up, and he had succeeded admirably. She understood that his successes were due to his unrelenting na-ture and a hands-on style of management. He was called “the Boot” by men who served under him because he had given so many burned-out cops a kick in the ass.

He'd also been decorated for bravery under fire in two wars, Nam and New York. In some ways he reminded her of Otto Boutine; the two would have been either extremely close friends or archenemies, butting heads like a pair of rams, she decided.

“ Where're you staying?” he asked.

“ Marriott.”

“ Downtown? Nice if you can get it. Close, should a call come in.”

“ I hope that's not an indication of how vigorously you intend to pursue this case, Captain.”

He looked askance at her, confused. “What?”

“ By waiting for a call.” She picked up her cane and her bag, making for the door.

He thought of pursuing her, setting her straight, but tossed a disdainful wave in her direction instead, letting her go. But then she stuck her head back inside.

“ Yes?”

“ I'll want a copy of the forensics report on the sixth victim. Can you direct me?”

“ I'll see you get a copy. It'll be on my desk sometime today.”

“ Is Archer or Darius the M.E. on the case?”

“ Fellow name of Perkins.”

“ Hmmmm, I see. New?”

“ Not exactly, but first time he's done a Claw crime scene. Seems Archer was occupied elsewhere and Darius… well, he's been under the weather lately.”

“ There's been no continuity.”

“ You might say that, yes.”

“ The only constant at all the scenes has been the killer. The M.E.'s office has been playing musical chairs.”

He frowned, pursed his lips and apologetically said, “We do the best we can with what we got, Dr. Coran.”

“ Unfortunately, that's not always good enough.”

“ We've got the best man in the country here and the men under him are equally good, Doctor. You go second-guessing a man of Dr. Darius' reputation and you might get burned.”

“ I don't want this to be an adversarial relationship, Captain.”

“ You could've fooled me.”

She managed a smile, something he hadn't seen until now. It warmed the room, he thought. “If we're going to stop this madman, we've got to do as you preach-cooperate with one another. That means your crime lab has to cooperate with mine.”

“ And I have to cooperate with you.”

“ Couldn't hurt.”

Despite her rough-and-tumble verbal display and the rigid exterior, the cane and limp, something about her eyes marked her as soft, caring and warm. But this was gone in a second, retracted in what might be an unconscious and automatic response to his stare. He was smiling but hers had faded. She had stood up to him; it had been a long time since last he met a woman capable of that.

Jessica Coran was learning the labyrinth of Police Plaza One and adjacent buildings by trying to follow directions given her by Sgt. Lou Pierce as to how to get to the crime lab. She'd been told that Dr. Luther Darius, world-renowned for his advancements in the field-his two textbooks were required reading at the FBI Academy-was not available. From the way Lou Pierce had mumbled it, she assumed the seventy-year-old forensics genius was bedridden. With most of the work going on at his lab now being performed by younger men and women, Darius spent his working hours grooming interns as they came through the co-op program associated with New York University, John Jay and other col-leges in the vicinity. However, inside information or careless hearsay had it that the old man was at least partially responsible for careless oversights made in the past year or so, resulting in lawsuits and settlements against the city. If Darius had lost his edge, perhaps he ought not to be handling what precious little medicolegal evidence there was on the Claw. But how do you unseat a Milton Helpern or a Luther Darius?

One step at a time, she thought. First she wanted to see the remains of the Claw's latest victim. She could do so, Pierce informed her, by locating Dr. Simon Archer, Darius' second-in-command.

She now found the lab and adjacent autopsy rooms and freezer compartments. A helpful young technician pointed out Dr. Archer, a tall, good-looking and muscular man with a firm bearing and large brown eyes so intense they seemed to see through her as she introduced herself.

“ Ahh, yes, the task force and you're Dr. Coran. I got a call from the C. P Welcome aboard and let me be the first to congratulate you on surviving the Matisak affair.”

“ Yes, well, if I could have a surgical gown, I'd really like to see the Claw's latest victim.”

“ Of course. You'll find what you need through here and the body'11 be waiting on the other side.”

He held the door, stared at her cane, making her feel uncomfortable about her limp. Inside she suited up in surgeon's gown, mask and gloves while Dr. Archer put his people in motion to retrieve the body from a freezer compartment and have it waiting in the inner room. She found Dr. Archer also waiting, standing alongside the body like a mortician fishing for praise over his handiwork.

“ Did the autopsy myself,” he muttered. “Understandably nervous, having you look Mrs. Hamner over, what with your reputation. What is it the papers call you?”

“ There's no need for nervousness, Doctor.”

“ Scavenger, isn't it?”

“ I'm called that, but only affectionately.” She smiled below the mask, trying to get him to loosen up.

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