“ But I wasn't expecting you-”
“ You do want the rug!” he shouted, grunting as he pushed the rug through the door and into her, its contents falling out, sending blood rivulets over the woman. She quickly tried to make her way out the back of the house, but the Claw was far too fast for her. His deadly three-pronged weapon ripped down across her skull and sent her toppling over, moaning, still very much alive. Ovid had never seen the Claw act so quickly and surely on his own. He certainly didn't need Ovid any longer. Now Ovid feared for himself.
They had fed over the bodies but Ovid took no delight, while the Claw seemed to take greater delight than ever before. He also took his time over the head. Now Ovid understood why he had wanted the head from their last victim, because before Ovid's eyes, the Claw consumed the young woman's brain. Ovid was sure he had done the same with Mrs. Phillips.
In a state of confusion, Ovid had taken the final and only copy left of his poem, which he had folded tightly into a ball to keep it hidden from the Claw, and moments before they'd left Mrs. Phillips with the young woman in Scarsdale, he had plunged the note into a hiding place. At the time this had seemed his only course of action. He sensed that his days with the Claw were coming to a close and that he must protect himself in some manner. Perhaps this was the way. Then again, it might be a little like suicide, he told himself now.
When the phone rang, Alan Rychman didn't feel as if he'd gotten an hour's sleep, much less several. It was Lou Pierce, calling from Queens with bad news. Lou apologized but said that everyone was trying to get in touch with Rychman. Rychman's brother, awakened by the call, stood in the doorway, and Rychman grumbled something about its being an emergency. His brother waved as if to say he was going back to sleep, and Rychman rolled over and took the information from Lou.
“ The Claw has put in another appearance, and Captain, this one's extremely bad because-”
“ What's the location, Lou?”
“ Twelve forty-nine Nantucket, Captain, in-”
“ Where the hell's that?”
“ Scarsdale, Captain.”
“ Jesus, since when's he going to Scarsdale?”
“ It's not that far from his last one, Captain. Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.”
“ He's on wheels, that's for sure… hell on wheels,” Rychman sleepily mumbled, but his mind was on the question of jurisdictional lines. Scarsdale meant complications; it meant arguing with Scarsdale authorities as to exactly whose case it was and who got first dibs. He'd have to telephone Mayor Halle and have him call his counterpart in Scarsdale to make sure that the NYPD special task force would be in charge.
Hopefully, the cops in Scarsdale would see the wisdom of cooperating. It amazed Rychman, however, just how stubbornly territorial the various jurisdictions were. If and when he became C. P, the question of cooperation between boroughs, cities, counties and states would be uppermost on his agenda.
“ This one's doubly bad, Captain,” Lou said.
“ Bastard did a real hatchet job on the vie, huh?”
“ Christ, Captain, he took the brains this time, and-”
“ Jesus,” moaned Rychman, on the edge of the bed now, pulling on his pants. Coran had called it like some psychic. She was as good as her record indicated. “Locate Dr. Coran, Lou, and see to it she gets to the scene. I'll see you both there.”
“ I'll see to it personally, Captain, but there's one other thing you ought to know-”
But Lou heard the click of the receiver before he could get out the fact there were two bodies this time. Lou decided that the captain would find out soon enough. For now he had to roust out Dr. Coran. It was his understanding that someone had already notified the coroner's office and that Dr. Archer was already on his way to Scarsdale.
Rychman was yawning and driving rapidly toward his destination, his siren and flashing light parting the relatively sparse traffic at 3 A.M. He was only half hearing his radio, alive and crackling with news of the Claw's recent kill. So the place would be deluged with reporters and thrill-seekers, he thought. There'd be a thick crowd to part just to get to the body, so he called ahead to the scene, shouting for whoever had taken charge of the body. By protocol this was the first on-scene officer until a coroner or superior arrived to relieve him.
This is Officer Calvin Boyle, Scarsdale Police Department, Captain Rychman.”
“ Boyle, are you in charge there?”
“ For now, yes, sir.”
“ Have you secured the body?”
“ Bodies, sir, and yes, they are secured.”
“ Bodies?”
“ Weren't you told, sir? There's two vies.”
“ That's what Lou was trying to tell me, damn.”
“ Sir?”
“ Never mind, Boyle, just do me some good, will you?”
“ Anything, Captain.”
“ I want you and any other first-on-scene to be there when I get there. Want to talk to you.”
“ Not a problem.”
“ I want you to maintain control, Officer, you got that?”
“ Control of the bodies, sir?”
“ That's right.”
“ But our coroner's already arrived and… well, it's his show now.”
“ You just tell him Dr. Darius is on his way, and so is an M.E. with the FBI. Tell him it's an NYPD task force matter.” Rychman knew that the famous Dr. Darius wasn't likely to put in an appearance, but the lie would be effective.
“ It might mean more coming from you, sir.”
“ Think you can get him on the horn?”
“ I'll do my best.”
Rychman didn't want the crime scene disturbed until Jessica Coran could have at it; given her accurate prediction, and what he had read about her, he believed that she might be instrumental in stopping this madness. Anything he could do to delay the Scarsdale coroner, he decided, was good at this point.
Rychman got a Dr. Stanley Permeter on the line and he began the tedious job of keeping Permeter wondering about whether he should or should not go ahead with his investigation there in Scarsdale; whether he should wait for the renowned Dr. Darius and the FBI's Dr. Coran. Rychman kept the doctor entangled with words until his car pulled up to the crime scene area, where, as he expected, everyone with a police-band radio was waiting and watching.
Dr. Permeter was arguing with the Scarsdale chief of police when Rychman stepped up to them and introduced himself with a large handshake. Once more he launched into the many reasons for waiting on Darius and Coran.
The Scarsdale chief was Bill Flemming, a friendly enough sort, but he was concerned about how his department was going to look if they simply stepped aside and allowed Rychman in without contest. The killings were, after all, within his jurisdiction. A radio call from Flemming's superior took him away. Rychman prayed it was the right call, and it seemed to be, for when Flemming came back he agreed to wait.
Rychman gathered members of his task force about him and gave each an assignment. One was to interrogate Boyle, to find out how the bodies were discovered and who made the call and what had alerted them. Another was to question Boyle's partner, a rookie who was badly shaken. She hadn't been prepared for what they had found inside the house on a residential block of Nantucket Street.
The Claw, if it was the work of the Claw, had deviated from his normal pattern: he had apparently killed two victims at a single location, and he had chosen to kill indoors, gaining access to the house without apparent difficulty. There were no broken windows, no broken locks. But Rychman knew it was the same bastard, or bastards. He knew it because Jessica had warned him that soon the Claw would be graduating to cannibalizing his victim's brain. He had done so with a vengeance, and he was playing a game with the authorities, seeing just how daring he could be, for the bright streetlamps of Nantucket Street must have shone on him clearly as he stepped up to the front door of the little home.
