“ Oh? And why not?”
“ I tried a big-city coroner's job once, in Washington.”
“ And once was enough?”
“ Too much politicking; had my hands tied at every turn. Guess I just didn't have the right… mind-set.”
“ Is it so different with the FBI?”
“ There're some problems with the Bureau, too, don't misunderstand, but in my present situation I'm given more latitude, more freedom, more…” She searched for the word.
“ Respect?”
“ Yeah, at least by most of the people I work with.”
He nodded. “A valuable asset such as yourself? They best respect you, Doctor.”
She blushed and looked away but kept talking. “As for you, Dr. Archer, you seem to function so well here. You know how to beat them at their own game.”
“ Beat them at their own game?” He was momentarily confused.
“ Politics inherent in the umbilical tie between the medical and the legal worlds. You've managed the office for Dr. Darius in his absence; you took care of everything and remained above the pressure. That's all rather commendable and they must see that.”
“ Yes, all true. Well, I appreciate the fact that at least you have noticed my contribution,” he said with a warm smile. “Must run now. Please, excuse me.”
Even as he spoke his last words to her, she managed to keep her expression convivial, although her thoughts were running toward darkness like a mouse down a drain pipe. She had begun to listen to herself as she complimented Archer on how well he had managed things during Darius' convalescence. Even as she spoke she had begun to wonder about Archer's part in Darius' cover-up; then she began to wonder if it wasn't Archer's cover-up, and if so, was he covering for Darius or for himself? After all, Archer had been in charge of several of the Claw cases himself. He was in a unique position to alter or obstruct the flow of the investigation.
The thought was like a wild horse galloping through her brain. She tried to catch a complete glimpse of it, but it was too fast. She needed time to mull it over, view it from all angles.
Was she being foolish? Alan's reaction to her suspicions about Darius now tempered her new suspicions about Archer. Had she targeted the wrong man? Would Alan understand if she went to him with her latest dark deduction?
Had Archer heard the innuendo in her voice? Had he seen any moment's hesitation or shift in expression that gave her away? His having to leave left her little chance to study any reaction, and finally she wondered if Luther Darius had ever entertained like suspicions, and if so was Archer aware of such suspicions? Was it possible that Archer was far more ambitious a man than he let on? And if so, to what lengths would he go to have Darius' position? If he began with lies and cover-ups which escalated with each Claw case in a blind attempt to gain prominence in the lab, and Darius learned of this and threatened him with revelation of the fact, what would the tightly bound Dr. Simon Archer do?
Was he capable of striking out at Darius? Had Darius' locker-room fall more to do with a blow than previously suspected? Worse thought yet, had Darius' jump from his hospital window been helped along by Archer?
The skittering, nebulous suspicions had taken on the complexity and color of a solidified and dreadful idea. While everyone else was busting their humps to bring in a maniacal killer, Dr. Archer was playing a sinister little game of his own right under their noses, so bent was he on being Luther Darius' heir.
“ Son of a bitch,” she muttered to herself.
But doubts lingered. Could Archer have killed Darius for the top rung on the ladder here?
Her mind was now racing faster than the computer, which was still refining the graphic display on the possible weapon used by the Claw.
Darius found out. He somehow stumbled onto the fact there were two sets of teeth marks, after all, and therefore someone within his organization was, or had been, tampering with physical evidence. It all made sense.
He suspected a number of people before getting around to Archer, but he finally had. Bringing this to light would ruin Archer's career forever. He'd never again see the inside of a forensics lab. Tampering with the medicolegal materials of the crime was against every precept of the medical examiner's office.
Could it be? she asked herself. If so, how could she best prove it? No doubt, Archer had by now covered his tracks thoroughly.
She could review the original autopsy tapes on every victim, cull through them for nuggets of information that might or might not lead to an obvious wrong done, but such an error could be seen as a mistake, a fumble or a bad judgment call. Even if she found out that Archer had ordered slivers of flesh taken before from each and every bite mark on the victims, the lab had such a jumble of tissue samples taken from so many bodies that she couldn't prove a thing, one way or the other. At best she might prove the NYPD coroner's office was guilty of being overburdened.
The obvious goal to Dr. Archer's scheme was the moment when he, and he alone, would unveil telling evidence that would lead directly to the Claw. It had been Archer who was in control of all the chips. All this hidden beneath a veneer of the reticent, self-effacing, loyal and trusted assistant. It almost ranked with the nightmare of the Claw himself.
Bastard, she thought. Or was it bitch? Had she been turned into a suspicious bitch by the years, by the terrible convolutions of the plots she had unraveled? By virtue of having seen so much mendacity, was she overly suspicious?
Still, even if he hadn't actually physically pushed Luther Darius through that window, Archer may well have driven his superior to jump.
This made her wonder anew about Darius' fall in the dressing area. Might they have had an argument? Might Archer have shoved Dr. Darius?
It was all too perfect and all too mad. Darius' return marked a move back down the ladder for Simon Archer, just when Archer felt secure in the position he had yearned for, for so many years.
The computer had become insistent, flashing a single graphic on and off at her, as if the machine were daring her to turn and look at it.
She did so and came face-to-face with the actual claw used by the killer. It was a deadly, three-pronged prostheticlike attachment or glove that fit over the human hand. The killer had fashioned his own cougarlike claw, his own killing machine. Rychman had to see this.
But Jessica was almost afraid to tell him her theory about Archer. He might think she was mad, especially since she'd already accused Darius of tampering with his own “sacrosanct” evidence for personal and professional gain. It had been Archer all along, but she'd been blind, or rather he had been invisible. Either way, she had no proof, only the gut-wrenching certainty of her intuition, and that wouldn't cut any ice with Rychman any longer.
She got on the phone to Quantico and caught J.T. in the lab there. She asked twenty questions about how he had received the forensic materials from the NYPD, what kind of postal service was used, how it was boxed, how it was labeled and how many actual samples were forwarded to him.
It all checked out. Archer had covered himself well. She began to feel like a drowning victim gasping for air. She started to hang up but stopped to make another request. “Oh, J.T., see what you can find out for me about a Dr. Simon Archer. You know, what schools he attended, where he worked before here, that sort of thing.”
“ Sure, Jess.” He knew her well enough not to ask why. When she wanted to tell him she would, but not before.
“ Call me when you've got it.”
He hung up, and she was sure that she had thoroughly confused him.
She dialed Rychman, who was out. She left a message for him to see her at the lab the moment he returned. Alone, she turned to stare at the computer replica of the deadly weapon used on the eight victims of the Claw.
Somehow, she sensed that the body count was going to escalate, largely because police were being stymied by their own forensics people. As before, despite the so-called evidence, despite Dr. Ames' assessment of the killer's mind, she continued to believe there were two monsters at work in all this, and she felt it strangely scary that only she and, of course, the killers knew the truth about the Claw. One of the lab assistants was coming, a cup of coffee in one hand, the daily paper in another. Jessica shut off the monitor with the graphic detail of the claw as
