What did that make Archer? Besides a cannibalistic ghoul, like the Claw, a murderer of the innocent. And if he was capable of killing a helpless Rodney Bishop, why not an equally helpless Luther Darius? And if he was capable of necrophilia and cannibalism and of killing such innocents, why not, by extension and with the help of an accomplice, infirm, aged and weak women he found on the street?
Had Alan's words of the night before been meant simply to appease her? She had told him in no uncertain terms that she distrusted Archer, but to now go to him with these allegations? He'd likely think her mad.
Still, she had to present what she instinctively felt about Archer. At any rate, he was guilty of conspiracy to subvert the medicolegal evidence being compiled against the killer known as the Claw. Alan must at the very least accept this, and he must know that Archer's reasons for doing so may've gone far deeper than earlier thought. Like an onion, one layer peeled away only revealed a denser layer beneath.
Lou's radio crackled with the dispatcher's signals, 10-1 Is and 10-12s mostly, vandalism, minor disturbing the public, domestic violence. Lou's unit signal was 10–55 and he immediately picked up his transmitter and called into it, saying, “10–55 here. Go ahead.”
It was late, almost 7 P.M. Alan Rychman's voice came over, asking Lou if he knew of Dr. Coran's whereabouts. Lou looked to his right where she sat alongside him in the patrol car, and when she nodded, he said, “She's right here with me, Captain.”
“ And where's right here?”
“ Let me talk to him, Lou,” she said, taking the transmitter into her left hand.
“ Captain Rychman, if you'll meet me at the Marriott, I have some things to discuss with you before I leave for Quantico.”
“ Fine, but where've you been?”
“ We'll discuss it over that dinner you promised me, remember?”
“ Very well. See you then.”
Lou returned the transmitter to its cradle and sped through the tunnel for Manhattan. “You and the captain seem to have hit it off, Dr. Coran.”
“ We have a great deal of respect for one another, Lou, a good basis for a relationship, wouldn't you say?”
“ I would indeed, ma'am. He's a good man and you, well, you've put a spring in his step, I can tell you.”
She smiled across at Lou, who had earlier confirmed the nature of the rumors that went around about Archer, but Lou, like most, shrugged it off as “normal morgue bull” as he colorfully put it. She wondered what Rychman would call it; wondered how far she dare go in revealing her ugly suspicions of Simon Archer.
Perhaps it was too farfetched to say that Archer not only covered up evidence of the Claw but was the Claw. Perhaps Alan would choke on the notion. She knew she must temper what she said, so that Alan would take her seriously.
She leaned back into the cushioned seat, the weight of the day coming down on her, fatigue threatening to overtake her. She closed her eyes and recalled the tearful features of Mrs. Felona Hankersen, and she once again imagined a wide-eyed little black boy named Rodney who may have been the first person to have had an idea of the true nature of one Dr. Simon Archer.
Rychman met her in the lobby and they walked to a restaurant nearby, a place called the Social Contract. The ambience was surprisingly one of flora and fauna and jungle sounds, everything bringing up the image of Africa, and some of the dishes were most exotic. After a drink and after laughing over some of the items on the menu, she ordered chicken and he opted for the “rhino steak” after learning that “rhino” referred to the size of the thing.
After a moment's silence, a toast; Alan promised that he would soon break away and visit, for the first time in his life, the nation's Capital, “Now that I've got my own personal guide,” he'd finished.
“ If you make a promise to me, mister, I expect it to be fulfilled. I hope you know that.”
“ Count on it.”
“ I'll count the days.”
“ Soon as we put this Claw thing to rest for good.”
She looked off into the distance, chewed a bit on her “tiger-striped” grilled chicken and then dropped her head.
Rychman, reading her body language, asked, “What's troubling you, Jess?”
“ Nothing.”
“ Nothing or everything?”
“ All right, Alan, I still think Leon's only half the equation, and I think… I think…”
“ And you think everybody else is rushing this thing over the falls? Is that it?”
“ Damn straight that's it.”
“ Everybody's got their teeth into this, Jess.”
“ And that means the bite's on you? I know how important being commissioner is to you, Alan, but this isn't the way to do it.”
He stared coldly at her, his anger rising. “I haven't cut any deals on that score with anybody, kid, and you can take that to the bank.”
“ Have I said that?” She backed off a bit, sorry for getting into this the night before she planned to leave.
“ No, but it's what you're thinking. You give me something other than a lot of suppositions and questionable circumstantial evidence, and I'll move on it, Jess. You know that as well as I do.”
Frustrated, Jessica sipped at her wine, shaking her head, saying, “I know that, Alan… I know.”
“ You're some kind of holdout, Jess. You're the only one who still thinks that Leon had an accomplice.”
“ I'm not the only one who thinks so.”
His eyebrows rose. “Who else thinks so?”
“ Forget it.”
“ Who?” he demanded.
“ A nurse,” she said. “A nurse who knew Archer when he was interning at St. Stephen's Hospital in '65.”
“ All right, tell me the whole story.”
She took Alan carefully through the paper trail that led to Felona Hankersen. She told him how impressed she'd been with the woman's sincerity and how unimpressed she was with the hospital's paperwork, citing odd discrepancies. Finally she told him about Rodney's story, of his fear of a doctor he'd seen in the morgue, feeding on a human heart wrenched from a cadaver.
“ Okay, Jess, is that it?” he said in a tone that spoke of fatigue and disappointment. “The secondhand story of a dead boy from a sad old woman fired from her job? You know what you can do with that kind of evidence. And what're you saying here? How've you gone from Archer's being a petty and jealous assistant to Darius, trying to make himself look good, to a… to a cannibal… to Leon Helfer's accomplice… to being the Claw? It's just too outrageous, Jess. No one would believe it.”
“ Least of all you,” she said coldly.
“ Look, if you had anything corroborative, any hard evidence-”
“ Felona Hankersen isn't the only one who thinks he's a ghoul. You've heard the hallway gossip about Archer.”
He shook his head, saying, “Don't you think I've heard the same about you, especially since word's out we're seeing each other?”
This took her aback and she shook her head repeatedly. “Word's out how?” she wanted to know.
“ Damned if I know, but it is, and so every jerk in the department wants to know what it's like, seeing… someone like you… after hours. Point is I've heard the same nasty crap about you as I've heard about Archer: about how you like cutting thin slices of organ meat for a quick sandwich over the autopsy table. All crap, Jess, and you know it.”
“ Just the same, Felona Hankersen's not the only one who thinks Simon Archer is a fiend.”
“ And just who else is there, Jess? The night janitor at the lab?”
“ Never mind. Guess I've said too much already,” she whispered in her whiskey voice, leaning back into the cushion of the booth.
“ Who else?” he insisted.
“ Never you fucking mind. It's no one you'd approve of, anyway.”
