she'd studied thousands, such images still caused her stomach to grip and her throat to go dry.
The crucifixion-death autopsy photos proved no exception, each more ghastly than the one before it. Obviously, no crosses in the photos, no shots of the primary crime scene, only the remains of the victims, which had been left at various dump sites.
Sharpe now added another file for Jessica to look over, this one displaying full-body shots and facial features of each victim, the Christ-wounds, including the side wounds clearly visible in these shots which detailed the wounds to each extremity as well. Jessica now put aside the horrid photos of the crucified victims, saying, “Your killer seems to prefer a more mature victim, I'd say.”
“Yes, average age comes in around fifty,” agreed Sharpe.
“And he's not particular as to the victim's sex.” Jessica stood and paced to the window. “During my career, gentlemen,” she began. Her eyes fixed on a troop of young and energetic FBI cadets doing evening calisthenics out on the lawn to the barking rhythm of a drill instructor. “I've seen asphyxia death in all its myriad forms, from asphyxiation by water to choking by hand to autoerotica and old-fashioned self-inflicted hangings, but this… This is absolutely unusual and rare: murder by crucifixion.”
“Exactly how rare is it, Jess?” asked Santiva.
She pointed to the books he'd been thumbing through. “I'm willing to bet my pension you found nothing in your research, Eriq.”
Jessica looked out across her office. It had recently been enlarged as a kind of thank-you from Quantico's powers that be, a rare FBI reward-an office rivaling the size of Santiva's own. Hers looked out across several partitioned laboratories where practitioners of the forensic arts worked like so many alchemists each day and night.
Jessica leaned forward in her chair, one hand on her pulsating temple. With the other she lifted another book from the shelf, doing her own quick reference, then held it up and said, “Nothing… not a word on death by crucifixion. It just isn't in the modern literature of death investigation. It's rare, quite rare in the long history of murder and homicide annals, yes.” She continued, waving an arm. “Extremely rare business, especially since the Dark Ages. So few cases in fact, most books on forensics and pathology say not a word about it, as you found in rummaging around through my books, no doubt.”
“Rare indeed,” replied Sharpe, “but it would appear, Dr. Coran, that someone the other side of the Atlantic is in dire straits to change all that, perhaps make it a bit less than rare?” The man's commanding voice, filled with bell-like resonance, along with his British accent, fell soft and pleasant on her ears.
'Tell me, Dr. Coran,” continued Sharpe, “what have you learned about crucifixion death since we last spoke on the phone?”
“Interesting thing about crucifixion, gentlemen…”
“Yes?” asked Sharpe.
“The weight of the body on the outstretched arms interferes with exhaling, due to the intercostal muscles which-well, suffice it to say that in a hanging state such as crucifixion breathing would become impossible. The normal rhythm of inhaling and exhaling would painfully and slowly cease due to the exertion of pressure on the lungs and the inability to lift the rib cage.”
“Rib cage?” asked Copperwaite, fingering his own ribs.
“In normal breathing, we lift our rib cage to bring in air. A man on a cross, arms overhead, he can't do this. Exhalation is impaired as well, given that it's passive and due to gravity pulling at the body.”
“Meaning the death occurs because you're unable to exhale properly?” asked Sharpe.
“Inhale, unable to inhale, so as to make the counterpoint of exhalation work. It's a tandem operation. Can't inhale, can't exhale, simple as that.”
“Now I have it.”
Jessica leaned forward in her seat, contemplating for a moment before going on, thumping the pen extended before her. “Any labored exhalation at all would become diaphragmatic, useless you see…”
No, they didn't see. She saw that in their eyes, not unlike the vacant black stare so often given to her by young Yon Chen.
She stepped to a chart of the human muscles and pointed, pinpointing the exact location within the intercostal muscles of the chest to which she'd referred. She added, “Over a prolonged time, this undue pressure, pressure the muscles were never designed to withstand
… Well, this would lead to impaired respiration and finally asphyxia.”
“I would've thought the pain, shock, and trauma”-Santiva's Cuban features winced with the words as he spoke- “from the nails driven through your hands and feet alone would kill a man.”
“A good Catholic boy like yourself, Eriq, and you don't remember how long Christ took to expire on that cross?”
“Guess it slipped my mind. Maybe I didn't want to know.”
“Some say three hours, some say three days and nights.” She turned to face their guests. She felt a bit like a female Sherlock Holmes, knowing the men wanted her to wave some sort of magic wand and instantly tell them their case represented an easy and simple matter to be cleared up in no time at all.
“Have you any leads whatsoever on the first crucifixion killing?”
Copperwaite bit his lip. Sharpe definitively shook his head and said, “We're in a dark closet.”
Jessica said, “It sounds like an interesting case. And of course, if there's any assistance I can lend, why, you have it, of course.”
Eriq told her, “Scotland Yard is requesting our-rather, your-assistance on this troubling case.”
“Then you will take on the case, Dr. Coran?” asked Sharpe directly.
Jessica looked from Sharpe to Santiva who said, “I promised these gentlemen our best, Jessica. And I promised you a trip to London some time back, if you recall. This is your opportunity to work with Scotland Yard on the biggest case since… well, since Jack-the-Ripper.”
“I suppose you've already sent two burly Secret Service men to my apartment to pack my unmentionables for me,” she quipped. “No, but I gave it some thought. It's an excellent opportunity for the bureau and the Yard to work hand-in-hand, something both agencies need more of, especially since the success you had taking out the Night Crawler with Scotland Yard's help.”
Jessica remembered the case only too well. Copperwaite said, “Everyone's seen reports on how you tracked down that Night Crawler monster in international waters off the Cayman Islands.”
Richard Sharpe bit his lip and nodded. A long sigh like a memory escaped him before he added, “And two years ago when you cornered that madman in your famous National Park, how you brought an end to that terror. Disgusting fellow, that one, torching his victims after locating you on the phone to treat you to their screams for mercy.”
Jessica looked quizzically across at the two Britons, saying, “I had no idea that British law enforcement paid so much attention to my cases.”
“Your cases have been taught at the Yard,” Copperwaite stated. “Every copper in London knows about you, and how you defeated Mad Matthew Matisak, and some of them other maniacs you've brought to justice. Some of your cases read like a… a Geoffrey Caine horror novel, I daresay.”
Eriq now laughed and asked, “So, Jess, how soon can you be packed?”
“Packed for London? Me?” She stared off into empty space. A smile colored her features as she wondered how she might get her long-distance lover in Hawaii, Special Agent James Parry, to meet her in London. They had continued their relationship against all odds far longer now than anyone imagined possible, until their last spat. London might be the answer to rejuvenate their passion.
Sharpe remarked, “It's a serious problem we have on our hands, no doubting that, Dr. Coran. We've put it out on the wires, Interpol, CIA, your FBI, anyone anywhere who might have seen the like of it… Well, as you see, we're anxious for help from any quarter, and if you can see your way clear to helping out the Queen, you see…”
“The Queen?” It sounded so quaint, she thought. “You mean I should go to London for God and Country?” she asked. “And the Crown,” added Copperwaite in deadpan.
“One hell of a case,” repeated Santiva. “Think of it, Jessica. Serial murder by crucifixion. You know anyone else in our organization ripe for this kind of case?”
“No… no, I don't.” She nodded and said, “I'll do it, and I hope your trust in me, gentlemen, is not misplaced.”
