here in Milwaukee, he would go for it.
He pressed his lips to Lucinda's, and he began to fondle her, giving her what she wanted. As he began making love to her, he thought of the box his mother had given him to be opened after her death, and her repeatedly saying, “Your father's in that box. All you've ever wanted to know about the bastard, you have in that box-my final gift to you, Giles, your legacy. It isn't much but it will tell you why you are the way you are, trust me on that score.”
The sagging bed on which he made love to Lucinda bounced over the lid of the large box bequeathed him where, so long as he had resided in Milwaukee, the box had rested, still unopened and unexplored after all these years-just waiting for Giles to find the nerve and the right time and place to delve into it, and to learn about Father.
Giles pushed it from his mind now as the joy of sexual release and the eroticism of sleeping with a rich, spoiled brat who held his career in her hands began to excite him to greater and greater passions.
Lucinda moaned and brayed under him, the rod of his manhood ramming into her, his perspiration falling into her eyes.
Part of him stood in the corner and marveled at the double-backed, four-legged crab created of their bodies there on the bed. But one of the eyes of his second self wandered to the beautifully carved wooden and leather- bound box tied with ribbons still smelling of Mother's perfume, wafting up from just below the lovers.
SIX
When did man become the higher form?
With Darwin using her restroom to throw water on his face and freshen up, Jessica sat on the terrace under light flooding from the room. It was nearing one in the morning. She'd been poring over her copy of Asa Holcraft's If Christ Came to New York and the Ensuing Autopsy, part coroner's memoir, part handy, compact compendium of information on all facets of the human body and body parts, from organs to eyes and back again to see what her old mentor had to say about the spinal column.
After dining, they'd ordered up drinks, and after a couple of beers and whiskey sours, Darwin had become somewhat drowsy and was now working toward getting his second wind. Jessica called to him from the terrace, asking if he were all right and getting no answer, she stepped back into the room.
Darwin had removed his shirt and his rippling muscles shone in the half light of the bathroom. He came nearer, toweling off his hair, replying, “Must be getting old. Past my bedtime.” Darwin spoke through the towel.
She stared for a moment at his enormous pectorals and felt a momentary attraction she quickly put in check. I'm old enough to be his mother, she thought, lifting his shirt off the back of a chair and throwing it at him. “Get dressed. We've got a lot of work yet to do.”
“Sure… sure,” he replied, working the buttoned shirt over his head and slipping into the sleeves. What would I do with a twenty-six-year-old Sidney Poitier-Vin Diesel look-a-like? Jessica wondered.
She rushed back out to the terrace, a safer place. There she sat at the table and opened Asa Holcraft's book again. She'd been going from it to the murder books and back again, looking for answers.
“Maybe the sick motherfuckingsonofabitch has begun his own stem cell research in an effort to find a cure for whatever ails him,” she half joked.
“That may not be so far-fetched,” he replied, stepping out onto the balcony.
Jessica sipped at her whiskey sour as she continued to read.
“Asa was a genius, a somewhat obsessive one, to have put together so much arcane and scatological and lost-to-time information between the covers of a single volume.”
“Never heard of his book,” admitted Darwin.
“Unfortunately, the thriving publisher that Asa earned a great deal of money for, Pendant, allowed its Pax Books division to go under as a write-off, and Holcraft's invaluable work, along with countless others, has joined the innocent yet somehow disdained horde of out-of-print titles left to die on the vine.” This had happened the year before Asa's death. It had hurt the old man deeply to think that his years of backbreaking toil to bring this information to light, to put it into perspective, and to place it into every forensic student's hand had ended in such ignominy. The publisher, of course, had as much as told Asa it was somehow his fault as it must have been with all the authors in the Pax division who'd been used as tax write-offs.
“That's too bad. Guess every horror story you ever hear between writer and publisher is true, huh?”
“That's right. But I've got a contact who's very interested in reprinting Asa's work. She is as determined to see it back in print as I am.”
She located the section that discussed the human spinal column, and next scanned down the page looking for what information she could find on the vertebral column in man. There were sections under S for spine and V for vertebrae and B for backbone. She hefted the book and stood, pacing to the terrace railing, reading aloud to Darwin. “ 'Made up of thirty-three segments, the spinal column breaks down into five groups. One, cervical, the seven vertebrae making up the bones of the neck; called the first cervical vertebra and appropriately the atlas-' “
Rubbing the back of his neck as if in sympathy pain with the victims, Darwin interrupted, “ 'Atlas'? Why 'atlas'?”
“Because it supports the universe, the known world-the head.”
“Got it.” Darwin stood and stretched, groaning with the effort.
Jessica read on. “ Two, thoracic, or dorsal, twelve bones attached to the ribs, completing the rib cage and making up the trunk bones.'“
She moved one hand to her own rib cage.
“And three?”
“'Lumbar, five bones in the small of the back or loins; four, sacral, five bones in the rump, lying between the two haunch bones, and forming the back wall of the pelvis; in the adult these are fused together into a triangular bone called the sacrum.
“All right, so what's the fifth section of the spine?” he asked.
“ 'Coccygeal, four small bones forming the coccyx which is Greek for cuckoo-'“
“It's all Greek to me.”
“'-so named from its supposed resemblance to the shape of a cuckoo's bill. The coccygeal vertebrae correspond to the root of the tail in animals.' “
“All of this scientific mumbo jumbo gobbledygook is only putting me to sleep,” complained Darwin. “It isn't going to catch a killer, Dr. Coran.”
“I happen to find it fascinating,” she countered, waving the book at him. “Look, we all know that the vertebral column encloses the spinal cord, a basic part of the nervous system without which a person can't function, cannot even… ahhh… slither in snake fashion as our limbs would be paralyzed without it. Hell, if the spinal column and cord had not evolved as it has, we'd be big-headed slugs incarcerated in our reptilian beginnings, likely still in the sea using a dorsal fin to guide us and a series of clicks to communicate.”
Darwin put up his hands in mock surrender. “All right, all right. I know it's all important. I just want to get something on this guy, and I don't think we're going to find it in any books other than the case files.”
“You may be right, but listen to this.” She again read from Holcraft's book. “ 'The spinal cord and vertebrae hold endless fascination for early mankind and the shaman in particular who rattles the bones of fallen warriors overhead. It was both symbolic and concrete proof of deboning a man, rendering his flesh and his spirit helpless to ever harm his enemies ever again. The backbone was revered by ancient peoples-our cannibalistic ancestors cleaned the bones with their teeth and saliva.' “
“They used the bones of their fallen enemies to summon the gods or something, right?” Darwin asked.
“Or something. Holcraft talks about looking past the mere function of an organ or a set of bones or nerves
