He gave her an approving nod, hefted his glass, waited for her to do the same and toasted, “If you're sure, then, to a speedy end to this, and to saving a man in Oregon from state-sanctioned murder.”
“I don't know that we can save Robert Towne, Reynolds.”
“We can and we will.”
“Oh, yes… of course. All right, Darwin. I do like your enthusiasm.”
“I had hoped to find more fire in you for the case.”
“Fire… me… oh, sorry. Guess I'm fatigued from the flight, all that we saw today, and maybe, just perhaps a little.. just a little jaded.”
“That might explain the book in your hand, and you sitting working this case alone as if I'm not even here.”
“Just looking for answers.” She held up the book's back cover to show him Holcraft's photo. “One of the best men in forensics I ever had the pleasure of working with.”
“Really? I wouldn't've guessed it on my own since I'm only an FBI detective. From his picture, your man Asa, looks like Santa Claus incognito-donning a suit and tie but failing miserably to fool anyone.”
She glared at his irreverence toward her American idol.
He took the book from her and examined the write-up, the cover and then the marked page where she had left off.
He began to silently scan its pages, physically jolted by something he read. “Oh Christ.”
“What is it?”
“Listen to this,” he ordered and began reading. “ 'In Hindu esoteric physiology the spinal column has an astral counterpart in what is known as the brahmadanda.'“
“And that is?”
“According to your friend Holcraft, 'the Rod of Brahma, an invisible shaft, which starts from a place between the anus and the tailbone, and proceeds upward along the spine to the base of the skull'.”
“Yeah, I was reading that part when you interrupted me. So?”
“So, 'within this shaft is the sushumna,'“ he continued reading.
“Meaning what?”
“Something to do with the pleasure centers in the brain… means 'pleasing,' something about the largest of the subtle arteries of the body. But what the hell is a subtle artery?”
“A 'subtle artery' is a mythical medical belief in an invisible system of connecting arteries between major organs, the eyes, the phallus and the brain.”
“I think I see…”
“No, you don't. It's a fallacy. It does not exist except in the minds of some Hindu clerics who have never let go of the past, including medical misinformation.”
“Medical mis-in-for-ma-tion,” he slowly intoned.
“At one time, there was a generally held belief that the soul resided in the pancreas, too.”
“This guy Holcraft… He didn't believe all this shit, did he?”
She shook her head vehemently. “No-no-no, but there are people who do, and that's the point… that some still do.”
“You mean it was a kind of hobby of his to collect this kind of stuff even though much of it is a pack of lies?”
“Asa was fascinated with what people could make of something as simple as cartilage and bone, the human nose, the ears, the eyes, the skull cap, you name it.”
“Is that right?”
“From A to Z, he researched all this arcane information about scatological practices and beliefs from every culture, race, religion and time period.”
“Scat-o-logical? Does that mean it's logical to scat?” he joked, but she could hear the fatigue in his voice.
“Scatological refers to bodily functions, autonomous stuff, weird shit.”
“Got that right. This is some weird shit. Says here, 'According to the Chinese system an exceedingly fine tube starts at the sacral'-whatever that is-'extremity and goes up the spine and enters the skull, and is connected with a reservoir of marrow called t-t-t-t'ung te situated at the back of the head.'“
“From tailbone to skullcap,” she commented, nodding. “Pleasure points in body and mind.”
He read on, “ 'The Tibetans took over this notion and added a refinement by introducing a system of boo… ahhh… bu-gu-chan veins.' Sounds like moo goo gai pan.”
She frowned and took the book away from him. “ 'These veins,'“ she read, “ 'branch out of the spinal column and then loop back again forming a network of tiny channels filled with a vaporlike essence. This system of veins is responsible for vitalizing the blood, semen and other “wet” elements of the body.'“ She lifted her final dram of whiskey sour to toast these words. “And here's to wet elements.” She downed the whiskey. “And I do believe it is time for me to retire.”
“I appreciate all the time you've taken, Dr. Coran.”
“On the case or on your crusade?”
“I assure you they are one and the same.”
“Then we will make it so, one and the same.”
She staggered, dog tired and tipsy, back into the room. He followed. “Lock that window up for me, will you? And get outta here, will you, Xavier Darwin Reynolds? I'm off to see the wizard.” She set her alarm as she spoke. She laid across the bed as he made his way toward the door.
“Good night or rather morning, Dr. Coran.”
“You know, Darwin, you could be wrong every step of the way on this thing, and especially the part about an aging FBI M.E.'s having any sort of clout with authorities in Oregon to get a man off death row.” In her foggy mind, she once again rifled through the photos as she spoke. “Still, there are some damn striking similarities here, even to time of year. Another pattern. Always in the fall, mid-fall, right? Only a year apart…”
“Two years ago come November fourteenth in Millbrook, Minnesota.”
“Yeah, Millbrook… How big is this place, Millbrook?”
“Size of my left toe. One fire hydrant town. Farming community. More cows than people. I figure our guy may've just been raised there, and with too much time on his hands… who knows… maybe he read your friend Asa's book or he's read Evan Kingsbury's god-awful novels depicting Lovecraftian monsters feeding on human beings.”
“The possibility that Asa's book set him off… that would upset Asa, I can tell you.”
“Why the bastard needs a crocodile-sized bone God alone knows!”
She said, “Something to fuck, something to cuddle with in bed, something to take walks with, who knows what goes through the minds of these fucked freaks that can do this kind of thing to another human being.”
“More likely it's like you said. He's extracting the bone marrow and cannibalizing it.”
Propped on her elbow on the bedspread, she replied, “I said that? Oh, yeah… least that'd be my guess if I dared venture one. Possibly thinks it gives him some magical power or eternal life or some such nonsense.” She flashed on the crime-scene photo showing the charcoal sketch Louisa Childe clutched in a closed right hand fist. Another photo showed that the fingertips of her left hand had all been removed. Removed by the killer himself. These had been recovered, unlike the backbone.
“Tell me again what was in the picture Louisa Childe had clutched in her hand.”
He let go of the door and moved a few steps back into the darkened room. Darwin's skin glistened here in the room as if it came alive in the dark. “A charcoal drawing depicting the victim-”
“Right… feeding birds in a park.”
“Not just any park, but the one directly across from her apartment, one she frequented. Three other drawings of the park and the birds had also been left clumsily tacked to the walls.”
“That's some con to run… quite a segue way into a woman's apartment.”
“And Minnesota authorities believe the butcher did the artwork.”
“Was it a good likeness?”
“Good likeness?”
“Did he do his subject justice. Did it look like her, you know, a decent job?”
