Apparently not so.
“Diablo spinata,” she repeated the archaeology professor's term for the dinosaur bone that had claimed Giles Gahran, just to hear the sound of it again, she imagined, and just to weigh the sheer irony of it all as she stooped and lifted the bubblegum card he'd contemptuously thrown in her face. It proved a card depicting none other than Mad Matthew Matisak-crime statistics, the man's ranking according to body count listed alongside his brief biography with a notation of his unofficial official website all on one side, while his grim, ruddy and handsome features as a young man before the ravages of his disease graced the front. A sick society had made of Matisak a cult hero.
Laughlin now stared matter-of-factly down at the dead man and said, “Damn, looks like a picket fence went through the creep. Good riddance to rubbish, heh? One for the M.E.'s to yammer about over drinks at the convention, heh, Dr. Coran?”
“That could've been you down there, Jess. It's obviously what he had in mind, send you over to join with his father in a pathetic attempt of one monster trying to please another,” Richard said.
“A son trying to please a father, a son who could never please his mother,” Jessica replied.
“Why don't you write it up in another of your case file books, Dr. Coran,” Laughlin sardonically suggested. “Given the bizarre nature of the case and all, it oughta make a bestseller.”
“I'll likely have all the time in the world to write. Gods of the FBI are going to come down hard on us, Richard, when we return to D.C.”
“Perhaps… perhaps not,” Richard replied, holding her close to him.
“Do you know something I don't?”
“Before I discovered you missing at the cafe, I got a call from Eriq Santiva.”
“And?”
“He and Hemmings had it out right in the middle of Fischer's office, heated battle as they say, and Eriq came out on top defending our actions, reminding them of your previous successes in New York, Philadelphia, Miami, twice in New Orleans, D.C., Houston, Hawaii and London.”
“Did Eriq go so far as to say he condoned our actions in Portland?”
“Better yet.”
“What?”
“He brought in Xavier Darwin Reynolds who so impressed Fischer that Hemmings was blown out of the water. Darwin pointed out that the FBI came out as the hero all across America thanks to us yanking an innocent man off death row at the thirteenth hour. And the kid's persuasive, as you know.”
“But did Eriq go so far as to tell Fischer that we had his blessings?”
“He went further. He claims the glory. It was his idea.”
“My God, Eriq did that?”
“To save our asses, yes. Said he will take the brunt of any disciplinary actions Fischer might want to take, including his dismissal.”
“Geez, we can't let Eriq take this on himself this way. Did you tell him I was thinking of taking that position with Virginia state? Did you?” She grabbed her phone up and pressed speed dial for Santiva in Quantico.
Richard stopped her, pressing the phone's off button. “Calm down. There's something else.”
“What?”
“Eriq won a 155 million dollar infusion of funds to be used for the Behavioral Science Unit and the FBI M.E. programs to be administered at your discretion, Jess. You're on the board that decides just how this money will be used.”
She stared at Richard, disbelieving. “I–I don't know what to say.”
“Jessica Coran? Without words? Mute? The world's turned upside down.”
“I'll take that as a compliment, I think.”
“Does this mean you'll stay with the FBI, Jess?”
“No… no amount of money is worth going through this again. Look down there at that lost soul, Richard.”
Sharpe looked again at the battered, torn body of the dead young man still in his early twenties. “The kid lived such an unrelentingly brutal emotional nightmare, constantly under assault by his own mother.”
Then he saw movement.
At least he thought he saw movement.
It appeared imperceptible, but yes, Giles Gahran Matisak began to slowly squirm.
“God blind me for a fool, Jess, he's alive!”
“What?” She stared down to the body splayed swastikalike and bleeding all over Dr. Stroud's bones, which were apparently the only thing in the exhibit not simulated but the actual diablo spinata transported here from the Mojave.
Now Jessica, too, saw the pinned Devil's child squirm in pain. “Someone ought to put the wretched thing out of its misery,” she muttered, her gun pointed.
Richard put a hand over hers, taking the gun from her, saying, “No, Jess. It would only add to your nightmares. Leave it in God's hands.”
“He's suffered enough.”
“It is rather like watching a rabid animal, isn't it?”asked Laughlin.
“You're right, Richard. I won't do it. I won't do it.” She holstered her weapon.
Laughlin said, “If we can save him, you could study him, as you did with Matisak before him.”
“What good came of it? Studying this kind of evil does not make it go away, and neither does burying it. It just keeps coming back, and I'm walking away on two good legs from it now for the final curtain.”
Richard draped his arm about her and placed her head on his chest. “Whatever you decide, I'm behind you one hundred percent, Jess.”
“With you at my side, Richard, I want to enjoy life more.”
“As do I, of course.”
“I want us both to escape this madness that surrounds us. We've paid our dues many times over, you in London, me here.”
“Time for a little peace and paradise, you mean?”
“We'll never find it on the path we're on, not as FBI agents without a semblance of normalcy in our lives.”
“All right then, it's settled! But we must make a pact. Neither of us shall ever be lured back in once we've stepped out of it.
“Done!” She hugged him to her. “Thank God I have you.”
“Perhaps I'll find time now to write that book I've carried about in my head all these years.”
“By all means, Richard, do it,” she said.
“I love you, Jess. I've loved you all my life.”
“But you haven't known me all your life.”
“Doesn't matter. I've loved you-”
“-all my life!” They said it in unison.
Richard kissed her passionately while the milling confusion of humanity's floating opera here in the museum continued to file past Giles Gahran Matisak's now-still body. Giles lay still now, beyond caring about the amateur photos being shot or where they might wind up. For a moment, Jessica watched men in tuxedos and women in sequined evening gowns all rubbernecking for a better view of the monster who suddenly let out a final death rattle and was gone.
“Horace Keene and his team can take care of this untidy mess,” Sharpe firmly said, guiding her along the promenade farther and farther from the horror below. Jessica, nestled in the crook of Richard Sharpe’s embrace, allowed him his way toward the far stairwell and exit. She consciously fought the urge to pull from him and go back to take control of the crime scene. But no, she would not do that, not this time. Fuck them one and all, the FBI, Portland authorities, all her critics who felt she had, over the years, developed a heavy-handedness that put others off, and those who felt she had nothing but a cold sociopathic mind herself to be able to function in this man's world.
She liked the feel of her feet moving her body out of this lifestyle here and now. She could do this, easily, with
