Absolute Instinct (46 page)

They returned to Petersaul and included her in the remainder of the discussion. Laughlin said, “This guy hasn't exactly kept a low profile. Hell, he's at damn Navy Pier tossing Matisak memorabilia off the Ferris wheel. Made one hell of a big show. Yeah, he's just wacko enough—”

“
Or arrogant enough—” interjected Sharpe.

“—
to stick around to see how his showing goes. He has to know it will be his first and last.”

“
I'll make a deal with you, Harry,” said Jessica. “Towne for all the help you can put on the street for this dragnet.”

“
You gotta turn Towne over regardless. You've got no bargaining chips, but be assured, I'll put every available man on the hunt, and we'll enlist every agent and detective in the city on it. We canvass the near North Side neighborhoods for any sign, any flyer, any word of mouth at the coffee shops about this guy's debut Chicago showing.”

“
If it's not advertised in any of the papers,” muttered Petersaul wincing in pain, “then whoever's got Gahran s stuff to show, the stuff that Lucinda Wellingham supposedly threatened Orion with, Harry? It's going to be a small, small gallery with no ad budget.”

“
Hang in, Pete,” Jessica said to her as they left to continue the search for Gahran.

“
What else am I going to do?”

The word on Milos was that he was working toward a recovery, but that he'd be away from his job for at least a month, perhaps more.

Agent Cates and Liam Rielsen lay in the morgue in the basement, the body of each man eerily divested of their backbones.

TWENTY-TWO

Scream like the Devil's baby.

—
ANONYMOUS

CPD and FBI agents fanned out all over Chicago's near

North Side. Every art gallery and bar and coffeehouse that ever exhibited a stick of artwork, particularly those known for “outer limits” artwork, were paid a visit and even if they never heard of Giles Gahran or his artwork, they were questioned about anyone new in the neighborhood, any new buzz in the area about a hot new artist with whom Orion could not hold a candle.

Nothing came of the initial canvass.

Other operatives combed the newspapers, from the most prestigious to the smallest and avant-garde or the unusual like The Art of the Onion.

Three o'clock came and went. Laughlin had chosen to ignore his orders, to claim he had seen them off at the airport and that had been the last he had seen of them, and that they had given him a false lead on the whereabouts of Towne.

The list of coffeehouses, bars and meeting places in the enclaves and tightly knit neighborhoods in and around Wrigleyville, Lincoln Park, Lakeview and others was astounding. Jessica knew they would need a miracle to find this needle in the haystack, and even if they did, there was no guarantee that Giles Gahran would be foolish enough to expose himself again as he had at Navy Pier. That he would be foolish enough to show up at his own gallery showing.

But then where was he?

Every exit from the city had been closed off to him. Both airports. Trains at Union and Northwestern, the Greyhound and Metra stations. Everyone had his picture. Still, he could have hitchhiked out or rented a private vehicle, using a stolen card. There were simply too many highways leading out of this hub to throw up roadblocks and shut them all down. Besides, they'd acted too late for such action to be effective.

“
He's hiding here somewhere... someplace close,” Jessica said to Richard. They sat in a coffee shop called BeBo's having Irish coffees. Neither of them had had much sleep in the past twenty-four hours, and each struggled with fatigue.

Time had grown late as the clock neared 6 P.M. “If he does have a showing, it could be tomorrow or the following day and not tonight at all,” suggested Richard.

“
True enough, and we're extremely late in not complying with HQ. In fact, they'll be sending U.S. marshals after us if we don't soon turn ourselves in.”

“
On the FBI's most-wanted list, heh?”

“
We are out of time, Richard.”

“
I know now why Darwin hasn't gotten here yet from Portland, Jess.”

“
Tell me why.”

“
I did some discreet checking. The reason Oregon didn't hold Darwin on charges.”

“
Spit it out, Richard.”

“
The State Department is conducting the investigation into the matter, into the part we all played in it.”

“
That's why we've been ordered back to D.C.”

“
And apparently Darwin's flight on an Oregon field office jet was ordered directly to D.C.”

“
Explains why Santiva wants us in D.C.”

“
Towne's expecting Darwin to join us here.”

“
Yeah, he's going to be disappointed.”

“
Oregon really must have Towne back and soon. It's all a great embarrassment to them.”

The couple smiled across at one another. Jessica said, “We pulled off the bait and switch of the decade, I think.”

“
I dare say so.”

Jessica's phone rang and she opened the cover and answered. “Yes, right,” she began, “hello.” There only came an eerie silence. “Is anyone there?”

“
'Dr. Coran?”

She recognized the chilling voice.

“
It's me again, Jessica.”

He even sounds like Matisak now, she thought, now that I know the truth.

“
I'm sorry... who is it?” she stalled for time.

“
Your favorite prey. By now you and everyone else chasing me knows who I am.”

“
Giles? Gahran is it you?” She waved and pointed her finger at the phone to indicate to Richard that she had him on the line. Richard was already on his phone calling their carrier for a trace. A satellite trace was difficult and took time, but Jessica had anticipated this possibility, knowing he still had Agent Amanda Petersaul's cell phone. Jessica had alerted her carrier to the possibility, too, and they were on speed dial on Richard's companion phone.

“
Where are you calling from, Giles?”

“
Wouldn't you like to know. And you may call me Mr. Matisak now, Giles Matisak. Really, it's a good righteous fit, my new skin. Shedding the old one has been liberating. Feels right in this skin. It suits me.”

She took a stab at a hunch, picturing him atop of the Navy Pier Ferris wheel. She discussed it openly, asking him what he thought he was doing tossing out all those news clippings and serial killer playing cards, autopsy photos and police reports. “Liberating yourself from that damnable box and its contents? Why don't you go beyond the box, really liberate yourself, Giles?”

“
Too late for that. I am born in my father's image. I look like him, even think like him.”

“
No, Giles, it isn't you. It's only your mother's inculcations you're acting on, as you always have, and Giles, get this.”

“
What, Dr. J?”

“
We ran a DNA match and—”

“
I know, saved that poor Devil on death row. I heard on CNN. His life was courageously won.”

“
You don't understand. We ran a scan on Matisak's DNA and compared it to yours, and guess what, Giles?”

“
You're lying.”

“
What possible reason would I have to lie about such a thing, Giles?”

“
I don't know... going to have to figure that one. Pretty sneaky of you... to throw a curve like that at me. Likely your way to keep me on the line while your partner runs a trace.”

“
No, I just wanted to know the truth. How about you? You interested at all in the truth of your lineage?”

“
Bullshit. You're bullshitting me.”

“
Well, look, if you're not going to get to the point, Giles, and just run up Petersaul's minutes, I'm hanging up.”

“
Agent Petersaul? Amanda need not worry about Cingular now.”

“
You talk like Amanda's dead.”

“
And you want me to believe Amanda's still alive?” He laughed. “Let the games begin.”

“
She is quite alive and recuperating. Took all you could dish out and still survived. Oughta build a new reality TV show around this woman.”

“
Survived?”

“
Yes.”

“
The first ever to survive my interest in a spinal cord.”

Jessica replied through gritted teeth. “What do you think? That she's going to die just because you want her to?”

“
I think she did die. I had gotten too far on her when I was interrupted by headlights I thought belonged to you.”

“
Petersaul survived. Now, Giles, let's talk about how you want to give yourself up so that no one else gets hurt—including you—since every cop and FBI agent in Chicago is gunning for you.”

“
No, Dr. Coran, let's talk about you coming to my showing.”

“
Really? You want me to come to see your art?”

“
It's good... very good.”

“
I'm sure it is. You forget, I've seen your sketches.”

“
My worst day, my worst piece of art is far better than that prick Orion's junk. My art does not rely on smoke'n mirrors, special effects'n strobe lights'n all that shit. My work has character... backbone, you might say.”

Jessica immediately realized now what he was doing with the stolen racks of bones. “Your art... is... it is built upon the bones of your victims?”

“
The centerpiece of each sculpture, yes. A must-see.”

“
Then I must see it. When and where?”

“
Not so fast. First off, you come alone.”

“
That flies in the face of all my training and experience, Giles.”

“
You want the son of Matisak, don't you?”

“
There's no scientific proof, Giles, that Matthew Matisak was your father.”

“
What're you saying?” This had not once occurred to him ever. Getting the showing at Cafe Avanti might not seem like much of a showing, not to an Orion perhaps, but it had given him the courage to open and digest all that Mother had left him by way of his father. “Why would Mother lie about... about a thing like that, Dr. Coran. One good reason. Give me one good reason.”

“
Your mother might've had it all wrong, despite what she convinced you and herself of.”

“
That's truly insane, Dr. Coran. Are you simply afraid to face the facts?”

“
Like you?” she softly taunted. “Tell me where to be and when, Giles, and I promise you, I will come alone.”

“
Our little rendezvous... a kind of reunion. Old Dad picked you over Mom, didn't he? Gee-whiz, Pop wanted to go off into eternity with you and leave us to fend for ourselves. I read about his fixation and how he cornered you in New Orleans, how the roof caved in on him, and you got the upper hand, or rather fate in the shape of one big-assed nasty hook took care of Poppa.”

“
That's right, and I watched him squirm on that hook.”

“
Are we on, Doctor?”

“
Will you tell me where you are, Giles?”

“
No... No... I gotta think this thing through.”

“
Your showing, Giles. Where is it happening? I want to see your work and to finally meet you.”

He hung up.

She cursed. “Bastard.”

“
Appropriate word in this case,” replied Sharpe, snapping his own phone shut. “But Jess, we've got his signal location via satellite. Hurry!”

She followed him out to a waiting car. From the car, they radioed Laughlin that they had a fix on Gahran's location.

Twenty cars silently converged on Cafe Avanti, covering front and back. Men p>oured into the cafe, making it crowded, frightening and disturbing the usual customers and others who'd come to enjoy the evening with laptop computers opened, notepads busy, books propped beside large helpings of exotic coffee drinks and pastries. Other people milled about in the rear, ohs and ahs spilling out as they literally walked through the mind of a killer, examining Giles Gahran's artwork, commenting on the realism of even the blood odor along with the sight of the spines.

Police and FBI agents secured every exit. The owner rushed at them, calling them pigs and demanding to know the meaning of this outrage, saying, “You think this is Guatemala or something you can just bust into my place like fucking Nazi storm troopers? You got a warrant?”

Laughlin dealt with her as other agents swarmed upstairs and cleared each room one by one. Jessica, with Richard at her side, took the gruesome tour through Giles Gahran's mind, going from a dark little room down even darker little corridors to another adjacent room and another larger one partitioned off. She recognized the featureless, eyeless creations as those of each victim. The park bench and birds in one, the playful dog in another, the extremely cramped horse with Sarah Towne's form, and dangling above all as if lifting out of the backs of women flew the backbones—so lifelike and amazingly startling and eerie in their levitation above the human forms frozen in time. Because, as Jess determined now by touch, they were real. Made even the more eerie as Jessica confirmed her worst fear, that the sculpted bones were sculpted not by Giles but by God.

Onlookers were being ushered out of the gallery created here to display Giles's twisted idea of art. Laughlin joined them, the owner still on him, bitching at him, when he announced there was no sign of Gahran. “We've hit every nook and cranny from basement to third floor and the roof. He's not here, and the owner isn't cooperating.”