Dr. O (6 page)

"You don't. That's how good he is."

"And your people, with all you've got in the way of technological toys, still don't know why he does what he does?" Robyn was intrigued.

"Not really. Other than to say he has some notion that he serves the god of insanity."

"Why here, now? What makes you believe he's in Chicago."

"He's here."

"How do you know that for certain?"

"This." She handed the white box, the size of a Q_- tip box to Swisher.

"What's this?"

"Part of your man, Stavros. Understand the case is yours now."

The two of them stared across at one another. Swisher wiped at his brow and opened the box to reveal the organ missing from Stavros. "How the hell do you know this..." he began shakily, "that this is Stavros's?"

"That's for your crime lab to find out, isn't it? It was a... gift... from Dr. O. Stands to reason, the pattern... likes innocent people as his victims."

"And this guy, this Ovierto, he's not contacted any-one with a list of demands? And he just, what, talks to you?"

"Talks... no, he doesn't talk..."

"Sends you disgusting things through the mail, then —federal offense, isn't it? Bitches the Feds off, doesn't it?"

"You're damned straight it does!" Thorpe shouted and then found an edge of the couch to rest on. "Christ, Swisher, the man's an animal in every sense of the word, but he's as cunning an animal as... as a cougar. He's a medical doctor, and when he's not employing surgery, for Christ's sake, he's employing drugs and poisons. He's left bodies in almost every state in the goddamned Union!"

"If that's true, this ahh... body part... could've come from any number of bodies."

"Don't you think I've thought of that? Hell, man, we have a missing agent named Bateman we believe is in his hands. He was working with Sykes and—"

"—And if Sykes is dead, yeah... see, what you mean," said Swisher, calming a bit.

"This man sounds like a lunatic we dealt with once before," said Robyn.

"No, no... he's not like anyone else. He's as close to Satan as the human mind can get. He enjoys watching people die; enjoys experimenting to prolong death. Nothing like anything you've ever known, Ser-geant, believe me."

Swisher found some glasses and a bottle and rattled out some ice from his freezer, asking the others if they wanted any of his Scotch. Robyn declined, but Donna Thorpe called out, "With a little water and ice, thanks."

Swisher busied himself with the drinks as Thorpe roamed about his place —like a thief canvassing a store, Robyn thought. She took an immediate dislike to Donna Thorpe, colored mostly by what she knew of the woman from Joe's previous dealings with her. But Joe had said nothing about how pretty —no, beautiful—she was, what a stylish dresser she was, or the fact she moved with a Lauren Bacall grace that made Robyn feel self-conscious in her presence. She didn't look anything like the middle-aged bag with three kids that Joe had painted her.

Thorpe had taken in the room quickly, and now she caught Robyn staring at her. Their eyes flashed like two swords, but Joe, sauntering back in with the drinks, hadn't seen a thing.

"You two gettin' acquainted?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact, we are," offered Thorpe.

"Why do you suppose he's here?" asked Robyn.

"Pattern. Ovierto will follow through with his pattern, and the next two on his list are near here, at Argonne, at Fermilab in—"

"You're certain?"

"It's the way the man works."

"Meaning what exactly?" pressed Swisher.

"He's a real smooth operator, crazy or not. Takes time to really get to know the habits of those he kills. Kind of a thing with him. He learns the names of their damned pets before he kills them; where they jog and how far; who they speak to and who they sleep with. The guy is a professional killer and he's a psycho, a neat-as-a-pin psycho. I came here to tell you about this man and to warn you that he's about to become a Chicago problem, unless you can stop him."

"Do you have a picture of him?" asked Robyn.

"Here," she said, spreading out three different pictures of the killer. Each one looked like a different per-son. "He's a chameleon, Swisher, not unlike yourself.

That's why I thought of you when I determined he was heading for Chicago next."

Robyn and Swisher studied the pictures. Ovierto had piercing, mad eyes. Swisher had seen eyes like that in a pre Civil War picture of the madman John Brown, taken days before he stormed a U.S. Arsenal at Harper's Ferry with a contingent of eleven men. Maybe this Dr. Ovierto was simply a madman on a self-appointed holy mission to save the Earth from physicists and NASA and the CIA. In one picture Ovierto was seen in a front view, the skin pulled tightly about the protruding portions of his face. He was thin, angular, starved-looking. He was very pale in this picture, looking somewhat like an East European prisoner of war.

"Is this his true likeness?" asked Swisher, lifting the full face picture of a man dressed in the clothing of a servant or waiter, a dull expression on his face.

"Affirmative," she said, falling back on her FBI lingo.

The second shot was of a man in a Marine uniform. He was heavier about the jowls and fleshy ears jutted out. The nose was fuller and the hair dark where the other was an Andy Warhol white. "Doesn't look like the same man. Was he ever a Marine?"

"Yes, but here he's using a disguise. He uses many disguises. He is a capable makeup artist, as you can see."

"Can't do much with these eyes, though," said Robyn.

Swisher agreed. "Strange look deep inside there."

"He'll change his eyes with contacts. He could be anyone you meet. You'll have to see him before he sees you."

"Some decoy set up, huh, Swish?" asked Robyn.

They studied the third glossy photo of Dr. M.

Ovierto. Once again, the eyes shimmered out of the flat photo at them. In this picture Ovierto was using one of his favorite disguises, according to Thorpe. He was dressed as a woman, and he looked quite convincing.

"As it turns out he's a cross-dresser."

"Transsexual, maybe?" asked Swisher.

"Very sharp, Lieutenant."

"You were going to hold that little smidge of info for later, maybe?"

Donna Thorpe ignored this and continued. "Be a woman any time he chooses. Helps him get in close, if you know what I mean."

"I do."

"Men are easily beguiled by women; easily overtaken. He knows this. Knows a great deal about human nature. At any rate, he knows how to walk in heels and hoisery. His heels are deadly, however. He's been known to ram them through a man. He's versed in the martial arts, and if you can imagine a jujitsu kick with those heels making contact against your head, well..."

"Tough and mad," said Swisher.

"Dangerous, no doubt about it. Well-versed in all forms of armament as well."

Swisher nodded and said, "Of course."

"But according to these files he's not killed any of the victims with a gun," said Robyn, confused.

Thorpe got up from the chair she sat in and rocked on her feet a bit. "Yeah, Dr. Ovierto is funny that way."

Swisher stared into Thorpe's eyes; the woman was pushing hard, and she was weary. The eyes told Swisher of the awful wear on a person who has lost a partner. He understood this.

Swisher took the photo from Robyn again and stared into the egg-like eyes that bulged there. In the full-faced picture, the one that most closely resembled the recil Dr. Ovierto, Swisher saw something flash like the taunting flicker of the Devil himself. It was as if the photo eyes had turned up, or down. It shook Swisher where he didn't like to be shaken.

To hide his inner trembling, Joseph Swisher quickly asked, "This file for me to keep? You got copies, I presume."

'You've got a complete background file here, Joe. It's all yours."

"Swish," said Robyn, "you can't seriously be thinking-"

"If this nut's running around Chicago; if he's the guy that did Stavros—"

"We don't have any proof of that," replied Robyn.

But Joe, for the first time, was giving it very serious consideration. He lifted and quickly put down the box with the severed penis inside it, saying, "I'll get this typed; determine if it is Stavros. Meantime, I want something for our trouble in return for Ovierto, should we get him."

"Name it."

"Alpha status with the company."

"What?" asked Thorpe.

"You heard me."

"I don't know if I can —"

"If you and I bring in Ovierto, you can write any ticket, Thorpe. I know how things work in D.C."

"All right," she replied. "You've got it."

Alpha status meant free access to all FBI files, including those considered top secret.

"Something stinks in all this," said Robyn. "She's just interested in getting you killed, Joe."

"I'll admit people have died around me, and sometimes because of me," Thorpe said, "but Joe, you know that you and I are not so different. I see an ends, I make a means, same as you. I see a wrong, I make it right. This wrong can best be righted here and now, by you."

"I don't like it, Joe," Robyn said in his ear.

"Complete access to the files?" he asked Thorpe.

"My own terminal."

"In Lincoln?"

"In D.C."

This made Joe laugh. "No horshittin' with partitioning programs to keep me out?"

"My word on it."

"I want more than your word."

"Anything."

"I want it in writing, a contract."

Thorpe hesitated.

Robyn shook her head in disbelief. "How're you going to trust her, Joe?"

"Well?" pressed Swisher.

"All right. I'll have the papers drawn up."

"A contract to kill Maurice Ovierto at your request, for payment in information retrieval from the central computer at Virginia's FBI headquarters to search for two men. I want the names in the contract."

"Done."

"Shit," moaned Robyn.

"Done," said Joe. "And Robyn, Stavros is yours if this—" he held up the box again, "turns out to belong to someone else."

"Thanks for the crumbs." She suddenly stormed out and down the corridor and stairs. Maybe it was for the better, he thought. Maybe he should have spoken to Donna Thorpe alone in the first place. He slammed the door hard on returning to Thorpe, who'd once again made herself comfortable in the sparsely furnished room that sported glistening, well-kept wood flooring, and paneled walls hung with citations and guns.

"Good riddance," Thorpe mumbled. Swisher made no reply to the remark, but simply paced before her before suddenly taking her in his arms and kissing her.

"Lieutenant, you do have a great deal of work to do." She pointed to the file. "Study it carefully. You must understand Ovierto. He's like no other adversary you have faced. He's diabolical, far more so than either you or I. The first man he killed, Dr. Coleman, you can read about it. He was skewered in ten places by a falling chandelier in his ancestral home. It's postulated that Ovierto got to him by becoming an electrician. He so timed the fall of the chandelier that Coleman was sitting under it having his brunch when it crushed him, a mammoth piece of metal and crystal. He was killed on impact."

"Tricky"

"Like you," she said, pulling away from him.

He moved to kiss her again, but she put him off. "Strictly business partners."

"Why is that? Was it that way with you and Tom Sykes?"

He knew he had struck a sensitive cord when she darted for the door. "I'll be in touch."

CHAPTER SEVEN

"You're going to do it? After what that bitch did to you?" Robyn was furious as she stormed about her apartment the next day. "You poor, dumb bastard."

"Look at it this way, sweetheart," he said with a casualness that she found attractive. "I bag this guy and the sky's the limit for my career. This guy's big time bad, baby."

"I smell something; something's just not right. And that Thorpe woman!"

"Woman's intutition doesn't change the fact this filth, Ovierto, is out there cutting people up, dicing guys who work for NASA and that not even the FBI's been able to stop him. Suppose a Chicago cop did the job for them? How's that going to look on Thorpe's record, huh?"

"Is that your plan? Embarrass her? Burn her?"

He raised his shoulders. "Why not."

"You're playing with fire, Joe. That woman is a forest fire."

"Come on, Robyn, I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself."

"Think so, Joe? She's capable of using you, Joe. You should know that by now."

He put both hands on his head, nursing a hangover, saying nothing.

"Where is she now?"

"Flew back to Nebraska where she's headquartered now. How do you like that? She was booted from Quantico over this Ovierto business."