Crime Zero by Michael Cordy Page A

an appeal."
    "Canceled by the governor. He was executed a few hours ago. So, anyway, where are you now?"
    Decker took a deep breath and sat back in the car seat. With Axelman dead there was only one way of proving what he'd claimed. Plus he had an overwhelming urge to see him again. "Look, Bill, I need to check a couple of things out for a day or two."
    McCloud sighed, and when he spoke again, he sounded suspicious. "You're not still sniffing around Berkeley, are you, Spook? The bureau needs you, boy. Don't you forget that."
    Decker wasn't going to be drawn on that issue now. "Bill, I'll keep in touch via our field office here," he said, and hung up. He quickly called Quantico to warn his team that he'd be away for a couple of days. He put the phone away, got out of the car, and walked toward the prison gates, mentally ticking off the little he knew.
    Axelman was a classic sociopath, controlled, self-centered, and vain. He was incapable of showing any empathy for his victim's pain or remorse for his actions. He had killed twelve girls and delighted in keeping the whereabouts of their bodies a secret. Every psychological test showed that Axelman had no real fear of death or punishment.
    Yet yesterday he had looked like a physical wreck. He had acted completely out of character, hysterical with guilt and shame. And last night Axelman had arranged through his lawyer to deliver a sealed letter to Decker, a letter containing personal details of why he had chosen to confess to Decker and a full confession indicating where the twelve bodies were buried--plus the existence of a thirteenth body.
    Now the man was dead, and the answers died with him.
    Decker felt torn as he approached the guards' window by the main door. The professional in him calmly tried to figure out how a man incapable of remorse could suddenly become so consumed by guilt that he confessed all. But on a personal level Decker ruminated on Axelman's outlandish paternity claim. It was no longer enough that Axelman was unable to prove he was Decker's father. Decker now had to disprove it.
    Clarence Pitt was one of the guards manning the gate. He looked bored and smiled when he saw Decker. "Hey, Decker, what are you doing back here? This place is becoming like FBI central. Had the big boss herself in earlier."
    "Director Naylor was here? Do you know why?"
    "Nope. But I guess it had something to do with watching that Axelman guy meet his maker."
    Decker frowned but said nothing. It was hardly usual for the FBI director to attend the execution of a killer.
    "That's what I'm here for, Clarence. I need to see Axel-man's body."
    Pitt checked a computer screen to his right and screwed up his face in a pained grimace. "The Axelman stiff's been flagged. That means the warden wants it left alone. You got authorization?"
    "Come on, Clarence, don't make me go through all the paperwork. I just want to look at the body. I saw him yesterday when he was alive. What harm can it do if I see him today when he's dead? Five minutes is all."
    Pitt scowled for a bit longer, then pulled out a form from his desk and handed it to Decker. "Sign this, and then if anyone asks questions, it's your butt that gets kicked."
    Pitt handed over his post to another guard and led Decker through the entire length of the prison to the hospital building. The only sounds Decker heard as he followed Pitt down four flights of steps and walked along the white tiled corridor to the morgue were the occasional shouts of far-off human voices, the click-clack of heels on the tiled floor, and the whispered rustle of Pitt's starched uniform.
    Turning through an arch, the guard pointed at a pair of swinging doors. "This is it," he said, pushing them back. As he did so, Decker was hit by a wave of cool air reeking of chemicals. Inside was a large white room. The floor and the lower two thirds of the wall were tiled. Two stainless steel autopsy tables dominated the middle of the room, and an unoccupied gurney stood on one