Bloodlines (The Guardian of Empire City Book 1)

by Peter Hartog

  Chapter 32

  The pod hurtled along an emergency ’way, one of many dedicated to critical services transports when speed was required. Unlike the municipal ’ways, traffic was very light along these paths. Taking this route back to L’Hotel Internacional would halve the trip time. I poured myself the dregs of what remained in the beverage station, making a mental note to pick up more grounds from Uncle Mortie.

  An unconscious Patricia lay on a gurney in the back, wrapped in several thick blankets. Her breathing had stabilized, but her face was still too pale for my liking. The pod contained all manner of emergency medical equipment, including oxygen masks and a defibrillator, as well as a small pharmacy with enough medication to make a tidy profit on the streets. But if Patricia became worse, my PhD in literature wasn’t going to be worth a damn.

  Leyla sat beside the gurney, a bandage around her head and grave concern etched on her bruised face.

  “You sure we shouldn’t be taking her to a hospital?” she fretted, chewing on her lower lip.

  “Positive, kiddo,” I replied. I took a long sip from the black sludge caked in my cup. It tasted awful, but I needed the jolt. “Enough people have been killed already because of the stuff flowing through her veins. No sense in bringing that kind of trouble to the nice people at EC General. Besides, Deacon says Besim’s little private palace has an infirmary.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Leyla said with a wan smile. She grimaced as she shifted her weight in the chair. She claimed nothing was broken, but I had a hard time believing her.

  “You and me both,” I answered with a wry one of my own. “You and me both.”

  “I wonder how many of these places Besim has?” Leyla mused.

  “Who knows?” I shrugged, studying Patricia in the subdued light. She bore neither freckle nor mole, the poster child for perfect skin care.

  Throughout the ride, my phone buzzed, but I ignored it. I wasn’t ready to discuss anything with Mahoney right now and needed time to digest what I’d seen with the Insight. Meanwhile, Deacon had been attached to his since we left the alley. He refused any help, accepting only the air-sling I’d found in the medical supply kit. I didn’t feel like bashing my head against his wall of stubborn pride, either.

  When we arrived, neither Giles nor any of the other regular hotel personnel was there to greet us. Instead, five of Deacon’s security team, led by the severe-looking woman with brown eyes, waited outside, each carrying a holstered sidearm.

  “Gaff, report,” Deacon grunted as we piled out of the pod.

  Leyla guided the gurney. One of Deacon’s security team tried to take over. She fixed him with a warning glare so frosty it would’ve frozen the sun. I conceded my spot and moved beside Deacon.

  “All’s quiet, sir,” the woman stated in clipped tones. She gave a cursory glance at his arm, then added, “The infirmary’s been prepped for your arrival.”

  Deacon’s eyes were bright with pain. His complexion was the color of curdled milk. Nodding once, he led the way into the lobby at a brisk pace. Inside was a ghost town. No guests lounged about, no music played, and none of the employees were present. We moved briskly to the penthouse elevator. Two more security personnel stood guard to either side of the door.

  Mamika waited inside the elevator. Some color touched her cheeks when she laid eyes on our cargo.

  “This way, please,” she instructed. “We will do this in two trips.”

  Mamika gestured for Leyla and her helper to wheel the gurney into the elevator. She gave Deacon a critical look.

  “I’ll wait for the next one,” he said stoically.

  She arched an eyebrow.

  “It is my understanding you ran several blocks in the cold and rain, took yet another beating, and had both your arm and nose broken,” Mamika replied in a hard tone that brooked no argument. “You are in no condition to wait for anything. Get into this elevator. Now.”

  They glared at one another for several seconds, neither about to budge.

  “Patricia isn’t getting any better, so table your biggest dick contest for another day,” I said. “Now isn’t the time.”

  Deacon said something very unflattering even for him, then stomped into the elevator. As the door closed, Mamika glanced in my direction with a brief nod and a slight curve of her lips.

  Moments later, I found myself occupying one of the thick leather couches of Besim’s living room, drinking a tasty café au lait and wondering when my muscles would relax. Leyla connected her rig to the workstation and sifted through the data she’d collected during our chase of Marko.

  “Shouldn’t you be in the infirmary too?” I asked.

  “Not now, Doc,” Leyla waved me away. “I’ve got shit to do.”

  Besim stood by the windows. A fresh bandana covered her head. The drapes were drawn. Squiggly patterns of rain decorated the glass. The penthouse was subdued except for the soft tap-tap-tap of the precipitation as it died against the windows.

  “How is she?” I asked, setting the porcelain cup down on the table.

  “Patricia Sullinger is stable,” Besim spoke in her quiet voice. “The golem caused her great harm, but I do not believe the damage is permanent.”

  My eyebrows shot up, intrigued.

  “Interesting choice of words,” I observed. “I’m not current on Jewish folklore, but even I recognize golem. My grandfather used to tell me boogeyman stories by the campfire when I was a kid. Where’d you hear that?”

  Besim hadn’t moved. Tall and austere despite the rustic clothing, she stared ahead as if deciphering all the secrets hidden within the fog.

  “Before I went out into your world, I studied the major religions of your people to gain a better understanding of your various belief systems,” she replied. “I felt the knowledge would prove useful in my future interactions with humans.”

  “Naturally,” I said, then changed the subject. “What about Deacon?”

  “He is in surgery,” she explained, turning toward me. “The break caused internal bleeding and ruptured all of the tendons around his elbow. Detective Holliday, I am afraid Deacon Kole will be unavailable until he has recovered sufficiently to be of use to your investigation.”

  “Deacon doesn’t strike me as the kind to sit idle while someone else does the heavy lifting,” I replied. “Do you have a timetable for his recovery?”

  “His wants are irrelevant,” she answered, and I knew she wasn’t solely referring to him. “I require Deacon Kole to operate at optimum efficiency at all times. In his current state, this is impossible. Do you have any other questions for me, Detective Holliday? If not, I must return to my laboratory. Several tests on the tissue samples provided by Doctor Stentstrom require further examination.”

  My eyes narrowed, but I bit back on the retort simmering in my mind.

  “Don’t let me keep you,” I acceded. “I’ve got to update Mahoney anyway.”

  “Very good,” Besim replied, breezing past me. “Please pass along my regards to William. Now if you will excuse me, I have work to do.”

  She exited the room without another word.

  “Man, she can be such a bitch sometimes,” Leyla said.

  She hadn’t turned away from the dozens of holo-windows hovering before her. Several of them held a variety of charts displaying signal strength, wavelength, and a few other categories that were all Greek to me.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” I muttered, standing up. “Hey, I’m going downstairs to make the call. You need anything?”

  “No, I’m fine,” she responded with an absent-minded wave, intent on the information. “Just trying to figure out where Marko’s signal went. The break created a tiny window of opportunity, because the signal wasn’t ghosting like it had been. Unfortunately, this is going to take a while.”

  “Let me know if anything pops up,” I said, and made my way to the elevator.

  Five minutes later, I stalked through the now bustling lobby, across the valet entrance with a one-fingered salute t
o Giles, and inside the police pod. I had EVI fire up the converters, and we were underway.

  “Please take me to the office of Doctor Tamara Ettelman,” I answered, sinking into the command chair.

  “Her practice is closed at the current hour, Detective,” EVI advised. “I can provide you with her patient after-hours emergency number, if you would like?”

  “That won’t be necessary, sweetie,” I replied. “Just display her profile.”

  It was no surprise there wasn’t much on Tamara Ettelman. Her image appeared, an attractive woman with shoulder-length, dark-brown hair and a friendly, freckled face. Everything I read about her was exactly what I’d expect from a fictitious medical professional. She had no criminal record. Her demure educational background contained the obligatory nods to good, but not great, schooling. And she held a laundry list of memberships to professional and social organizations one would expect from a middle-aged doctor living in Empire City. It was a classic smoke screen, like the useful series of half-truths a philandering husband tells his unsuspecting wife.

  Ettelman’s backstory was so full of shit, her eyes really were brown.

  My mind drifted back to Vanessa’s diary. Staring at the HUD, I pictured the young woman paying a visit to Ettelman, describing the nightmares plaguing her since July. Yet, despite the prescribed sleep supplement, Vanessa’s nightmares had grown increasingly more visceral and distinct. Why would that be? Did the sleep supplements make things worse? And what was Ettelman’s part in all of this? Could she be the one responsible for the experimentation on both Vanessa and Patricia?

  Then there was the wine. What was in it that was so important? Besim believed it contained something else, a trigger or enzyme of some kind integral to whatever had been done to Vanessa. Had Vanessa’s body been a vessel for the final synthesis of the finished product? After all, she was in peak physical condition before her death. Nine and the others had been hooked up to all that equipment as part of the manufacturing process. A single body capable of doing what that entire laboratory did seemed implausible, but then I’d seen a lot of improbable lately. The more I chewed on that though, the more it didn’t feel right.

  I went back to the diary again. Vanessa had received a phone call. She’d instructed whoever it was to meet her at Armin’s. As I regarded the doctor’s image, the realization struck me.

  Tamara Ettelman was Miss Ponytail. She was the woman Moonbeam described accompanying Vanessa the night of the murder. At some point, Vanessa discovered her doctor’s involvement in whatever was going on and demanded the meeting.

  I waved the holo-window away.

  It was time to call Mahoney.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded.

  “Sorry sir, but I’ve had a really long day.”

  I related most of the details regarding Marko, as well as the condition of both Deacon and Patricia. The bit of metal sat inside my blazer pocket. I didn’t mention it, or my final encounter with whoever, or whatever, lay behind Marko’s eyes.

  “So where does that put us?” the captain asked. “Marko was the murderer, but from what you’ve said, he was just a tool for someone else. Do you have any suspects?”

  “I think we’re close,” I replied. “But I need to flush out one more lead before I come to any conclusions. I know I’ve asked a lot already, but can you get me a digital search warrant for Doctor Tamara Ettelman’s office? At this stage, I think I have plenty of probable cause.”

  “Get used to being with with Special Crimes now, Tom,” he said. “That badge I gave you is all you’ll ever need.”

  “I understand, sir, but it would be nice to have something official besides that, just in case,” I said. “I’d hate to put it to the test, then fuck up the DA’s case because I got called out for not doing things by the numbers.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “What do you think you’ll find there?”

  “I’m not sure,” I replied. “As far as I can tell, Rumpelstiltskin and Orpheus are wrapped up together in this. If the second signal is coming from there, it could just be a remote data collection site for Orpheus. I sneak in, have a look around, maybe get a better idea of what’s going on. Any word on Flanagan?”

  “None,” Mahoney soured. “No one has heard from her, and she hasn’t called in to the 98th either. I sent officers to her apartment hours ago, but so far, nothing. I’ll call you if she turns up. The good news is EVI’s repair is done, but nothing was found in any of her code. If she was compromised, whoever did it got away. And by now you’ve probably heard about the push for shutting EVI down permanently. Not sure which way that’s going to go.”

  “Yeah, me neither,” I said. “I think it’s a mistake if that happens. She’s far too useful.”

  “Be that as it may, it’s out of our hands now,” Mahoney said. “Tom, this investigation has turned into more than just the hunt for a killer. What you’ve uncovered so far is nothing short of incredible. Human genetic manipulation? Drug trafficking and slavery? Honest-to-God vampires? What’s next, a zombie apocalypse?”

  “I hope not,” I answered. “Although Deacon might get a kick out of that.”

  We both shared a chuckle.

  “I’ve always known bringing you in was the right call,” Mahoney said with pride. “If you can solve this one, we’ll surely get the funding we need to make SCU a permanent fixture in Empire City. But watch your back, son. Whoever created Marko can’t be happy you broke their toy.”

  “I’m counting on it. Angry people always make mistakes,” I grinned, echoing something Deacon had said earlier. “I’ll let you know what I find.”

  Mahoney nodded once and closed the call.

  Staring out the window, I lapsed into a brooding silence, then nodded off.

  EVI’s announcement of our arrival jolted me awake. Wiping drool from the corner of my mouth, I stretched and yawned, then checked the status of the SMART gun. I had used plenty of its firepower in Rumpel’s laboratory and against Marko. The inventory display showed armor-piercing shells were empty, and regular rounds were below half. The gun’s readouts also indicated it needed a recharge and cleaning as well as a reload.

  “Well, here’s to hoping I don’t get myself into too much trouble,” I muttered, doubly annoyed for not plugging the damn thing into the pod during the ride.

  The pod came to rest. A cold drizzle hell-bent on drowning me and the rest of the world one wet drop at a time greeted my arrival. Ettelman’s office was down on Sullivan Street along with a little restaurant, across from the Kowalski Medical Center.

  I dug both hands in my pockets and dashed across the street. An awning provided me welcome refuge, and I surveyed the neighborhood. A couple wandered past, huddled close beneath their umbrella while speaking in hushed tones. The delightful smell of gravy and garlic bread floated around me. My stomach roared in protest. I glanced longingly at the restaurant. Maybe if I finished up quickly, I’d hit Cacciatore’s for some take-out.

  The thought of homemade chicken parmigiana and pasta fagioli soup warmed me as I pushed through the door and into the office building lobby. A holo-directory along one wall displayed the names of the various practices and other businesses housed in the building. After a quick search, I discovered Ettelman owned a suite on the third floor. An elevator opened at my approach. Several people filed out wearing heavy coats and speaking animatedly about their evening plans. I smiled politely, then stepped inside once the car was clear.

  The third floor was well-lit and quiet. I glanced at my phone. Still no warrant. I hadn’t expected Mahoney to come through quickly, even if he or the DA had managed to convince a judge to sign one this late in the day.

  I heard the hum and grind of elevator machinery as the car returned to the lobby. Turning to the right, I walked to the end of the white-walled hallway where a blank closed door greeted me. It was the keyless entry kind, requiring a retina or fingerprint match to open, a surprising level of security given the neighborhood. A small holo
-sign next to it proclaimed the office of Doctor Ettelman, and her scheduled hours.

  Given the type of door I faced, and without Leyla’s technological wizardry, the only way through was blasting it off its hinges. I didn’t think the building owner would take too kindly to that.

  As I considered my options, the door crept open on silent hinges.

  Someone was expecting me.

  With gun in hand, I stepped carefully into a small waiting area, complete with coffee table, holo-vision, and two comfortable chairs with thick padding. Three framed paintings hung on the walls, each depicting a seascape scene, similar with those that were found at Vanessa’s apartment. A second open doorway across the waiting area led to a carpeted hallway.

  Opposite the entrance was an empty receptionist office behind two panes of tall glass. Small signs and disclaimers were affixed to the nearby walls and panes, outlining accepted health insurance plans, standard health service disclaimers, and numbers to various clinics around the area. An end table held several pamphlets describing different health problems, and the types of treatment available.

  A lone pamphlet on the receptionist’s counter caught my attention.

  It was for Wrigley-Boes Pharmaceuticals. “Live life the way you’ve always wanted” its cover read in bold type.

  Frozen in place, I stared at it, the perfect, handsome couple on one side, and the old man in the white lab coat on the other.

  “Be welcome, Guardian,” a pleasant lilting voice called from down the hallway. I nearly jumped out of my skin. “We would be honored if you would join us.”

  Chapter 33

  I pressed against the side of the doorway and peered around the corner. The Insight suddenly roiled behind my eyes, but I couldn’t summon its power. I sensed an unfamiliar force at play here, dark and sinister. Strands of an unseen web wrapped around me, suffocating my preternatural senses.

  That wasn’t good.

  My grip tightened on the gun.