"As you know," Chief Denning began, "the body of Carl Salvador was discovered last evening at approximately nine-seventeen in the parking garage of the old HansonBuilding on Jefferson Street
and Central Avenue
. We are still awaiting the results of the autopsy. However, it's believed at this time Salvador's death was not due to natural causes."
There was a brief flurry of activity as thirty-plus reporters documented the information either on tape, memory chip, or paper.
"Who discovered the body?" someone asked.
"A resident of the building. He's not acquainted with Salvador and not currently under suspicion."
"His name?"
"You know better than to ask that," Chief Denning admonished the reporter.
"Was it a hit?" someone yelled.
"No comment."
"Was he shot?"
"Mr. Salvador does not appear to have been the victim of a gunshot wound."
"How was he killed?" Linda Perez asked. She stood at the very front, in a better position than Celeste, something Nick was sure stuck in Celeste's craw.
"The exact cause of death is not yet known and may not be for days." Chief Denning then went on to say, "Mr. Salvador appears to have been alone and was discovered a few feet from his parked car. The car was not tampered with."
"Surely you have some idea of how he was killed," Linda Perez insisted.
"No comment."
"A blow to the head? Strangled? Stabbed?"
Police Chief Denning glowered at her. "No comment."
One of the suits beside him bent to the microphone. "We don't wish to reveal the means by which Mr. Salvador was killed as it might adversely impact our investigation."
He died from loss o f blood after having the flesh stripped from his body.
"There are certain particulars about Mr. Salvador's remains that may help us narrow the list of suspects."
His heart and other organs had been ripped from his body.
"And we don't want to encourage any copycat killings."
Tonight someone else will die in an identical manner. "Do you have any leads?" another reporter asked. "Not presently," Chief Denning answered. "Have you questioned Ernie Orsi?" Celeste asked. "No comment."
"What about Salvador's fiance, Orsi's daughter?"
"Ms. Orsi has been questioned, yes, but only for information on Salvador's recent whereabouts and activitity. She's not currently a suspect," he concluded.
More questions were asked, none compelling and most receiving a "no comment" response from the chief. Nick started getting antsy.
He wanted to return to the station, throw the segment together as quickly as possible, then get back to finding the female creatures. By using the lost-pet notices Gillian tracked down, Charlie had pinpointed two possible hiding locations for the remaining females.
Nick's attention, which had begun to wander, suddenly refocused when Linda Perez asked, "Is there any connection between Salvador's murder and the recent string of deaths in downtown Phoenix?"
"We don't believe so." Chief Denning's response came a millisecond too slow.
Nick caught the hesitation.
So did Linda Perez.
"Excuse me, Chief," she said, "but there have been five reported deaths in the past seven days. All in downtown Phoenix, all within a one-mile radius, all with certain particulars about the remains. How can you stand there and say you don't believe the deaths are connected?"
Five reported deaths. Cadamus fed at least once a night if not twice. There were likely two or more unreported deaths. Missing persons whose remainswith certain particulars or not-might never be found.
"We concede to some similarities in some of the deaths," the suit said. "Rest assured, we're looking into those now and will release the facts as soon as they become available."
"Are we dealing with a serial killer?" someone asked.
"There's no evidence-"
Chief Denning's response was drowned out by a hallway full of reporters simultaneously erupting with questions. Nick caught only bits and pieces above the din.
... the public has a right to know ...
"... safety of our citizens ..."
.. , police accountability. . .
"... dismembered limb ... old woman ..."
Linda Perez shouted to be heard. "Excuse me, Chief Denning. Has anyone in your department talked to Dr. Gillian Sayers?"
The room went instantly quiet. Nick clutched his camera tighter and ground his teeth together. Figures Linda Perez would be the one to bring up the creatures. She might look like a centerfold model but she had the IQ of a neurosurgeon and the tenacity of a ... well, of a reporter.
God dammit.
Why had he ever mentioned Gillian's name to Bradley in the production meeting and pushed to interview her?
Because you wanted to meet her and it provided a legit excuse.
Someone would have eventually connected the recent murders to the ones described in her book, he rationalized. The urban legends were well circulated, though not taken seriously by everybody-for which Nick was glad. The police had probably been fielding calls from scared, and in their opinion, wacky, citizens all week.
Which gave Nick an idea. Maybe Charlie could hack into the police computers again and find out if any complaints had been filed about an atrocious smell. It was worth a try, and Nick could kick himself for not thinking of it sooner.
Chief Denning tugged on the knot of his tie and looked uncomfortable. "No, we have not spoken to ... Dr. Sayers, did you say?"
"Don't you think you should?"
"Why, Ms. Perez?" Chief Denning's tone was condescendingly patient and ripe with sarcasm. "Are you privilege to information that implicates this Dr. Sayers in Carl Salvador's murder?"
"She's a noted local authority on urban legends," Linda Perez said, undaunted and unintimidated. "Some of the legends bear a striking similarity to the recent murders."
"Is that so?" Chief Denning asked with blatantly false ignorance.
Nick didn't like Gillian's name being brought up. On the other hand, he was relieved to learn that the police didn't put much stock in the myths about the creatures. He couldn't afford any interference from an outside source.
Chief Denning heaved a weary sigh. "We're following up on every possible lead, none of which include winged monsters that supposedly eat people." He glanced around the room. "I'll take two more questions. Please use them wisely."
The police chief's snide treatment of Linda Perez didn't diffuse the spark of interest she'd ignited. While the last two questions were asked and answered, Nick noticed an unusual abundance of cell phone calls being placed.
His agitation returned tenfold. Shutting off his camera-something Bradley would give him hell for later-Nick pulled his own cell phone from his pocket and dialed Gillian's office at school. He had to talk to her before one of these reporters did.
He got a busy signal. Nick hit the disconnect button and swore. Advances in technology had changed the way in which Huntsmen sought out the creatures, giving them more sophisticated tools and a greater edge. He hadn't taken into account that those same sophisticated tools could also hinder his efforts. Gillian might, at this very moment, be talking to one of these reporters.
"Nick." Celeste appeared in front of him. "What," he snapped.
"We've got to get back to the station." She glanced down. "Oh, good. You have your phone. Call Sherri and tell her to get in touch with that Dr. Sayers and set up another interview. See if she can swing an exclusive."
"Here, hold this." Nick shoved his camera at her. "What!" She took it only because he gave her no choice.
Nick punched in Gillian's cell phone number. It rang four times, then went to her voice mail. "Damn it to hell."
"Nick," Celeste wailed and stamped her foot. "This fricking thing weighs a ton."
"Yeah, yeah, try carrying it around all day."
With the press conference over, Chief Denning and the suits left throug
h the same door they'd come out of. The uniforms stayed behind, guarding the door. Nick and Celeste were being bumped and jostled on all sides by a stampede of reporters racing back to their offices or newsrooms to put together their stories. Celeste barely managed to hold on to the camera.
Nick ignored her perpetual whining.
No point calling Gillian's home, he thought. She wouldn't be there until after five.
"Can you drive the van back to the station?"
"Are you insane?" Celeste shoved the camera back at him.
Nick took it from her before she dropped it, figuring the station wouldn't appreciate him damaging a piece of very expensive equipment.
"Look, Celeste. I have to go." They joined the stream of reporters heading toward the exit. "That phone call I got was . . ." He searched his brain for a reasonable excuse. "I have a family emergency."
"What family? You're an orphan."
"My foster father's sick."
"Oh, yeah, him," she said, letting Nick know she didn't include foster parents in her definition of family. "Gee, I'm sorry about that. But I can't, I won't drive the van. And besides, you have a story to edit. Work first," she chirped. "Family second."
Christ, he had to get hold of Gillian before some other reporter did.
He contemplated his options. Max could edit the piece on Chief Denning's press conference. Nick wasn't worried about that. Bradley would probably forgive him ditching Celeste and the van in order to attend a family emergency. She wouldn't, however, and he could kiss their working relationship goodbye. For the next few months anyway. Nick wasn't worried about that, either.
Maybe he should call Charlie.
Or maybe he should go back to the station, keep trying to get in touch with Gillian, and trust that she wouldn't say anything about Cadamus and the Ancients should some reporter finagle an interview with her.
And there was the problem in a nutshell.
Nick was crazy about her, wanted her more than he'd ever wanted any woman in his life, had been half in love with her since he was a kid. But he didn't trust her. Not where her father was concerned. She would, he feared, do anything within her power to free him from prison, including breaking her promise to Nick and triggering a chain of events that would lead to mankind's destruction.
It occurred to Nick that the person he most needed to talk to was William Sayers.
"Are the creatures real? Dr. Sayers?" "Some people believe so."
"Do you?"
"I've interviewed dozens of individuals for my book, and they've shared some very compelling eyewitness accounts. I believe they believe the creatures are real."
Gillian rolled her head from side to side and rubbed the back of her neck. Beneath her desk, her leg beat a nervous tattoo. This was her fourth phone call from a reporter in the last two hours and, she promptly decided, her last. Apparently they'd only just this morning noticed the resemblance between the recent killing spree and the one occurring twenty-five years ago.
No, that wasn't possible. She'd done the televised interview with Celeste for TV-7 News Center. Maybe these reporters were simply jumping on the bandwagon. Carl Salvador's death was big news, and the series of unexplained murders in Phoenix was making national headlines.
Or could it be the media was finally taking the existence of the creatures seriously? If so, what impact would that have on her agreement with Nick to keep his alter ego a secret?
"Have any of these individuals ever offered more proof than eyewitness accounts?" the woman on the other end of the line asked.
Gillian glanced down at the name she'd written on a piece of paper when she first got the call. "No, Ms. Perez, they haven't."
She remembered what Nick told her about the Ancients never leaving any trace of the creatures behind. They'd done their job well.
Every single photograph the people she interviewed had taken of the creatures somehow mysteriously vanished. She supposed, like the female creature, the photographs dissolved into a cloud of golden particles. If she were ever going to obtain the proof to free her father, she'd have to find something that endured.
"In your book," Linda Perez said, "you recount the urban legends but don't give a reason for the creatures' brief appearances every twenty-five years. Is that because you don't know, or you don't want to say?"
None of the previous three reporters had asked that question, and Gillian was unsure how to answer it. She hadn't known the reason at the time she wrote the book. She hadn't known it until last week when Nick explained about the creatures' unusual life cycle and only last night she'd learned about the Ancients, their war between good and evil, and their respective champions.
It was a lot to swallow on faith.
She figured Linda Perez would have trouble swallowing it, too.
And Gillian had her credibility to consider, which would probably fly out the window along with her teaching position if she began spouting tales about good and evil duking it out every quarter century on a mortal plain. Analyzing the psychology behind the urban legends was one thing. Proclaiming them as real, another.
Then again, there was her father, his wrongful imprisonment, and her commitment to free him. Her book, and the research for it, had provided an acceptable cover for her true agenda: proving the creatures really existed. She need only reveal to this reporter what Nick had told her and if enough people believed her, the result might be a citywide hunt for Cadamus.
Thoughts of Nick held her back. A week ago she wouldn't have factored him into her decision. Since then, she'd worked with him, conversed with him, fought with him, and slept in the comfort of his arms.
He'd asked her to guard his secret. Interference of any kind, he'd said, would shift the balance of power from good to evil. Like the many individuals she'd interviewed for her book, he believed in things that weren't of this world. So did she, to a degree. Enough that she would honor his request.
For now.
"No, Ms. Perez. I don't know why the creatures appear only every twenty-five years. I have some theories, but nothing concrete."
"Care to share those theories?"
"I don't."
"Off the record?"
"No."
"One last question, if you don't mind."
"All right." Gillian tried not to convey her enormous relief. It had been a grueling day for many reasons, and she was exhausted.
"Weren't you yourself one of those dozens of individuals with compelling eyewitness accounts?"
"I beg your pardon?" She sat upright, accidentally toppling a stack of term papers.
"Didn't you, as a little girl, claim that a monster with wings killed your mother?"
None of the other reporters had asked this question. Linda Perez had clearly researched Gillian before calling her. "Yes. I did."
Lying was useless. Gillian's statements to the police were easy enough to substantiate, and there had been references in the many newspaper articles about her "nightmares," a term the child psychologists had chosen to describe her rants and raves.
"So, you do believe in the creatures?"
There was a knock on Gillian's office door. Before she could send whoever it was away, the door opened and Nick came in, momentarily distracting her. He looked awful, like he'd been worked over by someone twice his size and left by the side of the road.
"It, um, was a long time ago," she told Linda Perez. "I was emotionally distraught over finding my mother dead. The truth is I'm not sure what I saw."
The truth was she'd never forget what she saw if she lived to be a hundred.
Nick shut the door behind him and sat in the visitor chair, falling into it as if he were thankful to be off his feet at long last. His smile drooped, but his eyes sparkled and filled her with unexpected warmth.
"Do you think any of the people who claimed to see these creatures were actually covering up a murder they committed?" Linda Perez asked.
"Are you implying I killed my mother?" Had she not been so appalled, Gillian might have lau
ghed at the sheer ludicrousness of the question.
"Of course not. But you might have been protect ing your father."
"This interview is over," Gillian said cooly.
Nick leaned forward and braced his hands on her desk. "Who are you talking to?" he demanded in a low, fierce voice.
She turned the piece of paper with the reporters' names around so he could read them and pointed to the last one.
"Hang up on her," he said. "She's a barracuda."
Gillian didn't have to hang up. Linda Perez ended the call by saying, "Thank you for your time, Dr. Sayers," and disconnected.
"What a bitch," Gillian exclaimed after replacing her phone in the receiver.
Nick reviewed her list. "I'd say you've had a busy morning."
She sighed. "Very busy. What's with the sudden interest in me?"
"Your name was mentioned this morning at the press conference Police Chief Lyle Denning gave about Carl Salvador's death. By Linda Perez, in fact."
"My name? I have nothing to do with Carl Salvador." Other than being in the parking garage at approximately the same time he'd been killed. Her one alibi had dissolved into a thousand golden particles. And if questioned, her other alibi would probably deny he'd even been in the vicinity of parking garage. "I'm not a suspect, am I?"
"Naw. Linda asked the police chief a question about the creatures. It was bound to happen eventually. People are calling in sightings to the police right and left. Radio and TV stations, too, I imagine."
"How do you know that?"
"Charlie found a way to hack into the police computers."
"Doesn't it bother you that all these people are seeing the creatures?"
"Not as long as no one takes them seriously."
"What happens if the police start taking them seriously and go looking for Cadamus?"
Nick's good-humored smile vanished. "I'm just going to have to find him first."
Not wanting to think about Nick's battle with Cadamus, Gillian changed the subject. "No more interviews." She balled up the piece of paper with the reporters' names on it and tossed it in the trash. "I've had it. They can find somebody else to badger."
Night Hunter Page 11
