by Blake Pierce
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
It was a scene as familiar as a play she’d rehearsed. Adele sat across the table from their interrogation suspect. John leaned next to her. Agent Carter was taking notes beneath the single security camera above.
Adele shared a look with John, then fixed her gaze back on the small, thin, T-shirt-wearing kid. The black skull shirt didn’t seem so tough anymore. He had a look like a frightened lamb, his eyes wide as they flicked from John to Adele.
“Who did you give your van to?” Adele said. It wasn’t the first time she’d asked the question. And it wasn’t the first time he dodged it.
“I want to speak to my lawyer,” he said.
“Lawyer is coming,” Adele said. “Wouldn’t you rather tell us who you loaned that van to? You’re young, what…” Adele said, glancing at the file beneath her elbow. She made a big show of looking through the envelope, even though she’d memorized the information already. “Only nineteen?” she said, giving a low whistle.
John looked at her. “Nineteen?” He winced. “A murderer at that age? You’re not gonna survive in Gen-pop,” he said.
The kid looked at John, and then back to Adele. “Seriously, I can’t understand a single word he’s saying.”
John’s expression darkened. Adele interjected before he could retort. “Look, kid, I get it. You’re loyal. I can tell. Whoever you’re backing for, I’m impressed. Really.”
“All I wanted in the world was to impress you,” the kid muttered.
Adele shook her head and looked at John; he shrugged back at her.
For nearly the last half hour, they’d been trying different tactics, but the kid wouldn’t talk. He was tight-lipped, and seemed to be simply waiting for his lawyer. Already, they were stretching things as far as the law was concerned. Soon, they would have no choice but to step back and give the kid what he wanted.
Adele sighed, shaking her head. “You know what, I have to say, I do admire your loyalty,” she said. “Look, we both know you didn’t do this. You couldn’t have. You never left the country. But whatever; I figure the best I can do is to let you think about it a bit. Can you at least do that?”
He looked warily at her, clearly noting the sudden change in her mood. Still, he seemed glad they were no longer yelling at him, and he hesitantly nodded once. “I can think.”
“Good,” Adele said, before John could lunge at the low-hanging fruit and make some obnoxious comment. “I’m glad. I know you’re being loyal, and I respect it, but there are lives on the line.”
He shrugged, but didn’t reply.
Adele made a big show of sighing. “You know what, I appreciate your time. And honestly, I’m sorry about your car. We didn’t mean to break your window.”
The kid rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything.
Adele said, “I’d like to give you a phone call. Just to make it up to you. You can call anyone; your lawyer will be here soon as it is.”
The kid hesitated, and his eyes narrowed for a moment. He glanced from Adele to John, but then said, “Where are you taking me to make that call?”
Adele held up her hands. “Nowhere, no tricks. We’ll leave, and we’ll bring the phone in here for you.”
The kid looked up at the camera. “You have to turn that off too.”
Adele made a small crossing motion over her heart. “The light will stop blinking, and you’ll know it’s done.”
The kid crossed his arms now and leaned back. His hands were still cuffed, and the loose chain rattled beneath his wrists as he shifted. Adele gestured at John and Agent Carter. The two of them got up and left the small interrogation room, following Adele out into the hall.
She pointed at Carter and said, “Get him that phone, please. And turn off the camera.”
Agent Carter winced. “I’m not sure if—”
“Just do it,” John snapped. “Be useful for once.”
Agent Carter looked hurt, but didn’t protest anymore. Over the last few hours, Carter seemed to have grown more and more frightened by the tactics the two agents were employing. But Adele didn’t care. Right now, she needed to catch a killer before he murdered someone else.
As Carter hurried off to fetch the phone and set up the call, Adele looked at John.
“Think it’ll work?” John said.
“Probably. He’s covering hard for someone. You only do that for family.”
“Think he’ll call whoever he’s covering for? What if he’s involved?”
Adele shook her head. “He’s involved, but not in any way that ties into the bodies. I think he’s just covering for someone he cares about. He’s only nineteen.”
John shrugged. “I killed someone at eighteen.”
Adele breathed heavily. “Well, let’s hope he’s not much like you then.”
***
Adele watched through the opaque glass as Agent Carter waited patiently for the boy to stop talking, hang up, then wave through the window. Carter stepped into the room then and retrieved the phone.
The boy looked back up toward the camera; the red light had stopped blinking. He regarded the glass window behind him, but couldn’t see through.
Agent Carter thanked the teenager and then left. As he passed, a man with a briefcase in a suit came the other way.
“Is my client in there? Mr. Davis?”
A brief exchange ensued, and the lawyer was allowed into the room with Ken Davis. Adele waited patiently, and watched as Agent Carter moved over, carrying the phone.
The moment he reached her side, Adele took the phone and quickly scrolled to recent calls. She held up the number and pointed it at John. “That’s not the lawyer’s number.”
John wrinkled his nose. “Is that local?”
Adele nodded. She looked at Carter. “I need you to track this. Can you get that to me?”
Carter shivered a bit, but then said, “Yeah, shouldn’t be a problem. You don’t think maybe we should check with Agent Grant to make sure—”
“Carter, we’re handling this case. How about you just let us take the flak, and you do as I say?”
The young agent shrugged and then took the phone from Adele, looking at the number, and moved off, putting his own cell to his ear and relaying the information through the device. Adele and John waited impatiently, arms crossed, glancing between each other, and then back toward where Sam Carter spoke on the phone.
The address associated with a phone number would not take long at all.
Adele glanced at her watch, and then back through the glass where the lawyer was talking with the teenager. Davis was gesturing toward the window and muttering something.
The lawyer looked outraged. Adele didn’t really care. There was a chance they might get in trouble for some of the tactics. Bashing his window hadn’t been exactly kosher detective work. But right now, she wanted to catch a killer. It would be up to the lawyers to figure how to keep him from killing.
Adele waited another few moments, and then Agent Carter moved back toward her.
“Well?” she said.
Carter pointed to John. “It is local. Kid’s uncle.”
Adele shared a significant look with her partner. “See, family. And this uncle, has he recently been out of the country?”
Agent Carter was nodding. “Yeah. Actually, his job makes it so he has to a lot.”
Adele stared. “What’s his job?”
Carter glanced back at his phone, as if to jog his memory. He blinked. “Did you get the file yet?” They should be sending it.”
Adele looked at her own phone and shook her head. John looked at his, and then, both their phones buzzed. Adele glanced down and saw an attachment from an unknown caller, with no ID. She pressed it, dragged it to her phone, and opened the item.
Instantly, she saw a picture. For a moment, she thought it was a portrait of a doctor. There was a neat, clinical look about him. He was quite handsome, and was smiling, teeth dazzling in the camera. Next to him, she saw his information.
&n
bsp; She scanned the info, then said, “He works for Lumen Relief?”
John wrinkled his nose. “What’s that?”
She replied, “Like Red Cross. Pretty big. They do blood donations and the like.”
John looked at her now, his eyebrows rising. “Blood donations?” he said, a significant tilt to his voice.
Adele nodded. “Exactly.”
She looked back at Agent Carter. “This fellow,” she said, glancing back at the screen and reading his name, “Jonathan Davis—he would have the perfect excuse to travel the world, collecting blood. Maybe that’s how he finds his victims.” She felt a sudden flurry of thoughts, and a slow prickle along her back. “Maybe that’s why he’s hunting them,” she said, hesitantly. “He knows their blood type—could you look in on that? That might be how he’s getting names.”
“We don’t know that,” John said. But he stared at her, unblinking, his voice strained with concealed excitement.
Adele shook her head, her cheeks warm all of a sudden from sheer anticipation. “No, but it’s a good guess. Right now we need to figure out where Mr. Davis is. We have an address? The phone number is local.”
Agent Carter was nodding, grinning widely, his blond-dyed hair bobbing with the motion. “Yeah, should be at the bottom of your file. I can get the car if you want; I don’t mind driving!”
“You wait here,” John said, cutting him off. “I’ll drive.”
“Damn it—just get in the car!” Adele said, already moving, her fists clenched at her side. This was it. It had to be.
They’d found him.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Gabriel stood in the bushes outside the two-story house at the top of the hill. His back pressed into the rigid bark as he leaned and inhaled the odor of oak and sap. Next to him, a small swing dangled, swaying in the late afternoon breeze. He inched forward, edging his nose around the trunk and peering up at the orange glow emanating from the open windows.
He spotted figures moving about the house. A family? Not ideal—but would have to do in a pinch. He doubled-checked the information he’d gotten from work, his eyes flicking down to the folded binder paper in his hand. With a trembling finger, he untucked the corners of the parchment and stared, scanning the note.
He had the right address. He glanced back up to the house, his eyes curving over the hill. The husband was his target. The next code year. The final vintage. According to Gabriel’s notes, the man had ordered a case of Peach Moscato not long ago. A tentative connection—but crucial that the mortal and divine collide. Wine was crucial, and while this new victim wasn’t directly involved in the making of it, he still consumed it enough. His blood would be properly tended, then.
Gabriel reached up, delicately brushing at his bangs as if coaxing in a budding plant. The gray had come—he should have trusted it would. His forehead had wrinkled, and soon… soon the aging would set in. Soon, he would be propelled onward.
He sighed, exhaling a deep gusting breath at the thought of this all finally being over.
And then his phone buzzed.
Gabriel cursed and snatched his phone from his pocket, lifting it and eyeing the number. He’d intended to hang up, but then he spotted the name.
His nephew—his late sister’s son.
He hesitated and then answered the call. “Yes?” he said, in a curt whisper. He leaned back, hiding his silhouette behind the tree once more, no longer visible from the house.
“Uncle Jon?” said Ken’s voice.
“What?” he replied, still curt.
“Where you at?” It sounded like his nephew was licking his lips.
His tone, the question—it sent a prickle along Gabriel’s neck.
“Are you all right?” he asked, closing his eyes now to listen close.
His nephew swallowed again, clearing his throat. Then he spoke in a way that caused the speakers to fill with static, as if he were cupping his hand over the speaker and whispering fiercely.
“What did you do with my van?” he said. “Cops came by—dragged me off. Said you killed someone.”
Gabriel felt the slow prickle of panic creep along his back, but then sighed, swallowing back the fear, allowing it to coax him into the realm of inevitability. He’d always known it was a chance—a likelihood.
“The van? Used it to drop off furniture—like I told you. Cops, you say?”
“Yeah,” another hiss. “I’m at the station right now.”
Gabriel wet his lips but kept his tone neutral. “You tell them anything?”
“Nah, course not. You didn’t kill anyone, did you?”
Gabriel sighed. “No—you know me, Ken. I couldn’t do something like that. Look, hang tight. I’ll figure out how to post bail. We’ll sort this out soon. Just… just don’t say anything, all right?”
“Fine… Yeah—fine… They seemed really certain that—”
“The pigs are lying!” Gabriel gritted his teeth. “You know they’re liars, right?”
“Right… Of course. Sorry. I just… Never mind.”
“Stay strong,” Gabriel said, breathing heavily into the speaker. And then he hung up. He glanced back up at the house and then moved away, heading back toward where he’d parked his vehicle. He would have to plan quickly. He didn’t have time to stalk, to track, to plan. Not this time. This time, he needed one last hit. That would sustain him—that would be enough. It had to be. It would set his soul free…
And if not… A cop’s bullet could do the same. But first he preferred the elixir.
As for his nephew… Sometimes sacrifices had to be made.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Doors slammed on multiple cars as the Adele and John led a procession of boys and girls in blue trampling across the front yard of a quaint, two-story home in the heart of Sonoma Valley.
“This it?” Adele shouted over to Carter.
The young FBI agent called out, “This is Mr. Davis’s address!”
Adele pointed at two officers and commanded, “Check the back! The rest of you, follow me… Or, I guess, follow him.”
She’d been in the middle of taking the lead up the asphalt and concrete driveway, when John burst ahead of her, thundering toward the door. He carried a breaching ram on his lonesome and rushed to the metal and wood barrier in the threshold of the house.
“Clear!” he called. “Mr. Davis, FBI—open up!”
No response.
John didn’t hesitate. As the other officers swarmed in behind him, following after his loping gait, accompanying Adele as well, he swung the breaching ram and slammed it into the middle of the door. A loud crack accompanied a faint buzzing sound.
“That’s the alarm,” someone called. “We already informed the company.”
John didn’t seem to care—he was already in mid-swing a second time. Another crunch, then a crack and then John kicked out with a heavy boot and the door splintered off its hinges and toppled into the house.
Red brick with black roofing; Adele studied the windows—all of them covered. She felt a faint prickle as she marched up the porch and followed the other officers and Agent Renee into their suspect’s home.
“FBI!” came a chorus of voices.
“Jonathan Davis—declare yourself! Hands up! Hands up!”
But though they spread out, weapons raised, scanning the area, there was no sign of Mr. Davis. Adele watched as three uniforms hurried up the stairs at the back of the wide hall. Above the hall, she spotted a single ornamentation of copper grapes. Next to a basement door, she noted a series of strange symbols and numbers. She frowned for a moment, and pointed toward the chalk etching on the brown wall.
“What do you think that is?” she said, moving over to where John’s hulking form was framed in the hallway. He followed her indicating finger and just shrugged.
“Something abnormal, most likely.”
“Clear!” came voices from upstairs. “Clear!” came the ones from the kitchen. “Clear!” came the ones from the backyard and the garag
e.
Adele clenched her fist. “Doesn’t look like our friend is home,” she murmured. “After you,” she said, gesturing toward the basement door.
John opened the door, revealing a stone stairwell that curved at the far end, dropping off out of sight into the belly of the house.
The steps felt firm and unyielding as Adele marched with John down the stairs. Above them, she spotted two etchings of stars in the same chalk she’d seen upstairs. She noted them, but didn’t comment, keeping quiet as John led the way with his weapon drawn.
They stepped into the basement, and after a cursory scan of the small area, John slowly stowed his gun, glanced over his shoulder, and called up the stairs, “Clear!”
As for Adele, she was already moving toward the strange assortment she’d spotted.
“This is definitely our guy,” she muttered, bending over and scanning the wine rack at the back of the room. Glass from a smashed bottle scattered the ground beneath a wooden table, and an IV bag, stained with dried blood, had been discarded in the shadows of the table as well.
“Looks like our killer was in a hurry,” Adele said, glancing at John. “Think Mr. Davis is out on another prowl?”
John just shook his head, moving over to study the find with his partner. He scanned the crisscrossing wooden wine rack and took in the glint off the mirror divider above the display case. He moved over to a bookshelf and began scanning the tomes on display, then let out a little whistle.
“Huh,” he said, “look at this.”
Adele got to her feet, moving away from the smashed bottle and discarded blood bag. She approached Agent Renee and also scanned the bookshelf. Instead of books, though, the case itself was scrawled with text against the back wooden partition. Again the scrawl was in white chalk, but this time it read things like, “Spirit puts the flesh to death.” And, “Remember the code of Gabriel.” And below that, “Don’t forget payment for crossing over.” And another line that simply read, “Stop saying, ‘damn.’”
