by John Ringo
“I guess we just keep looking,” Barbara said, sighing. “This sucks.”
“This is how most investigations go,” Janea said, shrugging. “At least this time we know the perp is here at the con. I’ve done three of these investigations and never gotten so much as a sniff.”
“We’re doing better than I’d hoped, frankly,” Greg said. “We’ve narrowed it down to no more than two or three dozen suspects because we know the necromancer is somewhere here in the hotel. That’s better than the millions we started with on Friday. Just legwork after the con will get us to the suspect relatively quickly. It would be nice, though, if we could narrow it down more. If worse comes to absolutely worst we could call in and see about locking the whole con down and doing DNA tests on all the males with brown hair. The ACLU would scream bloody murder, though, and it would be all over the press. We also would have a hard time showing probable cause, come to think of it.”
“Did you get in touch with the Bureau about Goldberg?” Barb asked.
“Yes, I did,” Greg said. “You’re correct; Goldberg is a pen name. They’re trying to track down her actual identity through her employer in Charlotte but since she’s not a suspect that might be hard if they get sticky. And they’re a newspaper; newspapers almost always get their back up when we ask them for information. I also asked about back-up. But with the weather the team couldn’t make it up. They’re stuck in Roanoke. The Bureau’s dispatching a helicopter to move them if we have to have help, though. It should be up there by sometime this afternoon.”
“I hope we can close this up quietly,” Janea said, looking out the window. “I was talking to the con-chair and one of the off-duty cops that’s working the con says even the sheriff’s department’s shut down until the snow stops. The stuff is coming down faster than they can plow it.”
“This is crazy,” Greg said, shaking his head. “Why’d this happen now? This is more snow than this area gets in three years!”
“That’s why they can’t keep up,” Janea said, shrugging. “This is, like, Buffalo snow.”
“So if anything happens we’re on our own?” Barbara asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Looks that way,” Greg said. “If it seriously starts getting nuts we can call in the HRT from Roanoke. But they’re going to be twenty minutes, maybe a half hour, away rather than five minutes. No way they can bring in a chopper in this. And even four-wheel drives are going to find it tough.”
“A lot can happen in a half an hour,” Barb said, shaking her head. “I hate doing this bits-and-pieces thing. I feel like I’m wrestling with fog.”
“You just keep tapping away until you find your suspect,” Greg said, shrugging. “There’s no other way to do it.”
“Well, there is,” Janea said, thoughtfully. “But it’s a bit of a risk.”
“What?” Greg asked, frowning.
“We push instead of pull.”
Chapter Fourteen
Hi, Mandy,” Barbara said, as she finally tracked the woman down. “Could I talk to you, privately?”
“Sure,” Mandy said.
Barb led her around the corner to a stairwell and cleared her throat.
“I don’t want you to think I’m a nut or something,” Barbara said. “And you can’t talk about this, okay?”
“Okay,” Mandy said. “But it’s okay if you’re a nut. We’re all nuts.”
“Well, this is serious and very real,” Barb said. “I’m not just a homemaker. I’m a consultant with the FBI. There’s been a series of serial killings and they think that the killer is here at the con.”
“Really?” Mandy said, her eyes wide.
“Really,” Barbara replied. “You can probably guess what kind of consultant.”
“Oh, yeah,” Mandy said, totally absorbed.
“I know that he’s here, somewhere,” Barb said. “I’m just not sure who it is. But I know you’re… sensitive. Pay careful attention to your creep-meter. We’d really like to find him before he kills again.”
“Is he going to attack someone at the con?” Mandy asked.
“No, we don’t think so. He seems to be picking out his victims from fen, though. So keep your eyes, all your eyes, open. And don’t tell anybody, okay? And be careful.”
“Okay,” Mandy said. “You be careful, too. Like I said, guys like that like women like you and me.”
“It won’t come to that,” Barb assured her.
* * *
“Well, I told the biggest gossip in the LARPers about it,” Janea said, grinning. They’d met in the women’s room to discuss their upcoming strategy. “Swearing her to secrecy, of course.”
“I talked with Larry,” Greg said. “He’s going to have it all over the con. Which means it will make the papers. My career is toast.”
“And I spoke to Mandy,” Barbara said. “Which means I think I’ve got you both beat.”
“The director is going to kill me,” Greg moaned.
“Yeah, but all we have to do now is look for somebody who’s running,” Barb said. “This guy has always struck at weak victims and tried to hide. He’s not a stand-up fighter, he’s a backstabber. There’s no place to hide, here.”
“And it’s going to be hard to run,” Janea pointed out, gesturing out the window. The snow was still coming down, hard, and the forecast had been updated for up to thirty inches. “HRT’s on standby, right?”
“Last I heard,” Greg admitted. “Cell phone coverage is getting spotty.” He reached into his computer bag and pulled out a set of short-range radios. “I brought these along just in case. I guess I’m glad I did. They’re encrypted so we can talk privately.”
“Great,” Barbara said, unconsciously checking her piece then taking the radio. “Let’s hope he…” She paused and grabbed at her head. “I think he just heard.”
“Strong?” Janea asked. “Yes, it is, I even got a twinge of it that time.”
“Angry,” Barb said, her face white. “Fearful, too. But very very angry. He never thought anyone would get this close. He’s… damn, it’s gone.”
“Cloaking,” Janea said. “He’s going to ground. Or running.”
“I’ll take the west entrances,” Greg said. “Barbara, you go east. Janea, take the lobby, that will have the most people around.”
“He knows who the Hunters are,” Janea pointed out as she stood up. “Be careful. The hunter can become the hunted.”
* * *
“Hi, Barb,” Timson said as he walked down the corridor. He looked at the woman, puzzled. “You waiting for someone?”
Barbara was standing where two corridors joined near the west doors to the hotel. From her position she could see anyone approaching the doors and a bit of the parking lot. So far nobody had gone outside except a couple of hard-core smokers.
“Just watching the snow,” Barb said, smiling. “I’m a bit conned out.”
“It can get to you, especially at first,” Timson said. “Taking some time for yourself is important. Drink, eat, sleep, game, that’s the ticket.”
“Where are you going?” Barbara asked, lightly.
“I’ve got an important meeting,” Timson said, his eyes wide in mock anticipation. “An informant among the werewolves that’s going to give us the location of their secret meeting. That way the Hunters can combine with the vampires and swoop down and wipe them out in one fell swoop! Bit of silliness, but it’s fun if you get into it.”
“I understand,” Barb said, smiling. “It’s no sillier than chasing a white ball around with a club and at least it can be done indoors.”
“He wanted to meet at the Waffle House,” Timson said, gesturing out the window. “And I told him to screw off. It’s damn cold out there. Take care.”
“Same to you,” Barbara said, smiling as he opened the door to the stairwell.
She nodded at a couple of young guys in trench coats as they stepped out the door. But they only went as far as the portico and pulled out cigarettes and lighters with already shaking hands. She
grabbed the radio when it started to beep.
“Anything?” Greg asked.
“Nothing,” Barb admitted. “No feel, nobody trying to get out.”
“They could have gone out by the kitchen doors,” Greg admitted. “And there’s a door behind the offices. But I’d think that he’d try to just nonchalantly slip out.”
“I’m not sure he could get his…” She paused and grabbed her head. “Greg?”
“Are you okay?” Greg asked at the strained tone.
“Get Janea,” Barbara gasped then summoned her power, shutting down the feeling of horror in her soul. “I think we underestimated our target: somebody’s dead.”
* * *
Timson was slumped against the wall of the stairwell, his eyes wide and staring at nothing.
“Oh, Freya, be kind to his soul,” Janea said, looking at the boy. He had a look of utter horror on his face.
“He’s changed MO,” Greg said, straightening up with a frown on his face. The landing was right up by the roof, the door above locked. An out-of-the-way spot in a packed hotel, perfect for a quiet killing. “There’s not a mark I can find. At the least he wasn’t strangled or cut.”
“No,” Barb said, furious. “His soul was ripped from his body.”
“Are you sure?” Greg asked.
“Very,” Barbara said, shaking in anger. “It’s so strong I’m surprised you can’t feel it. I felt the power of the ’mancer’s gear and then the death.”
“I need to call in support,” Greg said. “We’re going to close down this con and shake it to the ground. This isn’t a game anymore.”
“He’s hunting, now,” Janea pointed out. “We can’t just try to cover the entrances. We need to run him to ground and take him out.”
“Why?” Barb asked. “He could have run even in this. At least out of the con. Why kill? And why Timson?”
“Timson’s powerful,” Janea said. “Well, was. He wasn’t an adept, but he could have been. He had a strong soul.” She suddenly looked intensively sad.
“It’ll be okay, Jan,” Barbara said, wrapping her arm around the woman’s shoulders.
“He had a strong soul,” Janea said, shaking her head. “One of the strongest and finest I’ve ever met. And to just have it…”
“We’ll find him,” Barb said, the righteous anger welling up in her again. “And we’ll bring him to justice one way or another. He will face the Lord and be Judged. And there can be but one judgment for such as he.”
“But you hit the nub,” Greg said, looking at the dead boy. “Why has he gone to killing? Instead of running? You’re the experts, you need to think.”
“Give me a second, okay?” Janea said, wiping her eyes. “He was a friend, okay?”
“I’m not sure we’ve got a second,” Greg pointed out. “Not if this guy is ripping souls from people’s bodies, now. Not if he can kill this fast and silently. Why is he killing? This is completely outside MO.”
“Power,” Barbara said, suddenly. “Oh, my God.”
“He’s building his power,” Janea said, nodding her head. “He’s preparing for a battle. With us.”
“That means Timson won’t be the last,” Barb said. “Greg, call for backup right now.”
“I would if I could,” Greg said, looking at his cell phone. “Do either of you have any signal?”
As it turned out none of the three cell phones had any signal at all.
“And I’ve already tried the hotel phones,” Greg said. “Even the Internet connection is out.”
“Well, we need to get hold of the local police, at least,” Janea pointed out, gesturing at Timson. “We’ve got a dead body on our hands.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Greg said, frowning. “You two stay here, I’ll go check with the management. For now, we’re not treating this as a homicide. There’s no indication of violence and that’s just fine by me.”
* * *
“This is terrible!”
The hotel manager was a tall, distinguished-looking Hindu. Barbara had seen him around the hotel dealing with problems and he’d always risen to the occasion. Now he was wringing his hands in worry.
“This will be terrible publicity!” the man moaned. “And so horrible for the young man and his family. This is very terrible! He must have overdosed, yes? I do not allow drugs in my hotel! I have a well-run hotel!”
“You have a very well-run hotel, sir,” Greg said, soothingly. “But we have to call the police and have them come in with this.”
“You are FBI, yes?” the man asked, his face working. “Can not you handle this? Quietly perhaps?”
“It’s a local jurisdictional matter,” Greg said, shrugging with the lie.
“But we cannot contact the police,” the manager said, his face working. “I have tried. The phone lines are out. I cannot call the 911, yes? The roads are closed with snow! And we cannot simply leave him here. It is very dishonorable. And if anyone else were to find him…”
“Jesus Christ,” Greg said, shaking his head.
“Another swear, please, Agent Donahue,” Barb replied. “We’ll need a camera, a good one. And some plastic bags, large trash bags. And the key to this roof door.”
“We can’t disturb a crime-scene like this!” Greg said, furiously. “It has to be meticulously recorded. Not just dump his body in a bag and shove it out the door!”
“Oh, really?” Barbara asked. “How long do we leave him here, Agent Donahue? What do we do, post a guard? The hotel security guard left last night when the snow started to get bad. Do we get somebody from the con?” She paused and looked Greg dead in the eye, daring him to force her to go on. Because she was pretty sure unless they tracked down the necromancer, fast, this wasn’t going to be the last body they discovered.
“You are with the FBI, too?” the manager asked, uncertainly.
“I’m a special consultant,” Barb said then gestured at Janea. “We both are.”
“Okay, okay,” Greg said, blowing out. “Yeah, we’ll need some big trash bags and a camera. And some time alone. Can you get that?”
“Yes, of course,” the manager said, nodding. “I go now.”
“And we’re eventually going to need a linen cart and a bunch more bags,” Janea said, gritting her teeth. “This is going to get bad, Greg.”
“We need to find this perp,” Greg replied. “Now.”
“I’ll go ask the LARPers if they knew who Timson was meeting with,” Janea said, looking one last time at her former lover. “I am seriously going to go full berserker on this guy when we find him.”
“And I’ll go ask if anyone saw him,” Barbara said. “Besides me,” she added, blanching. “He walked right past me to the stairs and then went up. To meet with… whoever it was.”
“Anyone go up the stairs before him?” Greg asked, frowning.
“No,” Barb said. “He was the only person I saw use them. Whoever it was must have entered from one of the other levels. I’ll go ask down there if anyone saw him or who he was meeting with.”
“How do we handle this?” Janea asked. “I mean… do we tell people he’s dead even?”
“Have to eventually,” Greg said. “Damn, I wish we’d never tried to smoke out this perp.”
“My idea,” Janea said.
“Yeah,” Greg said, grinning mirthlessly. “But I went along with it. As soon as I’ve done this crappy job cleaning him up I’ll go talk to the con committee and tell them what happened. But we want to keep panic down. We’ll just treat it as an unknown cause, might have been a fluke heart condition, and say there’s indications there was more than one person present. We want to find out who might have been meeting with him.”
“That will do,” Barbara said, nodding. “I’ll go down to the lower floors and check around.”
“This investigation is getting seriously out of control,” Greg said, shaking his head.
“No,” Janea said, shaking her own. “It’s simply got Special Circumstances. You don’t want to
see ‘out of control.’ ”
Chapter Fifteen
There had been nobody at all in view on the third floor, directly below the landing where Timson had been found. On the second floor, however, there were several open doors and some room parties going on. Barb walked down to the first open door and poked her head through.
Despite the temperature, and the official no-smoking policy of the hotel, there was a window open and several people sitting by it filling the room with smoke. Among them was Folsom Duncan and she realized she’d found the Wharf Rat suite.
“Barb,” Duncan called from the back of the room. “Come in, come in. Have a drink! Have several. There’s dick all else to do!”
“You’re drinking tea,” Barbara pointed out, sidling into the room. She recognized several of the Wharf Rats from the rest of the con and nodded at people, exchanging greetings. Mandy and Norm weren’t there, she noticed.
“I didn’t say anything about alcohol,” Duncan said, smiling. “Although it’s around. As an alternative there are various soft drinks in the tub and for those with stronger constitutions I’ve broken out my stash of Indian black tea.”
“You don’t have any panels?” Barb asked.
“Not until tomorrow,” Duncan said, shrugging. “And very few people are going to them, anyway. The weather seems to have them huddling in.”
“That and the serial killer!” one of the Wharf Rats said, laughing.
“There’s that,” Duncan said, grinning. “Dare him to come in this room,” he added with a laugh.
“I don’t get the joke,” Barbara said, frowning.
“Oh, you seem cool,” Folsom said, smiling. “Are you bothered by weapons?”
“Not at all,” Barb said, her brow creased.
