Dark Changeling

by Margaret Carter

  Roger kept his voice even, though anxiety squeezed his lungs. “Sorry, I can't bring myself to contemplate the facts with your enthusiasm. I prefer to view this kind of pathology from a distance—in textbooks.”

  “But is it pathology?” He gave her a sharp look. “Think, Roger! There are only two possible explanations. Either the at-tacks were made by a psychopath, a blood fetishist, possibly one who imagines himself to be a vampire, or—”

  “Well? What's your alternative?”

  “Are you ready for some extreme Jungian mumbo-jumbo?” She leaned toward him across the table. “A real vampire.”

  He struggled to disguise his alarm as indignation. “Come on, Britt! This time you can't be serious.”

  “As Hamlet says—”

  “And don't quote that tired line about ‘more things in heaven and earth.’ How can you possibly support this ridiculous notion?”

  “The post mortem findings I mentioned—”

  “Inconclusive,” Roger said.

  “But highly suggestive,” she retorted. “Oh, I don't mean a walking corpse. Something anomalous and unknown to science, though. And I'm determined to meet this ‘vampire.’ My friend will give us first crack at whatever consultant work the State's Attorney needs done. If the criminal is what you think, just a Jack the Ripper variant, he'll make a once-in-a-lifetime case study. And if he really is a unique mutation or even something inhuman—”

  “What would you do? Administer a battery of Rhine tests for clairvoyance?” The vision of Britt running standard psychological tests on a caged vampire struck Roger as almost humorous. If anyone could do it, she could. He wondered what Sandor would see in the Rorschach cards.

  “Don't you understand?” Her eyes shone, her lunch forgot-ten. “Vampirism implies much more than paranormal abilities. It implies immortality. Can you imagine what it would mean to live for centuries as I am now? No aging, no mental decline, perpetual growth and discovery?”

  “Britt, don't you see that if vampirism were a fact, it couldn't be like that at all?” He inwardly shuddered at the thought of Britt putting herself within reach of Sandor's claws and teeth in search of nonexistent “immortality.” “If vampires existed, they'd have to fit into the natural order. Their life span wouldn't be transferable. You might as well expect a mosquito's bite to give you the power to fly.”

  “We'd never know without investigating, would we? And I'd give a lot for that reward.” Shoving her plate out of the way, she leaned on her elbows, gazing into his eyes.

  “As an investigator, your blatant bias disqualifies you. Youwant this nonsense to be true—God knows why—so you over-interpret a few ambiguous data.”

  “Humor me anyway,” she said. “I can't help wondering whether Alice had a special reason for coming to you, other than just happening to be in the neighborhood. Can you shed any light on that?”

  How did Britt strike so close when she was shooting blind? No wonder she'd developed an interest in parapsychology; her own intuition verged on ESP. Formulating a reply, Roger felt as if he were crossing a turbulent stream on slippery rocks. “She has always been difficult. Because of the radical mismatch between her and her family—her father and brother, particularly, vacillate between overprotection and criticism—she's become overly dependent on me. They don't understand her; I do. You know how common it is for a lonely patient to fantasize a unique relationship with her therapist.”

  Britt nodded impatiently. “What I'm most anxious to find out is whether Alice told you anything about her attacker that she might have forgotten to mention to the police.”

  Roger returned Britt's intense gaze and lied. “Not a word. She was barely conscious.”

  “Nothing? One of the paramedics thought he heard her say something about ‘glowing eyes.'”

  Pain lanced through Roger's forehead. “Probably delirious.”

  “Well, I had to ask,” she sighed.

  He tried once more to make her see reason. “Look here, Britt, even if there were real vampires with contagious immor-tality, would you want to live for centuries on those terms? Avoiding the sun and subsisting entirely on blood?” The question reminded him of the inadequacy of the meal he was trying to eat, and he disgustedly pushed it aside.

  She said with a half-smile, “There could be compensations.”

  * * * *

  ALL AFTERNOON Britt's thoughts drifted from her patients’ dream-work and behavioral quirks to her lunch conversation with Roger. Curse the man, why did he react so negatively to the sub-ject of the murders? Britt had trouble believing that Roger's attempt to keep her away from the topic sprang solely from the trauma of a patient collapsing in his living room.

  Shutting her office door behind the last patient of the day, Britt smiled at the memory of Roger's skittishness that night at her apartment. She mentally relived their brief kiss, reinforcing her determination to demolish that wall he hid behind. What underlay that ridiculous argument about mixing professional and personal relationships? He had no homosexual tendencies; of that she was certain. He hadn't reacted to the kiss like a man who wasn't interested, but rather a man who was scared silly. Of what?

  Britt paused for a quick visit to the office suite's washroom. She stared at her green eyes in the mirror.Of me? Come on, he's not the type to run screaming in panic from a strong woman. On the way out, she snatched a carton of yogurt from the miniature refrigerator wedged beside the sink. Instead of going home, she planned to brave the beltway traffic for a visit to the University of Maryland in College Park.

  Half an hour later, creeping along I-95, she reviewed her speculations about the murderer. She'd told Roger the gist of everything her informant had been able to give her on such quick notice. The killings in Baltimore, however, spanned only a short time. Where had the criminal been before that? She doubted the man's homicidal urges had erupted out of nowhere less than a month ago. Possible, sure, but unlikely.

  At the University library Britt intended to skim newspapers from major cities over the past year. The only way a killer this flamboyant could avoid capture would be by changing his loca-tion frequently. She hoped to find a geographic pattern.

  Jolted out of her reverie by a pickup truck jumping in front of her, she gritted her teeth and pumped the brakes. One of the few drawbacks of living in a small city like Annapolis was the lack of a major university. The Naval Academy and St. John's College didn't subscribe to the wide selection of newspapers she needed to consult. She took a bite of yogurt and wiped her forehead with her napkin. To make the drive worse, the bug's transmission had taken to emitting an ominous squeal. Maybe Roger had a valid point about her buying a new car.

  Entering the cool library was a relief. Britt quickly disposed of the past few days’ papers and resorted to the microfilm room to plough through back issues. Soon her eyes ached from focusing on the small screen. If libraries no longer had space to store most periodicals in hard copy, why couldn't they invent a more comfortable way of reading the stuff?

  In a few minutes, though, she forgot her discomfort when she stumbled across a suggestive murder report from Albu-querque. With an indrawn hiss of excitement, she scribbled the date, place, nature of the wounds, and the victim's vital statistics. The discovery energized her to keep searching. The task was made more difficult by having to hunt through the entire first sec-tion of each paper. In most American cities, alas, brutal murders weren't uncommon enough to hit the front page.

  After a couple of hours, in which she covered New York, Los Angeles, Las Vegas (bingo!), and D. C. (another hit), among other locations, she leaned back in the chair, rubbing her eyes. A fast scan of the BostonGlobe , and she'd call it a night. Soon enough the library would throw her out anyway; it must be near closing time.

  Now, why did I leave this one for last? My partner would chortle over that revealing quirk.

  It took her only a couple of minutes to find the most recent of the Boston deaths, about the same time Roger had moved to Annapolis. A teenage boy, sl
aughtered in the Public Garden. Did that fit? All the other cases she'd noted had involved female vic-tims. Britt scrolled back a week. Her drooping eyelids snapped wide open.

  “Serial Murder Suspect Escapes—One Officer Dead, One Wounded.”

  In sizzling haste she devoured the account of the fight in which a lone man, caught off guard in his apartment, had broken the neck of one policeman, both arms and five ribs of another. The last sentence of the article pulled her up short. She reread it three times before it sank in. “A psychiatric consultant assisting the investigation, Roger Darvell, M.D., was questioned about the crime's ‘vampire’ aspects and refused comment.”

  He would, wouldn't he!And then, after the numbness of sheer surprise wore off:That snake in the grass! He's holding out on me!

  But why? What possible reason could Roger have for not volunteering the fact that he'd worked with similar crimes so recently?

  Maybe he was guarding information he'd received from a patient in confidence. Offhand, Britt couldn't think of any other motive.

  If he weren't so heart-stoppingly sexy, I'd probably strangle him,she thought while inserting a dime to print out the relevant page from theGlobe. True, most woman, at a casual glance, might not attach the word “sexy” to Roger. Britt, though, felt a quiver of warmth somewhere below the waist at the memory of how those gray eyes looked at her when he thought she didn't notice.None of that! He still deserves a slow and painful death for keeping me out of this!

  Should she tell him her findings right away? Packing her notes into her briefcase, Britt decided to wait a few days for further developments.Give him plenty of rope to hang himself!

  * * * *

  TUESDAY NIGHT Roger got another call from Sandor. Despite having heard the outlaw's voice only once, he recognized it at the first word. “Thanks for the treat Saturday night, Darvell.”

  Roger fought the impulse to hang up instantly. The longer Sandor talked, the more likely he'd let some useful remark slip. “What do you want now?”

  The voice oozed with counterfeit friendliness. “Why, Doctor, I want to meet you, of course.”

  “I can't imagine any advantage in that.” Roger considered and shelved the idea of setting up a rendezvous with police in ambush. If Sandor shared Sylvia's psychic talent, he would sense the threat and retreat before they had any chance of capturing him—either that, or strike out in murderous rage, as he had in Boston. If I do try to trap him, it has to be some way that won't endanger innocent people."I simply want you out of this area.”

  “Not a chance. I like it here, and I figured we could hunt together.” The mockingly cheerful tone infuriated Roger. “I could use you for an ally, once you learn a few things. I wouldn't mind having a cousin to guard my rear.”

  “Don't be ridiculous.”

  “Wrong answer, Darvell.” Sandor's voice hardened. “You don't like your prey dropping dead the minute you turn your back? Well, better get used to it—unless you join me. Put a personal ad in the local paper when you're ready. I'll be waiting. And, by the way, I'll have a surprise for you tonight.” He hung up.

  Roger let out the breath he'd been holding. Stretching out both hands, he watched them tremble with suppressed anger.This mustn't go on! He glanced at the dark window. On the nights Roger didn't take human prey, would Sandor abstain or simply find a victim of his own? Probably the latter, for if Sandor's habits were like Sylvia's, he couldn't go two or three weeks without human blood, as Roger did. Nevertheless, Roger knew that every time he dared to satisfy his craving, he would blame himself for causing another death.

  The phone jangled at Roger's elbow. Snatching it up, he snarled, “What now?”

  A bewildered male voice said, “Dr. Darvell?”

  “I apologize, I expected someone else. How can I help you?”

  “This is Detective Lieutenant Hayes of the Annapolis Police Department. Dr. Loren suggested I call you.”

  “Oh?” Roger's chest tightened with renewed apprehension. He doubted this call concerned some unrelated matter. Britt was determined to get embroiled in the murder investigation.

  “She's assisting us with a psychological profile of the suspect in these recent serial killings, and she requested that we bring you on board. Would you be willing to help us out?”

  “Certainly.” Much as Roger loathed the idea, he couldn't allow Britt to run rampant through the investigation without keeping an eye on her. Why was the detective calling him at home to make this request, though?

  “Fine.” Hayes cleared his throat. “Doctor, I hate to spring this on you, but the reason I called is that another body has just turned up. I invited Dr. Loren to get a look at the victimin situ , and I thought you might want to do the same.”

  Good God, no!"Yes, that might be helpful.” If Britt would be there, Roger knew he couldn't stay away.

  “It's at the Navy stadium, west parking lot.” Hayes added dryly, “Just follow the flashing red lights.”

  Chapter 10

  AS PREDICTED, Roger had no trouble finding the crime site. The dome lights of three patrol cars and an ambulance splashed garish color over the stadium parking lot. The moment he stepped out of his car, the sickening smell of clotted blood hit him. Breathing shallowly through his mouth, he waited for Lieutenant Hayes to break away from the knot of officers huddled around the lump of flesh next to the tall chain link fence surrounding the stadium.

  A slender man with a bushy brown mustache and a weak chin, Hayes walked over to introduce himself. “Dr. Darvell? Thanks for getting here so fast. The victim is a black female, age around thirty, unidentified. There's no blood on the pavement under her, so the M.E. thinks she was killed elsewhere and brought here.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Probably dead no more than half an hour.” Hayes shook his head in disgust. “Freshest we've found so far.” He lit a cigarette. Roger edged away, upwind.

  His eyes drifted toward the corpse, outlined in chalk, being photographed by a petite policewoman with a cap of short gray curls like steel wool. At her elbow, Britt was talking to a nondescript middle-aged man in civilian clothes. Roger wrenched his gaze back to the detective. “How did her body happen to be discovered so soon?”

  “Some kid in a sports car taking a short cut through the lot. We recorded his statement and sent him home.” Hayes cleared his throat, apparently his standard preamble to a difficult remark. “I guess you might as well have a look.”

  With a nod of greeting to Britt, Roger approached the body. The woman, barefoot, wore the remains of a robe and nightgown. Good Lord, Sandor must have seized her in her own front yard—or her own house! Through the shreds of the gown, Roger glimpsed lacerations on both breasts. The hole in her throat exposed the larynx and esophagus.

  Roger knelt down for a closer examination. The photographer began, “Don't touch—”

  “I know,” he said. Blood spotted the woman's ripped night-gown and the bosom of the robe. The collar of the robe, how-ever, was dry and unstained.Didn't waste a drop from the throat wound, did he? Roger's stomach lurched at the thought.

  He felt Britt next to him. Standing up, he gladly turned toward her, away from the thing on the ground.

  “Roger, this is Dr. Rizzo, from the Medical Examiner's office,” she said, indicating the man she'd been conversing with.

  Rizzo, dressed in gray slacks and a green polo shirt, his gray-streaked black hair combed forward over a bald patch, shook hands with Roger. “Evening, Doctor. These crimes are like nothing I've seen in this area before—thank God.”

  “One expects such things mainly in large cities,” Roger said. “And with good reason, I'd think. He can't keep this up for long in a place like Annapolis without getting caught.”

  “We hope.” Rizzo thoughtfully smoothed his hair. “Your associate has been telling me about similar cases, elsewhere, that she tracked down in newspaper files.”

  “She did?” Roger gave Britt a sharp glance. Her face re-vealed nothing.

  “Yesterday
,” she said. “I'll tell you all about it later.” She turned to Rizzo. “Tell him about the fractures.”

  “Like the Baltimore murders?” Roger said. “And—and the previous two in Annapolis?”

  “From superficial examination, I'd say both this victim's arms are fractured,” said Rizzo, “and possibly the left leg, as well. Of course, I won't be able to give you any specifics, such as whether the injuries were inflicted before or after death, until the autopsy.”

  Britt said, “Dr. Rizzo is going to send us a copy, along with copies of the post mortems on the other two victims.” To Roger's relief, she started walking away from the fence; he and Rizzo trailed along. “He's also going to check into getting us the reports from the Baltimore murders.”

  “We need all the help we can get,” said Rizzo. “The systematic application of forensic psychology is still pretty new, as you know, but I personally put a lot of faith in it.”

  Roger wondered if Rizzo always lectured at length on the obvious, or only in stressful circumstances.

  “I think I've seen enough,” said Britt. “How about you, Roger?”

  More than enough!

  After Rizzo gave them a longwinded farewell and returned to his work, Roger walked Britt to her car, just outside the circle of reddish light. Not for the first time, he noted how poorly illuminated the stadium lot was. “I don't feel one bit like sleeping right now,” she said, unlocking the VW. “How about coming over for a couple of hours to talk about all this?”

  Don't tempt me!In his present state of turmoil, Roger didn't trust himself alone with Britt. He needed a long, strenuous walk in the night air, followed by a cold shower and a glass of milk. “Not now,” he said. “Give me time to sort it out. Besides, we have insufficient data to work with. We'll get together after we've read the M.E.'s reports.”

  He sensed Britt's reluctance to suspend the discussion. Was he only imagining that she observed him with even keener curiosity than usual? After watching her get into her car and drive away, he rejoined Lieutenant Hayes.If I don't mention the Boston cases to him , Roger thought,it'll come up later, and he'llwonder why I didn't volunteer the information.