by Aimée Thurlo
“You think Elka really thought she could kill me—us—before the rest of the officers arrived?” Lee asked her. “She sure didn’t go out of that window easily. Hell of a fighter.”
“We may never know for sure what was really going through her mind. But she couldn’t have gone far on foot. You notice she wasn’t even wearing a hat? Maybe she did plan on surrendering—taking her chances later with a jail-break once the sun went down,” Diane said with a shrug. “All in all, I don’t think she was really suicidal.”
Five hours later Diane and Lee drove away from the crime scene. “If we hadn’t taken out Elka, we’d be on suspension for not waiting until backup arrived and coordinating efforts with them,” Diane said.
“If we hadn’t played it like we did, we probably wouldn’t have been around to have this conversation,” Lee countered, driving west toward the Interstate from Placitas.
“Yeah, and Elka might have gotten away. Considering the ski mask and gloves we found in her jumpsuit pockets, and the motorcycle hidden behind the house, escape was a definite part of her plan. She’d have gone up that forest service road and disappeared long before a search party arrived.”
“I think she planned on jumping from the second-story balcony. That’s where the motorcycle helmet was sitting,” Lee reminded her. “But I wasn’t about to suggest that to Logan or Richmond.”
“At least they have something to be happy about. After the human-torch video and the shortest presidential visit on record, catching and killing an international terrorist at least brings New Mexico back into the win column. They’re already discussing the obvious connection between the way Elka and Rogers died, but they’ll never be able to prove anything conclusively. The best forensic experts won’t be able to help either. Vampire tissue loses its unique structure when it goes up in flames, right?”
Lee nodded.
“I guess we can finally start breathing normally again,” she said. “Let’s close down our business operations and write up those reports while we still remember what we told them last night,” Diane added, leaning back in her seat and closing her eyes. “Wake me up when we get there, okay?”
Hours later, Lee and Diane left the FBI office downtown, having turned over their business records, supplies, and inventory to the bean counters and filled out their final written reports. Copies were ready for Lieutenant Richmond, who was scheduled to pick them up later.
“The sun’s been down almost an hour now,” Lee said. “You think Bridget will still be at your apartment?”
Diane was in the passenger seat topping off her pistol clip with fresh rounds while Lee drove. “I’m not sure. There’s something not quite right about her, you know?”
Lee’s cell phone rang. “Crap.”
“Now what?” she muttered.
He grabbed the phone from atop the seat cushion. “Yes?”
“Officer Hawk?” It was Iris, the night dispatcher from the Las Cruces state police office.
“Yes, Iris. What’s going on?”
“Something weird, Officer Hawk. I just got a call from the Cruces PD. The landlord at your apartment complex entered your apartment to check out complaints of a strong odor and found a body inside. A Native American or Hispanic man with his head cut off.”
“Decapitated? In my apartment?” Lee noticed Diane looking at him closely.
“That’s what I said, Lee. And he’d apparently been shot several times. From what we’ve been told, the man has been dead two or three days. His body and his head were both in your bathtub.”
“Has Cruces PD been able to ID the body?” Lee suddenly knew who’d killed the man. “Bridget,” he mouthed to Diane, who was staring at him now questioningly.
“They found a New Mexico operator’s license for a San Juan County man named Clarence Atso. But we don’t have a confirmation for sure. The body’s in pretty bad shape,” Iris replied.
“Clarence Atso? We’ve been looking for him. Does Lieutenant Richmond know about this yet?” Lee asked, noting Diane’s eyebrows going up at the mention of the skinwalker’s name.
“He’s my next call. You’ll probably be hearing from a Cruces detective within the hour, but they’ll have to go though channels.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll be contacting Richmond myself later,” Lee added, then ended the call.
“Clarence Atso was found dead in your Las Cruces apartment? Bridget went there too, didn’t she?” Diane shook her head. “Maybe they were both looking for you and found each other instead.”
“And Bridget thought it was me, so she shot him and cut off his head. She did try to kill me,” he said slowly. He hadn’t wanted to believe that. Actually, he’d hoped like hell that he’d finally found just the opposite—a vampire who had kept their sense of right and wrong despite the lure of power they’d inherited along with the nightwalker curse. It would have meant actually having an ally who shared his fate, living in that dark world his human companions would never really know.
“Bridget got the wrong Navajo. But now what do we do with her?” Diane still had her pistol in her hand. She looked at it for a moment, then jammed the weapon back into the holster.
“You know what we would have done had we found Atso first. The way I see it, she ended up doing us a favor,” Lee said.
“And Atso was there to kill you, so there’s justice in how he died,” she said quietly. “But what really sucks is that she’s been lying to us all along.”
“About that, yes.” He took a deep breath then let it out again. “Let’s see if she’s still there, then play it by ear.” Lee slowed the vehicle, realizing that the apartment complex was just a block farther down the street.
“Act normal?” Diane said.
“Yeah. But be ready for anything,” Lee said, pulling into one of the parking slots close to the building.
Diane looked up at her apartment window. “Lights are out and the TV doesn’t seem to be on. Maybe Bridget’s really gone now. She had to know the body would be discovered within a few days. It’s summer, and dead things get ripe even in an air-conditioned apartment.”
They stepped out of Lee’s car, looked around carefully one more time, then climbed the stairs.
“Let me go first,” Lee insisted, taking the key from her hand.
“You’ve seen too many old movies, Lee,” Diane whispered.
“And I want us to be around to see them again on DVD.” He unlocked the door, then eased it open, peering inside, his hand on the butt of his pistol. “Looks okay.” He flipped on the inside light for Diane’s benefit, then walked quickly toward the doors leading to the bathroom and bedroom.
Diane followed, locking the door behind her before checking out the kitchen area.
“Nobody here but us,” Lee announced, stepping out of the bedroom.
“There’s a note on the table,” Diane said, picking up the single page. “Want me to read it?”
“Sure.”
Diane looked at the paper for about ten seconds.
“Out loud!”
Diane laughed. “Okay.
“‘Guys, I’m taking a cab to the place where I’ve stashed some money and new ID, then I’m outta here. I heard what happened at Placitas and I’m glad to hear you two are okay. Thanks for giving me a chance to get my life back again. I promise I’ll do better this time.’” Diane paused, then added, “She signed it ‘Me.’”
Diane looked over at Lee. “Lose a life or two, save one—maybe. It’s up to her now.”
Lee nodded, then sat down on the sofa. Leaning way back against the cushions, he looked over at her through weary eyes. “It’s been tough lately, hasn’t it?”
“You look dead tired, Lee. I never thought I’d see it. You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m not physically tired. It’s just that being a nightwalker gets to me at times. I’m tired in spirit, if you know what I mean. What I really need is a change of pace—a new outlook. What do you say we clean up and go out for some dinner? Maybe a place with some
music.”
“You mean like a date?” Diane replied, smiling.
“Kinda like that, yeah.”
“I don’t dance, but I do know a little restaurant in Old Town that has a fine guitarist. No country-Western, but some great Spanish classical music.”
“Sounds good.”
Diane looked at the clothes she was wearing. “We dressing up or down tonight, Lee?”
“You own a dress?” he teased.
“Not since college, smartass. How about something that coordinates with the essential law-enforcement accessories?” Diane struck a modeling pose, opening her jacket enough to show her handgun.
“Fashionably dangerous. My kind of woman.”
