Spiral. The shape made her think of the same symbol over Exotica’s “I”. Symbology within symbology. This was going to be amazing. And maybe the find of her career. Kinsey turned to Simone with a huge smile, all anxiety over the woman’s oddness and her own momentary freakout forgotten.
“I’m all yours,” she said.
***
INT. – JULIAN BLACK’S MANSION to EXT. – KINSEY’S CAR – AFTERNOON
Kinsey had no idea how long she spent in the room, documenting the pieces. Only that Simone remained with her. The woman insisted, when Kinsey tried to take her notes with her, the anthropologist leave them behind. And yet, when Kinsey asked if she required a non-disclosure agreement, Simone waved it off.
“I wouldn’t have asked you here if you weren’t trustworthy,” she said, making Kinsey flare with guilt over her plan to smuggle out photos if she could. Not enough to end her covert plan, mind you. Her curiosity was far too powerful. “You can have full access to our closed computer system,” Simone said, taking Kinsey’s recorder from her hand, her notebook. “We have a vast library, but the system is self-contained. My clients insist on privacy. I think, once you begin your translations, you’ll understand why I must insist all reference to these artifacts remain here, in this room.”
So, Simone already knew some of what the symbols meant? Rather than push her, maybe into changing her mind and asking Kinsey to leave, she let it drop. Let the odd woman have her strangeness. “Discretion is my middle name.” She made short work of sneaking a quick photo of the plate with her cell when Simone’s back was turned.
“I’d like to set up a regular schedule,” Kinsey said as her host glanced her way, the phone disappearing into Kinsey’s pocket. She smiled with enthusiasm. “This will take a great deal of study, but I’m certain I can help you.”
“Without outside assistance?” Simone’s answering smile was kind enough, Kinsey thought, but there was a heaviness to her question.
“I had hoped to enlist the help of some colleagues.” That’s how research went, usually.
Simone’s moue of dislike told Kinsey she was on her own. “I will also have to insist—if you accept this assignment—only approved researchers are included in the investigation.”
Kinsey sighed inwardly, but her host’s reticence wasn’t nearly enough to stop her. Who was she kidding? This was the chance of a lifetime. Kinsey already knew the symbols she’d been studying, the ones found on Curtis Alexander, on Reverend Sterling and on the dead transsexual, Aisling, were all part of something extraordinary. Something, dare she say, paranormal.
And though her logical mind told her not only would Gerri not approve and that there was something odd about this entire situation, her need for knowledge won out. As usual. Let Gerri give her a hard time, if she told the detective anything, that was. This was Kinsey’s business.
“I’ll do my best,” Kinsey said, turning back to the artifacts. But Simone’s expression told her she was done for the day.
“Thank you for coming,” the woman said, leading Kinsey toward the door by a soft touch on her elbow. But, she just got here! She was more than happy to get started right away. Kinsey felt lost as Simone closed the door behind her, leaning against it a moment. “I knew you were the prefect person for the job.”
Within moments, Kinsey found herself on the front steps of the mansion, the butler closing the door behind her. When she settled into the driver’s seat of her car, shocked to find it was after one in the afternoon already, Kinsey shook her head. That was the weirdest experience ever. Simone invited her over to study her treasures, only to kick her out?
What the hell?
She pulled out her phone, glanced down at the stolen picture of the plate. There was just enough detail she was sure she could do some side investigating out of Simone’s careful observation. Kinsey knew one thing as she hit the gas and drove toward the city. If the strange woman planned to hover the entire time Kinsey was working, it would be a very short relationship.
Who was she kidding? Kinsey’s mouth practically watered at the chance to go back there and study the symbols. There was something so compelling about them, about the artifacts themselves, she could barely contain her excitement. Every researcher dreamed of finding the unknown, of uncovering a discovery that could mean fame and prestige. But, it was more than that for Kinsey. She was willing to admit in the privacy of her car as she grinned to herself, hands shaking even as they gripped the steering wheel, fame was a heady lure.
No, it was more about understanding the initial six symbols. Knowing at last what they meant. They’d nearly driven her mad, those inscriptions, drawing her back again and again to ponder them over the last week. Without more to go on, Kinsey was stuck. But now, with hundreds of symbols from the platter at her fingertips, she had a template to build from. A whole language to compare to others and build a solid translation for. She blew out a short breath when she admitted she’d pushed the meaning of the symbol she’d labeled vampire. But it made sense to her, from the research she’d done. And it all seemed to fit together, especially with the puncture wounds appearing like they did.
Whatever it was she was getting herself into, Kinsey couldn’t wait.
She was almost back to the college, ready to dig into the photo she wasn’t supposed to possess, when she hit herself in the forehead with the heel of one hand. The hospital. Mitchell. Guilt spun her around amid angry honking as she did an illegal U-turn, waving apology at the offended drivers who she cut off. This could wait the half hour it would take her to check in on her assistant and make sure he was okay.
She should have told Gerri about the marks on his neck sooner. Then again, she had no idea the two wounds she’d spotted over a week ago had any connection to a case. After all, Tasha had died yesterday morning. Still, guilt at not pursuing the issue lingered. She wasn’t his mother or anything. But she was his thesis advisor and, to Kinsey, that made him her responsibility.
***
INT. – ST. BONIFACE HOSPITAL – AFTERNOON
Kinsey pulled into the underground parking at St. Boniface, hitting the brakes on her convertible a bit too hard as she steered into an empty spot on the second level. Damn Gerri, anyway. Kinsey sighed out her frustration, slamming the door of her car and marching toward the elevator. It wasn’t Gerri’s fault. And Kinsey admitted crying vampire was going off the deep end, even for her. But, honestly. If it quacked like a duck and walked like a duck, damn it.
Duck soup.
With her irritation at her friend firmly in her mind, Kinsey prepped her close family member story as the elevator dropped her off on the main level. A quick chat with the candy striper at the desk gave her some relief. Mitchell was out of the ICU and on a recovery floor, open to visitors. Moments later, Kinsey strode down the wide, sterile hallway, bypassing an older woman in a wheelchair, stopping at room 134.
One peek inside told her not only was this Mitchell’s room, thank goodness, but that he looked fine and wasn’t alone. She guessed the pretty girl in the chair next to his bed, her bleached hair in a ragged ponytail and fluttering pink lashes heavy over her dark rimmed eyes was the girl who called earlier.
Mitchell looked up as Kinsey knocked softly on the door frame. Whatever he’d done to warrant a private room, she wasn’t about to ask. He was pale, with dark circles matching his female friend’s under his eyes, but he smiled, if stiffly, when she entered. One quick glance at his visitor passed between them before he sat up a bit, chest covered in a gown, an IV running from the back of his hand to a beeping machine at his side.
“Dr. Dan.” She waved a little to him, smiled at his friend. “You didn’t have to come.”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” She felt bad she came without gifts, a small bouquet of wilting flowers—probably from the gift shop downstairs—hunched on the bed stand beside him. The scent filled the room with cloying perfume mingled with the harsh touch of disinfectant. “I think you called me?”
The gir
l twitched, guilty a moment, fingers flying over the keyboard of her smartphone. “Sorry,” she said.
Mitchell gestured for Kinsey to come closer. “I’m fine, really. Docs said I’d be out by morning.”
“What happened?” Her eyes traveled to his neck, the red marks. Did they look fresh? Visions of Hollywood vampires swooping down to drink his blood punctuated her thoughts.
“Nothing, I swear.” His hand crept up to cover the marks. “I have epilepsy. Forgot to take my meds.” He pointed at the end table, the row of pill bottles. “I had a grand mal. My own fault.”
Relief washed over her and yet, as his hand lingered, hiding the punctures, Kinsey couldn’t let it go. “I’m glad you’re okay. You should have told me you were taking meds.”
“Yes, Mom,” he said.
She laughed, glanced at the girl. Who had the same red, round punctures on her neck.
What the hell was going on?
When the girl noticed her looking, she shot Mitchell a nervous glance, touched her wound much like he had.
“Okay, you two,” Kinsey said, using her best teacher’s voice. She’d had enough and no way was she leaving without answers. “Out with it. What’s this,” she jabbed at her neck where their injuries were, “and why did we find those marks on a murdered girl?”
The girl looked about ready to bolt. “Portia, it’s okay.” Mitchell waved at her, sighing, rueful as he met Kinsey’s eyes. “We can trust Dr. Dan. Right?”
Kinsey nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. “Spill it.”
To her surprise, it was Portia who spoke up. “It’s nothing. Just…” her lips trembled, long nails clicking on the surface of her phone. “Everyone’s doing it.” Like that made it right.
But suddenly made sense to Kinsey.
“You’re taking drugs?” She didn’t know what offended her more, the fact she’d allowed herself to believe in vampires or that her trusted assistant was a freaking addict.
He held up both hands. “It’s not like that,” he said. “Honest. We’re just…”
“Look, I get experimenting.” Who was she, his mother? Seriously. Kinsey let her arms drop to her sides, but couldn’t hide her disappointment. Yes, she’d smoked her share of weed and even tried coke and ecstasy once. But whatever they were into killed a girl. “Where did you get it?” She’d never heard of a drug that left puncture marks like that.
“The club.” Portia swallowed visibly, fingers finally falling still, phone in her lap. “We all did it.”
Because stupidity required friends.
“It’s called viper,” Mitchell said. “I’ve used it a few times.” He shrugged, no big deal. “I didn’t realize it would affect my epilepsy.”
“And Tasha?” By now, Kinsey put two and two together and came up with damn it all to hell. “You know her, don’t you? The dead girl?” They both did, she could see it on their faces.
“She was a friend, yeah.” Mitchell bit the inside of his cheek. “You had her in your first year class, Dr. Dan.”
Aw, hell.
“She didn’t want to take it.” Tears stood in Portia’s eyes, trickled down her cheeks. “She didn’t do drugs, didn’t drink, either. We dragged her out that night.” Kinsey thought of Gerri, shoved it aside. “One of the girls, she wouldn’t leave Tash alone. Kept badgering her.”
“Which girl?” Kinsey had to think of her detective friend after all. Long enough to call her with this info.
“Kendall Walsh.” Portia sobbed softly, hands over her face. “She used to date Tash’s ex, Garret. Super jealous.” When the girl met Kinsey’s eyes again, hers were haunted. “I think she might have given viper to Tash against her will.”
And that, as Gerri would say, was murder.
Kinsey said a hasty goodbye, left the pair to make a call. One glare from the floor nurse at the sight of her cell phone had Kinsey rolling her eyes but heading for the parking garage anyway before she started to dial.
And ran right into Ray as she strode, head down, onto the elevator. Her brunette friend grabbed her shoulders, stopped the collision, but when Kinsey grinned at her, the serious and slightly panicked look on Ray’s face told her something was terribly wrong.
“Good news,” Kinsey said, trying to soften the brunette’s expression. “Not vampires.”
Ray shook her head, voice low. “I’m not so sure,” she said, guiding Kinsey onto the elevator. “I came here to get a look at the young man you mentioned. But we need to talk to Gerri first.”
“Why, what happened?” Kinsey had a terrible feeling, suddenly, a sinking in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with the elevator’s action.
“Our second victim, Myra Banks?” Ray pulled Kinsey off the elevator on the second level of the parking garage, her Mini Cooper parked next to Kinsey’s convertible. “She died an hour ago.”
“Poor thing,” Kinsey said, thinking of Mitchell and Portia. She opened her mouth to tell Ray it was a drug, though, that nothing paranormal was involved, when the brunette spun, eyes haunted.
“Gerri’s going to kill me,” she said in a shaking voice. “I have no idea how it happened, but between the space of unloading Myra at the morgue and Robert logging her presence ten minutes later, the body disappeared.”
Kinsey stared, heart skipping. Just like Aisling and Roxy.
Oh, no.
***
***
INT. – 9th PRECINCT INTERROGATION– AFTERNOON
Gerri stepped through the interrogation room door, knowing already what she’d find, thanks to her glaring check-in of the interior from the observation room next door. Whoever invented one way glass was a genius, not that knowing her suspect already lawyered up made her feel any better.
Kendall Walsh she’d already met, as it turned out. Miss Purple from last night at Exotica stared at the surface of the table, sullen expression already shutting her off from Gerri. Didn’t help that the portly older man beside her in his expensive suit and $3,000 watch smelled so much like a lawyer he made her stomach clench or that the middle aged couple—the woman desperately clinging to her youth while nature fought her for every wrinkle and line—glared with tight-jawed anger at the detective.
Not that she was really surprised. She knew the bully who Kinsey helped identify as the one who forced Tasha to take the new drug, viper, was from the upper echelons, the rich part of town. No way a trust fund kid like her would show up to an interrogation without a lawyer in tow. The parents were just an added pain in Gerri’s ass.
She was more than willing to talk to her in her own environment. Not Gerri’s fault the girl’s refusal to talk forced her to drag Kendall down here in cuffs. Not her fault at all. Then, why did it make Gerri grin all of a sudden? She crossed to the table after firmly closing the door, just hard enough to make Mrs. Walsh jump, keeping her pleasant expression firmly on her face as she dropped a heavy file on the tabletop. They didn’t need to know the reams of paper were blank, that only the top two or three had writing on them. Gerri loved this part of the game, toying with those who thought they were above the law or could buy their way out of justice.
Kendall refused to meet her eyes as Gerri slipped into her seat and opened the top of the folder. The police report slid sideways as she casually slid out the photos of Tasha, dead on the beach. Gerri fanned them out in Kendall’s line of sight, maintaining her own smile, watching for the girl’s reaction.
She flinched, turned her gaze away. Guilt or just disgust? No trace of momentary pleasure, at least. So the young woman wasn’t a sociopath, at least not the kind that took joy from the pain of others.
Her mother, on the other hand, freaked out. “How dare you!” She shoved at the pictures with both hands, skin paling, fingers laden with diamonds clanking on the metal table as she tried to cover up the crime.
Gerri’s smile faded as she fixed Mrs. Walsh with her best detective’s stare. “Why did you think I brought your precious little girl down here, ma’am? For a stroll through the tulips?” G
erri jerked the images free of the gaping woman and shoved them under Kendall’s view again, the bottoms of the eight and a half by elevens bending as they came in contact with the girl’s glitter covered tank top. “Murder. Tasha Pear was murdered. And your daughter is a suspect.”
She let that sink in while the lawyer cleared his throat and leaned forward.
“We’re here voluntarily,” he said with a faint Southern accent and breath that could stop a speeding bullet. Gerri leaned away to avoid him, arms crossing over her chest. “And I can assure you, Miss Walsh has an alibi for this poor girl’s time of death.”
Gerri winked at him. “You don’t even know when she died.”
That shut him up, if only for a moment. “Miss Walsh has been away at school—”
Kendall twitched while Gerri chose to ignore the windbag lawyer in favor of the suspect in her sights.
“Is that right.” She stopped, waited. The silence dragged on so long, Gerri felt pressure build up in the space between her and Kendall. Knew at any moment Mommy or Daddy or Lawyer dude would break it, shatter the awkwardness and put Kendall back at ease. Gerri chose to be first to the gate. “Just like you were at school the other night. When I interviewed you and your friends at Exotica.”
Mrs. Walsh spun on her daughter with a sharp gasp and hurt eyes. What a showoff. “My daughter is underage—”
Exotica (Episode Two: The Nightshade Cases) Page 7
