The sheriff didn’t think he looked the part of a killer, but a crime of passion still had to be ruled out. Looks, after all, could be deceiving, and quarrels got out of hand with tempers flaring from embers to full-fledged roars in a matter of seconds. He’d seen it happen before. Not to the extent of murder, per se, but wildly out of hand all the same.
While they waited for EMS to arrive, he took the opportunity to question Angelique Jaffler. A beauty in her mid-twenties, with long, sable hair that fell down her back, she’d said very little up to this point. Left to handle matters since her brother was understandably unable to, Sheriff Pierson could see that she held back her own breakdown.
He pulled a small notepad from his pocket and jotted down the date and time—July twentieth, 12:46 a.m.—and her responses, listening to not only what she said, but observing her reactions. Despite the tragic circumstances of the night, he found her very calm and collected.
“Tomes, Louisa, and myself, we all retired to our rooms around eleven,” she recalled. “I read for a while before falling asleep, waking abruptly at 11:42 to the sound of a woman’s scream. I know the precise time because the first thing I did was look at the clock sitting on my nightstand,” she explained. “I rushed out and met Tomes in the hall. He’d also heard the scream, telling me that Louisa wasn’t in their room. He said her name…knowing.”
“Knowing?” Sheriff Pierson needed clarification.
“I think he knew it was her scream and feared the worst. Anyway, Tomes grabbed a flashlight from his room, this one.” She held it up. “And we hurried outside to look for her. We found her here five, or maybe ten, minutes later. It’s hard to be exact. Everything happened so fast.”
“What led you down the road, away from the farm?”
“Tomes was sure the scream had come from this direction, so we headed toward the road. We knew we were going the right way when he found her hair clip a short distance up the driveway.”
“Is Tomes the one who found her?” he asked.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, he was. But I hope you’re not suggesting he had anything to do with this. We both were—”
The glare of headlights alerted them to Officer Tanner’s return with an ambulance following.
“That was fast. They must have been close by. I need to take care of this.” Pierson excused himself to meet the paramedics and enlighten them on the sensitive matter at hand.
Allowing EMS full access to do their job, he, Angelique, and the officers stood in the background and watched while the paramedics managed to convince Tomes to release Louisa’s lifeless body.
Acceding, Tomes reluctantly laid his wife on the ground. He was gentle, treating her body like a fragile china doll. Illuminated by the moonlight, her fair skin held a pale-blue hue. In contrast, her bright auburn hair spilled around her face in thick, lustrous waves. Dressed in nothing more than a sheer nightgown that left nothing to the imagination, it revealed the outline of what had been a fit, vivacious body.
“Let’s get her covered up,” the sheriff instructed Bob. It was the decent thing to do. Forensics would probably have a conniption, but the crime scene had already been disturbed, so he didn’t see any harm.
He glanced over at the emergency technicians who were examining their patient at the back of the ambulance and started that way, but was detoured by another vehicle arriving on the scene. He was glad to see his second in command, Deputy Rudy Wilkins, and relieved it wasn’t the media. At any given moment, news crews might show up and throw the otherwise calm, and so far controlled investigation, into utter chaos. And that worried him.
Touching base with Rudy, he brought him up to speed, and finally made his way over to the ambulance where Angelique stood next to her brother, comforting him. He observed for a moment, finding Tomes upset, but alert and levelheaded.
“Are you up for answering a few questions, Mr. Jaffler?”
“I don’t know, Sheriff,” Angelique spoke for him. “He’s not—”
“No, it’s okay, Angel,” Tomes cut her off. “I want to know who did this.”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine. Can you tell me what happened, what led you out here?” Pierson opened his notepad, pen in hand.
“A scream woke me…Louisa’s scream. I noticed she was gone and rushed out to find her, meeting up with Angel in the hall. We hurried outside to look for her and found her here.”
“Ms. Jaffler stated you were the one who found her body…that you were sure the scream had come from this direction.”
“That’s right. I knew the sound had carried from the road, so naturally, that’s the direction I headed. When I saw her clip, from her hair, I ran on up the drive and started this way. I was just about to turn back, thinking I’d gone too far, when I noticed her nightgown near the tree line.”
“Just one scream?” the sheriff confirmed.
“Yes,” Angelique spoke out. “Only one scream.”
Sheriff Pierson had no cause to consider Tomes Jaffler a suspect, but the fact that he seemed to know right where to find the body, so far from the house, bothered him.
“We were too late,” Tomes mumbled. “Just too late. She was already dead when I found her.”
“Can’t this wait till morning, Sheriff?” Angelique took a protective stand for her brother. “Can’t you see he’s not up for this right now? He’s going through hell. If you don’t mind, I really need to get him to the house.”
“It can wait,” the sheriff agreed. He asked the paramedics to escort the Jafflers to the farmhouse. He understood that they needed some time to absorb the shock and collect themselves, especially Tomes. This had to be a nightmare for him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Tomes stated. “I’m not leaving her.”
“She’s gone, Tomes, and we need to let the police do their jobs,” Angelique urged.
“I’m staying. I need answers, who did this, and why.” Tomes held his position and remained on the scene until they took his wife’s body away almost two hours later.
Bringing his thoughts back to the present, Sheriff Pierson leaned back in his chair and groaned, stumped by the whole ordeal. He scanned the medical examiner’s report, stopping where it mentioned a chemical imbalance in the blood with unusual cell activity.
Strange. An illness wasn’t mentioned.
His gaze then fell on the words chronically anemic—another mystery in itself—with no visible injuries to account for the substantial blood loss. The only marks found on the victim’s body were two, three to four millimeter puncture wounds on the left side of her neck. Dr. Berg had suggested needle insertions caused the marks, perhaps used to draw blood from the body, but Sheriff Pierson needed more than just speculation. He observed a notation the doctor had made in the margin: “inconclusive pending forensic analysis.”
The sheriff knew Forensics had taken specimens of the surrounding tissue, but waiting on them could take longer than watching ice melt in the Arctic, he wouldn’t hold his breath. The whole process dragged out even more with the shuffling of paperwork between the crime lab and the investigative offices. He just hoped that when the results did arrive, he would have a little more than supposition to go on.
Just one scream. He thought back to the Jaffler’s claim of having heard a single scream. People had different reactions to fear, but he couldn’t help question why, in a moment of terror, she’d cried out only once. However, he did have a hypothesis, which had led him to prompt Dr. Berg to check for any sign of head injury or chloroform use, thinking the killer might have knocked her out by striking her over the head or by administering an anesthetic to sedate her. He’d hoped something might come of his conjecture, but according to the report sitting in front of him, the doctor had found no sign of head trauma or traces of chemical use.
He cursed to himself, his theory shot down. “Maybe she froze in shock…fainted,” he speculated, trying to imagine all possible scenarios of what might have occurred that terrible night. He just prayed she was un
conscious when the blood was drained from her body. To be conscious would have been torture of the worst kind. A torment fit for hell.
Sheriff Pierson massaged the back of his neck to loosen the tense muscles giving rise to a migraine. He pulled open the top drawer of his desk and rooted around until he found a bottle of aspirin. Popping the top, he shook out two tablets and tossed them back with a swig of black coffee that had turned cold after sitting too long, wrinkling his face at the awful taste. He took a deep breath and tried to expel his frustration. This case was impossible! What purpose could the killer have had for draining the victim’s blood?
“O positive,” he said. Someone might have needed that particular blood type for some critical reason, possibly emergency surgery.
He’d always been a “keep your feet planted firmly on the ground and your head out of the clouds” kind of man. However, he delved yet further into the pit of absurdity as he considered the possibility that Hixton might have even become an abode for a cult. Could Louisa Jaffler have fallen victim to ritualistic murder? It might be improbable, but not unheard of. He’d read about such occurrences happening in small, out-of-the-way places.
Releasing another groan, he lit a Marlboro, took a long, deep drag and slowly let it out. The smoke lingered in front of him for several seconds before dispersing. He rubbed at the twitch in his left ear, a signal that always alerted him something wasn’t quite right. An inner alarm that, to date, had never failed him.
There hadn’t been a murder in the Jackson County area for more than thirty years, and news of the killing had the community stirred. Bigger than anything he’d ever faced during his career in law enforcement, the pressure to supply answers weighed heavily on his shoulders. His small force consisted of good, honest people, but they had no experience when it came to handling a homicide investigation. They normally dealt with less severe crimes, more along the lines of shoplifting, breaking up domestic disputes, or running down speeders. But like him, his team was dedicated, and would never veer off a road just because it got a little rocky. They had a job to do, and with him personally overseeing the case, they would absolutely get it done. This was his county, and he was determined to do everything in his power to keep the residents here safe.
He wanted to believe this murder would be a one time incident, but that nagging spasm just wouldn’t let up, smothering him with an intense fear that more killing would follow.
Someone needing the victim’s specific blood type for emergency surgery was a far-reaching scenario, but one he couldn’t rule out. He refused to dismiss any possibility without at least some minor consideration. With that in mind, he grabbed his hat from the stand next to his door and set a course for Black River Falls Memorial Hospital.
* * * *
The sheriff approached the information desk and stated his position.
“I’m conducting an investigation and I’d like to speak to someone in charge, anyone having the authority to relinquish information.” He removed his hat revealing his reddish-blond, recently trimmed, hair.
“I’ll see if our hospital administrator, Patricia Watson, is available,” the receptionist reached for her phone handset and tapped several digits on the dial pad.
Thanking her, Pierson took a seat, waiting no more than a minute, when a tall, shapely brunette woman appeared in a doorway to his right. He held an unflinching gaze on her as she strode toward him, loving a woman with a strong mind and self-assurance to match, and by the way this woman moved—shoulders squared and head held high—she appeared to possess both qualities in droves.
“Sheriff, hello. I’m Patricia Watson, Hospital Administrator.”
“Sheriff Pierson.” He politely extended his right hand.
She shook it in return and proceeded to inquire on the purpose of his visit.
“I’m investigating a murder that occurred in Hixton two nights ago and I need to ask you a few questions.”
“I don’t understand what this has to do with the hospital, or with me.”
“Oh no, this has nothing to do with you personally, ma’am, not at all. Or with the hospital. I guess you could say I’m here on a hunch.”
“A hunch?”
“Yes. I should explain.”
“Please.”
“Well, first, I was hoping to find out if the hospital might be in short supply of ‘O positive’ blood, and in addition, whether you might have had—in the past two days—a patient in desperate need of that specific blood type.”
“I don’t think so. We should have plenty of O positive on hand, but I can contact the blood bank to make sure. Although, you must know, Sheriff, I can’t divulge any confidential patient information without consent, or a court ordered subpoena,” she informed him. “No matter how charming an official you might be,” she surprisingly added.
“Oh, I’m aware of that Ms. Watson, and if necessary, I could have a subpoena here within the hour.”
“One hour. You must have some clout.”
“I am the sheriff.”
Ms. Watson laughed.
“So, would it be possible to find out if someone made a deposit of O positive blood since the night before last?” Sheriff Pierson asked.
“Yes, it’s possible. But if anything comes of it, I’ll need that subpoena before releasing any files to you.”
“Understood.”
“Blood is usually drawn here, but sometimes it’s sent in by an outside source. If you don’t mind my asking, how does this relate to your murder investigation?”
“Well, it appears the victim was intentionally drained of blood, and this might sound absurd to you, but I was thinking that the killer might have been desperate to save the life of a loved one, in urgent need of her specific type blood. Crazy as it sounds, you get where I’m going with this. Who knows the lengths desperation might drive someone to, and for a person without a conscience, it could easily spell murder.”
“I don’t know, Sheriff,” Ms. Watson said. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but O positive blood is a rather common type. I don’t see there being any trouble acquiring it.”
“Too preposterous, huh?” Sheriff Pierson sighed, feeling a little foolish.
“I wouldn’t say that. Nowadays, more and more strange things happen than I would ever care to know about. But you’ve got me thinking. You still may be on to something. Maybe it’s not so much the blood type, but rather something unique about the blood.”
“There were some imbalances mentioned.” He was relieved she hadn’t laughed at his theory.
“Since you’re here, Sheriff, there is something I should probably mention.”
“What’s that?”
“We’ve had a problem arise in our blood bank, not with deposits, but with unauthorized withdrawals. Someone’s been slipping in and taking bags.”
“Stealing blood?”
“That’s right. Over the years, we’ve had bags go missing from time to time, but never so much as what’s been taken over this past week. I have security working on it, but we just can’t seem to catch the culprit. Yesterday, I took even further measures and had a surveillance camera installed in the blood storage room.”
“Do you suspect an employee?”
“I know most everyone working in the hospital, and I just can’t imagine it being any of them.”
“Who on earth would steal blood, and what would they be doing with so much of it?” He mulled over the act.
“Seems we have a similar problem on our hands, except, you’re after a killer, and I’m after a thief.”
“Let’s just hope they’re not one and the same.”
“That thought just crossed my mind as well.”
“About the information…?”
“Follow me and I’ll get that report for you.” Ms Watson led him to her office, motioning toward two chairs in front of her desk. She took her seat, reached for the phone, and placed a call to the blood storage department, asking the recipient of the call to check on the matter and get back
to her “stat.”
They continued talking while waiting for the information. The sheriff was not one for idle chitchat, but Ms. Watson had no problem keeping the conversation rolling.
“I was just reading about the murder in the morning paper,” she told him. “Big news around here. I couldn’t believe how the writer compared the killing to the myth of the vampire. They’ll grasp at just about anything, won’t they?”
“I’ve been so wrapped up in the case I haven’t had time to look at the paper today.”
“I have it right here, if you’d like to take a look.”
She retrieved the paper from her trashcan and held it up so the article faced him. “Front page news, and your picture’s here too…down the page a bit.” She placed a finger next to it.
He leaned forward, laid his hat on the desk, and took it from her.
“Wonderful,” he remarked with annoyance. “Man or monster?” He read the title of the article and followed with a sarcastic laugh. “This is worse than yesterday’s. These reporters sure come up with some real doozies.”
“They do embellish. But the hype sells papers.”
Her phone rang and she answered, signaling it was the information they were waiting for. “Great. Just fax it to me,” she instructed and hung up. “It’ll take a minute for it to come over the machine.”
He nodded and continued skimming the article, noticing that her eyes never averted.
“How do you feel about the way Terry Phillips used the vampire angle?” she asked.
“It’s ridiculous. Do you know anything about this guy?”
“No, I can’t say I do. Why?”
“He seems to know an awful lot about the case. Too much, in fact. And I don’t care for the way he portrays my department—making us look like a bunch of buffoons.”
Corin & Angelique (After the Fall of Night) Page 2
