So… Ash was in his room at the Olivier House from three a.m. on. It was three-thirty when the room service waiter brought my food. If that was Justin he heard entering his room down the hall, then Ash didn’t make those cuts on Justin’s hands and he wasn’t there to wrap something around Justin’s neck to strangle him. I didn’t need to wait for him to answer my questions. Scratch one suspect.
My phone rang. Ovsanna was FaceTiming me. I accepted the call and saw costumed fans standing in line next to her. She was still signing autographs.
“Hi,” I said, “are you okay?”
She didn’t look okay. She looked drained, if that’s possible for a vampyre.
“I have a real talent for compartmentalizing,” she said. “I suppose we all do. My species, I mean. When you live hundreds of years, you’ve got a lot to process. Compartmentalizing helps. I’m okay.”
“Getting tired of writing your name?”
She smiled. “It’s not so bad. Shorter than my real one, at least.” She whispered into the phone. “Can you imagine writing Ovsanna Hovannes Garabedian everytime? Even vampyres might not live that long.”
“At least they can read your writing. I still don’t get why people pay for a couple of squiggles on a scrap of paper. But hey, those squiggles helped my mom buy a red Corvette. I’m almost there, by the way. Can you take a break so I can bring you up to date on Ash?”
“That’s why I called. The Daily Beast just tweeted that Ash Rowley is in the hospital with a drug overdose. Going in and out of consciousness. Do you know anything about that?”
“Yep. I was the one who called 911. I think I got to him right after he passed out. He’ll make it. Probably sell more tickets because of it.”
“So you didn’t get a chance to talk to him?”
“No. But I checked with the staff at the hotel. We won’t know for sure until we get a time of death but Ash has a pretty solid alibi. As far as they know, he was in his room from three o’clock on. Has the media picked up on Justin’s death?”
“Oh, yes. It’s all over the Internet. No one’s suggesting foul play, though. Just that he was found dead in his hotel room.”
“Has Cyphers told you anything more?”
“Yes. Something strange. Something I can’t figure out, at least. I asked SuzieQ and she didn’t know what I was talking about, so it had to have happened after Justin left her room. His eyelashes are gone.”
“What do you mean, they’re gone? What, like he plucked them?”
“Not his eyebrows. His eyelashes. The M.E. hasn’t gotten here yet and Cyphers has to wait for her before he can move the body, but you know how Justin’s head was hanging upside down off the bed? Well, one of the officers got down on the floor to check Justin’s eyes for hemorrhaging— in case he was strangled— and his eyelashes had all been cut. Just the upper lashes. All of them cut down to the lid. And none of them anywhere on the rug. Whoever cut them, took them with him.”
“What the hell? What does that mean? Some fan who’s obsessed with his eyelashes? Someone demented enough to kill him so they can take his eyelashes?” I’d protected a lot of high profile clients, working as a cop in Beverly Hills, and come up against a lot of craziness, like the nutcase who contracted his buddies to castrate Justin Beiber with garden shears so he could have his “parts” as a souvenir. I could believe almost anything. Balls I can understand, but eyelashes?
“I don’t think so,” Ovsanna said. “I don’t think they’re a souvenir. This is New Orleans, Peter. Home of Hoodoo and Voodoo and Santeria. Rootworkers and conjurers. Lots of people practicing folk work, using all kinds of things to cast spells. I don’t think Justin’s eyelashes are just some fan’s souvenir. Someone needs them for something magickal.”
I flashed on the dream I’d had the night before— maybe it wasn’t a dream. Maybe there was another friggin’ supernatural beastie come to call. It had been eight months since I’d met Ovsanna and the laws of nature as I knew them got thrown out the window. You’d think I’d be open to all possibilities by now. But I’ll tell you, some of this stuff is still hard to accept.
“Then you know what?” I said, “We’ve got to get you back in his room before they move his body. You need to do that thing you do. That touching thing.”
29. OVSANNA
What Peter meant was he wanted me to lay my hands on Justin’s body to see if I got any images that would help identify his killer. Seven months ago, when Peter found the mutilated body of a young woman floating in the duck pond at the Sportsmen’s Lodge, he’d invited me to the Coroner’s office to touch her remains in the hope I could shed some light on who— or what— had disemboweled her. She’d been shredded; her mouth and lower jaw torn off, her arms severed. Her forehead was the only part of her face left intact. When I touched it, I knew, at least, that she’d been drowned before she was eviscerated. Attacked from behind so that she never saw her assailant. It wasn’t much help, but for Peter I think it lessened the horror of her death just a bit. He couldn’t share the knowledge with anyone— he wasn’t about to admit to his captain that he was basing his beliefs on a vampyre with psychic sensations— but he took comfort in knowing the torture had taken place after she died.
The only other thing I’d been able to tell him from touching her was that her killer might not have been human. And as it turned out, I was half right. The woman had been torn apart by a rougarou— part human, part beast.
Maral had used that rougarou to get rid of Peter, but she’d failed. She’d tried Hoodoo, too, and failed again.
I needed to get to Justin’s body before they took him away.
It was twelve-thirty. When Matty announced over the loudspeaker that I’d stop signing in half an hour, seventy-five more people jammed onto my line. At one-twenty, I still had twenty stragglers waiting patiently for me to write my name. I stopped making chit-chat, told them all I was sorry but I had to catch a plane, and signed as fast as I could. By the time the last four fans got their pictures, even I couldn’t read my handwriting.
Monk ran interference as we hurried our way through the ballroom and into the elevator. I didn’t want to take a chance waiting for Peter to arrive, in case the M.E. was already examining the body. I texted him to meet me there and pressed the button for the third floor.
The hallway was empty, the door to Justin’s room locked. I stepped in front of Monk and knocked softly. One of Sgt. Cyphers’ security detail opened the door. Not the one who’d preceded us in two hours ago. This one looked like he’d graduated from the academy a week earlier. He was a baby. I’m not sure he was even shaving yet. His nametag said “A. Lowell”.
I smiled at him— the movie star smile, with just a touch of vulnerability thrown in— and looked deeply into his eyes. Silently I suggested he open himself up to anything I had to say. It’s a vampyre trick. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. I don’t use it very often so I’m not very skilled at it.
“Oh, Miss Moore,” he said. His hand went to adjust the knot in his tie. “Miss Moore…”
I think it worked. Maybe I’m better than I thought. Or maybe he just likes scary movies.
“Officer Lowell. I’m sorry to intrude. It’s just that… well… they haven’t taken Justin’s body yet, have they?”
“No, ma’am. The M.E.’s office called an hour ago and said it would be at least another two hours before she can get here. They’re filming an episode of NCIS: New Orleans in Slidell and they asked Dr. Shucette to play a part. Well, I guess it’s not a part, exactly. She’s playing herself. You know— a medical examiner? I think she’s only got one line, but the gal who called from her office said she was all excited about it. ’Cept she didn’t think it’d take too long, so that’s why the doctor said she’d do it. But now it seems like it’s taking a lot longer than she thought.”
I was still standing in the hallway. I heard the elevator doors open and Peter’s scent reached me from around the corner. I motioned to Monk and he went off to find him.
> “Oh, I know how that can be,” I said to the officer, never taking my eyes off his. “There are so many things that can delay filming, especially when you’re shooting on location. I did a film once where we shot in the Sierra Nevadas. The set was up a dirt road a few miles off the highway on the opposite side of two sets of railroad tracks. Three mornings in a row, the director and the D.P. got stuck in their cars, waiting an hour and a half for freight trains to pass so they could get across and get to the set. And then a few days later, the director’s car blew a tire and again, we couldn’t shoot ’til he got there. I’ve been on shoots where the set caught fire, where the animal we were working with bit an actor, where my co-star showed up so stoned he couldn’t get through a scene. In the middle of a sunny day in Vancouver we got hit with hail stones so big we couldn’t record sound. We had to shut down for the afternoon. You never know what’s going to happen to delay the day’s schedule.”
Peter joined us. “Hi,” he said, “what’s going on?”
“This is Officer Lowell, Peter. He’s guarding the room until the Crime Scene Unit gets here.”
“We’ve met,” said Peter. “You kept an eye on Angel Detroit’s room, right? After we figured out she was the one who attacked Ovsanna.” He put his hand out. “Detective King. I’ve been working with your boss, Sgt. Cyphers. Ms. Moore and I were first on the scene here earlier this morning. Along with two officers from your detail.”
“Peter, the M.E. is stuck in Slidell and won’t be here for awhile,” I explained. “Which I’m sort of relieved about, actually.” I turned back to Officer Lowell. “I was hoping Justin would still be here.” I kept staring into his eyes, concentrating as hard as I could. “I know it’s not in keeping with protocol, but I’d be so grateful for a moment with him to say good-bye.”
He started blushing. “Ummm— uh…”
“Oh, Officer Lowell— is it Andy? Is that what the A stands for? Or are you an Anthony? I’ll bet it’s Andrew, isn’t it?”
“You’re right, ma’am. It’s Andrew. Well, yeah, I mean, I guess most people call me Andy, but the A is for Andrew. Um… well… I guess it’ll be okay. If you come in, I mean. As long as you’re careful.”
“Oh, I’ll be extremely careful. I’d just like to spend a few minutes with him. Touch his cheek perhaps, to say good-bye. He was a dear friend. Losing him is hard.” All true. I cared for Justin very much. I wouldn’t be touching his cheek as a means of farewell, but I do find his loss painful. He was a really good man.
Officer Lowell looked at Peter and then back at me. “Um… uh— I don’t—”
“Oh, listen, Officer,” Peter said, “I don’t need to go in there. Not at all. You’ve got a job to do and you’re being more than gracious letting Ms. Moore get some closure. Anything we can do to show our gratitude, just say the word. Maybe you’d like your picture taken with her?”
“Really? Oh yeah, that would be sweet. I mean… uh, yeah, I’d love to take a picture with you, Ms. Moore. My dad wouldn’t believe it. I mean, he wouldn’t believe it that I’m even talking to you. That’d be great.”
I smiled. “I’ll tell you what, Andy. Let me go in and say good-bye to Justin. I won’t be a minute. And when I’m done, we can take as many pictures as you like.”
30. PETER
The kid was just a kid, really. I felt a little badly about taking advantage of his mooning over Ovsanna to get her into Justin’s room, but it worked and that’s what we needed. She wasn’t in there long. I kept him talking at the door. Once she walked past him he never even turned around to check on her.
From my vantage point at the doorway I couldn’t see the bed or Justin’s body, but the big screen TV on the bureau across the room was angled enough so I could watch Ovsanna’s reflection. She was careful not to disturb anything, squatting a good distance away from where Justin’s head hung over the side. I saw her reach out and place her hand gently on the back of his neck, right where the marks must have been. She rested it there for a minute. Then she slipped it under his face and cupped her fingers over his eyes. Her eyes were closed.
She was back with us a minute later. I couldn’t read anything in her expression. Just when I forget what she does for a living, her acting chops kick in and I’m impressed all over again. She really is good.
She flashed a warm smile at the kid. “Thank you so much, Officer Lowell. Andy. Let’s take those pictures now, shall we?”
The kid pulled out his iPhone and I shot a half dozen pics of the two of them before he went back inside. He was probably going to spend the next half hour texting them to everyone he knew. Ovsanna and I walked down the hall to my room. She didn’t speak until we were inside.
She had the strangest look on her face.
“What?” I asked. “What did you see?”
“Well… I don’t know if you and SuzieQ have ever been intimate, but if you haven’t, you’re missing out on a wild ride.”
“That’s what you saw? Justin and SuzieQ fucking?”
“Fucking is putting it mildly. What did she say? ‘We wore each other out.’ There’s no doubting that. It was an incredibly strong sensation I got— an image.”
“What image? Do you think she killed him? There’s no way… I don’t believe it.”
“No. No. Nothing like that. I just… saw them making love. There were snakes involved.”
“Snakes? SuzieQ’s snakes? Like Anthony Weiner and Edwin Edwards? Oh God, what were they doing?”
“Believe me, you don’t want to know.”
“No, I mean, could they have made those marks? Around his neck?”
“They were nowhere near his neck. Besides, she told us he was fine— ‘more than fine’— when he left her room at three-thirty, remember? This was just an image I got of the two of them— well, the two of them and the snakes— in the throes of passion. It doesn’t put us any closer to knowing who killed him.”
“What about his eyelashes? What happened when you put your hand over his eyes? Did you sense anything from that?”
“That was a very faint sensation. I couldn’t hold onto it. Maybe because whoever cut his lashes did it after he was dead. It was a female energy, I’m certain of that, but I couldn’t even tell you if she was human or not. I’m sorry, this isn’t much help.”
We’d been standing in the middle of the room. Ovsanna sat on the sofa and I pulled the armchair around to face her. I needed to share a few things.
“Last night,” I said, “after I came back from questioning Ash at One Eyed Jack’s, I ordered room service and fell asleep on the couch. I had a dream that was so real, so intense, I honestly don’t know if it was a dream. I thought it was because I had Maral on my mind—”
“Maral? Why would you be thinking about Maral?” Ovsanna went from relaxing on the sofa to sitting up ramrod straight. She worries that I blame her for Maral’s attempt to have me killed. I don’t, although it still pisses me off that she helped Maral disappear. Okay, so I couldn’t arrest her, but I could have kept an eye on her.
“There was a redheaded woman in the ballroom the first day of the con. She looked enough like Maral that I went after her to see if I was right. I lost her. I knew it wasn’t her— she was in a Goth get-up Maral wouldn’t be caught dead in— but I’ve had her on my mind ever since. And this dream… well, there was some kind of spectre in the dream, a vampyre or something, but in Goth clothing like that redhead, and it was trying to kill me. It was on top of me, suffocating me, trying to get to my neck with its fangs. I woke up with my gun in my hand, aiming at air. But it was so real I asked the room service waiter if he’d seen anyone in the hall and that’s when he told me he saw Justin’s door closing. Don’t take offense, but once I calmed down, I decided it was my subconscious’s way of trying to work out our relationship. You know, big, strong, capable cop feeling out of control— if not downright terrified— that he’ll lose himself to a woman with far greater powers.”
Ovsanna stared at me for a long moment. I’d been half joki
ng, but maybe she didn’t see it that way.
She finally spoke. She wasn’t smiling. “It could be that. Or it could be you were asleep, but you weren’t dreaming.”
“What are you saying? I was asleep and that thing on top of me was real? Oh, Jesus, it wasn’t you, was it? You know— the reason you said you always sleep alone— did you wake up in the middle of a transformation and couldn’t control yourself? Were you trying to drain me?” Fuck sharing, I was up and out of the chair and backing away from her without even realizing it. I’d seen what she could do when she wasn’t Ovsanna. I couldn’t go up against that without my gun. And fuck, my gun was still under the pillow on the sofa. She was sitting on it.
“No, Peter, it wasn’t me. Please… please don’t back away from me.”
Holy shit, I’m losing it. The woman I’m falling in love with is a fucking vampyre and I’m standing here hoping I can kill her if I have to.
I took a breath. Tried to get myself under control. “I’m sorry, Ovsanna, sometimes this shit is more than I can take.” I stayed standing where I was. “Okay, so what are you saying? You think it was one of yours? Some bloodsucker from another mother has it out for me?”
“I think it was Maral.”
“Maral? What are you talking about? She’s not a vampyre, she’s a fucking human being. A fucked up human being definitely, but if that thing I dreamt last night was real, it wasn’t human, so it wasn’t Maral.”
“Sit down, Peter. Please. There’s something I have to tell you.”
31. MARAL
I’d let Miz Foret pray on me. That didn’t work. Now I was going to prey on someone else. That should work so much better.
I went back to the hotel for Peter King. Why prey on a stranger when I could dig my fangs into Ovsanna’s meal ticket and get him out of her life for good? Vampyres don’t need anyone, isn’t that what you say, Ovsanna? Mais… let’s see what you say when your dinner date turns into mincemeat.
Make Me Dead: A Vampyres of Hollywood Mystery Page 13
