Bloodlinks

by Lee Killough

  She sent a frown toward Garreth at that echo of his suggestion. “An expert on security are you?”

  Fowler took the sarcasm with a modest shrug. “I’ve accumulated knowledge on the subject, yes, since my characters frequently need to make clandestine entries.”

  “Any bright thoughts on why Barber would torture Holle.”

  Fowler started. “Torture! That’s terrible!” Then his eyes lit with curiosity. “What did she do to him?”

  Instead of answering, Girimonte said, “Yeah, we don’t see what she’d have to gain by that, either.” Faint emphasis on the female pronoun. She picked up her phone and started another call.

  After watching her for a moment, Fowler sat at Yonning’s desk and pulled a book of crossword puzzles out of his pocket.

  “You don’t have to stick around.” Her tone invited him to leave.

  He gave her a sunny smile. “If there’s a development, I don’t want to miss it.”

  From the corner of his eye, Garreth saw Girimonte grimace.

  From her end of the conversation, the call gave her nothing useful. She hung up and looked at Garreth. “So, what did you learn from talking to the housekeeper when you tracked her down and asked for the address book.”

  Harry glanced up from his phone with a frown.

  Garreth forced his tone to remain mild. “I didn’t ‘track her down.’ I met her on the second floor after leaving the crime lab tech in the attic. She said while she didn’t know who Holle might let in late at night, she’d seen notations by names in his address book and maybe those indicated fellow night owls. So we went to get the book.”

  “She said that to you, instead of coming to find us.”

  “I think she’d just come up the stairs, on her way to find you.”

  “But she never mentioned notations when you gave Harry the book, and you didn’t either.”

  Oops. His mind raced, hunting a way out. “I didn’t because I looked up Knight, a known night owl, and there wasn’t anything written by his name.”

  Harry sighed. “You should have told us.”

  “Or,” Girimonte said, “you were holding back until you managed a private look through the book.”

  This time Garreth could not keep the irritation out of his voice. “Why...in hopes of finding an address for Lane? Is that likely?”

  “Who knows?”

  Harry’s sigh sounded weary and exasperated, but instead of saying anything, he punched another number into the phone.

  “Is that drinkable today?” Fowler pointed at the coffee maker on its table outside Serruto’s office.

  Cohen said, “Depends how desperate you are for caffeine.”

  Fowler heaved to his feet. “I’ll try it anyway. Fancy a coffee, too, Mikaelian?”

  No...but Fowler’s eyes rolled toward the pot in a silent follow me so Garreth trailed after him.

  At the table, Fowler pulled a foam cup off the stack beside the pot, grimacing. “Plods.”

  Garreth eyed him. “What? Girimonte’s no longer brilliant?”

  He swirled the pot. “It seems to me they’re missing the obvious. Barber tortured him to make it appear someone wanted information. I think she’s trying to stitch you up for it, boyo. I’m just not sure how she thinks it will work when if you’re like me, you kipped straightaway after the party.”

  Garreth took a guess he meant went to bed. “No, I’m a night owl, too. I went for a run on the beach.”

  “In the rain? Unfortunate timing.” Fowler poured the coffee, tasted it, and shrugged. “I’ve had worse. I once spent three days with some code-breakers whose brew would support a spoon standing upright. So...perhaps Lane or Mada are watching to see when you’re vulnerable.”

  “I don’t believe it’s either of them.”

  “Then you’re a bloody fool. Who else would want to frame you? They couldn’t kill you in Baumen so why not just ruin your life...take away your job, your friends, your reputation, get you sent to prison if they’re lucky.”

  Who else? Irina perhaps...in revenge for Lane. Would that be worth killing a supposed friend like Holle? Maybe, since he imagined Lane having no qualms about dispatching a mere human if it suited her purpose.

  But for Girimonte being human, he might suspect her, too. Maybe she had turned anger over her sister into hatred of all vampires...and friends of vampires. She had been sharpest with Holle in the interview here and could fit the description of the person seen outside Holle House. Since Holle let him in last night, why not Girimonte as well.

  Then it struck him that despite being human, she had the means to kill vampires at night. The badge would gain her admittance to Knight’s apartment and let her approach the hooker and Maruska and suggest moving to an isolated location. He saw them complying without fear, confident of their invulnerability. Then she had only to catch them by surprise with a stun gun, which ought to scramble even a vampire’s nervous system long enough to break the neck. The marks of a stun gun could go unnoticed in the battering inflicted on the hooker and Maruska, and might be disguised by the punctures in Knight’s neck.

  Maybe they would find stun gun marks on Holle’s body.

  “Mikaelian?” A hand waved in front of his face. “Are you in there?”

  Garreth looked up at Fowler. “Just thinking.”

  “Deep thoughts, it appears. Among them, I hope, is memory of my offer last evening to help you find Mada and Miss Barber. It’s still good...and Holle’s murder has given me an idea how to go after them.”

  “You really want that interview with Mada.”

  Fowler shook his head. “No longer. Holle’s murder has persuaded me it’s in all our best interest to see them nicked.”

  A welcome change of thinking. “What’s your idea?” It was worth hearing anyway.

  He sipped the coffee. “If they are indeed watching you, we can catch them at it. I’ll set myself up outside Takananda’s house. Go for another run tonight and when they follow you, I’ll follow them. If they don’t follow you but go off to do mischief, I will be there to witness it.”

  Not an idea Garreth liked when he wanted to check out Philos. “What if only one watches me and the other carries out the ‘mischief?’ You won’t know where it’s going down.”

  “Then perhaps I ought to just stick with you so I can back up your alibi.”

  “That doesn’t help catch Mada and Lane.”

  “Excellent point.” Fowler slugged down the rest of the coffee and dropped the cup in the waste basket. “What about presenting ourselves as agents of this Steiner chap and show Barber’s picture around North Beach to see if anyone knows where’s she’s working.”

  “Too many people know me.” Not that many would recognize him now, but why let Fowler know that.

  “Ah.” Fowler sighed, then brightened. “Well, there’s nothing to prevent me from acting on my own. Being a foreigner will help make me convincing, don’t you think? And if I learn anything useful, I’ll let you know straightaway. In fact,” he said, glancing at his watch, “why don’t I start now?”

  “You have a picture of her?”

  “I have a picture of Mada from those my parents took that holiday. It daresay it can pass for Miss Barber.” He raised his voice. “Inspectors, I’ve observed enough today. Good luck with your calls. I’m off to do drive-by signings.” And with a flourish of his umbrella, he strode out the door.

  “Do what?” Cohen said.

  Girimonte punched the switchhook on her phone. “Unannounced autograph sessions. As he explained it to me earlier in the week, he drops in on a bookstore, lets surprised bookstore personnel and customers worship at his feet, and signs copies of his books they happen to have on the shelves.” She punched in another number. “The two of you had your heads together long enough. What were you plotting?”

  “He was expounding on his theory of Lane as Holle’s killer. He thinks the torture wasn’t for information, just making it appear that way so she can frame me for the murder.” He watched for Gir
imonte’s reaction.

  She snorted. “A writer would think like that. It’s always got to be complicated. But why would she want to frame you? Also, her plan is has a problem, your claim of an alibi.” She paused. “Unless she knows better. You think she does?”

  Garreth sighed silently. That had gained him nothing except another chance for her to take a dig at him.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  In the car heading home, Harry let out a big sigh.

  Garreth smiled wryly. “So goes another exciting day of crime investigation.”

  Harry nodded. “Everyone we contacted assured us Holle was a great guy and the last person anyone had a reason to kill. No beefs with anyone they know of. No hint of problems like gambling or drugs or women. And I don’t see some not-so-humanitarian member of Philos thinking the organization should have Holle’s estate instead of his leadership. It’s that torture.” He frowned. “It doesn’t fit anywhere. Even if Barber killed him.” He paused. “Unless we want to buy into Fowler’s frame theory, of course, and Van’s right; it’s like something out of one of his books. Barber’s a good sized woman, but it would take a Charles Atlas to wring Holle’s neck that way.”

  He fell silent. As they neared home, however, Garreth began hearing the hitches in breathing he recognized as Harry working himself up to saying something that embarrassed him or he feared would offend his listener.

  “Go on, Harry...just say whatever it is.”

  Harry managed to look both embarrassed and relieved. “Well...since you’ve been here you can’t deny you’ve managed to be in situations that can be interpreted as...suspicious. Your go-round in North Beach with that hustler, and no solid alibi for when Holle was killed. Of course I believe you were running when you say you were but Van’s right that sand and sea salt on your sweats only establishes going to the beach, not how long you spent there.”

  Garreth listened with gut knotting. Was Harry voicing his support...or trying to convince himself? He kept his voice level. “You think Holle would get out of bed and let me in? Or that I have a motive to kill him...especially that viciously?”

  “No of course not.” Harry’s face twisted. “I don’t believe you’re involved in any way. Whoever’s breaking necks and battering the victims started with that little hooker while you were still in Baumen. But...well...” He grimaced. “...you can’t be blamed for anything if you can’t have been there. For the rest of the time you’re here, let me be able to vouch for your whereabouts. Don’t go out at night again.”

  In Garreth’s head Lane whispered: I don’t think he quite trusts you. But what do you care. He’s only a human.

  “If you can’t sleep, read or watch TV...though I think you ought to try to sleep. It’s obvious you aren’t getting any, the way you drag around all day.”

  Shut up, Lane. He’s just worried for me.

  I wonder if you believe that or are trying to convince yourself.

  Aloud he said, “You’re right. About staying in and getting sleep.”

  If only he could take that advice. He had Philos to visit, though. How did he slip out, though, and give the impression of being here all night? Harry might have enough concern — Garreth shied from thinking suspicion — to check on him a time or two...and the guest room, originally intended for a child, had no lock on the door.

  So he needed to plan accordingly. Forget Harry falling for a body mocked-up under the covers. Better to keep his old partner out of the room altogether. Could blocking the door avoid seeming suspicious?

  Garreth turned over ideas while faking his way through a helping of tortilla casserole, checking the phone book for Philos’s address in the Castro, and telling anecdotes about Baumen over drinks on the patio. When, inevitably, the conversation moved to Lane, Knight, and Holle, he decided to come head-on at Harry.

  “You say Girimonte has good cop instincts. Are her suspicions of me enough to make you wake up and run bed checks on me tonight?”

  Harry stiffened. “Come on! No! I trust you.”

  But having been suggested, Garreth bet it would bug Harry enough to follow up.

  “I know. Sorry.” Garreth held up his hands in surrender. “So you’ll never notice I’ve pushed the dresser in front of the door until you try to come in and wake me tomorrow.”

  “What?” Harry stared at him.

  Garreth grinned. “I’m kidding about the dresser. But when I think about sleep, I’m wondering if tonight is enough to catch up on it. Will it bother you if I sleep in and come to the Hall later?”

  Harry considered, then shook his head. “That’s fine with me.”

  “And as a reminder...in lieu of a Do Not Disturb sign...” Garreth grinned again. “...what if I wedge that rubber door stop from the pantry under the door until the edge of it sticks into the hall. You see it in the morning and you’ll know I’m not ready to get up.”

  Which provided an excuse for blocking the door and supposedly proved Garreth must be inside.

  Which ceased to be true, of course, about midnight, when Garreth felt confident Harry had gone to sleep.

  Wrench!

  Once in the hall, despite pain, he forced himself to hurry for the stairs. Fowler’s suggestion about the killer watching him made him even more cautious about not being identified as out of the house. So he had dressed ready to change appearance, starting with a t-shirt and a polo shirt of a different color over it, to be shed if necessary. Downstairs he snagged the kitchen gloves from under the sink again, Harry’s Giants ball cap out of the hall closet to hide his hair, plus — thinking of the threat of rain — a hooded rain jacket of Lien’s, paint stained from outdoor painting sessions...baggy enough to fit him, he thought. And except for sleeve length, it did.

  Obviously his car had to stay parked for Harry and all to see. He left on foot out the back.

  Wrench!

  Leaving the lock and security-bar of the patio doors untouched. After pausing long enough to stretch out on the grass and let the earth drain away his pain, he moved over fences from yard to yard to the far end of the block, and from there zig-zagged north-east across the Sunset. The turns at each corner minimizing how long anyone saw him and a brisk walk avoiding the appearance of stealth.

  The time wasted by that pace, however, increasingly frustrated him. Especially when skies opened. No drizzle this time but a downpour. So when he spotted a rare sight in this area, a cab...with its roof light out...he hailed it, gambling he was far enough from Harry’s to prevent a ready connection between that address and this passenger pickup.

  “Man, you’re a life saver! My car conked out and I should have been at work a half hour ago.”

  “Work? What do you do?” the cabbie asked.

  “Baker.” Remembering what time Marvin Dennis started his bread and rolls at the Daylight Bakery in Baumen.

  Dropped off at the alley leading to the rear entrance of a bakery he remembered in the Castro, Garreth let the cabbie see him start hurrying up the alley. When the cab left, he returned to the street and walked the three blocks to Philos’s address.

  It sat in a row of ordinary houses he studied from the shadows of Li’s Family Pharmacy doorway on the corner across the street — as close as he dared come, to avoid being noticed by patrons entering and leaving the bar beyond the dry cleaners next door. Like the other houses on the block Philos’s consisted of two floors above a garage — its particular garage wide enough for two cars — a bay window overlooking the drive area, and stairs beside the driveway up to the front door. It sported sky blue paint and white trim. So did the mirror-image neighbor this side of Philos, though a bold sign filled the middle section of the neighbor’s bay window — AYESHA, Spiritual Advisor, above a palm with an eye in the middle, and Night Readings Until Two AM under it. Philos announced itself with a modest sign on the gate at the bottom of their stairs: its name and smaller lettering beneath that might say donations and times. Interesting, and odd, that they had specific hours for taking donations to the organization.
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  In any case, with an open business across the street, he had to go in through the rear of the Philos building.

  Sticking to the crosswalks, he made for the corner diagonal from the pharmacy and walked up that side of the street studying the houses on the other side. Most abutted tightly until, half a dozen houses up the block, he spotted a gate between two. After continuing on to the corner before crossing, he strolled back toward the gate. Kneeling in the pretense of tying a shoelace gave him an excuse to linger while checking for witnesses and letting two cars pass. Then he whipped into vampire speed...to the gate and over it.

  From the back yard Garreth made his way to Philos, hugging the rear fences...pausing once to calm a dog and once to freeze in the shadows with heart racing when he triggered lights on a motion sensor. When that brought no response from the house, he hurried on.

  Philos shared not only paint color with Ayesha’s house but a garden — flagstones surrounding a generous circle of grass with water bubbling up through smooth river rocks in the center — and rear architecture. The railings of matching decks off their main floors almost touched, and on the ground level heavy security bars protected opaque windows and a door — that of Philos located near the end of the building.

  In case Holle’s security included a member of the staff living in, Garreth edged up to the door. To his relief, no fire met him, nor did he sense any other barrier to a vampire. They had only the bars and a lock to deter human trespassers.

  In the shelter of the deck he shook rain from the jacket. Then pulling on the gloves and gritting his teeth, he pressed against the bars.

  Wrench!

  Inside he studied the darkness around him — grey to his eyes — while pain faded. The door opened into a long storage area with metal shelving on either side of an aisle the width of the door. Labels on shelved cartons identified them as containing paper, file folders, paper clips, pens, and miscellaneous office supplies, interspersed with retired typewriters and other office machines. A door at the end of the shelving he assumed led to stairs. The shelves on his right sat against a wall of concrete blocks, and at the end of those shelves the wall turned to continue on across the width of the house. A heavy metal door in the middle looked more appropriate for a warehouse than a home basement.