Bloodlinks

by Lee Killough

  “I was defending myself,” Fowler repeated, louder...commanding attention. “You can see what he did to me.” He pointed at his face. “He jumped from the rear seat of my car when I arrived here this evening and demanded money for leaving town, then slammed me into the closet door when I—”

  “Not yet!” Girimonte said. “You ought to know by now how we do this. We’ll talk privately at the far end of the livingroom. But first...” She pulled a Polaroid camera from her shoulder bag and took pictures of his face.

  “Ah. Of course.” Fowler turned to let her shoot both profiles. “Obviously I’m still a bit shaken.”

  One of Girimonte’s brows lifted a fraction. In skepticism? Fowler appeared to take it as such. Garreth caught an icy flash in his eyes. Quickly gone, but there long enough for reassurance Fowler had not buried his anger all that deep. Hallelujah. Now if only they could peel away the veneer over it.

  Garreth shuffled into the kitchen ahead of Lien, sat where she set the chair by the stove and fridge, and pulled on her sweatshirt.

  In the hall, Harry said, “Let’s take Garreth first, before the ambulance gets here.”

  “Why not do both at once?”

  No, no! Garreth beamed at Harry. He wanted to hear how Fowler twisted everything, to see what they might use for twisting back.

  To his dismay, telepathy failed. Harry nodded. “Okay.” And he halted after a step toward the kitchen when Girimonte lifted a brow at him. “You’re right.” He followed Fowler into the livingroom.

  Their telepathy worked. The sharpness of the pang that brought surprised Garreth. He huddled in the chair to look as injured as possible. Wondering if it fooled Girimonte for a minute.

  “Mind stepping into the hall?” she asked Lien.

  “Of course.”

  That might be useful. “You can watch Harry talk to Fowler,” Garreth said. Putting her where Fowler had to see her...and maybe find it disturbing.

  Lien’s glance backward and her nod told him she understood.

  In the livingroom Fowler said, “...mine, actually...for the time being. I always bury myself in temporary lodgings to write.”

  Once Lien left, Girimonte pulled over a kitchen stool and sat facing him. “So...tell me about this evening.”

  The height of the stool forced Garreth to look up at her. “This evening was just the end. It started at noon, when Fowler forced me into his car at the Cannery, drove here, and tied me to that chair.” He waved at the remains on the floor and the arm on the counter by the sink, then held out his hands to show her the abrasions on his wrists from the zip ties.

  She took pictures of his wrists and the chair arm. “Zip ties and duct tape?” Picking up the arm, she folded back the duct tape and fingered the rose stems under it. “What’s this?”

  Did she not know about rose power? He tuned her out to hear Fowler.

  “...rear seat of the car and forced his way into the house after me. He said he wanted money to leave town, and demanded it from me, since a famous author must have plenty.”

  “What could Fowler want with you?”

  “And if I didn’t give it to him, well, he had killed once today and wouldn’t hesitate to do so again. In light of that poor shop girl’s death, naturally I became alarmed.”

  The silence answering that statement made Garreth wish he could see Harry’s face.

  “Mikaelian...why would Fowler do this?”

  “People often threaten without meaning it.”

  “Except he proceeded, very coldly, to relate details only her killer could know, that he returned to the shop, slipped in straight for the changing rooms when the other clerk’s back was turned, and when the girl followed, accused her of being Miss Barber. When she denied it he said rage overwhelmed him and he broke her neck, then hid the body in the stock room and left by the rear door.”

  Genuine details to create a lie. Cold washing through him, Garreth really wanted to see Harry...though his old partner’s face had probably gone deadpan.

  “Mikaelian! Can you hear me?” Girimonte shook him. “Damn it, stay with me!”

  She worried he was losing consciousness? Great...the perfect cover for tuning in on Fowler’s interview.

  He blinked up at her. “Oh...you were asking about Fowler. He wants me to find Lane Barber. He seems to think I have a psychic link to her, and he threatened me with torture if I didn’t use it.”

  Behind her own deadpan face she must be debating whether he was lying, and if not, whether he or Fowler were loonier. “He’s so hot to find her that he’ll resort to kidnaping and torture? Did he happen to tell you why?”

  Someone making it up would create a reason. Garreth shook his head. “He said I didn’t need to know.” Much better than the truth, vengeance for the father’s death, and lose credibility when Fowler informed them his father died years before Lane was supposedly born.

  “You must have thought about it, though...being tied up here all afternoon.”

  If he were tied up here all afternoon, she had to be considering.

  “He then told me that once his rage passed, he realized his error, and walked to the Hall of Justice intending to turn himself in. But on considering what happens to cops in jail, decided to do a runner instead. He saw me arrive at the Hall from my book signing meeting and hid in my car to wait for an opportunity to demand money.”

  “How did Fowler get you into his car?”

  Like Fowler, use what truth he could, and look straight at her while lying. “He came along while I was making up my mind whether to in and buy that necklace for Maggie. He asked where you and Harry were so he could tell you about a new lead that had occurred to him. Then he said that in light on the earlier fiasco, could he run it by me first, just in case. I said okay, figuring it was going to be crap and I’d save you some aggravation. He said the key to it was in his car. If you want a witness to me going back through the Cannery, the male clerk at Shamrock Tweeds was outside the store when I passed.”

  “...kill me anyway, money or no, so I opened the closet as if to hang up my coat, but planning to spin around and throw it over him, then tackle him.”

  “He stopped me, saying he recognized me from coming in earlier with Harry, and asked if I’d seen Heather, that she’d taken off without telling him.”

  “Somehow I must have betrayed my intention. He grabbed me by the back of my shoulders and bashed me into the door over and over.”

  Girimonte scribbled in her notebook.

  “I managed to break away and run for the diningroom where I’d left a knife on the table. I thought to hold him off with that. He seemed immune to pain, however. We grappled, fell, and I think I hit my head. I came to in the closet.”

  “Fowler told me the girl is dead.” He could say Fowler admitted killing her...but too many suspects whined: I didn’t do it; he did it. And Fowler had no apparent motive. “He also said I’m a suspect. But even if you think I’m psycho enough to have killed her, I didn’t have the opportunity.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “The clerk never mentioned seeing anyone with you.” Meaning: if he lied about meeting Fowler, he had opportunity.

  “Tunnel vision?” Garreth shrugged and closed his eyes. “I was the familiar face.”

  “How did the chair get broken?” Harry asked.

  This answer ought to be interesting.

  “Mikaelian! Stay awake! How did Fowler get you in the car?”

  “A chair’s broken? It didn’t happen during our fight.”

  Okay...that worked.

  “Do you think Mikaelian had another attack of rage while I was unconscious? Or...maybe it was deliberate, to support whatever he’s telling Inspector Girimonte?”

  Slick bastard, bringing up mental instability and faking evidence. Garreth opened his eyes. “He opened the passenger door and told me to look inside. When I leaned in...it reeked of garlic.” No need to fake choking. Whatever Fowler had done with the bag of garlic, enough scent remained in the kitchen to imagine more and tighten h
is throat. “Garlic always makes me remember the Italian restaurant we went to before trying to arrest Wink O’Hare and I flash back to Harry being shot.”

  A flicker in her eyes told him she knew about that.

  “I couldn’t move, couldn’t breath. Next thing I knew I was belted in his passenger seat.”

  Girimonte raised her brows. “How would he know the way you’d react?”

  Garreth allowed himself a snort. “You know he could have heard it from anyone in the office.”

  “What happened to your coat during the fight?”

  Which now lay neatly over the back of the easy chair.

  “Flung aside, most likely, though I don’t recall doing so. I have to assume Mikaelian picked it up later in the hope of finding my car keys in it.”

  Searching the pockets being corroborated by blood on them. Another bit of truth to back up a lie.

  “How did you happen to have a knife in the diningroom?”

  With no hesitation, Fowler answered,“To trim plant stalks in that vase on the table. It sounds poncey but I enjoy having something organic around, without the bother of caring for a plant.”

  And you never knew, Garreth reflected acidly, when you might need rose stems to use on a vampire.

  “Mikaelian!” She prodded his shoulder. “Then Fowler tied you up here and just left you?” Girimonte made no effort to hide her incredulity. “He wasn’t worried you’d try to escape?”

  So she had really not learned about roses.

  Before he could educate her, Harry appeared in the doorway between the diningroom and kitchen, forcing his answer to remain human-oriented. “Maybe he thought I was tied too tight. It took all afternoon but I managed to scoot the chair over to the hutch to look for a knife to cut myself loose. There might be scuff marks from it on the tile.” Good thing now he had been thinking and acting human at that point. “Unfortunately, Fowler came back before I could.”

  “You couldn’t reach the knife on the table?” Harry asked.

  A la Fowler’s claim of leaving one there.

  “There wasn’t one. Fowler brought one in with the wooden spoons when he got back.”

  “That’s when he attacked you?” Girimonte said.

  “Not then. First he stood in front of me figuring to terrify me by whittling a point on the handle of that spoon in the sink, to put my eyes out, he said, if I didn’t cooperate better.”

  They peered into the sink.

  “The terror part worked.” Memory of it brought back a chill and shudder. “He came aiming at one of my eyes and I lost it. Suddenly I was charging him swinging pieces of chair hanging on me. He rammed that spoon into my gut, then started slashing with the knife.”

  Harry came over from the sink to run his hands over the back of Garreth’s chair and shake it. “These chairs seem pretty solid.”

  “Maybe some need re-gluing. I know mine was getting wobbly by the time I’d rocked it across to the hutch. After that...viva la adrenaline, I guess.” He gave them a wry smile.

  “Then what happened?” Girimonte asked.

  He shook his head. “It’s pretty much a blur until I looked over and he was out cold. I managed to get up and drag him to the closet, then cut myself loose from the rest of the chair in here. I found a mobile phone across the hall when I searched his coat for car keys to drive for help, and called your place, Harry.”

  He sighed and closed his eyes. Crap, he felt terrible. If it were not for having to wind up Fowler yet, he would welcome the ambulance. Irina said he needed human blood. He was sure to be given some at the hospital...IV, so he only smelled it, not tasted it.

  Harry shook him. “Stay with us! Lien, come here and keep Garreth awake.”

  He and Girimonte moved into diningroom...checking it out thoroughly, judging by their footsteps.

  Lien leaned down to his ear. “Fowler didn’t seem bothered by me staring at him while Harry was there. After Harry came in here, though, he stared back at me as coldly as anyone I’ve ever seen and did a throat-cutting gesture with his thumb.”

  Ice shot through Garreth’s spine. Now he had to make Fowler give himself away. Free, the bastard would be after Lien. “Damn. I’m sorry. I’m should never have suggested— ”

  “Too late now.” She took a deep breath. “Maybe, once you’re not a suspect for that girl’s murder — and don’t you think everything here supports what you’ve said — we should let Irina deal with him. It isn’t the way I...”

  He lost the rest of what she said in listening to Harry and Girimonte compare notes. They seemed to be at the far end of the diningroom, keeping their voices so low — at Girimonte’s suggestion? — even he had trouble hearing. But what he did hear brought a sinking feeling, wondering if they saw support for his statement. No apparent scuffing on the tiles, though Harry mentioned glides. The words self-inflicted. Maybe referring to him, because he also caught duct tape, overkill, and ...happened to be on the table? Girimonte muttering Fowler’s name and: Why, when this is the first he’s heard of her.

  They moved across the hall into the livingroom.

  Girimonte said, “Mr. Fowler, why do you have such an...intense interest in finding Lane Barber?”

  “Intense?” Fowler sounded puzzled. “Naturally I would like very much to see her captured. Who wouldn’t. She’s a monster. Does that count as ‘intense?’”

  “We’re referring more to the way you’re playing detective and actively hunting her.”

  “Ah.” Fowler sighed. “Yes. I do tend to get carried away identifying with my research subjects. Which today has had tragic consequences, I know, and— ”

  “Is that all there is to it?” Harry said. “There’s nothing personal involved?”

  “Personal? No.” Fowler paused. “Why? Has Mikaelian been suggesting there is?”

  “Garreth, you’re smiling,” Lien said.

  “He might be slipping.”

  Instead of stopping with no, nothing personal, Fowler had to try confirming what accusations were being bandied about. Even though Harry did not answer, Fowler must be waiting eagerly for the next expected question...about his father. So he could strike down the supposed reason for kidnaping and threatened torture and throw all Garreth’s statement into question.

  Instead, Harry said, “Tell us about the duct tape and zip ties in the diningroom.”

  In the pause, Garreth felt Fowler regrouping. “In the diningroom? Inspector, I — the only place I can recall seeing them is, I think, on a shelf in the garage...some of Professor Eckley’s belongings.”

  Very slick...give a location someone hunting material to fake being tied up could easily spot them...at the same time imply no personal interest in them. But did he sound just a little impatient? A little irritated by the delay of his coup? Was he mentally shouting at them to get on with it...ask about dear old dad!

  Garreth hoped so.

  The doorbell rang.

  Lien ran to answer it.

  Garreth groaned. The EMTs...had to be. He had run out of time...about to be hauled away before he could play on that crack in Fowler’s control. Unless he acted now. Garreth wracked his brain for fast triggers.

  “Where is the patient?” asked a male voice with an Indian accent.

  Harry went charging up the hall. “He’s there in the kitchen. What took you so long?”

  “Very sorry. We ran into traffic. But we were told the patient isn’t critical, is that so?”

  “I only said he was conscious and not bleeding! He’s lost— ”

  “Yes...I can see that.” From the doorway the EMT ran a critical eye down Garreth. “Keesha, we need to start fluids.”

  Then they were in the kitchen with the stretcher alongside Garreth’s chair...Viswan — according to his name tag — stripping off Lien’s sweatshirt, asking his name while wrapping a blood pressure cuff around the uninjured right arm. His partner, whose muscles Duncan would have admired if she were not black, pulled an IV bag out of their kit.

  Frowning, Viswan
shifted the position of his stethoscope around the inside of Garreth’s elbow several times, pumped up the cuff again...stared at the gauge. “Christ! How are you still conscious, man? Keesha, let’s get him on the stretcher...flat!”

  Garreth leaned forward to stand. Before he could try, they had lowered the stretcher, grabbed him under the arms and knees, and swung him over to the stretcher with practiced ease.

  With the stretcher raised once more, Keesha ran scissors up Garreth’s sleeve and wrapped the bared arm in a tourniquet. “Low pressure?”

  “A record. Good luck getting into a vein.”

  “I’m not the queen of sticks for nothing.” Keesha felt the inside of Garreth’s elbow, frowned...felt her way down the arm. At his hand she smiled. “There’s one, but okay, it’ll be tricky. You’ll need to hold very still, sir.”

  Lien, Harry, and Girimonte watched operations from the hall doorway. Through the other doorway Garreth saw Fowler saunter across the hall into the diningroom. And stand staring at Garreth with cold eyes, then slowly draw his thumb across his throat.

  The same threat he made to Lien...but Garreth barely noticed. His attention fixed on the hickey Lien had left on Fowler’s throat, most of it visible above the turtleneck. Okay. If anything could make Fowler pop, that had to be it.

  Keesha pressed down on his hand. “Don’t move!”

  Make it good, Mikaelian.

  “That’s some hickey, Fowler,” he called. “When did you get that? It wasn’t there at the Cannery.”

  In the kitchen doorway, Harry and Girimonte exchanged amused glances. Harry murmured, “Maybe that wasn’t a book signing meeting this afternoon.”

  Fowler’s hands jumped to his neck and jerked his turtleneck higher.

  Garreth smiled.

  If something could be colder than ice, Fowler’s eyes turned that temperature. His voice managed to be light, however...only the barest edge on it. “So sorry to disappoint you but it’s nothing. A pinch.”

  “A pinch?” Garreth snorted. “Who pinched you, Andre the Giant?”

  Keesha, working her needle around gingerly in Garreth’s hand, almost hissed. “Don’t move!”

  “Come on. Fess up. There’s nothing wrong with a little afternoon delight, right, Harry?”