Shelly said, “It’s all right if you smoke in my office, Chief. I’m a reformed smoker and secondhand smoke is about all I’m allowed these days.”
Clark smiled his thanks and took his cigarette case out while Sam, with a hard look at Shelly, went to the door and propped it open. On her way back to her chair, she pointedly turned on a small fan on a credenza.
If Damon noticed her actions, he ignored them. After he plucked a cigarette from the case and lit it with his gold lighter, he returned to his seat. He leaned back, crossed his legs, straightened his trouser crease, and said, “You’re telling me it’s your medical opinion that this woman was killed by a vampire?”
Shooter began to laugh, then choked it back as he saw that none of the others were smiling. Sam said, “Yes, Damon, that’s exactly what we’re saying. The killer didn’t just cut the throat and let the blood drain out, he sucked it out and presumably drank it or carried it off with him. I guess for want of a better word, vampire will have to do.”
Shooter looked over at Matt. “You agree with all this, Matt?”
Matt took his time answering, wondering to himself if he really believed Shelly’s theory. “Well, I can attest that the woman in the emergency room the other night had lost almost her entire blood supply prior to being brought in.” He shrugged and spread his hands. “Since the investigating officers didn’t see very much blood at the site where they found the body, I’d have to say she was either killed somewhere else and hung upside down to let the blood drain out, or the killer somehow sucked the blood out of the body at the scene without getting any on the victim.” He shook his head. “Either way, at this point it’s all guesswork.” He didn’t say anymore, the word vampire was still ringing in his mind.
Clark sighed. “I’m almost afraid to ask this, Shelly, but what about the woman from last night?”
“Exactly the same, Damon, down to the type of wound, the bite marks, and the remarkable absence of blood in the body. The only difference was there wasn’t any evidence of sexual assault as there was in the first victim.”
“And the man?”
Shelly shook his head. “No, that was just as Matt and I suspected last night. The man died from a broken neck. Specifically, the second and third cervical vertebrae were crushed and the spinal cord severed between them, causing immediate death from suffocation and shock.”
Clark hesitated for a moment, as if considering his next statement carefully. “Okay, what we have is two bizarre killings with the same MO within a week of each other.” He looked up at Shelly, then over at Shooter. “We may have a real psycho on our hands.”
Shooter added, “Don’t forget, Chief, the perpetrator showed immense strength and the ability to keep going after what should have been a fatal gunshot wound.”
“What about the tissue and blood specimens you took off the bullet in the wall, Dr. Scott?”
Before Sam could answer, Shelly said, “I’m going to take them to a colleague of mine who’s an expert in hematology, Damon. I’d like to see what he makes of them.”
Damon rubbed his chin for a moment, then nodded, looking at Sam. “That’ll be fine, but do me a favor and split the specimens up, would you?”
“Sure,” Sam said. “Why?”
“I want to send them to the FBI lab at Quantico, Virginia. We’ll see if the two labs agree on the results.”
“Okay, Chief,” Sam said, getting to her feet. “I’ll get you your samples now and you can take them with you.”
Clark also stood up and said, “Shelly, could you and the others plan to meet me at my office in a couple of days? We should have the results from both lab tests back by then.”
“Sure,” Shelly said.
“I’ve also asked my secretary to do a computer search of all murders in the past year that involved throat wounds and I’d like you to help us evaluate the results.”
Shelly said, “Sure, Damon. We’ll all be there.”
Shooter glanced at Sam and smiled when he heard that she would be coming too. Matt thought to himself that it was about time to let Shooter know that Sam was off limits. Before he got too disappointed, Matt would tell him about TJ and their planned double date for the weekend.
Fifteen
I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower on board the Nightrunner. Safe in my refuge, I leaned back against the wall of the shower to let the steaming water massage the aches out of my muscles. Out of curiosity, I examined my shoulder and saw that Quan’s puncture marks were already healed.
I knew I was going to have to give this new development a lot of thought, for I suspected the Vampyre Council would not long let me continue in my work if they thought I was putting them at risk. The question I had to answer, both for them and myself, was whether I was willing to give up all the work I’d done on my research on CJD and the vampire disease itself. I still hoped that if I was allowed to do my work in peace, I would have the answer to both mysteries within a year.
As I stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel, I had a sudden sense that I was not alone on the ship. I searched with my mind, but could find no errant thoughts. I started to relax, until I remembered my recent experience with the other Vampyri. Suddenly, I was not reassured by the mere absence of any other thought patterns, and I decided to trust my instincts that had served me so well over the past two centuries.
I let the awareness of danger cause my body to start to change, and felt my muscles harden and contract, ready for any threat. As I slipped silently through the darkness into the sitting room, I noticed a figure half hidden in the shadows.
“Hello, Doctor,” the voice growled, dripping with scorn.
“Good evening, Quan,” I answered, knowing I had the answer to my question about how much time I had . . . none! “Something I can do for you?”
Quan stepped into the light, and I saw he was holding a machete in his hand. “Yes, as a matter of fact there is.”
He ran the end of his thumb along the edge of the machete, drawing a thin line of blood with the razor-sharp edge. Smiling, he put the thumb in his mouth and sucked the blood. “I am not as sentimental as Jacqueline, and I don’t intend to let your arrogance bring disaster on our entire race.”
The coppery smell of Quan’s blood in the close confines of the stateroom helped to hasten my change. My mouth watered at the sight and smell of his life’s fluid and I could feel both the Hunger and my inner rage grow. I turned my back on Quan and poured myself a snifter of brandy, stalling for time for the transformation to complete itself.
I turned and leaned back against the bar, while swirling my brandy. “Am I supposed to be frightened by the sight of you and your puny knife?”
Quan’s lips formed a small smile, almost a smirk. “We are aware of your crusade against the Sickness, and have benefitted from your expertise in defeating our immortality. We have even adopted your methods in dealing with those we discover with the disease. Sever the head and the body dies, eventually.”
He began to cross the room, holding the machete in a two-handed grip before him as the old Japanese masters who trained me used to over a hundred years ago.
I nonchalantly raised the glass as if to take a sip, my change accelerating as I threw the contents in Quan’s face. Quan screamed as the 150-proof alcohol hit his eyes, blindly swinging the machete with all his might, burying it in the edge of the bar where I was standing a moment before.
The edge of my flattened right hand came down on the back of Quan’s neck like a knife edge, shattering the fourth and fifth cervical vertebrae and leaving him disoriented and partially paralyzed.
I spun him around and slapped him openhanded across the face with my claw-hand, filleting the cheek and laying it open to the bone. Quan screamed at the intense pain and tried to change, but he was a lifetime too late.
I bent Quan’s head back and leaned forward, grabbing him by the throat with my fangs. Snarling and grunting with the effort, I worried my head back and forth, like a dog with a bone,
ripping Quan’s throat out and swallowing it.
As the body fell forward, I flipped it over my shoulder and carried it up on the deck. I leaned the body against the rail while I took a match out of my pocket. I ran the match along the rusted rail until it flared into flame. Baring my fangs in a terrible smile, I lit Quan’s brandy-soaked clothing.
As flames engulfed the body, I took a final swipe at the neck. With my claws extended completely, I severed the head from the body. Stepping back, I used my foot to kick the burning body over the rail into the ship channel.
I leaned over the rail and spat Quan’s throat tissues into the water. I had no desire to eat one of my own kind. After all, I am not an animal.
Sixteen
Shelly was shown into Roger Niemann’s office by his nurse and found the doctor sitting at his desk, staring out of the window.
“Hey, Roger,” Shelly said, “gathering daisies?”
Roger whirled his desk chair around and stifled a prodigious yawn. “Oh, hi, Shelly. No, I’m just a little short on sleep lately. Been working day and night to get my government grant applications up to snuff for my research projects next year.”
Shelly plopped into a chair across the desk from Roger. “Yeah, that can be a royal pain in the der-rière,” Shelly said.
Roger was one of Shelly’s favorite docs around the medical center. He’d never hesitated to ask for Shelly’s help on difficult cases, and seemed always ready to give extra time to students and residents who needed help with his specialty, hematology.
Roger leaned forward, his elbows on his desk. “What can I do for you, Shel?”
“I need some help with a couple of specimens that recently came into my possession.”
“Oh, the ME’s office lab not cooperating with the new chief?” Roger asked with a smile.
“No, this is something a little more . . . esoteric,” Shelly said. He pulled out the plastic vial containing the small sample of blood and tissue Sam had taken from the bullet in the Bellaire murders and placed it on Roger’s desk.
Roger picked it up and studied it for a moment, then raised his eyebrows. “Looks like a small blood clot and maybe some tissue.”
Shelly nodded. “What I’m about to tell you can go no further, Roger. Strictly confidential.”
Roger grinned and crossed his heart with his right index finger, then held up three fingers together. “Scout’s honor, pal. What’s going on?”
Shelly spent the next twenty minutes telling him about the serial killer cases they were working, and even went so far as to give him some broad hints that the killer was extraordinary.
To give Roger credit, he didn’t laugh out loud when Shelly mentioned the word vampire, though he did look a bit skeptical.
“Did you say vampire?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and staring at Shelly over steepled fingers.
Shelly held up both hands. “Now, hear me out on this, Roger. I’m not talking anything supernatural here, at least not yet.”
“What then?”
“I think the killer is a psychopath who really thinks he, or she, is a vampire, in the strict sense of the word. That is, he kills people by slashing or biting their throats and then drinks the victim’s blood.”
Now Roger did smile. “That would make him a vampire, all right.”
“The killer evidently shows great strength and apparently some immunity to gunshot wounds.”
“What?” Roger asked, leaning forward again.
“That specimen I just handed you contains blood and tissue from the killer. It was on a forty-four-caliber bullet that passed right through him and apparently did him little harm.”
“Jesus!” Roger said, letting his gaze fall to the specimen bottle as if it might come alive and bite him.
“I need you to do a complete blood type and DNA profile on both the blood and tissue, and I’d also like you to put some of it under an electron microscope to see what you find.”
“What are you expecting?” Roger asked.
Shelly shook his head. “I’m damned if I know, Roger. We’ve sent an additional part of the specimen to the FBI lab in Virginia, but that could take weeks to get back.”
“How important is this, Shelly?” Roger asked.
“Very. Matt Carter, Samantha Scott, and I are part of a serial killer task force and we have a meeting with Chief of Detectives Damon Clark in a couple of days to go over our findings. I’d appreciate it if you could put this on the front burner, Roger.”
Roger nodded. “No problem. By the way, how are the police reacting to your new theory?”
“That’s why I need you, pal, and your magic machines. They’re still trying to track this son of a bitch by computer. They think running a profile of all the suspicious killings over the past couple of years will catch this guy.”
Roger stood up and walked Shelly to the door. “I’ll have your results within forty-eight hours, but, Shel, I hope you’re wrong about all this. I really don’t need some fiendish creature roaming the streets of Houston to worry about.”
“Thanks, Roger. I knew I could count on you.”
Seventeen
Matt smiled at Sam’s wide-eyed expression as they wound their way through the frantic activity of police headquarters. The prostitutes yelled and the muggers cursed as the detectives led them handcuffed through the halls to the holding cells.
Leaning close to her, he whispered, “Just like in the movies, huh?”
Shooter was busy on the phone, but looked up and shrugged wearily as he waved the group toward Clark’s office.
Clark seated them at the conference table, and said, “Welcome, thanks for coming.” He sat at the head of the table and asked, “Would you like some refreshments?”
Sam and Matt took Cokes, while Shelly asked for another espresso, which Clark served from a tray on a side table.
“Sherry Landry, my secretary and aide-de-camp, will be here in just a moment with the computer printouts.”
Shelly asked, “Any idea what they show?”
Clark shrugged. “No, she wouldn’t tell me over the phone. Said it would be more impressive in person.”
“Chief,” Sam asked sharply, “why do you have a secretary looking into this? Wouldn’t a policeman have a better idea of what to look for?”
Clark grinned. “Don’t let the title ‘secretary’ fool you, Dr. Scott. Sherry is a policewoman herself. In fact, she’s a third-generation cop.”
Sam blushed. “Oh.” Then, with some irritation, “Are most of the policewomen working as secretaries?”
Clark regarded her for a moment, before sighing. “I know, it sounds sexist and demeaning, but let me explain. Sherry had three years on the street, and there wasn’t a better or more competent officer on the force.”
He stood and went to refill his coffee. “However, there are certain realities, political realities, on the police force as there are in all large companies. The fact is, that in order to get her gold shield, her promotion to the rank of detective, Sherry had to come in as a secretary.”
Sam blurted, “That’s terrible!”
Clark took the time to light a cigarette. “No, no, it’s not. I sought her out and recruited her because I thought we needed some really good female detectives, and that was the fastest way to get her up and running. This way, she gets her gold shield five or six years sooner than she would have otherwise, and I get the use of a topnotch female in my department.” He spread his hands and smiled. “See, everyone wins.”
“Oh, so she’s not just a secretary?”
“Dr. Scott, don’t ever say ‘just a secretary.’ Sherry is as valuable in helping me with the administrative demands of the office as she is in the field arresting criminals. She has a first-rate mind and I couldn’t do without her.”
Just then, Sherry Landry arrived, carrying a large stack of computer printouts.
Clark stood and introduced her, then winked and said, “Sherry, Dr. Scott was objecting to your being a mere secretary.”
&
nbsp; Sherry laughed, clenched her fist in the air, and said, “Right on, sister,” as she stacked the printouts on the desk. “It’s about time men realized women run the place and do all the work while they get all the credit!”
Sherry was big, almost six feet in height, but was pretty and moved with a grace and femininity unexpected in one so tall. She had a ready sense of humor and brightened the room just by being in it.
Matt could see why Clark depended on her so much and why she was so valuable to him.
A few minutes later, Shooter appeared in the doorway and leaned against the door frame. He was wearing black jeans and a lavender Izod shirt with a charcoal-gray sport coat. “Mornin’, Chief, I see our consultants have arrived.”
Clark winced at the sight of Shooter’s clothes as he said, “I think you know everyone here.”
Shooter moved aside as Sherry pushed by him with another stack of computer printouts. She glanced up and down at his clothes as she passed and tried to hide her smile. “Mornin’, Shooter. You’re lookin’ good this morning.”
He grinned back. “Mornin’, Sherry.” He returned her look-for-look, then remarked, “You too, darlin’.” Typical behavior for Shooter, Matt thought. He couldn’t resist flirting. No wonder his social life was a disaster.
Clark watched this byplay without comment. “Okay, Sherry”—he inclined his head toward the stack of papers in her hand—“how about telling us what you’ve found.”
She plopped the printouts on his desk and sat in one of the chairs at the conference table. “Well, Chief, you were particularly interested in homicides involving throat wounds.” She looked up as Shooter turned another chair around and straddled it, leaning his chin on his crossed arms. “So, I ran a computer check and had it list all the unsolved homicides in the past year in which the cause of death was a throat wound or loss of blood from a throat wound.”
She waved her hand at the stack of papers. “If you consider only the unsolved murders and eliminate the obvious drug-related shootings and stabbings, forty-three percent have a throat wound and massive blood loss listed as the cause of death.”
Night Blood Page 14
