“Did they see the perp?” Shooter asked.
Clark shook his head. “They got a glimpse of a dark car, but no license plate number or make. Anyway, routine tissue samples were sent to the state lab because they were too badly burned to be examined on the local equipment.”
Shelly prompted, “And just what did the tissue show, Damon?”
Clark sat back down in his chair. “The tissue was nonliving, and the lab estimated that it was from a corpse that had been dead at least twenty years.”
Matt shrugged. “Probably some fraternity boys robbed a mausoleum and had a little fun with the body. Nothing mysterious about that.”
“No, probably not. Except that the witnesses said they thought they saw the two men fighting just before one was knocked to the ground and set on fire. While they hid in some bushes, the killer drove the other man’s car off and then came back on foot to leave in his own vehicle.”
Matt did some rapid figuring in his head. “But if there were two cars, and one man had to drive them both, that means that both of the men had to be alive before the fight. That’s not possible if the tissue showed the man to have been dead for some time.”
Clark just smiled. “Perhaps you can tell me, Doctors, how a dead man has a fistfight and then gets killed, a ‘second’ time.”
Shelly slumped back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. Sam looked over at Matt and raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.
Matt persisted. “Damon, this is all very interesting, but how does it concern us? It doesn’t seem to fit the MO of our serial killer.”
“Wait, I’ve saved the best for last.”
“You mean it’s better than a dead man having a fight?” quipped Sam.
“Yeah. This report is from the case that you guys just finished. The one where the killer broke a door down, was shot with a forty-four magnum, then proceeded to kill the man who shot him. After that, he cut the wife’s throat and drained her body dry.” He turned to Barbara and explained, “It so happened that the bullet passed through the perpetrator and stuck in a wall, with bits of flesh adhering to it. Sam collected samples and sent them to the lab.”
He looked at Shelly. “This report, from the FBI lab at Quantico, showed that tissue also to be nonliving, and probably dead for in excess of one hundred years.”
“Jesus!” Sam whispered.
The hair on the back of Matt’s neck stood up as goose bumps ran down his spine.
Clark looked at Shelly. “How about the test you had your friend do, Shelly? Does it square with this one?”
“Yeah, I’m afraid so, though not exactly. When Roger gave it to me, he said he couldn’t believe it and wanted to double-check the equipment.”
“What did Roger’s test show, Shelly?” Sam asked.
“He too found the tissue to be nonliving and, in his words, the DNA was consistent with tissue that’d been dead for some time, over a hundred years. In fact, he asked if we were sure the bullet hadn’t been fired into a corpse.”
Clark frowned. “That’s what I was afraid you were going to say. Now . . .”
Barbara interrupted. “Chief, why don’t you go public with this? Perhaps the people should be warned . . .”
“No, no, Mrs. Silver, you don’t understand. If this news gets out, then right away we’d be inundated with false alarms, copycat killings, and the real killer might go underground or move to some other city until the heat died down. That would make catching him almost impossible.”
“I see your point, Chief.” She turned to Shelly. “Shelly, how are you going to find time to help with this investigation, what with your teaching and . . .”
“Well,” Shelly said, looking sheepish again, “I’ve been working on that.” He looked at Clark. “As you know, I’m already committed to cover for Dr. Chow as medical examiner for the next several weeks.” Shelly held up his hand as Clark started to speak. “However, I think I’ve found a way for all of us to get what we want. The dean of the medical school has agreed to give Sam a leave of absence so she can work full-time on these killings.”
Shooter stood. “Thank God, at the rate we’re finding bodies, we really need someone on a full-time basis.”
Shelly leaned forward and addressed Chief Clark. “Here’s my proposition. Matt and Sam can join the investigation on a full-time basis. I will continue my regular duties as ME, and will give you what time I can as a sort of senior consultant or advisor. The three of us will collaborate on the autopsies, but the brunt of the investigation, visiting crime scenes, research, and so on will be done by Matt and Sam.”
He held up his hand when Damon nodded his assent. “There are, however, a couple of things we’ll need to make this work.”
“Sure, Doc, just tell me what you want,” said Damon. “I’m sure we’ll be able to give you anything within reason.”
“The condition is that we be made ‘official consultants’ to the police department, with identification and badges but no pay.”
Clark looked puzzled. “Sure, no problem, but would you mind telling me why you need that?”
“Chief, you’ve been on the inside of police bureaucracy so long that you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be an outsider. If Sam and Matt don’t have ID and badges, they’ll have an argument every time they go to the crime scenes, and they’ll never get any cooperation from the medical examiner’s office for quick response on lab and tissue results and all of the other hundreds of miscellaneous details they need to do their work.”
Clark agreed and prepared to leave. “I’ll leave these lab reports for you guys to study, and we’ll give you a call as soon as anything comes in.” He stood up, wiping sweat off his forehead. “I just hope you experts can find some explanation for this stuff, otherwise the PC and mayor may have me fitted for a straitjacket.”
Shooter looked over at Sam and said, “You need a ride home, or are you staying for a while?”
Matt opened his mouth to tell him that Sam had her car there, but Sam quickly said, “Thanks, that’d be nice, but Matt and I are going out later.”
Shooter cut his eyes over at Matt, smiled a slow smile, and gave his friend a little bow. “Okay. You guys have fun, and I’ll see ya later.”
Still dumbstruck by what Sam had said, Matt stood up. “Just a minute, Shooter. I’ll walk you out to your car. I need to talk to you for a minute.”
Once outside, Shooter stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it, chuckling to himself. “What was that all about?”
“I gave Sam a ride home the other day, and while I was there, I met her roommate.”
Shooter raised his eyebrows. “So?”
“Well, I kinda invited her and her roommate on a double date this weekend.”
Shooter glared at Matt. “And just who did you have in mind for the fourth person on this double date?” He stabbed Matt in the chest with his finger, scattering sparks and ashes on his shirt. “Not me I hope, ’cause you know I never, I repeat never, go on blind dates!”
“Shooter, this girl’s a knockout,” Matt pleaded. “Ya gotta do this for me. It was the only way I could think of to get Sam to go out with me.”
“Shit!” He turned and walked away a few steps, smoking and looking out at the darkness. Without turning he asked over his shoulder, “This roommate, she have all her limbs . . . all her teeth . . . not in need of any major plastic surgery?”
Matt couldn’t help laughing. “When did any of that make any difference to you?”
“Her name’s not Gretchen Gribble or Dorothy Buttstein, is it?”
Matt shook his head. “She’s young, and she’s single. She also happens to be damned good looking, which is more than you usually get!”
Shooter spread his hands. “Okay. Tell me where and when I’m supposed to meet this wonderful roommate.”
Matt told him he’d call later with the particulars and to drive safely, since he wasn’t on duty to pull his butt out of the fire if he crashed on the way home.
When Matt re
entered the house, Shelly told him Barbara was in the kitchen fixing some hot chocolate to counter the effects of all the coffee they’d drunk earlier. Matt didn’t bother to remind him that hot chocolate had just as much caffeine as coffee, just sank wearily onto the couch next to Sam.
The three sat there, discussing the implications of the dead tissue from the two different homicides and how they might be connected.
After Barbara brought in the hot chocolate, she told Shelly that she was not one to interfere in his work, but she did not like the idea of him traipsing around after some psychopathic killer who sucked the blood out of his victims and who might be some dead zombie.
Shelly put his cup down and took both of her hands in his. “Barb, this case really means a lot to me. All of my professional career has been spent working on patients where I’ve been too late to help them. I’ve uncovered blunders by doctors that have taken lives, and I’ve discovered murders and helped to convict the killers, but this is the first time I have been asked to do something to help prevent further killings.”
He reached up and caressed her face with his hand. “I just don’t think I could live with myself if I refused to help and someone died because of it.”
She covered his hand with hers, then turned her face and kissed his hand. “Well, you just better be careful. I’ll never forgive you if you go and get yourself killed!”
Sam and Matt stood up, both embarrassed and touched by the scene. “Shelly, I’ll see you in the morning.”
After thanking Barbara for dinner, Matt and Sam said good night and left.
Matt opened the car door for Sam, then stood there, feeling awkward. “Uh, why did you say that to Shooter, about us going out later?”
Sam arched an eyebrow and said, “Why? You afraid I was asking you out on a date?”
“Oh, no, I just . . . wondered.”
“Hey, you’re the one who said we should fix Shooter and TJ up. The way he’s been looking at me, I just didn’t want any complications before he could meet TJ.”
Matt nodded, his face flaming red. “Oh.”
“By the way, did you have a chance to mention it to him yet?”
“Yeah, I cleared it with Shooter for this weekend. How about if we go to a restaurant that has a band? We can have dinner and do a little dancing after we eat.”
To Matt’s utter surprise, Sam had no sarcastic comeback to his offer. Instead, she stared at him for a moment, the moonlight shining through the clouds making her eyes sparkle, then quickly stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I’d like that, Matt. I’d like that very much.”
Twenty
The fog and mist mingled, swirling in the evening wind around the dock area. The darkness was pierced by the twin beams of light from my car as I slowly cruised along the water’s edge. The automobile’s lights flashed briefly on the wall of a warehouse, illuminating a sign with a weather-beaten number 19 painted on it as I came to a halt in front of the building.
I stepped from the car and stood for a moment, questing out with my mental power, “smelling” the area to see if anyone was about to observe my arrival. The area was free of any other mental activity so I used my key to enter the warehouse door. I needed no light and proceeded through the pitch-blackness of the warehouse to the back door. On the way, I checked several inconspicuous warning devices and telltales to make sure the warehouse had not been disturbed since my last visit. It hadn’t, but two hundred years of living among people who would kill me without a moment’s hesitation had taught me to be cautious.
The room contained some of the material possessions I had accumulated in my years as a vampire. The rest was scattered in seven other warehouses in three other countries. I never knew when I might have to leave in a hurry or where I might have to go.
I had acquired tremendous wealth, mostly in the form of jewels and gold, and in my early days had not been above stealing from my victims to build my fortune and ensure my safety. The warehouse, not registered in my present name, also contained documents for several other identities if the need were to arise.
The rear door was secured by a heavy padlock and chain. They fell off with a flick of my finger and I walked through the door to the dock behind the warehouse. The rusted hulk of my freighter, Nightrunner, was moored there. I pressed a series of numbers on a keypad mounted on a pole, which caused an electric winch on the boat to lower a gangplank to the dock.
I strolled onto the ship, hands in my pockets, enjoying the night and the fog. Over the years, I had come to love the night and the dark, for what other choice did I have? The moon, its brightness diffused and scattered by the fog, spoke to me in the same way it spoke to countless human lovers across the earth . . . perhaps the only thing I still had in common with the Others.
Finally, loneliness forced me off the deck and into my cabin amidships. I took out my journal and began transcribing recent events to keep it up to date.
* * *
I sat back, contemplating what I had written, then put the pen and ink away and placed the journal in the safe. I locked the cabin behind me and strolled to the rail of the ship, savoring again the damp, salty tang of the low-hanging fog that cloaked the ship in the early evening. I leaned my elbows on the rail and stood there for a moment, peering into the fog as if I might find some answer as to why I had been blessed with virtual immortality and at the same time cursed to live it as a creature of the night. Forced to live forever without love or friendship, destined never again to feel the warmth of the sun on my skin.
I felt the Hunger growing within me and tried as always to force it back down, to exert some semblance of will over the growing desire to rend and tear and feed. It had been almost two weeks since my last kill and the urge to feed came strong upon me. Looking down, I saw my hands had become claws, the nails digging into the wooden rail of the ship and scoring it in anticipation of the kill. As I left the ship, I shrugged off my contemplative mood and licked my lips in anticipation of my hunt.
* * *
Blaze leaned over and fingered the hole in her fishnet stockings. Damn, she thought, there goes another five bucks. She pulled a cigarette out of her handbag and smiled as she lit it, cupping her hands to protect the flame from the slight breeze that had arisen. I wonder if the IRS will let me charge it off as a business expense, perhaps under uniform repair and upkeep. She giggled to herself at the thought, and looked around at the other ladies of the night strolling up and down McKinley Avenue.
They were dressed much as she was: short shorts or miniskirts, see-through or very low-cut tops, and fishnet hose. As a dark Mercedes sedan pulled over to the curb, she put her cigarette out and quickly sprayed some Binaca into her mouth to kill the odor of smoke, then walked slowly over to the car.
She leaned down and put her elbows on the window, exposing her breasts to the view of the driver. “Hi there, want to party?”
The driver leaned out of the darkness, letting the light from the street lamp play across his face. In spite of the shadows caused by the stark light, Blaze recognized him. “Hey, Doc, what the hell are you doing in this part of town?”
“Well, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you, but your phone has been disconnected.” He paused and looked around at the other girls observing them from the shadows. “And you obviously don’t have a work number. Therefore, I decided to come and see you in person.”
Worried, Blaze leaned even further into the car. “Gee, it’s nothing bad, is it?” Her face began to sweat, making her pancake makeup smear and run down her face like mud after a rain.
The hunter held out his hand and said, “Come on, Blaze, get in the car and we’ll go get a cup of coffee and talk about it.”
“Okay, but we’d better hurry.” She glanced back over her shoulder, a worried expression on her face. “My pimp don’t like me off the street unless I’m working.”
She opened the door, turned to wave good-bye to the other girls, then flopped onto the seat. As he drove off, she started to light a cigaret
te, then put it away as the hunter frowned and shook his head.
He drove only a few blocks, pulling into a parking lot behind an empty warehouse. He put the car in park, shut off the engine, and turned toward the girl. As he leaned back against the door, he said, “First, I want to tell you that everything is all right, you have nothing to worry about.”
She let out her breath in a whoosh and leaned her head back against the seat. “Thank you, Jesus!”
The hunter smiled in the dark, mumbling, “I doubt if he has anything to do with it.”
Blaze turned her head to look at him, a puzzled expression on her face. “What?”
“Never mind. The reason I brought you here is that I would like to purchase your expertise for a few minutes.”
She smirked, thinking to herself that all men are alike, all they think about is what’s between their legs. “Okay, but no free samples, my pimp don’t allow it.”
“No problem, I’ve got plenty of money.” He swung his leg up on the seat and put his hand on the back of her head, gently pulling it toward his lap.
She scooted over and reached down to unzip his pants, grasping his penis and bringing it into view. It was already hard and her eyes widened as she silently sucked in air through pursed lips when she saw how large it was. “Oh, honey, that’s a real trophy you got there.” She leaned down and began to kiss and lick the end, not being able to put it entirely in her mouth.
The hunter’s eyes glittered as he reached down and began to fondle her breasts. She moaned with pleasure and kept her head down, working on his penis with her mouth and hands.
As his penis started to throb, he reached over and grabbed the front of her blouse and ripped it and her skirt completely off with one tremendous jerk. She looked up in time to see the skin of his face begin to soften and melt like candle wax in a flame. Her mouth opened in astonishment as his features coalesced into a shapeless mass and began to writhe and shift and form something horrible. The front of his face elongated while the cheekbones withdrew. His teeth grew into glowing fangs, which protruded from his lips and dripped saliva that looked like blood. A sound like a rusty nail being pulled from a coffin lid came from his mouth, a growl that seemed to reach out and squeeze Blaze’s heart.
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