* * *
Matt admired the way Shooter reverted to the language and mannerisms of a tough “street cop” persona in order to mix in with the people hanging around the street. Sometimes in the emergency room, dealing with a semiliterate street person, he did the same thing . . . trying to talk the talk and walk the walk so he could form some sort of meaningful communication with a person who seemed to be from another world entirely. Matt had never realized that the cops had to do the same thing.
“Hey, babe, you can talk to me here and now and get back to bidness, or—” Shooter paused for dramatic effect and lit a cigarette and let it dangle from the corner of his lips as he talked. “Or, you can give me some shit and spend the rest of the night makin’ bail and then tryin’ to explain to your pimp why you didn’t make any money tonight.”
The black transvestite’s eyes rolled in his head as he looked over at Matt, then around at the other girls on the street. His resolve crumpled when he noticed they were looking anywhere but at the cop and were doing their best not to draw attention to themselves.
“Shit, man, why you pickin’ on me?”
Shooter reached up and patted the man on the cheek. “I’m not pickin’ on you, ma man.” He took the cigarette out of his mouth and flicked the ashes down the front of the other’s bright red dress. “I’m just givin’ you a chance to do your civic duty.” He looked around, then put his arm over the man’s shoulders and whispered in his ear. “Just tell me what you know about the trick that Blaze left with the other night, and I’ll get outa your face.”
The black man, sweat dripping from his face, licked his lips, smearing his fluorescent lipstick over his teeth and making his sickly grin glow in the dark. He looked around before answering, “Hey, man, all I know is it was some dude in a big, black Mercedes sedan. He pulled over, she talked to him for a minute, then she got in the car and they left.”
“That’s it? Ya got nothin’ else for me?”
The black took a handkerchief out of his purse and wiped his face, further smearing his makeup, then said, “Naw . . . except there was one thing . . .”
“What?”
“Well, a couple of the girls nearby said Blaze acted like she knew the guy . . . nothin’ definite, just a feelin’ they had from the way she acted when she talked to ’im.”
Shooter handed the man a card. “Here’s my card. I want ya to ask around and find out if she called him by name, or if any of the other girls saw or heard anything that might help us land this dude. Then give me a call.”
“Hey, just a minute . . . that’s right. One of the other bitches said Blaze called the dude Doc.”
“Doc?” Shooter asked. “You sure?”
“Hey, man, I try to mind my own bidness and not mess around with other people’s problems, but that’s what the gal said she heard.”
Shooter took out two cigarettes and put them in his mouth. He lit them both, then took one and stuck it between the black’s lips. “You did good. I just want ya to know that I owe ya a big one.”
The man glanced at Shooter’s card and stuck it down the front of his dress. “Don’t you worry. Next time you pigs bust me, I’ll be sure an’ mention yore name.”
Shooter looked around at Matt. “You want to ask this scumbag anything?”
“Yeah. Did Blaze have any . . . illnesses, or diseases lately, and did she do drugs?”
The man screwed up his face. “Shit, man, how would I know if the bitch had the clap or not? I never sampled the merchandise.”
Shooter stuck his finger in the man’s face. “Just answer the questions. Don’t bother with the smart-ass jive.”
He shook his head. “Naw, Blaze didn’t do no drugs, leastways not no heavy shit, just a little grass now n’ then.”
After another twenty minutes spent alternatively cajoling and threatening the other girls on the block, Shooter and Matt learned nothing new. They decided to return to the car and fulfill their promise to take Sam and TJ out to eat.
Matt’s heart began to beat faster as they approached the car and he didn’t see the girls in it. Oh no! he thought, his mouth going dry. He was a little ahead of Shooter and ran around to the driver’s side. His stomach did a slow roll when he saw the twisted, misshapen door hanging loose from one hinge.
Flashes of the house in Bellaire played across his mind. Please, God, don’t let him have them. He leaned in the open door, being careful not to touch anything, and looked inside. TJ’s purse was lying open on the floorboard with the contents partially spilled.
Shooter grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him out of the way as he looked into the car. He raised up and looked around at the shadows, then threw his head back and screamed into the night, “No-o-o!”
Matt felt as though he was choking. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was suddenly too dry. He ripped open the back door and was horrified to see Sam lying sprawled on the floorboard, her mouth open and her face covered with blood. Oh no, oh no, oh no kept running through his mind like a mantra as he reached down and pulled her up onto the seat where he could examine her.
Thank God, he thought as she moaned and shook her head from side to side, spewing blood and mucus from her flattened nose. “Call nine-one-one and get an ambulance here, fast,” he called over his shoulder to Shooter while he cradled Sam against his chest.
Twenty-five
TJ’s eyes opened, blinked twice slowly at the blackness that surrounded her, then closed again. She shivered, as if cold, though the temperature of the room was quite comfortable. Unable to see, she stretched her arms out and felt around her, looking for something, anything to give her a clue as to where she was and what had happened to her. She remembered being attacked in the car, then nothing. Suddenly terrified, she uttered a small gasp when she discovered she was naked and lying on a thin mattress on a cold cement floor. Shivering violently, she wrapped her arms around herself, as if to keep danger away, and called out in a small voice, “Hello? Hello, is anyone here?”
The hunter struck a match, and the flare of light in the darkness blinded TJ for a moment, making her squint and turn her head to the side. When she regained her vision, there was a candle flickering on a wooden table a few feet away. She could now see that she was in a small room, no more than ten by ten feet, and she was not alone.
TJ held her hand up, trying to shield the glare from the candle, but all she could make out was a pair of legs, crossed at the knees, and a face shadowed by the brim of a hat.
She crossed her arms in front of her, covering her breasts, and said, as defiantly as she could manage, “Who are you and what do you want with me?”
The figure in the dark chuckled, a sound like bat wings rustling together. “Tabitha, I think you know who I am, or should I say, what I am.”
The bile rose in her throat at this confirmation of what she had suspected, but she decided to try and bluff her way out of this trap. “What do you mean? I haven’t the faintest idea who you are.” She started to get up. “Now, why don’t you get me my clothes and let me go . . .”
“Oh, little one. I think you know that’s not possible.”
She sank back down, tears of fear and frustration slowly coursing down her cheeks. “Why me . . . why am I here?”
The hunter pursed his lips while he contemplated what to say. “You’re right, we should have no secrets from each other.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward on the chair. “Actually, you’re my second choice. At first, I had planned to take Samantha Scott as my mate.”
At the word mate, TJ gasped and put her hand to her open mouth.
“However, at the last moment, I decided to take you instead. For my . . . particular needs, a doctor trained in internal medicine will be much more advantageous than a pathologist. You see, Tabitha, you and I are going to unlock the secrets of the universe together. I intend for us to solve the mystery of two great scourges of mankind—we are going to work on curing both CJD and the living hell of the curse of the Vampyri.”
In spite of her terror, TJ managed a short laugh. “Oh, is that all?”
He barked out a command, impaling her with his voice and causing her to freeze in place. “Let’s not play games with each other, Tabitha! Soon we’re going to know each other very well, and there will be no place for derision or scorn.” He stood and approached the naked girl, towering over her in the flickering light of the candle. His voice got huskier and he seemed to have trouble forming his words, as if his tongue had grown thick. “Now, why don’t you tell me what you and your friends have found out with all your meddling? Exactly how much do you know about me?”
As he said this last, TJ could feel his words invading her mind and could actually feel herself want to answer, want to please the insistent voice. A gnarled hand with clawlike nails reached out of the shadows and grasped her neck, pulling her to her feet. The thumb pushed up under her jaw, tilting her head up and back, so that she had to look down to try to focus on the shadowy face approaching her. The candlelight gleamed and reflected off the fangs as they reached for her neck, drooling sparkling scarlet saliva.
In spite of the terror screaming in her mind at the invasion, her body betrayed her and responded sexually to his mental commands. Her nipples tightened and sprang erect on her breasts, aching to be touched and caressed. Her sex became hot and wet with secretions, throbbing in anticipation of the delicious invasion. Her body strained toward him against her will.
She fought with all the strength within her against his commands, but still the monstrous teeth moved closer and closer, until they pierced her jugular vein. With that, her will crumpled and she began to moan and pulsate in violent orgasm, her thighs quivering and opening in invitation to him, and he began to thrust his erection against her and growl deep in his throat in unison with her cries of passion.
* * *
The meeting at Clark’s office was not going well. Shooter was out of his mind with guilt and fear and couldn’t be reasoned with. Shelly and Barbara Silver had joined Damon Clark, Shooter, Officer Sherry Landry, and Sam and Matt in a meeting to try and decide what could be done to find and hopefully save TJ.
Sam, eyes red-rimmed from crying, was sitting on the couch next to Shelly. He was dry-eyed, but had a haunted look, and his expression was so intent that Matt was afraid that he was going to break at any moment. Damon had just spent fifteen minutes bringing Sherry up to date on their theories concerning the serial killer, and on the assumption that he had kidnapped TJ from the car earlier that evening.
Sherry frowned. “Let me get this straight. You mean to tell me that y’all believe that these killings have been done by a vampire?”
Damon glanced at Shelly, shrugged, and nodded.
“You mean a blood-sucking, supernatural creature that has returned from the dead and now stalks the city by night, killing and draining his victims of their blood by biting them on the neck?” she asked, her expression clearly showing her disbelief.
Clark raised one hand. “I know it sounds crazy, Sherry, but . . .”
She practically shouted, “You’re damn right it sounds crazy.” She took another look around the office. “If I didn’t know you all so well, I’d think you were drunk or on drugs.”
Shelly stood up and crossed to the window to look out, but the glare from the lights reflected back in his face and mirrored the room. He turned. “Sherry, calm down and listen to the facts; then you can make up your own mind.” He wiped his face with his hands, his exhaustion evident. “Believe me, if you can find a rational explanation that fits all the facts, we’ll jump on it. None of us has come easily to believe in this supernatural creature, but the facts have left us little choice in the matter.”
“Okay, Doc, convince me.” She folded her arms across her chest.
Shelly perched on the edge of Damon’s desk and addressed them all. “Okay, here’s what we know. We have over one hundred murders in the past year with the same, or very similar MOs: severe neck wounds and most or all of the blood missing from the bodies. A man was found, decapitated and burned, whose flesh tested to be dead for over twenty years, and I’ve just gotten a report he was suffering from CJD.”
“CJD?” Sherry asked. “What’s that?”
“It’s Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, a degenerative mental disease caused by eating the flesh of an animal that has the CJD organisms in it. It causes progressive insanity and both physical and mental degeneration.”
“Oh,” she said, obviously still not understanding.
“Also,” Shelly went on, “at the scene of one of the crimes, the perpetrator was shot with a high-powered pistol. We know the perp was hit because bits of his flesh were found adherent to the bullet, in spite of the fact that there was no sign that the wound caused him to bleed, or even slowed him down. The perp’s flesh that was found on the bullet also tested to be over one hundred years old.”
Sherry interrupted. “Was the flesh normal, or was it dead also?”
Shelly frowned. “There’s some confusion about that. The tests initially showed the flesh to be nonliving, but on further examination, some low-level life activity was found. The lab said they’d never seen anything like it before and didn’t know quite how to classify it.” He paused to wipe sweat from his forehead. “I’m in the process of having a colleague of mine repeat the tests to see if he concurs.”
She nodded. “Okay, go on.”
Damon took up the tale. “Sherry, there was also evidence at the scene that the killer had tremendous strength. He had twisted a steel knob off the door and splintered the door with his bare hands.”
“And you should see the door to my car,” Shooter mumbled without looking up. “It looks like it was hit with a wrecking ball.”
Shelly continued. “The other night at my place, we made a list of all these things and of the actual events of the eye-witness report. The man is about six feet in height, has black hypnotic eyes, cold and clammy skin, and is strong as a bull.”
“Anything else?”
“From the number and dates of the killings, it appears that he kills about every two weeks or so, and Shooter was told that he apparently was called Doc by one of the victims.”
When Shelly said that, a half-forgotten memory forced its way into Matt’s mind. He shivered, thinking over the implications as the conversation continued.
“That’s not much,” answered Sherry to Shelly’s statement about what they knew about the killer.
“You’re right. We don’t know if he can change into a bat, or sleeps in a coffin, or if he casts a reflection in a mirror or is afraid of a cross.”
Shooter jumped up and began to pace. “We do know that the son of a bitch has TJ, and that she doesn’t stand a chance unless we find her.” He whirled around and pointed at Damon. “And we’re not going to do that sitting around this office.”
Damon stood and started to shout back, when Sam interrupted softly. “He’s right, Chief.” They all turned to stare at her. It was the first sound she had made all evening. “We need a plan, and we need it fast if we’re to have any hope of finding TJ alive.”
Damon swallowed his anger and sat at his desk, thinking. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. Sherry, I want you to run every victim’s name through the computers to see if they have anything in common . . . arrest records, associations with known criminals, anything. I also want you to check the times of death—see if they all occurred at night.
“Matt, I want you and Sam to do the same at the hospital. Check and see if any of the victims had been treated for any strange illnesses lately, or if they had any medical records at all.”
“I don’t know, Chief. That’s a real long shot. Nothing of any note medically showed up on any of the postmortems,” Matt said.
Barbara spoke up, hesitantly. “Shel . . .”
He looked over at her. “Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Do you remember the meeting we had at our house the night Chief Clark asked you to help with the investigation?”
“Yeah, babe, what about
it?”
“We were discussing the body of the man who had been set on fire and who had been dead for twenty years. You said then that you thought the vampire killer had killed that man, and that he was probably a vampire too.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, what you said just now got me to thinking. If this vampire drinks someone’s blood, wouldn’t he be risking getting this CJD or whatever you call it if the victim had it?”
He frowned and started to reply, then clamped his mouth shut and sat there deep in thought for a moment. Finally, he turned to look at Matt. He shook his head; he simply had no idea. He looked back at Barbara. “That’s a great question. To my knowledge, no one’s ever studied the possibility of acquiring CJD by drinking blood, but I don’t know why it couldn’t be transmitted that way.” He looked around at the group. “You know, every time we learn something about this killer, it opens up more questions.”
Shooter sneered. “Yeah, but how does the fact that the killer may be at risk for CJD help us find TJ? We know from his tissue on the bullet that he doesn’t have it.”
What had been at the back of Matt’s mind suddenly burst forth. He was struck by an idea. “Don’t you see? His very success at not having gotten CJD, or any other blood-borne disease, is important. What would you do if every time you ate something there was the possibility it would kill you, or at least make you very sick?”
Sherry interrupted. “What’re you getting at, Matt?”
Sam jumped up. “You’d test it first to make sure it was safe.”
Matt smiled. “Jackpot, sweetheart. Since this creature has been able to avoid CJD and other diseases in spite of the fact that every week or two he’s drinking some stranger’s blood, then he’s got to be testing his victims’ blood before he consumes it.”
Shooter looked puzzled. “How do we know that? Maybe he’s just been lucky.”
Matt shook his head; that wouldn’t fly. “Sherry, didn’t you say that the reason this killer went undetected for so long was that the majority of his victims had been from the street people—the prostitutes, the drug addicts, and the homeless?”
Night Blood Page 20
