Night Blood

by James M. Thompson

  “Doctor Hunt. The same Dr. David Hunt who went to such lengths to discredit our theory about the nature of the wounds on the first victim.”

  Shooter hitched up his pants. “Then, I think it’s about time we paid the good doctor a visit.”

  Shelly held up his hand. “Wait, not just yet. First we need to go to the business office and do some thorough checking on the amount of blood that’s come into the bank and the amount that’s gone out.”

  “And if there’s a discrepancy, we’ll have the perpetrator cold,” Matt said.

  Shooter smirked, saying, “Oh, bad pun.”

  They stood, but Sherry remained seated. “Y’all go ahead and check it out. I’ve got another idea and I’d like to run it through the computer.”

  * * *

  Two hours later, Sherry Landry looked up from Shelly’s computer terminal as they returned from their search of the records.

  “Hey, guys, what’s going on?”

  Shooter flopped down in a chair. “Nothing, nada, zilch!”

  Shelly walked over to the coffeepot and poured a cup. “We just spent several hours on a wild-goose chase.”

  “We checked out the blood bank, but every ounce of blood that’s come in the past year is indisputably accounted for,” Matt added.

  “Yeah, we’re at a dead end,” Sam mumbled. “I guess we’ll just have to investigate every doctor on staff.”

  Sherry smiled and held up her empty cup to Shelly. “Maybe not. I may have found something in the computer after all. I ran a search pattern on the known victims and had the computer print out the names of all the doctors that had ordered any lab tests on them in the past year.” She paused to sip the coffee.

  “Well, don’t keep us in suspense, did anything show up?” asked Shooter.

  “Well, not anything definite, but one doctor’s name did show up a little more often than any others.”

  Sam and Matt asked at the same time, “Who?”

  “Doctor James Goddard.”

  “Oh,” said Shelly, looking disappointed. “That probably doesn’t mean anything. He’s a gynecologist, and has one of the largest practices in the city.”

  “So?” said Shooter.

  “It makes sense that he would have ordered a lot of blood tests,” Matt said.

  “One other thing, Doctors,” Sherry said. “Nancy Newman, also known as ‘Blaze,’ was one of his patients.”

  Shooter stood. “That settles it. It’s worth a shot. Come on, we have to start somewhere, and every minute we waste is another minute TJ’s held captive.”

  Shelly shrugged and pushed himself out of his chair. Sam waved at Sherry. “Come on, Sherry. It’s your clue, it’s only right that you help us track it down.”

  Matt followed them out of the office, thinking it a waste of time but hoping that Goddard was somehow involved. He remembered his arrogance, and his own almost instinctual dislike of the man. Not very scientific, he thought to himself, but then, nobody’s perfect.

  * * *

  Dr. James Goddard’s secretary looked down her long nose at them as they stood before her desk. “Do you have an appointment? Doctor’s very busy just now.”

  Shelly said, “No, but this is very important, and we’ll only take a couple of minutes.”

  “Doctor Goddard?” she said into her intercom. “Doctor Silver is here and requests a few minutes of your time.”

  Goddard’s voice came from the speaker, “Is he alone?”

  “Why, no. He has two gentlemen and two ladies with him.”

  “Give me five minutes, then show them in.”

  She pointed at a grouping of chairs in the waiting room. True to his word, they were shown into his office five minutes later.

  After Shooter and Sherry had been introduced and they had been seated, Goddard leaned back in his chair, steepled his hands in front of his chest, and asked, “What’s this all about, Shelly?”

  As Matt sat there, he examined Goddard’s face closely, looking for anything out of the ordinary, anything that might brand this man as a monster. Other than the fact that his skin was somewhat pale and remarkably unwrinkled for someone of his supposed age, there was nothing.

  “We’re here about one of your patients, a Ms. Nancy Newman,” said Shelly.

  Matt thought he saw the doctor’s eyes narrow at the mention of the dead girl’s name, but he couldn’t be sure.

  “The name is not immediately familiar to me. Has she broken the law in some way?”

  Shooter leaned back and crossed his legs. “Not exactly, Doc.” Goddard frowned at the too familiar “Doc,” staring intently at Shooter as he continued. “She was found murdered last week . . . her throat was cut and her body was dumped downtown near a warehouse.”

  Matt watched Goddard closely for any reaction as Shelly continued. “James, she shows up as one of your patients on the hospital computer. Maybe you remember her by her professional name, Blaze Star.”

  Goddard rubbed his chin while he thought, then snapped his fingers. “Oh yes, she was a prostitute, I believe. Tell me, Detective,” he said, cutting his eyes over at Shooter, “isn’t it an occupational hazard for whores to end up with their throats cut, or to suffer some other such grisly end?”

  Sam, angered by the reference to the dead girl as a whore, snapped back, “Just what were you treating Nancy for, Doctor?”

  Goddard raised his eyebrows at the scornful tone of her question. “I’m afraid that’s both privileged and confidential information, Doctor.”

  Shooter uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in his seat, smiling a smile that had absolutely no humor in it. “I’m afraid you’re wrong, Doc. Medical records lose their confidentiality if a person is dead as a result of a felony assault.”

  Goddard looked over at Shelly, who nodded. “I’m afraid he’s right, James. The officers have every right to see her records.”

  Goddard scowled, then called his nurse on the intercom and told her to bring in the medical file on Nancy Newman. They sat there in a hostile silence while waiting for the chart. After she delivered it, he flipped through the pages and studied them for a moment.

  “Okay, although I’m afraid it’s not going to help you very much. She was referred to me by her family physician because of a chronic mild anemia, due he thought to excessive menses. Her studies were all negative, and I made a diagnosis of anemia due to heavy menstrual periods compounded by a diet low in iron.” He looked over at Sam and said, somewhat contemptuously, “It seems prostitutes don’t eat many vegetables. I put her on double doses of ferrous gluconate and gave her some hormone pills to reduce the frequency and severity of her menstrual periods.” He looked up from the record and leaned back in his chair. “Her blood count at the last visit was within normal limits.”

  He closed the record with a flourish and looked challengingly at Shooter, as if daring him to dispute the record.

  They started to rise and Sherry said, “Okay, Doctor, thank you very much for your . . .”

  Before she could finish her sentence, Shooter uncrossed his legs and accidentally kicked over Goddard’s wastebasket. He leaned forward, apologizing as he started to pick up the papers spilled on the carpet. “Gosh, I’m sorry, Doctor. I’m not usually so clumsy.”

  When Matt got to the office door, he turned for a final look at Goddard and noticed that he was sweating. The room was cool rather than warm, and there seemed no reason for him to be nervous. Their questions hadn’t been that threatening. Matt looked closely, eyes squinted, while Shelly said his good-byes and apologized again for disturbing Goddard’s workday.

  That’s strange, he’s sweating like mad and even has a slight tremor around his eyes, Matt thought as they filed out of his office. He felt sure the man was hiding something.

  Instead of leaving the hospital, Shelly took them to his office. Sherry said, “Well, that was a wasted visit. Other than being a pompous asshole, he seemed to have all the right answers.”

  Shooter had a fierce grin on his face. “I’m n
ot so sure, Sherry. What do you make of these?” He pulled his hand out of his coat pocket and dumped a handful of tiny pieces of paper on Shelly’s desk.

  Sherry picked one up and studied it closely. “It’s computer read-out paper. See, it’s got the distinctive green and white stripes.”

  Matt looked at Shooter and smiled. “Not usually so clumsy, huh? You palmed those from Goddard’s trash, didn’t you?”

  “Yep, and smoothly done if I do say so myself.”

  They spread the pieces out on the desk and worked over them like a jigsaw puzzle, piecing enough together to see that they contained lab values, but not finding enough to definitely say they were CJD or other special test values or to recognize any patient names.

  Sherry leaned back in her chair. “I thought the son of a bitch was sweating too much to be innocent.”

  Matt smiled. So she’d noticed it too.

  “I’ll bet he’s been tying into the hospital computer and using it to screen his victims,” Sherry continued.

  Sam was quiet for a moment. “This means nothing by itself. All of the doctors on staff here use the computer to check out their patients’ lab results.”

  “Sam, do all of the doctors tear them up before they throw them away?” Shooter asked.

  “I agree, that’s suspicious, but it’s not proof of any wrongdoing.”

  Shooter reached for the phone. “Well, as far as I’m concerned, Goddard’s our best lead so far. Sherry, see if you can dig up anything on him with the computers.. . . Check the tax rolls to see if he owns any property or rents any place where he might have stashed TJ.”

  She looked up. “And what are you going to do?”

  “First I’m going to fill the chief in on what we found, then I’m going to tail the bastard and hope he leads me to TJ.”

  Sam reached across the desk to the pile of computer printouts Sherry had brought with her. “I’ll pull all the victims that Goddard ordered tests on and cross-reference the names with the patients’ autopsies to make sure all of their deaths fit our killer’s MO.” She looked up at Sherry. “From the number you have here, that looks like an all-night job.”

  Shelly said, “Here, Sam. Give me some of those and I’ll help too.”

  Matt walked to Shelly’s bookshelf and took down a large book. Blowing dust off the cover, he glanced at the title and sat down. “Me, I’m going to do some research on CJD and other blood diseases.” He began to thumb through the pages. Feeling more than a little guilty, he decided not to tell the others about his plan to wait until Goddard left and try to bribe or trick the cleaning people into letting him into his office, where he could do some snooping around.

  Twenty-eight

  TJ woke up to total darkness and shook her head. She gagged and retched when she remembered what she did the previous night. At first she tried to convince herself that it was a bad dream, but the soreness of her breasts and the area between her thighs forced her to acknowledge the truth. She smacked her lips in disgust, tasting again the coppery sweetness of the hunter’s blood.

  When the door opened and the hunter entered, she was quietly sobbing in shame and fear. As before, the light blinded her, and she put up her hand to shield her eyes. When she lowered it, she saw a familiar figure sitting there, legs crossed, staring at her intently.

  She gasped in surprise, recognizing the doctor as an old friend. She stumbled to him, her arms out in supplication. “Oh, thank God,” she sobbed, unmindful of her nakedness, and grabbed him by the shoulders. “You’ve got to get me out of here before he comes back.”

  The hunter chuckled, and the dry, rasping sound was like a slap in her face. TJ recoiled and covered herself. “It’s you!”

  “Yes, my dear, I’m afraid so.” He reached behind him and produced a robe, which he tossed at her feet. “Make yourself comfortable and join me for dinner.” He rose and left the room.

  TJ quickly wrapped the robe around her as she followed him out the door. He was sitting at a table that was set for a meal. When she appeared, he stood and held out a chair for her. “Sit and eat, you must keep up your strength.”

  TJ looked around to see if there was any chance of escape. They were in a dimly lit warehouse, crammed with furniture and other odds and ends. There was no obvious way out, no doors or windows in sight.

  Realizing she was ravenous, she edged over and, keeping the table between them, sat down. Without taking her eyes off the hunter, she began stuffing food into her mouth as if she hadn’t eaten for days. Between bites, she mumbled, “Just what do you have in mind for me? Are you going to kill me like you did all those others?”

  The hunter, who wasn’t eating, poured himself a glass of water and slowly drank it down. “No, Tabitha, I’m not going to kill you . . . not exactly.” He looked at her with an intensity that was frightening, making her mouth go dry and her heart pound in her chest. “I’m going to give you a great gift. You’re going to become immortal; then you’re going to help me defeat the Sickness.”

  She paused with a forkful of food halfway to her mouth. As the meaning of his words sank in, she dropped it, spilling its contents on the table. She stood and slipped the robe off and dropped it on the table. Sobbing, she whispered through numb lips, “I’d rather die than become like you.” With hunched shoulders, she slowly turned and walked back into her room.

  The hunter took the robe and crushed it to his face, inhaling the essence of her scent. Oh, Tabitha, you have courage fit for a queen, he thought. In honor of your spirit, I shall make you my mate, and we will reign for a thousand years.

  He entered her room and lit a candle, gently draping the robe across her shoulders. “Tabitha, I know of your feelings about me and my kind, but I would like to tell you the story of our race and let you decide whether we are worthy of your contempt.”

  TJ shrugged his hand off her shoulder and scooted back on her mattress until her back was against the wall and she could move no farther. She hugged the robe to her, both to cover her nakedness and to fight the chill that the monster’s presence caused her to feel. “You can tell me any story you want, but it won’t excuse what you did or what you are.”

  The hunter leaned back, crossed his legs, and began his story. “Many years ago, before recorded history, there was a small village in the Carpathian Mountains, in the country later known as Hungary. The village had a population of only a few hundred and was very isolated, thus intermarriage was common. From what I have been able to discover, a genetic abnormality arose. Within a few generations, because of the high rate of intermarriage and even incest, a majority of the villagers became affected.”

  He paused as TJ asked, “What was this genetic abnormality?”

  “As near as I can reconstruct it from the symptoms recorded in old town records, and from the present-day effects, it was Erythropoietic Uroporphyria, also know as congenital porphyria.”

  TJ shook her head. “I remember the name, but don’t recall the symptoms.”

  The hunter noted the fact that he had piqued TJ’s interest and that she was joining in the discussion as if they were just two doctors comparing clinical notes. She seemed to have forgotten for the moment just who and what he was and that she was his prisoner.

  “It’s inherited as a recessive Mendelian characteristic; that is, both parents have to have the gene for it to be passed on to the offspring. The primary symptom is one of unrelenting, progressive hemolytic anemia. It responds poorly to iron and the only known treatment is transfusion of whole blood. Secondary symptoms include a marked photosensitivity, pink-tinged, fluorescent teeth, and increased amounts of visual purple in the retina.”

  TJ thought for a moment; then, in spite of her fear, choked out a harsh laugh. “You mean sunlight burns your skin, your teeth glow, and you can see in the dark?”

  The hunter failed to see what was so amusing and frowned as he nodded his head.

  She said under her breath, “This sounds like an old Bela Lugosi movie.” After a moment, she became more seriou
s and looked at him. “Are you telling me that this syndrome is the basis for all the old legends about vampires and their characteristics?”

  “Yes. At first, almost all of the infants died of severe anemia and from reactions to the sun. The villagers were naive about medicine, but some noticed that the affected infants instinctively licked the blood off fresh meat and even tried to eat the meat raw. Trial and error confirmed that the infants fed blood survived and even thrived, while those denied the blood died.”

  TJ winced. “How horrible, how could they . . .”

  He leaned over and placed his hand on her arm, removing it when she shied away from his touch. “Remember, Tabitha, this happened hundreds of years ago among ignorant, superstitious villagers. Their knowledge of medicine was limited to a few herbs and salves. In fact, they probably thought the illness was a curse put upon them by the devil.” He paused and got a faraway look in his eyes as he mumbled to himself, “They may have been right.”

  He shook his head and seemed to come back to the present. “At any rate, to drink blood in order to survive is not ‘horrible’ as you put it, it’s merely the organism’s will to survive. In fact, even today, many tribes in Africa drink a mixture of cow’s blood and milk to keep them healthy.”

  “Just how do you know all this?”

  “For the past twenty years, I’ve spent all my spare time in the Carpathian Mountains tracing the legend of the Vampyri.”

  “The Vampyri?”

  “Yes, that’s what we were called in the old country.”

  TJ turned sideways, removed the robe from around her shoulders and slipped it on, wrapping it tightly around her. “But, the inherited syndrome can’t explain everything about vampires. Congenital syndromes can’t be given to other people, they are acquired only at birth. And what about all the other characteristics?”

  The hunter smiled, as if proud of a bright student’s questions. “You’re right. This part of the explanation is partly educated guesswork and partly the result of months and years of digging in old newspapers and journals. It seems the Carpathian peasants were rather famous in their day. Their area had been settled by gypsies and the mountain villagers were reputed to possess the ‘evil eye’ and be able to read the future. They were also known for their long lives. In those days, the average life span was about forty years. The villagers routinely lived to be in their early hundreds.”