Barbara was standing in the door with a pot of fresh coffee in her hand, listening to the conversation. “Sam?”
“Yes, Barb, what is it?” she asked.
“If you know he’s going to pick a victim from the hospital computer list, couldn’t you get a copy of the same list and warn all the people, or put a guard on them, or something?”
“I don’t think you realize just how many people Methodist Hospital does blood tests on each day,” she answered. “There are probably several hundred people on the list that Niemann has. How can we warn or watch that many people, and what would we say? ”Be careful, we think a vampire is going to try and kill you’?”
Shooter asked, “Matt, do you think there might be anything in the bastard’s office that may help us find him, or TJ?”
“I don’t know, Shooter. But if he thinks we’re on to him, I doubt if he’ll take the chance of going back there to clear his files out.”
Sam stood and walked over to Matt. “We should go over there right now and take a look. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Dejected, Shooter sat back in his chair. “Yeah, and maybe we won’t.”
Barbara stepped into the room and began refilling their coffee cups. “Don’t say that, Shooter. Don’t ever give up hope. If I know TJ, she hasn’t given up on us, so we can’t give up on her.”
Shooter blushed and nodded his head. “You’re right, Mrs. S.” He struggled up out of his chair, looking over at Damon. “I’m gonna head on over to the medical center and go through Niemann’s files, and I’m not waiting for any goddamned warrant.”
Damon smiled. “I didn’t hear you say that, Shooter. Just don’t get caught. I don’t want to have to bail you out of jail tonight, not with Hillary James meeting with the PC and mayor in the morning.”
Matt stood up too. “I’ll follow Sam home and then I’ll meet you over there, Shooter. It’ll go faster with both of us searching.”
Sam covered a wide yawn. “Ordinarily, I’d argue about going with you two, but I’m dead on my feet. I don’t think I’d be much help.”
“Come on,” Matt said. “The sooner I get you home, the sooner we can start looking for clues to TJ’s location.”
Matt followed Sam home, keeping a close lookout to make sure they weren’t followed. After he kissed her good night at the door and heard her lock the dead bolt, he ran back to his ’Vette and jumped over the door into the driver’s seat.
He made a left turn on Kirby out of the Village and headed toward the medical center and Niemann’s office.
As he waited to turn left at the light at Holcomb and Kirby, he glanced in his rearview mirror and saw a large, black Mercedes swing in behind him. The front windshield was tinted and he couldn’t see the driver, but he knew who it was.
Without being too obvious, he pulled his cell phone from his jacket and dialed 911. When the operator answered, he put it to his ear and told her to get in touch with Chief Clark and tell him Dr. Carter had an emergency on Holcomb near the medical center.
Evidently when the driver of the Mercedes saw him using his phone, it galvanized him into action. The Mercedes revved its engine and accelerated into the rear of Matt’s ’Vette, shoving him out into oncoming traffic.
Matt acted instinctively and instead of hitting his brakes, which would have caused him to be smashed broadside, he popped the clutch and floored his accelerator. With tires spinning and throwing out clouds of smoke, the ’Vette leaped through the traffic and made a sliding left turn onto Holcomb.
Knowing he stood little chance against the monster behind him, Matt never slowed as he pushed the ’Vette to the max, hitting eighty miles an hour within the next block.
When he dared to take his eyes off the road for a second, his heart hammered and his mouth went dry at the sight of the big, black car directly behind him, weaving in and out of traffic to keep up.
“Shit!” Matt muttered, downshifting and pushing the pedal tighter against the floorboard as he popped the clutch again. The big 327 engine roared and Matt was pushed back against the seat as he whipped into the right lane to pass slower moving cars ahead of him.
The Mercedes began to lose ground slowly, even though the man was driving like a maniac, bumping other cars out of the way instead of going around them.
Matt glanced in the mirror and gave a savage grin as he saw the Mercedes falling farther behind. “No German piece of shit can keep up with a good old American muscle car,” he growled as he forced his eyes back to the road just in time to see a little old man with a walker step out into the street in front of him.
There was no way to stop in time, so Matt jerked the wheel to the left, throwing the ’Vette into the center median curb at ninety-five miles an hour.
The front tires exploded into hundreds of fragments and the ’Vette became airborne, actually passing over two oncoming cars in the far lane before bouncing once on the sidewalk in front of a Burger King and leapfrogging through the front window to land in a heap among the tables and chairs.
Matt, who’d fitted the classic car with new seat belts, stayed in the vehicle but was knocked unconscious by the force of the crash.
He awoke fifteen minutes later, looking up into Chief Clark’s face as he bent over him.
“Are you all right?” Damon asked.
Matt shook his head and stared at the pieces of fiberglass and twisted steel that had been his “baby.”
He spread his arms and shouted, “Look what that bastard did to my ’Vette!”
Damon straightened up, a relieved smile on his face.
Thirty-four
Hillary James mixed a gin and tonic, kicked her high heels off, and stretched out on her couch, thinking of how the broadcast had gone. She had told no one at the station of the content of her story until it aired, and it had gotten the attention of the owner of the station. He called to see what she was on to, and she had to do some fast talking to hide the fact that she had very little real evidence to back up her claims. She managed to put him off until after her meeting with the mayor and the chief of police, which she’d managed to schedule for the next day.
The doorbell rang. “Shit, who could that be at this hour?” She got up and peeked through the peephole in the door. It was Buzz Burkhart, and she didn’t want to see him. He was a macho brute with little or no class and she despised him, but he might be able to shed some light on what the chief of detectives was up to, so she let him in.
“Buzz, darlin’, what a surprise. Come on in.”
He swaggered into the apartment and looked around. “Pretty snazzy place. They must pay you TV people pretty good.”
Hillary’s smile faltered for a moment before she got herself under control and hid her distaste. “Would you like a drink?”
“Ya got any beer?” he asked, running a beefy tongue over dry lips.
Beer, that figures, she thought. “Sure. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll get it.” She went into the kitchen and got a can of Coors out of the refrigerator. As she opened it, she called, “Have you got anything for me, or is this a social call?”
When she entered the living room, Burkhart was grinning like a cat with canary feathers on his lips. “Well, I got some news, and it’s worth plenty. This thing is even bigger than you thought.”
Hillary raised her eyebrows and handed him his beer. She sat next to him on the couch and picked up her drink. “Tell me about it.”
He grinned as his eyes roamed over her body. He licked foam off his lips. “There was some talk about us gettin’ to know each other better if I delivered for ya.”
She took a big drink of her gin, wondering if she could go through with this. Oh hell, she thought, it’s not like I’m some dewy-eyed virgin. She looked at him over the rim of her glass. He’ll probably come in about thirty seconds anyway. Even so, it’d better be worth it, you asshole. She got up off the couch.
Slowly, letting him watch, she began to undo her blouse. “Tell me a little before we start, darlin’. Just so I’ll
know what I’m buying.”
Burkhart wiped at the sweat that suddenly appeared on his forehead. He couldn’t believe she was actually going to do it. “Well, it seems that the chief is on to a big, a really big crime.” He chugged his beer down in two gulps, crushing the can in a pawlike hand and pitching it onto the coffee table. He began to undo the buttons on his shirt. “I guarantee that it’ll be the biggest story of the year.” He wiped the last of the beer foam off his mouth with the back of his hand.
“In that case,” she said as she grabbed him by the shirt and led him into the bedroom, “I’ll guarantee that I’ll make this a night you’ll never forget.”
She pushed him back on her bed and began to work on his belt. She pulled his pants and underwear down and stepped back to look at him. His chest and stomach were covered with a hairy pelt, and he had the beginnings of a beer gut. Not exactly Mel Gibson you have here, Hillary, she thought with distaste.
He was excited and sweating, and she could smell the sour stench wafting up off his body as he lay back on her bed. Damn, now I’ll have to change the sheets before I go to bed.
She took his half-erect penis in her hands and bent over him, her hair falling on his stomach. She licked him with one long stroke of her tongue, trying not to let him see her shudder. “Tell me.”
He groaned and closed his eyes, unable for the moment to talk. She let him go and stepped back, standing there with her hands on her hips, waiting.
He opened his eyes, whining, “Okay, I’ll tell you. Just don’t stop.”
As she leaned over him and began to work on him with her mouth and hands, he began to talk.
* * *
After working most of the morning at Clark’s office, going over a handful of folders Shooter had taken from Niemann’s office, the task force decided to go to a nearby Denny’s restaurant for breakfast and a discussion of what they had found.
While waiting for their food, Damon sipped his coffee and made a face. They didn’t serve espresso at Denny’s.
“I’ll start,” he said. He looked over his notes for a moment. “I didn’t find any checks to real-estate companies, mortgage companies, or banks. Nothing that would even remotely give us a lead to any real property Niemann might own. I told the bank to freeze his account and to notify me personally if he tries to withdraw any funds.”
Matt shook his head and pushed his coffee away. He was feeling pretty bad, with sore, aching muscles in parts of his body that he didn’t know had muscles. “I’ve been through every check in my stack twice, and nothing stands out as unusual or that might help find TJ.”
Damon lit a cigarette, letting the smoke escape through pursed lips. After a moment, he asked Sam, “How about you?”
She looked up, chewing on a fingernail, a thoughtful look on her face. “I don’t know. I didn’t find anything definite, but there are a couple of checks I’d like to follow up on before I give up.”
“Did you find something?” Matt asked.
She frowned. “Well, nothing that indicates he was paying on any property, but . . .”
Damon took a deep drag on the cigarette, then stared at her as he exhaled. “Come on, Sam. Tell us what you have.”
Sam spread her hands and shrugged. “Well, it’s a long shot, but I found a check from several years ago made out to the Mayflower Moving Company. I’d like to give them a call and see if they can dig out an invoice. Maybe he moved some furniture or something to a place we don’t know about.”
Sherry frowned. “Jeez, you’re really reaching, Sam. I hope the company keeps their records that long.”
“Me too. I also found a check made out to the Port Authority, and the check had a notation at the bottom that said ‘taxes.’”
“Why would he be paying taxes to the Port Authority?” Matt asked.
Sam smiled. “I wondered the same thing. I made a couple of calls to city hall and found out that the only taxes the Port Authority levies are to ship or boat owners who berth their boats at a public pier. They also tax international shipping lines for loading or unloading their ships, but I don’t think that would apply here.”
Damon slowly began to smile. “That sounds more like it,” he said.
They stopped talking while the waitress delivered their food; then they all began to eat with more appetite than they had when they’d ordered. It seemed even a long shot was better than no shot.
After a few minutes, Damon said, “Sam, you’re pretty busy with the autopsies and physical evidence. Why don’t you let Matt work on the moving company and you spend your time on the Port Authority? And, I want Sherry to go along. Maybe the presence of a badge will make them look at those records a little harder.”
Matt wiped his face with a napkin, a little irked that Sam had found the clues and that Clark was giving him her leftover jobs to do. “What’s your next step, Damon?”
“I’ve got to put in some time on some of the other homicides the department is working. Unfortunately, the rest of the city’s criminals haven’t stopped killing while I’ve been working on the vampire murders.”
He held up his hands at the look on Matt’s face. “Just a minute, Doc, I’ll keep finding TJ and Niemann as a number-one priority. Hell, I’ll even cover for Sherry and Shooter and keep them from being assigned to any other cases until this one is solved, but I’m too visible to the brass to work on just one case at a time.”
He stood and threw a bill on the table to cover the check. “Keep up the chase, people. We’ll get the bastard sooner or later. Oh, but be careful to keep a low profile. I’m a little uncomfortable now that Hillary James seems to have a snitch in the department.” He leaned over and put his hands on the table and lowered his voice, looking around the restaurant as he spoke like a spy in an old movie. “Remember, if she finds out what’s really been going on, all of our butts are stuck out a country mile.”
As they got up to leave, Matt looked at Sherry. “I just hope for TJ’s sake that we find him sooner rather than later.”
Thirty-five
I glanced at the name on the slip of paper one more time as I pulled up before the house on Riverside Drive. I got out of the car and walked up the sidewalk to the door and rang the bell.
A middle-aged woman answered the door. She looked carefully at me as I stood on her porch, dressed in a suit and tie, before opening the screen door. “Yes, may I help you?”
I looked down at the slip of paper I was holding, as if checking her name on a list. “Are you Mrs. Heloise MacArthur?”
“Why, yes, I am.”
Without hesitation, I swung my fist and hit her directly on the jaw. She collapsed without a sound into my arms. I slung her over my shoulder and effortlessly carried her to the Mercedes and dumped her in the backseat. I was just pulling away as Mr. MacArthur arrived at the front door.
“Heloise. Heloise, who was that at the door . . . ?”
* * *
I carried the unconscious woman into the warehouse and laid her out on the table where TJ had eaten the night before. I opened the door to TJ’s room and stood there a moment, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the light. “Tabitha, I have a present for you.”
TJ stirred and rolled over to face the door. Her hair was disheveled, her sweaty face was pale, and her eyes were dull and lackluster. She shivered, speaking in a weak, husky voice, “Go away. I’m sick, and I don’t want to talk to you anymore. Just leave me alone.” She turned back over onto her stomach and buried her face in the small blanket she had wrapped around her.
I stepped into the room and pulled her to her feet. “I’m afraid I cannot do that, Tabitha.” I put a hand under her chin and lifted her face to look at me. “You must have nourishment, or you will sicken and die.”
“I don’t care, just let me die.” She shivered again, uncontrollably, and I felt the heat of her fever through the robe.
I forced her to look into my eyes. “I cannot do that. I care about you and want you to live and be my queen. You must eat!” This last was s
aid with such force, backed up by my mental command, that she reeled as if struck in the face.
I caressed her cheek for a moment. Putting my arm around her shoulders, I led her toward the table. She stared at the semiconscious woman, confused as to what I expected of her.
I let TJ lean on a chair for support, while I bent over the woman and, tilting her chin back, bit into her neck. I suckled for a moment, before stepping back with bloodstained lips and offering the rest to TJ.
TJ’s eyes widened in understanding. With a horrified glance at me, she swung with all her might and struck me in the face with her closed fist.
Stunned, I stepped back, holding my face. TJ tried to run, but only stumbled a few steps before she lost consciousness and fell to the floor.
The woman on the table moaned and reached up to feel her neck. She screamed when her hand came away covered with blood. I moved closer to her and grabbed her by her swollen jaw, shutting her off in midscream. I straddled her atop the table and ripped her blouse off, exposing her breasts. I absentmindedly fondled them for a moment, enjoying the look of terror in her eyes at what was happening to her, almost forgetting as the Hunger took control why I’d brought her here in the first place.
I wiped the blood off her neck with my index finger and stepped over to where TJ was lying. Stooping, I inserted the finger between her lips, noting with satisfaction that she began to suckle on it. After a moment, she reached up and took hold of my hand. She tried to force my bloody finger farther into her mouth, moaning in her unconsciousness as she did so.
Heloise saw that I was busy with TJ and slowly, being careful not to make any noise, rolled off the table and began to sneak away. She eased around a pile of furniture into a narrow corridor, and started to walk faster, searching the gloom for a door or window to crawl out of.
She stumbled over a small stool in the corridor and held her breath, waiting to see if she had been heard. After a few seconds, she continued her search, feeling her way in the semidarkness. After what must have seemed an eternity to her, she saw the outline of a door in the shadows. She tiptoed up to it and placed her hand on the knob. “Please, oh, please let it be open,” she mumbled, beginning to sob under her breath.
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