After taking one more look all around, Ian glanced downward and noticed that a light gray Toyota Camry was pulling into a parking spot below, just two parking spots away from Ian’s Jeep. Ian hurriedly began his descent down the column.
Officer Parker spotted Ian’s egress from the column. He rolled his window down and held his arm out of the window up in the air.
Ian spotted Officer Parker’s hand, and proceeded to walk briskly up to the driver’s side of the car.
“Ian, go around and get in. I figure this is about as good a place to talk as any,” Officer Parker said. Ian figured that the officer had chosen this particular area of the parking lot because he would be able to see all vehicles that were coming and going with ease.
Ian did as instructed. He walked around to the other side of the car, opened the door, and climbed in.
“What’d ya think of our little tower?” Officer Parker asked Ian with pride in his voice.
“It sure offers a fantastic view.” Ian said earnestly.
Officer Parker smiled and nodded his head in agreement as he replied, “Yeah … the view is really something from up there all right. Ian, I see your Jeep comes with a security system.” It took Ian almost one long second to get what Officer Parker meant by that.
“Oh, yeah that’s my German Shepherd, Scout. He’s a trained … He was a police dog that the former sheriff of Harmony Falls owned. Scout was given to me by the … new … sheriff there.”
Officer Parker suddenly adopted a serious expression. “A large police-trained dog … Nice.” Ian nodded his head in total agreement. He knew Officer Parker was wrapping up his chit-chat and was about to start talking shop. Ian, in prior quick study of the officer, had noticed the man could change topics and levels of seriousness on a dime.
“Okay, Ian. I can’t stress to you enough how potentially dangerous undercover work can be for anyone, whether private investigator or law enforcement professional. What I can tell you is this. After you’ve taken a look at these pictures of the bodies, at least the victims we know of …” Officer Parker paused to catch his breath and a bit more composure. “Anyway, the bodies were fished out of the river with their throats, and or … various body parts … torn-apart, exsanguinated, and totally bled-out. Some organs were totally missing. We’re suspecting possible organ harvesting. That said, suffice it to say, the pictures of them aren’t pretty. And whoever is responsible is to say the least extremely disturbed and dangerous. Coroner says that it’s possible the bodies were at least in part mutilated. Fed on by something like bull sharks that can live for extended periods in fresh water, which would account for some of the lacerations. That variety of shark has been known to come in from the ocean and travel quite a ways up rivers. But in each victim, it was determined that they were dead before they hit the water. Cause of death was not drowning.” Officer Parker handed the photos to Ian. Ian instantly became wide-eyed as he grimaced and shuddered ever so slightly, hoping that Officer Parker wouldn’t notice.
He did, and replied, “Ian, don’t sweat it. You’re not gonna impress me by trying to be a tough guy. When I first saw these pictures, I ain’t ashamed to tell ya I nearly lost my lunch. And I’d even been present and seen some of the bodies fished out, seen ‘em first hand.” Ian looked up from the pictures directly at Officer Parker. He then slowly began shaking his head back and forth. With his mouth slack-jawed open, Ian began taking a series of deep breaths trying to gain composure.
Officer Parker reached down between the front seats and retrieved a large, unmarked manila file folder. He handed the folder to Ian. “In here’s just about all the notes on the victims and summaries of statements of potential witnesses as well as various crime scene investigative reports. It may seem like a lot, but I assure you, with the number of deaths, it really ain’t much to go on. Nothing we’ve got points directly at Salizzar or his nightclub. Not directly. What little information we have on the guy is mostly from public domain records like his business license application and such. He listed his full name as Vladimir Drago Salizzar. He’s supposedly from Hungary, where he either came from big money or more likely made big money in drug trafficking and black marketing human organs. Maybe operates nightclubs for money-laundering set-ups and near perfect traps for attracting his victims. Salizzar listed on his liquor license application that he owned a few of those absinthe nightclub bars around Budapest. Ian, you heard of … You know about absinthe?” Ian nodded. He had heard about the stuff and wanted Officer Parker to know straight-up he was telling the truth about it.
Ian spoke, “Yeah, it’s some kind of wormwood spirit. Very high alcohol content. It’s popular in Eastern Europe. Well, all over Europe now. It’s sort of becoming a fad here in the States as well. But besides the alcohol effect, absinthe is supposed to contain small traces of, if memory serves, a substance … well, a drug called Thujone from the wormwood. Wormwood extract ingested in any significant quantity is very toxic, like drinking turpentine. Thujone’s hallucinogenic. But the amount allowed in absinthe, I’ve read, is very slight; its reputation for causing a hallucinogenic effect, beyond mere intoxication from its high alcohol content, is highly overstated to the point of near wives’ tale. The ‘buzz’ one gets from drinking absinthe in moderate to heavy consumption, in common vernacular I believe, is colorfully referred to as, ‘Chasing the Green Fairy’!”
By the raised eyebrows and the surprised expression on Officer Parker’s face, Ian knew his knowledge on the subject required some explanation. “I spent some time years ago in Europe, mainly in Scotland, doing some zoological work around the Lochs.”
Officer Parker was impressed nonetheless. “That’s the stuff all right. He’s peddling that green shit in his bar.” Ian slowly shook his head and flashed Officer Parker a look of disgust, clearly intent on indicating to Officer Parker his sympathy to both the police department and the town’s predicament.
Officer Parker paused for a few seconds to collect his thoughts, then continued. “Ian, just to keep the record straight, I know some things about you. For instance, I already knew that years ago you were in Scotland chasing after that Loch Ness Monster or some such crap. Doing your, at that time … job. I’ve been informed that people who go around looking for things like Big Foot and the Loch Ness Monster, and that … that Moth Man for that matter are sometimes referred to as cryptozoologists. Typically assumed to be pseudo-science. One that’s generally thought to attract mainly hoaxsters and crazies.
“You didn’t think we were gonna even consider entering into any type of cooperative arrangement with just anyone, did you? But I also know you’re different. The exception to the rule. For instance, I know that over the years, you’ve investigated Big Foot throughout the Pacific Northwest, and in doing so have actually debunked a lot of hoaxes along the way. And you’re the guy who once got a lot of press and were famous for a time for catching some thought-to-be-extinct fish off, I believe …”
Ian interrupted, “Madagascar. We found it in the waters off of Madagascar.”
Officer Parker continued, “Yeah … right. Anyway, I know more about you than that. Like the terrible thing that happened to your wife and daughter. Very sorry for your loss, by the way.”
Ian didn’t reply or look in anyway surprised by all that Officer Parker knew about him. It was the police that he was dealing with, after all. He fully expected that his background would be checked into regardless of the recommendation from Sheriff Charlie Redtail.
Ian opened the file folder and started skimming some of its contents before he commented, “Well, this will help me get up to speed and maybe help with some direction.”
Officer Parker smiled slightly and nodded just as slightly in agreement. “Okay, Ian. Since I’ve been calling you by your first name, I want you to return the favor. My name’s Ned.” Officer Ned Parker put out his right hand. The two men shook hands.
“Ian, I’m not here to tell you how to conduct your business.” Officer Parker paused as if to collect his though
ts. Ian thought to himself how much he hated open-ended, trite, semi-reassuring platitudes.
Officer Parker continued, “It’s your business. I mean you investigate this thing any way you see fit, as long as it doesn’t break any of the laws that count. But my dime-store advice that’s worth about a plug nickel’s this. I’d start by coloring your hair dark. Black would be best. And maybe visit our Goodwill store downtown and pick up some clothes that don’t make you look like a stockbroker on his day off or anything that’d make you look like a used car salesman, especially for when you visit the club. Remember, it’s called The Morgue. Maybe for good reason. If you’ve got a laptop or smart phone, or a tablet, you can Google for the look of a Goth clubber easily enough.”
Ian replied, “I … Right now, I don’t have a computer, but I pretty much know the look you’re talking about. I’ll maybe go to an Internet café or a library and get online. I’ve been meaning to pick up another computer ever since mine completely crashed a while back. I just haven’t got around to it yet.”
Parker looked directly into Ian’s eyes. “Well anyway, I’ll bet that Chief Mooney referred to Salizzar and his club-goers as Satanists or some type of cult. From what I’ve been able to dig up on Salizzar and his club, the place is a nightclub for those underground Gothic types and for wanna-be vampire role players and generally fucked-up clubbers. You’ve no doubt heard of the types that hang out at those – usually in big cities – underground counterculture occult clubs. Club goers that cut a willing donor and drink small quantities of their blood to supposedly get some kind of physiological high. You know, all that master-slave sadomasochistic bullshit! Well, anyway, the very idea of it … ever since that article appeared just a couple days ago in the Oregonian – even just uttering the word vampire – and the chief goes nuts! He’s made it plenty clear that any officer he hears using the “V” word, after being fired, would be lucky to get a job working security for Wal-Mart. I suspect it was that article in the Oregonian that brought you to us in the first place.” Ian looked directly at Officer Parker as he half-grinned and gave a quarter nod, silently indicating that was a fact.
“So far, due to our office having some limited influence with our local paper, the Daily Astorian, they haven’t gone so far as to label these as anything so fantastic, but due to the number and the nature of the killings, I fear it’s just a matter of time.”
Ian understood why Chief Mooney did not want the press spinning and printing anything for the public to read that would even remotely draw a connection to any possible vampire-cult murderous activities. The spread of any such rumor, even if it had a ringing of truth behind it, could cause massive panic and even the possibility of an angry mob looking to exact revenge outside of the law on Salizzar and his people.
Ian silently mulled over the concept of the murders being connected in any way to Satanists. That notion had been around so long that it had become its own pop-cultural stereotype, over-sensationalized in film to the extent that the public thought of it as somewhat Charles Manson-y passe. But vampiric slayings? That was another thing altogether.
“Well, Ian, that’s about all I’ve got for now, except your Jeep … It stands out like a sore thumb. Be careful you’re not being followed, especially whenever you leave the club. This is a pretty good place to meet. There’s only one way up and one way down, and you can see everyone coming and going. So unless otherwise notified, let’s use this place to rendezvous as needed.” Officer Parker pointed to a file as he spoke. “Inside that file folder, you’ll see my personal cell phone number. I’ve got yours from the business card that you gave the chief. Oh, and Ian, Chief Mooney told me you pack a piece. A little pea-shooter. A small Beretta. Undercover work can of course be very dangerous, and that could prove handy. Just make damn sure it doesn’t get you into more trouble legal-wise than it’s worth.”
Ian shuddered ever so slightly as he silently reminisced on what he’d been forced to do with it back at Harmony Falls. I never want to have to use “Ole Caretaker” again like that, silver bullets or otherwise. Ian started to collect all of the material and put his hand on the inside car-door handle.
“Oh, one more thing.” Parker opened his glove box and retrieved a fat, white business-sized envelope and handed it to Ian. “This is some seed money. That club, what with the cost of getting in and drinks and such, won’t be cheap. Neither will picking up some new rags and whatever else that’ll help you look the part. Also, Ian, just ‘cause this guy Salizzar or one or more of his freak clubbers is our primary suspect, keep in mind it could be someone else entirely. Could be someone like maybe a religious nut-job who thinks he’s doing God’s work by getting rid of the trash in this town and is trying to make it look like Salizzar’s behind it all. I mean, the fit’s so obvious. Maybe too obvious! Sometimes I wonder if we’re being overzealous regarding concentrating so hard just on Salizzar. But rest assured we aren’t ruling out anyone who fits the profile, so to speak. We’re actively looking into all the angles. We’ve already had plenty of the typical phone-ins and drop-ins at the station by whackos claiming they’re our man or woman. Plus, tons of bullshit leads. None of them at all credible on any level, just the typical mental cases. But still, it’s been my experience that where there’s smoke, there’s usually fire. I’m pretty confident the smart money’s on Salizzar or one or more of his cronies. That or someone that frequents that club. There’s where we’re gonna solve this. All of the victims so far … they fit the assumable age demographic of clubbers. Most so far have been young, twenty-something women. A couple were runaways, prostitutes. All out-of-towners. Again, so far. The bodies have all been recovered within a mile of the club, usually so messed up we’ve had to rely on dental records to make positive identifications of the ones we could.”
Ian replied, “Thanks, uh … Ned. And yeah, I agree. Though one thing seems especially strange.”
Officer Parker interjected, “What’s that?”
Ian cleared his throat and continued. “Why this town? I mean apparently, up till now, he’s been a big city operator.”
Parker shrugged at that but then replied, “Maybe it’s ‘cause of our deep-water port, which would give immediate access to ocean-going vessels perfect for smuggling drugs or, more likely, body parts and organs. There’s that, and our small size, meaning limited police resources, yet our relatively close proximity to Portland and Seattle; it makes us a perfect distribution center for – and I say it again – drug trafficking and/or peddling human blood and organs on the black market. The club’s probably just a front. You know, like a fishing lure, bait for a trap. Or, a money laundry. Hell, likely both. We may be just a bit lacking in certain aspects of law enforcement, but our strength around here’s our near immediate access to the Coast Guard. And they’ve already been alerted to keep an extra eye on boats going to and from Salizzar’s place. They’re watching for scuba-divers that may attempt to rendezvous with ships dropping off or picking up cargo intentionally deposited into the river. The Coast Guard knows that Salizzar’s club is a place of high interest to us regarding potential smuggling or worse. Who knows? They might even be in the white slavery market. I wouldn’t rule it out, especially with his Eastern European connections. Anyway, we’ve had to invent every reason in the book to randomly pull over and check out various booze and food delivery trucks to the place. So far, we’ve been denied by the court to do any wire-tapping, but we’re making progress on that. I think we’re getting close. We’ve put undercover officers in the place a couple-few times, but male or female, I think they’re made before they even entered the club. Like I said, with the kind of money Salizzar’s been spreading around town, the walls of the station just might have ears.”
Ian knew that the police’s efforts and Officer Parker’s theories all had merit. They made perfectly good, logical sense as very real possibilities to consider.
Officer Parker suddenly seemed to run out of verbal fuel. Ian could tell that for the time being, there was nothing furthe
r to say. Ian looked directly into Parker’s eyes and slowly nodded, intent on letting him know that he understood the gravity and copious danger involved with proceeding with his private investigation of Salizzar and The Morgue nightclub. Ian maintained a good poker face, but the truth was he was starting to get an icy cold feeling in places other than his feet.
Without another word spoken by either man, Ian climbed out of Officer Parker’s car and started walking back to his Jeep. Ian heard Parker start his car. He turned around briefly and watched for a moment as Parker backed his car out of its parking spot, then turned and began driving off, exiting the parking lot in the only direction there was to go. Ian thought to himself, One way up … one way down.
Scout had been waiting patiently for about twenty minutes. Ian reached into his denim work-style jacket pocket and retrieved the filled-to-obesity business-sized white envelope. Leaning up against the side of his Jeep, Ian looked with astonishment at the contents, all one hundred dollar bills. He then unlocked his Jeep, climbed into the driver’s seat, and began counting his cash as he spoke out loud to Scout. “Holy cow-pie. How much did Charlie tell these guys is my going rate? There must be … twenty-eight … twenty-nine … thirty. There’s three thousand bucks here. I tell ya boy, nowadays, it’s not so much what you know, it’s who you know. That, and whatever you’ve done lately. That’s what makes or breaks ya.” Ian looked upwards like he was talking to the heavens themselves and exclaimed, almost shouting, “THANK YOU, CHARLIE!”
CHAPTER 4
Once Bitten
Not five minutes had gone by since Officer Ned Parker’s return to the station. He was just leaving the chief’s office, having given Chief Mooney an update on his and Ian’s intended future black-op investigatory activities, when all at once a heavy-set upper-middle-aged black woman came bursting into the front door of the police station. She was in near hysterics as she stood wildly wide-eyed just inside the threshold of the foyer, desperately attempting to catch her breath.
Red Tide: The Flavel House Horror / Vampires of the Morgue (The Ian McDermott, Ph.D., Paranormal Investigator Series Book 2) Page 5
