Blood Crimes: Book One

by Dave Zeltserman

  He stepped out of the shower, moving slowly, gingerly, like an old man trying hard to keep his balance. He dried off quickly and wrapped a towel around his waist. The coffee had finished brewing. Complimentary coffee makers were a necessity these days for any motel he stayed at. He poured a cup and sipped it slowly. When he was done he refilled the mug and brought it over to a desk. He held his head in his hands for a minute until the room stopped swaying, then used his cell phone to call his office. Annie answered and asked him if he checked his email yet.

  “Why, what did you send me?”

  “Jesus, Don, you sound like shit. A late night?”

  “Yeah,” he mumbled between sips of coffee. “I was staking out a location for witnesses. Come on, what is it?”

  “Just check your email. I’ll wait.”

  From the coyness in her voice, he knew she sent him something interesting. The motel offered high-speed Internet access. He plugged in his laptop and brought up his email. It took a minute or so before his eyes could focus and he could read the report Annie sent him about a guy found dead in a Cleveland alleyway, the corpse drained of most of its blood. Annie was able to talk to one of the detectives on the case, and he had leaked to her that it looked like a sledgehammer had been used to cave in the victim’s mouth and jaw. According to the cop there was nothing left of the lower part of the dead man’s face. Some more digging by Annie found that the victim, Duane Posey, was a known drug dealer and had been suspected of half a dozen sexual assaults, but never convicted. The fact that she got all this together before seven AM New York time impressed the hell of out of Hayes.

  “It looks like Jim is in Cleveland,” Annie said.

  “Maybe. Maybe it’s just someone with a grudge. Could be a boyfriend of one of the women he assaulted. Taking a sledgehammer to someone’s face?”

  “The blood, Don, the blood. And the body left in an alley. Remember, the throat was cut also.”

  “Yeah I know, you’re right, it sounds like his signature.” Hayes stopped to try to get his brain working. Jesus, he was having trouble concentrating on the smallest things. “Here’s what I want you to do. Fax or overnight our drawing of Jim’s gal pal to every low-priced fleabag motel in Cleveland and the outlying areas. Offer a reward of ten grand to anyone who helps us find her.”

  “Okay, but you realize you’re going to end up with dozens of false leads?”

  “As long as it generates one good one. How about booking me the next flight you can to Cleveland, along with a rental car and motel room?”

  “You got it, Chief. I’ll call you back.”

  Annie hung up.

  Whatever rum and ecstasy hangover Hayes had been suffering was gone. It happened so quickly, but all at once his mind felt cool, clear, the wool sock gone from his brain. He found himself tapping his foot anxiously while waiting for Annie’s return call. The more he thought about it the murder did sound like one of Jim’s, and it happened just last night. From the sound of it it was a fluke that the body was found so quickly—the cops were running a prostitution sweep and were checking out alleyways known for activity. More likely than not, Jim and that girl were still in Cleveland, and would be for the next few days. Fuck. This was the break he’d been waiting for.

  Annie called back with his flight and rental car information. The first flight she was able to book him on wasn’t leaving for several hours. She told him she’d have a hotel reservation for him later, and would get right on sending out the mystery girl’s drawing. After she hung up, Hayes debated whether to call Serena. He’d been hoping that he would have to rush to the airport and not have any time to make the call. He just did not want to talk to her. He thought of a dozen reasons why he shouldn’t call her, but it came down to she was the client. As much as he wanted to find Jim, he couldn’t make it a personal matter, it had to stay business. He had to do what was right. Reluctantly he dialed Serena’s number. His hearted was thumping when she picked up.

  “I apologize for calling so early,” he told her, “but it seems likely that Jim is in Cleveland.”

  “Donald, darling, that is wonderful news. I don’t understand, though. You sent out that girl’s drawing so quickly? And somebody has already recognized her?”

  “Not exactly.” Hayes wiped a hand across his forehead and realized once again Serena was making him sweat. He told Serena about the dead man found in a Cleveland back alley, his voice sounding distant in his head, almost as if it were coming from an echo chamber. There was a long silence from Serena, then she coolly asked him to email her the report on the dead man and that she would call him back after she had had a chance to read it. After she hung up, Hayes forwarded Annie’s email to her, then sat dreading Serena’s return call. When she called back, she told him in the same cool voice from earlier that he should go to Cleveland. There were no longer any mention about coincidences or misunderstanding on his part.

  “I’ve already booked my flight,” he said. “I should be there in three hours.”

  “Good… And how do you plan to find Jim?”

  “Old fashioned shoe leather,” he said. “I’ll be checking out every fleabag motel and motor lodge in the city.”

  Serena asked him to call her later with any news. She reminded him that she still hadn’t received a fax showing a drawing of Jim’s girlfriend, and hung up. Hayes sat frozen for a long moment, holding the cell phone, an uneasiness working its way into the pit of his stomach. He was overwhelmed with the impulse to just say the hell with this. A little voice whispered in his brain that he should get as far away from Serena and Cleveland as he could, but fuck it, he was too damn close to Jim to give up. He convinced himself that his nerves being shot were just a side effect of the ecstasy. Yeah, Serena might not be happy that he confirmed his suspicions about the killings, or at least that he suspected Jim of being involved in them, but so what? As long as he did his job, and kept it confidential—which he would do with the absence of any solid evidence, what the fuck was she going to complain about? And even if she did, so what? He was only doing his job.

  He got up, dressed and packed his suitcase. He planned to head straight to the airport and pick up some doughnuts and more coffee once he got there. His next stop, the ‘mistake on the lake’.

  For some reason the word “mistake” stuck in his mind.

  * * * * *

  Serena was thoroughly annoyed. She had already called Metcalf back two other times.

  “How come our connection is so shitty?” she asked.

  “I already told you, dear, I’m in the back of a van parked in a San Jose garage.”

  “Metcalf, darling, please watch this little snitty tone of yours. It doesn’t become you. If I heard you say that before do you think I’d be asking again? And why are you in San Jose?”

  There was some soft static which Serena realized was Metcalf sighing, which exasperated the hell out of her. Condescending prick. He told her it didn’t matter.

  “I think it does matter, darling, especially if you’re there to enlist a new recruit, which would be terribly sanctimonious of you given the way you make me grovel for your permission every time I’d like to add someone to my little family. Someone far less tolerant than me on hearing that would understandably do something justifiably spiteful, like cutting off all of your funding.”

  “Look, Serena, what I do is for the common good. It’s not like I’m acting like you and infecting every hot looking girl because I like the way her pussy tastes.”

  Serena’s face had colored to a pale pink. Her body shook slightly as she held the cell phone to her ear. Wilfred moved behind her to massage her shoulders, but she jerked herself free and elbowed him hard in the jaw. The blow would’ve been enough to knock a normal person’s head off. Wilfred backed away, massaging the area where he’d been hit. Gregory started to laugh, caught Wilfred’s angry glare, and zipped it. Zach mouthed to Serena that Metcalf was a dick and that she shouldn’t let him get to her. She was oblivious, a small inferno raging in her eyes
.

  “Explain to me how this is for the common good.”

  Metcalf sighed again. “He’s a scientist. We need him to help us with the cure.”

  “I’ve got news for you, Metcalf, darling, not everyone gives a shit about your cure. Some of us are quite happy with the way we are…Hello?...Are you still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m still here. Serena, you’re right. I should’ve run it by you. I’m sorry. We’re getting off topic. Let’s get back to that dead guy in Cleveland. To me, it doesn’t sound like Jim’s work.”

  “Oh, it’s Jim alright.”

  “I don’t think so. He doesn’t smash in his victims’ faces like that. That’s an act of rage and hate. With Jim, it’s almost an act of sadness and melancholy. I bet the bleeding heart even sheds a few tears over each of his victims.”

  “You think you fucking know everything? I’ve got news for you, darling, you’re not all-knowing and all-powerful. Jim’s in Cleveland right now, and we have a deal!”

  “Calm down. I know we have a deal, but you don’t know Jim killed that guy.”

  “Oh, I think I do.”

  There was another long pause. Then, “This isn’t worth arguing over. Your PI is heading to Cleveland, right?”

  “That’s what I told you.”

  “Fine. Let’s wait and see if he finds him.”

  “And when he does?”

  “If he does then I’ll go to Cleveland as promised. In the meantime get yourself under control. The odds are that someone else did this killing. And for God’s sake, don’t do something stupid.”

  “Like what, darling?”

  Another soft, static-like sigh. “You know full well what I mean.”

  “No, darling, I’m afraid I don’t. I’m too stupid to know what you mean. We’re not all as brilliant and razor-sharp as you.”

  “Cut the shit, okay, Serena? You know exactly what I mean. Don’t go to Cleveland. We don’t need the attention. Just stay put until you hear from your PI. If Jim’s there, I’ll keep my word.”

  “We don’t need the attention? But it’s okay for you to snatch famous scientists.”

  “Jesus Christ. We’ve been over this…”

  Serena swallowed back what she was going to say. Instead, her voice fell back to its normal sing-songish lilt, the crackling glass quality from a few seconds earlier gone.

  “Don’t worry, darling,” she said, laughing. “I won’t be doing anything to get us in trouble. I’ll stay put in Manhattan. There’s a new club opening tonight that I desperately want to go to, so don’t worry.”

  “Good. Have fun with your opening.”

  “Oh, you know I always do.”

  Serena made sure to hang up before him, not wanting to give Metcalf the opportunity to get the last word in. She stood frozen, her eyes hard angry slits.

  “Who the fuck does he think he is?” she said, her crackling glass voice back. “The bastard thinks his word is God?”

  Zach gave her a sympathetic smile. “Metcalf’s been on this God-complex bullshit for years, but the guy’s nothing but an asshole. Let’s just be thankful he’s long gone from New York. So what’s next?”

  Serena’s face scrunched up as she considered that. She caught Wilfred sullenly rubbing his jaw and her face relaxed into an apologetic smile.

  “Oh, darling, I did that, didn’t I? I wasn’t even aware.”

  “That’s okay,” Wilfred mumbled, still pouting.

  Serena moved over to him and touched his injured cheek, then her fingertips moved lightly down his chest before sliding into his pants. While she was showing Wilfred how apologetic she was, she stopped for a moment to tell Zach that they were going to Cleveland.

  “Sure, I’ll book us a flight for tonight,” Zach said.

  “No need to wait, darling. Arrange for a limo pickup. That way we can bring everything we need with us.”

  “We could do the same with a private flight.”

  “I know but there’s no reason to wait. Would you be a dear and arrange a pickup? Oh, and Gregory, I’m going to need you to stay behind so our little inmates here don’t run wild.”

  Gregory made a bitter face at that. “Why me?” he asked.

  “I need someone I trust to watch over our little hive, but Gregory, darling, it wasn’t nice of you to take pleasure out of poor Wilfred’s discomfort. Families don’t do that.”

  Gregory nodded, his eyes lowered in shame. Serena turned back to Wilfred to finish making things up to him.

  An hour later a Lincoln Continental limousine with darkened windows and shades drawn parked in front of Serena’s converted hotel. Zach, decked out in the hot hazy August New York morning in a head to toe leather outfit, dark wraparound shades, and a NY Mets baseball cap, loaded the limo with luggage, several coolers, and a duffel bag packed with five antique Samurai swords that were bought through auction and made by the famous sword maker, Hizen Tadahiro. Once the limo was loaded, Serena dashed from the hotel to the Lincoln, along with two martial arts experts that Serena had infected two years earlier in preparation for Jim being found. Wilfred and Zach joined them. Gregory stood in a darkened doorway brooding. The limo pulled away from the curb and Gregory waved half-heartedly at it before heading back into the building.

  Chapter 7

  Duane Posey’s murder was a big story in Cleveland. Partly it was because of the grisly nature of it; his jaw and mouth completely obliterated and most of his blood gone, but the interest was also because of his long history of violence and suspected sexual assaults. When Carol was out getting breakfast, Jim turned on one of the local news channels and caught the story. According to the reporter at the murder scene—an attractive twenty-something blond whose wavy shoulder-length hair appeared shellacked, and who looked even downright diminutive compared to Carol—made sure to keep a dour frown frozen on her face as she reported how Posey had been arrested for over a half-dozen rapes during the past five years, but that the charges were dropped in each case. She didn’t spell it out, but it was clear that the victims had been intimidated to where they were afraid to cooperate with the DA. A police spokesman interviewed talked about how this was a bad guy and even though the streets might be safer without him, no one had the right to take the law into their own hands and that the Cleveland police were going to aggressively pursue his murderer. He hinted that given Posey’s violent past, this was more likely a revenge or drug killing than something ghoulish, but he had no explanation about what had happened to the dead man’s blood. There was no mention of the bar Carol had met Posey at, and thank God, nothing about Carol. But shit, what could they have, anyway? Maybe Posey had accosted Carol in that bar, but he accosted another woman there also. Still, Jim couldn’t help feeling like he had a dodged a bullet. He and Carol had been getting careless. Most of the bodies he fed off of were disposed of afterwards, the ones that were left behind he made sure wouldn’t be found for days, and that there would be at least a plausible explanation for what had happened to the missing blood—such as it washing down a sewer grate.

  The story ended and the next story up was about the local baseball team’s recent six-game losing streak. Jim turned off the set. He sure as fuck did dodge a bullet. The police found Posey’s body only an hour after the killing thanks to a prostitution sweep. Forget about how they could’ve been entering that alley while Jim was feeding; with them there so quickly after the killing all they would’ve had to find was one homeless person hidden in a doorway who had spotted Posey grabbing Carol and that could’ve led them to finding out about Carol and Posey meeting in that bar, and then a police drawing of Carol being splashed across the news. The thought of that made him wince. While there was never any risk of these predators hurting Carol—he was never more than a heartbeat away from her—he had been in denial over the police somehow tying her any of his killings. He made a decision then. He wasn’t going to use Carol as bait anymore.

  He had quit smoking when he joined the Army, but right then he could’ve used a cigarette. Or
more accurately, he could’ve chain smoked through a carton. The thought of how close he came to putting Carol in jeopardy left him jittery as hell. Over the last three years he had selfishly rationalized that she wanted to be part of what he did. It wasn’t anything they ever talked about, but he knew that this was tied to her being attacked in Newark; that being involved with killing these predators gave her a release from the anger that she carried. Because of that, he went along with it, but it still wasn’t right for him to include her. Fuck. A shiver went down his spine. Never again. Never fucking again. He knew she was going to fight him tooth and nail over it, but he was never going to subject her to that type of risk again. He would just have to suck it up and stop tormenting himself over what he needed to do. He knew what these people were, he could smell it off of them, fuck his conscience. He would just do what he had to, and be satisfied with knowing that in his own way he was making the world a better place. That police spokesman was full of shit.