Donors

by C. M. Sutter

  “Just let me die. It’ll be easier on you. The cancer will have its way. It’ll kill me no matter what. You’re only prolonging the inevitable.”

  “Don’t even say that. I promised to take care of you when Dad walked out on us. I’m not going back on my word. I’ll get you through this.” He steadied her against the bed and stood. “I’ll be back in a second.”

  Sam disappeared down the hallway. Minutes later he returned with a warm, damp washcloth cupped in his hand. He folded it twice lengthwise. “Here, let me put this cloth on your forehead. It’ll feel good.” He placed the cloth above her brows and pressed it against her skin.

  A brief smile crossed her lips. “Thank you, honey. You try really hard.”

  “I need to help you into bed.”

  A slurping sound indicated that Adeline had finished her juice. “I’m afraid I wet the floor. I’m so sorry, Sam. Cleaning up after me isn’t your job.”

  He waved away her comment. “I’ll get you a dry nightgown. Don’t worry about it.”

  Once Adeline was changed and lying in bed, Sam took the empty juice box and got her another. He punched the straw into the hole and set the juice on the roller table. He took a seat in the chair next to her. “Has the dizziness gone away?”

  “It’s better, but lying here helps. So does the juice. Thank you, honey.”

  “No worries. I’m going to make you dinner. How about a bowl of chicken noodle soup?”

  “That sounds good.”

  “Okay, you rest, and I’ll be back soon.” Sam closed the bedroom door and checked the blood supply in the refrigerator. Four bags remained in the door, and two were earmarked to sell. He was already a month behind with the electric bill, among others. If he didn’t catch up, the power would be turned off at the next billing cycle, and the blood supply, if there was any, would be ruined. After dinner and another blood draw from each girl, Sam would scour the local vampire rave sites on his own computer. He couldn’t risk leaving Adeline home alone again in her weakened condition.

  Chapter 45

  The short ding indicated that the elevator doors were ready to part. I glanced up at the lit numbers. We had reached the first floor. We walked down the long corridor that had more hallways branching off the main one. Through a secured and gated door, we entered another wing with the city jail. Sullivan signed us in at the counter. We passed by the visitors’ waiting room, where a TV hung on the wall and several snack machines were lined up next to each other. We crossed through a second set of gated doors into the actual jail area where inmates were held. On the left corner of the hallway was a plaque that read Interview Rooms, and an arrow on it pointing ahead. Three doors stood side-by-side, and they were marked as Observation Room 1, 2, and 3. Beyond the observation rooms—on the other side of the one-way mirrors—were the usual interrogation rooms, or boxes as we fondly called them. Around the left corner were two holding cells, each a twenty-foot-long by fifteen-foot-wide space. Three women sat in the cell to the right. Eight men waited on a bench in the other cell.

  I cupped my hand and leaned closer to Sullivan and J.T. “Let’s get the women’s interviews out of the way. Since there are three of them and three interrogation rooms, nobody will realize we wanted to talk to the blondes first. They’ll just think we’re questioning the women before them.” I jerked my head to my right. “We’ll pull the blond men out after we talk to those ladies.”

  Sullivan rubbed his chin and stared at the women. “But one woman is a brunette.”

  “No matter,” I said. “They all have to be interviewed, anyway. What’s one brunette in the beginning? We’ll make it fast unless she has something interesting to say.”

  Sullivan waved the guard over. “Let’s get these ladies into the interrogation rooms.”

  “Yes, sir.” The guard opened the cell and hustled the women out one by one. Each woman was placed in an interrogation room, and the door was locked behind them.

  Sullivan jerked his chin at Putnam. “Get Detectives Andrews and Fitch down here to help with the interviews. Stone, Jeffries, Christopher, and Mills can help me cover the observation rooms.”

  “You got it, boss.” Putnam headed to the nearest desk phone and picked up the receiver.

  “Either of you have a preference?” Sullivan asked.

  “Nope, I’m good with anybody linked up across from me,” I said. J. T. echoed my sentiment.

  “Okay, then. Let’s get that camera equipment set up and head in.

  A half hour later, I sat across from Chris Brant, a twenty-year-old blonde who wore a huge chip on her shoulder—just my type. “So, Chris, why the vampire world? You never considered joining a group a little less controversial like the Girl Scouts?”

  “No. They’re my brothers and sisters.”

  “Literally?”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  I stared at her. “Right. Okay, let’s move on to the questions you may understand. What time did you get to Dasher Point Tuesday night, and why that place?”

  “We do what Alex, I mean, Massimo, says. He said to go to Dasher Point, and we did. We followed the van in our cars.”

  “What time did you arrive?”

  “The blood ceremony was at eleven. You pigs were watching us. You know damn well what time it was.”

  “I asked what time you went there. Please listen to my words. Are you capable of doing that?”

  She stared at the table and didn’t respond. The tension in the room was thick enough to slice.

  I slapped the table, and she jumped.

  I smiled. “I thought you drifted off there for a minute. Are you on something? Do we need to piss test you?”

  “I want to leave. This is harassment.”

  “You don’t have a clue what harassment is. I’d suggest answering my questions or you’ll be finding a cozy place on that hard cell floor to spend the night. I don’t have all day, either. I asked what time you got to Dasher Point.”

  She spewed her response. “I don’t know, around ten thirty, I guess.”

  “Tell me the minute-by-minute playback.”

  “We met at the Kwik Stop gas station on Evanston. Massimo was in the lead van, and we all pulled in behind him and waited until everyone got there.”

  “And that was?”

  “Tenish.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then we followed the van to Dasher Point.”

  I rearranged myself on the hard steel chair. “Go on.”

  “We got there, and Massimo said to start gathering wood for the fire. Some of us did that while others found rocks and bricks to make the fire ring.”

  “So you’re responsible?”

  She smirked her one-word answer. “Yeah.”

  “What was Massimo doing all that time?”

  “Standing around.”

  “Did you see anything unusual? Did anyone go in the building?”

  “No, I mean, I don’t think so. That place is creepy. It looked like everyone stood outside and waited for the fire to build up. It was cold that night.”

  “Did anyone bring anything out of the vehicles?”

  “The table, chairs, and the ritual supplies.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “No.”

  A knock sounded on the glass. I pushed back my chair and stood. “I’ll be right back.” I walked out and closed the door behind me then entered the observation room where Sullivan sat.

  “She doesn’t know shit,” he said.

  “What’s the word from the other rooms?”

  “About the same. I think we should move on to the guys.”

  “Yeah, I agree.” I folded my arms across my chest and looked at the floor.

  “Is something cooking upstairs, Monroe?”

  “Yeah, I think we can speed up this process, but we should still talk to all of the blond men. Get Reynolds or a patrol officer out to the Kwik Stop station on Evanston. They can pull up the parking lot footage from Tuesday night. If everyone met there
at ten o’clock like Chris said, and it’s nearly a half-hour drive to Dasher Point from there, at least we’ll know when they arrived.”

  “True, but even if they got there at ten thirty, they still had time to hide Molly’s body in the building.”

  I tried to rub the frown lines out of my forehead. “I don’t know about that, Captain. She was well hidden under that rubble. That in itself would take nearly a half hour to do. We got there shortly after ten thirty ourselves.”

  Sullivan turned to Mills. “Get somebody to the Kwik Stop station immediately. I want them to check the videos from Tuesday night beginning at nine o’clock.”

  “I’m on it.” Mills hurried out and closed the door behind him.

  “Okay, let’s just continue with the blond men.”

  “What do you want done with the women?”

  “Cut them loose.”

  I nodded then walked back to the interrogation room and released Chris Brant. She had papers to sign, and I had the guard make a copy of her driver’s license before I released her.

  After opening the door to the main hallway, I had someone show her out. “I’d suggest staying off private property from now on. Next time you’ll be looking at a hefty fine along with an overnight stay or two.”

  I heard a grumble mixed with several curse words before the door closed at her back. The other two women were released shortly after Chris.

  “Take fifteen minutes and grab some coffee and a bite to eat. I’m sure we’ve all missed dinner. We’ll start fresh with the men”—Sullivan looked at his watch—“at eight o’clock.”

  “Got it, sir. I’m going to run upstairs and see how far along the guys are with the DNA match for Molly.”

  Sullivan nodded and headed to the snack machines.

  I exited the elevator and took the west hallway to the forensics lab. I pulled the handle on their door. Chad Nellis turned and gave me a nod.

  “You’re still here?” I asked. “There is a night shift, isn’t there?”

  “Yeah, but the captain said he needed that DNA compared tonight, so I stuck around. I wanted to follow it from start to finish.”

  I gave him an appreciative pat on the back. “Dedication to the max. So, speaking of Molly’s DNA test, how’s it coming?”

  He glanced at the clock. “We should have the results in about five minutes.”

  “Perfect timing. Mind if I grab a seat and wait?”

  “Nope, I’ll sit with you. I’ve been running the prints on that receipt, but nothing has popped yet.”

  “What receipt?”

  He tipped his head at the bagged slip of paper on the desk next to him. “That one. One of the patrol officers brought it in from Dasher Point. I thought they showed you everything they found there.”

  “Hell no. I don’t even think the captain saw it or was told about it.”

  “Well, like I said, nothing has popped.”

  “Who found it?”

  “Officer Martin brought it in. He’s a rookie, though, and maybe misunderstood the protocol.”

  I grabbed a pair of latex gloves from the dispenser. “May I?”

  “Yeah, no sweat.”

  I carefully opened the sealed bag and slid out the receipt. The store name listed at the top was Second Life Resale. An address and phone number were printed below the name. Everything about the receipt seemed sadly ironic. A dead girl had been placed in a makeshift tomb at a location where so-called vampires were celebrating their second-life ritual—drinking human blood to sustain their entire existence, at least in their messed-up minds.

  The receipt showed two upholstered armchairs were purchased late Tuesday. I assumed that Alex or somebody in his group had dropped the receipt that night at Dasher Point. I took a picture of it then slipped my phone into my back pocket. “You said no hits on the prints, though, right?”

  Chad shook his head. “Nothing in the system.”

  I gave that some thought and remembered Sullivan’s description of Alex the first time he spoke of him. He’d told us Alex had an extensive rap sheet. The prints couldn’t be his. They would have shown a match when Chad searched the database.

  “Here we go. The DNA comparison test is complete.”

  I waited anxiously as Chad looked over the results.

  “No match, Jade.”

  “You’re absolutely sure?”

  “There’s no human error involved. It’s all science. None of the blood residue from the bottles matches Molly’s DNA.”

  My shoulders dropped with disappointment. We were back to square one. “Okay.” I sighed and gave Chad a smile for his effort. “I appreciate your help. Now go home and have a beer.”

  He flashed his pearly whites. “Yes, ma’am. Actually that sounds really good about now.”

  “Yeah, and I wish I could join you.”

  Chapter 46

  J.T. had already begun the interrogation in room one with a guy named Steven Dawson. Steven was the first of three blond men to be interviewed that night. I stepped into the observation room and saw Sullivan leaning back in a chair, his hands folded behind his head. He was watching the interview through the glass. He turned and nodded when I entered then cracked his neck from side to side.

  “Captain, I have to discuss some things with you and J.T.”

  Sullivan pushed himself forward off the chair and knocked on the window.

  J.T. stood and told Steven to hang tight. A few seconds later, J.T. opened the door behind us and stepped in. “What’s up?”

  Sullivan said, “Not sure yet. Jade, go ahead.”

  “First off, Molly’s DNA doesn’t match any from the bottles.”

  Sullivan rolled his eyes and let out a long breath. “Guess we struck out on that one. Just because they didn’t drink her blood that night doesn’t mean they aren’t responsible for her death, though.”

  J.T. cracked the seal on a bottle of water sitting on the counter and took a deep swig. “And Alex did say they store their own blood. That sounds like he may have some at his house. I think we need to get a warrant to search his premises.”

  Sullivan agreed. “I’ll make the call.”

  “One more thing, and it may be insignificant to the case, but patrol found a receipt on the ground at Dasher Point during their search.”

  “And this is just coming to light seven hours later?”

  I shrugged. “Here.” I opened the gallery to the picture I had taken and passed my phone to J.T. “Chad said he checked the fingerprints from the receipt. Nothing came up in the database.”

  “Then it can’t be Alex that handled it.”

  “Right, but twenty-five other people could have. The point is, two armchairs were purchased on Tuesday from the resale shop listed at the top of the receipt.”

  “Makes sense,” J.T. said. “Those must be the chairs they had out at the bonfire.”

  “That’s what I thought too, and they were armchairs, just not upholstered armchairs.”

  J.T. frowned. “Nah, that’s splitting hairs, Jade. I think they just have it worded wrong.”

  I smirked. “Don’t be so sure. Ask Steven where those chairs came from.”

  “Yeah, okay. Are we done here?”

  Sullivan tipped his chin toward the window. “Go ahead. I’ll get on the warrant after I hear his response.”

  I dropped down in the chair next to Sullivan and cracked open a bottle of water for myself. We watched as J.T. returned to the interrogation room and took his seat across from Steven.

  “So, Steven, why did you guys decide to take a couple of chairs along to your hoedown Tuesday night?”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Chairs—you know, like, that thing you’re sitting on.”

  Steven smirked. “Do you guys go to comedy school before you get your dollar store plastic police badges?”

  I looked at Sullivan and laughed. “He’s pretty funny and quick. Should I go in and slap him upside the head?”

  Sullivan’s jowls jiggled when
he chuckled. “Now who’s being funny? Let’s see how J.T. handles him.”

  J.T. tipped his chair back and crossed his arms over his chest. We couldn’t see his face, but it appeared that the two men were having a stare down. J.T. finally broke the silence in a slow and methodical tone. “Don’t make me ask you a second time.”

  “Shit, he’s scaring me,” I said with a grin. “I wish I had a bag of popcorn right now.”

  We turned our focus back to J.T. and Steven.

  Steven finally spoke up. “Fine. I don’t know what the hell you’re getting at, but those chairs and that table go with us everywhere. They’re part of our ritual. As far as I know, those chairs were part of a dining room set Massimo’s grandma gave him years ago. He’s had them as long as I’ve known him.”

  “And how long has that been?” J.T. asked.

  “Three years.”

  Chapter 47

  Sam balled his hands into fists and ground them into his red, swollen eyes. Adeline was fading. She knew it, and he did too. She was all he had, and now she was dying. He couldn’t fix her no matter how hard he tried. They were both exhausted. It was just a matter of time—weeks, maybe, if they were lucky—but if he was a realist, probably only days. Sam was angry. Life for the last twenty years had been cruel and unfair.

  Another threatening letter had arrived that day. Power would be turned off soon, and he knew eviction notices were on the horizon.

  Fix this, fix that, pay the overdue bills—blah, blah, blah.

  He was sick of it and threw everything into the trash can, but the threats lingered in his mind. He couldn’t sleep at night.

  Sam pulled the wooden lever on the side of the recliner and dropped the footrest. The back came forward, and he rose. With soft steps, he walked down the hallway to Adeline’s room and listened to her labored breathing as she slept. He knew Kristen and Bethany didn’t have long to live, either. He could tell they were in a severely weakened state after the last blood draw that evening. He was lucky to have found viable veins. His own energy was dwindling from lack of sleep, and he didn’t have the ambition to go out and hunt for another woman. Adeline couldn’t be left alone for any length of time. With the cold night and blustery wind, he wasn’t prepared to roam the streets in hopes of snatching a woman walking in the elements.