They had other suspects, men who fit parts of the profile. They wouldn’t stop pursuing those angles, but for now…
He knocked his knuckles on the wooden table for luck, then handed the file to Charlotte with a sideways glance. “Take a closer look at this,” he said.
She popped it open and began reading without meeting his eyes.
He pushed his chair back and stretched, running his hands through his hair. Everyone took the sign. Geroux started shuffling the files into a neat stack, Sparrow yawned without covering her mouth, Butler closed his laptop. Charlotte alone didn’t move. She had been coy this afternoon, only speaking when spoken to, focused too hard on her work, which he took as a good sign. Maybe she’d taken stock of the situation and realized it wasn’t such a grand idea to be screwing her boss.
She still had her eyes on the file when she finally spoke. “Did you see his current occupation? He’s a photographer at Sears. He’s not supposed to be having contact with kids, but I’ll bet he is. If it’s him, there’s a chance that he’s been stalking his victims through his job. We should have the Homicide guys run through the list of victims and see if any of them had photographs made in the past six months.”
“That’s a good thought. So you concur?”
“All of his previous jobs involved children of some kind. And he’s a good-looking guy—he wouldn’t stand out.” She chewed on her lip for a moment, and Baldwin felt a pang deep in his stomach. “Yes, I concur. I think Mr. Arlen is worth having another conversation with.”
“Not to mention the chemical castration. That would explain why none of the girls had been raped. We always knew he was using the knife as a substitute.”
“We need to give him a second glance.” She handed the file back to Baldwin with a curt nod.
“Then let’s go meet with Goldman and the Fairfax County Homicide team. Let him know we want to take a closer look. At the very least they can get a tail on Arlen, see if he’s doing anything that raises eyebrows.”
Their role in the case was tricky. Normally, it wasn’t their job to identify suspects—just to give the local police an idea of the kind of person to look for. But the pressure was on, and it was all hands on deck.
The phone began to ring just as he finished, and his heart sank. Too late. They were too late.
Charlotte answered without giving it a chance to ring twice. She listened intently.
“What is it?” Baldwin asked, but she just shook her head and motioned him away. The four of them stood stock-still, waiting for her to hang up.
After an endless amount of time, she did. Her face was pale, her amber eyes clouded with anger.
“The Great Falls Police just got a call. Another girl is missing, name is Kaylie Fields.”
Their collective breath let out. Geroux sat back at the table with a grimace. The rest of the team stayed standing, ready, expectant.
“From where?” Baldwin asked.
“Her parents took her and her brother to a nursery to buy some plants for their garden. Right in the middle of downtown Great Falls. She turned a corner and was gone. Of course, there are no cameras at the nursery. He picked his spot well.”
“And we’re sure it’s him?”
“The description of the girl matches. Ten years old, small boned, blond hair. The timing is too perfect. It’s him, all right.”
Baldwin felt his heart rate rise a fraction.
“We need to make a move on this Arlen guy, quickly,” Geroux said.
“Keep looking at everyone, Geroux. We can’t put all our eggs in one basket. But, Sparrow?”
“Yeah, boss?”
“While Geroux finishes these files, you see what you can find out about Arlen. Track his every move. I want all the details of this guy’s history, credit reports, who he talks to, what kind of soap he’s using. He may be using online accounts—you can go work your magic there, too. He started killing five weeks ago. What made him start? If Arlen is our guy, was there something in his recent past that stands out as a good stressor? Talk to Sears—see if he’s been disciplined lately. Look at his close relatives, his exes, anyone and anything that you can find.”
Sparrow smiled at him, careful not to let her teeth show. The front two were crossed a bit, and it gave her fits. He thought it gave her an air of mystery, but she hated the perceived flaw.
“Butler, I’d like you to start cross-referencing the databases. See what you can dig up. There was a three-year lag time between Arlen’s release from prison and the start of these murders. Check through ViCAP and see what other crimes have been committed in this area, and throw in Maryland and West Virginia too, just to be safe.”
“Checking for an escalation pattern, Doc?”
“That’s it exactly. Let’s make sure we didn’t miss anything in the local area.” He smiled at Butler, clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Charlotte and I will go talk to the Homicide guys, let them know what we’re on to. We’ve got a few hours of daylight left. Let’s make the most of them.”
As they left the building, he felt a spark of hope. This might come together after all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Nashville
11:00 a.m.
Taylor and McKenzie left Hillsboro High School with the files of several students, including Juri Edvin, and a list of the kids the counselors had termed Goth. She was surprised to recognize a name on that list—Letha King was a part of the alternative crowd. Taylor couldn’t help but wonder if she was involved.
Could a girl murder her own brother? The answer, unfortunately, was yes. She called Marcus, asked for a meeting with the girl later.
Taylor wanted to go directly to the hospital and have a chat with Juri Edvin, then do a six-pack of like photos and take them to Theo Howell, see if he could pick out the drug dealer he knew as Thorn. It all made sense to Taylor, the idea that Thorn and Juri Edvin were one and the same. And maybe Theo could shed some light on the relationship between his friend Jerry and Jerry’s little sister, Letha, and what Jerry and Brandon Scott had been fighting about.
But as they drove back downtown, her cell rang. It was Marcus.
“That was quick. What’s up?” she asked, driving with one hand. They were in Hillsboro Village, passing Vanderbilt, and she sent a quick prayer toward Brittany Carson.
“We’ve got the man who was at the crime scenes, Keith Johnson? To start, he insists on being called King Barent. And he’s claiming he’s responsible for the murders.”
“Really. Why do you sound so unconvinced?”
She heard him sigh. “I don’t know. He knows some details that haven’t been released, but he might have seen the video online, too.”
“We’ll come there first then. Can you check on Juri Edvin’s status for me? I’m more convinced than ever that he’s the boy named Thorn who’s been pushing the drugs into Hillsboro. Make sure there’s a guard on his room, too. If he tried to kill Brittany Carson once, I don’t want him getting any ideas now that she’s in an even more vulnerable position.”
“Sure. Hey, speaking of that—at the Carson place? There was a small patch of semen found on the bricks outside the bay window. It looks into the den.”
“Semen, huh? My gut was right on the money there. I bet you Mr. Edvin was watching through the windows, masturbating to Brittany Carson’s dying body. That nasty little bastard. I should have let Max chew him to pieces.”
“You want me to send that over to Private Match as well, get DNA from Edvin to look for a match?”
“Yes, please.”
“One more thing. The letter? Tim Davis said to tell you that he thinks the blood came from several different sources. Possibly all the victims. He’s matched blood types to them. Several distinct samples, he said.”
“Jesus. So the symbols were drawn in the victims’ blood?”
“Looks that way.”
“Wow. All right. I’ll see you in a few.”
She hung up the phone and filled McKenzie in. They were nearly to Broadway now
, just a few more minutes to the CJC.
“You look exhausted, LT.”
“I am exhausted. Aren’t you?”
“Sure. But this is an incredibly fascinating case. Witches and vampires and Goths, teenagers possibly murdering their peers, all thrown into a psychotic melting pot. What’s not to like?”
She huffed out a laugh. “I’m glad you can find the intrigue in all this. I just want to piece together the case and find who’s responsible. Let’s go see if the vampire king knows from whence he speaks.”
*
Taylor was surprised by the looks of the man calling himself the vampire king. He was burly in an unfit way, a red-and-blue-striped rugby shirt stretched taut across his belly. His brown hair was mousy and thinned at the top, curling over the collar of his shirt in greasy tangles. His skin was pale and strangely devoid of facial hair—there was no sign of a beard or eyebrows. Brown eyes, not unintelligent, capped off his moon-round face.
She watched him on the video-feed monitor that was running into Interrogation One, assessing. He didn’t seem nervous or excited, just bored. One long finger snaked against his chin, then sauntered casually up to his nose. With a furtive glance at the door, he indelicately picked, then examined the end of his finger. Taylor turned away, mildly repulsed.
McKenzie and Marcus watched with interest. “Amazing. His teeth, he has fangs, too. Though I can’t tell if it’s the mouth from the video. What do you think, LT?”
“Is his finger in his mouth?” she asked.
“No,” McKenzie laughed.
She turned around and looked back to the video.
“I’ll have to see the movie again to be sure, but it could be him. Though it seems to me that the face on the film was thinner—it had a much sharper chin. I’ll talk to him alone to start. You guys observe from here.”
Interrogation One was right next door. She entered the room and Barent jumped to his feet. The movement was so sudden, so surprising that her hand went to her weapon. She unhooked the snap with her middle finger. He backed away from her, hissing.
“Sir, sit down,” she said, voice ringing with authority. He feinted at her, going right, then left, still making the hideous noise that sounded like a strangling cat. The room was small—he’d have to go through her to get out. She heard the door open, but she didn’t take her eyes off Barent. He was staring into her face like she was holding a knife to his jugular. His eyes finally strayed away from hers, and that moment was all she needed. She pounced on him, flipped him around and smashed him face first against the wall. He snapped his jaws at her and she leaned away while he struggled. Then Marcus was next to her, and Barent was in handcuffs and pushed heavily into the chair. He was panting, frustration bleeding off him in waves. Taylor caught her breath and stepped away, letting Marcus secure Barent.
“What is wrong with you?” she yelled.
“Keep her away, keep her away, keep her away, keep her away.” Barent was panicked, sweat dripping off his brow, and she didn’t know what to do except listen to him.
“Detective Wade, join me outside,” she said, then turned. The panting ceased behind her, the door swinging shut. Two seconds later, Marcus came out. The look on his face made her want to giggle, the adrenaline spilling away.
McKenzie met them in the hall.
“What the hell was that about?” she asked.
“I don’t know. He had a completely real and visceral reaction to you.”
“He nearly gave me a heart attack. When he jumped at me I almost shot the idiot. Marcus, was he like this at all before?”
“No. He’s been completely normal. Well, as normal as someone who claims to be a vampire can be.”
They went back to the video feed. Barent was calmed now, his eyes the only thing moving, roving constantly around the room.
“Was there any record of mental illness in his file?” McKenzie asked.
Marcus shook his head. “Not that I saw. Why don’t you let me have a go at him. He’s not reacted badly to me yet.”
“You up for that?” she asked.
“Yeah, just have the Tasers ready in case he freaks out on me.”
They watched him enter the room. Barent started at the noise, but relaxed when he saw Marcus.
“Please, please, please don’t let her in here again.” His body bowed in supplication, his lips quivering in terror.
“She’s just outside, observing,” Marcus said. “What’s the problem?”
“You don’t recognize her? Of course, how could you? You aren’t one of us, you don’t understand. She’s the Bruxa. She’s Lilith, Lilitu. She came to me in the night and drank my blood, turned me into one of her kind. She was my mother. She kills me in all my lives.”
Marcus warily took the chair across from Barent.
“All your lives?”
Barent warmed to his topic with fervor. “We are the reincarnate, young one. We find each other, our spirits moving across the centuries to find safe haven in corporeal bodies. We are traditionally agents of destruction, but some of us have had a powerful reawakening, have found that love will compensate for our sadistic natures. But Lilitu kills all of that. She wishes for us to return to the Old Ways, to feast on the blood of the children and discard the code of ethics put into place by the Sanguinarium.”
“The Sanguinarium?”
“It is our ruling body. Our church. All psy and sang vampires follow a specific code of ethics. We aren’t bloodthirsty monsters driven by our desire for death and destruction. Well, not all of us, anyway. I lead the Vampyre Nation, as I told you before. We are but one subsection of the Sanguinarium—there are many families across the world.”
“Psy versus sang? What’s that?”
Barent warmed to his topic, eyes shining as he spoke. “Psychic versus sanguine. Energy versus blood. Many of us don’t drink blood anymore, we’ve evolved. We can feed off energy. But some still enjoy the sanguine lifestyle. There is precedence for it, after all.”
Marcus glanced up at the camera, the silent message sent to Taylor and McKenzie. Nut. Job.
Taylor tuned him out, turned to McKenzie. “So I’m Lilith?”
“The succubus. The rumors about you are true, apparently. I just didn’t realize men could tell that from your aura.”
“Oh, you’re just hysterical. What do we do with this guy?”
“Listen to him. I don’t know what we can glean, but you never know.”
“You chat with him then, since you speak the language. I’ll stay here. I don’t feel that great.”
“LT, what’s wrong?”
“I feel…like…all my…energy is…gone.” She collapsed into laughter, felt better immediately. There were no such things as vampires. There were strange people in the world, and she’d run into a slew of them on this case. Period, end of story.
“You’re a riot, LT.” He entered the room and she headed back to her office.
A young woman was sitting in the spare chair outside Taylor’s door. There were several other people in the small space, detectives going about their daily work, all keeping a safe distance from the woman. Sidelong glances, lots of throat clearing. When Taylor entered the room, the woman stood, her long black skirt swishing with the effort. Black hair glistened nearly to her waist, thick and coiled. She was small, no more than five foot three, and looked up at Taylor with blue eyes the color of the sea. Taylor felt oddly mesmerized, stopped, at a loss for words.
The woman smiled, held out her hand.
“I am Ariadne,” she said. “I am here to help.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Northern Virginia
June 15, 2004
Charlotte
Charlotte paced around the Fairfax County Homicide offices. God, what was taking so long? She had other things to do today.
Baldwin sat quietly, flipping through the file over and over again. She’d tried getting his attention by slipping past him and running her foot up his calf, but he cock-blocked her, clearing his throat mea
ningfully. She finally caught his eye, there was a combination of desire and exasperation lingering in the clear green. She winked at him, then resumed her pacing.
They’d been waiting for Max Goldman, the commander of the Fairfax County Homicide team, for the better part of an hour. He finally chugged through the door, running his hand through his wispy black hair, combing it back from his prominent forehead. Baldwin jumped to his feet, shook the outstretched hand. Goldman turned to Charlotte second, grasped the tips of her fingers in that bizarrely effeminate way some men had. She supposed it lingered on from the days when a touch of the fingers would lead to a kiss, planted softly on the top of the hand. But this was 2004, for Christ’s sake. Like a real handshake was going to give them girl cooties or something. She only took minor offense at being handed the limp fish second; Baldwin’s shake had wiped some of the sweat off Goldman’s palm.
“Sorry I’m late. Got caught up in court this morning. What can I help you with? You got something for me on this Clockwork asshole? He’s running our asses ragged, and we got nothin’. Fucking squirrel. I hate working these kiddy diddlers.” As he spoke, he ushered them into his office.
Charlotte measured people on a scale of one to ten, ten being the ones she wanted to fuck immediately, one representing the ones who she wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Goldman fell into the latter category. He had yellow teeth, crowded together in his mouth like they were planning a jailbreak, and he’d eaten onions with his lunch—she could smell him from five feet away. Which is where she stayed, perched on the edge of a credenza near the open door, to help catch a breeze. Baldwin was sitting face-to-face with the man, God bless him.
Goldman was still chattering. “I hope you’ve got something for me, ’cause I’m getting crucified, Jesus H. Roosevelt on the cross crucified, by anyone with a microphone within a hundred miles.”
A colorful man. What a match for that breath.
Baldwin nodded. “We have more for your team to look at, yes. We’ve refined the profile, and we have someone we think could be a suspect.”
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