by Eddie Jones
“Seriously? That’s news?” Meg asked.
“Over nine thousand eyeballs.” I tapped the eyeball icon at the bottom of the story. “Somebody found it interesting.”
I scrolled down to the next article.
It read:
FURRY SHOPLIFTER “BEARLY” ESCAPES — A three-hundred-pound black bear surprised shoppers at a Blacksburg, Virginia, convenience store this past weekend when the animal pushed open the automatic doors and ambled over to the snack rack. Security guards chased the bear from the store but not before the hungry female snagged a box of peanut brittle and a case of Moon Pies.
“I like Moon Pies.”
“Me too,” I replied, “but not enough to fight a bear for them. Ah, here’s one in my area of interest.”
GEORGIA FUNERAL HOME ADDS COFFEE BAR — Jenson Funeral Home began serving coffee to its mourners.
“When you’re standing in line and waiting to pay your respects, you have a lot of dead time on your hands,” funeral home owner Bill Jenson reported. “Adding a coffee bar makes sense. We’ve already seen an uptick in foot traffic and picked up several new clients.”
I checked the progress bar of the search results. It continued to creep along.
“This might take longer than I thought.” To Aunt Vivian I said, “Is there a particular time you need to be back to your facility?”
“I’m the one paying to stay at the center, child. I can come and go as I wish. Why?”
“I’d like to see the crime scene. Any chance you can run me up to the golf resort?”
“I’ll need a nap first. Not as young as I once was.”
“We have a spare bedroom,” Meg said. “You’re welcome to it.”
“Bless you.”
“How about you?” Meg said to me. “Do you need a nap too?”
“Look at you being sarcastic. No, I’ll go ask the police what they have to say about this case.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
HEAD COUNT, ONE MISSING
Lieutenant Ralph McAlhany worked out of an old gymnasium at the end of Main Street. I announced my arrival at the receptionist’s window and explained I was an investigative reporter covering the death of Barnabas Forester. She studied my business card and directed me toward a wooden bench that looked as if it had seen lots of use on a football field.
Fresh green paint coated cinder-block walls, and the entranceway had recently been carpeted and smelled of glue. The police station had the feel of one of the modular units at my school — refurbished and functional and out of place among the other office buildings on Main Street.
I hunched forward on the bench and clicked off the three things I needed for the story: a picture of the body, a list of people connected to Forester, and a look at the murder weapon. Knowing that Randolph Manor might have been connected to the vampire slaying game helped put things into perspective. If Forester were a recluse, like Raintree said, and involved in the game, then he’d need a front person for marketing, and who better than Raintree? The bookstore owner appeared business savvy. The challenge now was to track down a list of recent players and get a look at the murder weapon.
I’d been waiting maybe ten minutes when the receptionist tapped the window and pointed toward a female officer. I followed her through double doors and onto the basketball court, which was portioned off into a maze of cubicles. We made our way down a hallway and past an old equipment cage. The lieutenant’s office was in a locker room.
Lieutenant Ralph McAlhany was a broad-shouldered man with dark glossy hair, high cheekbones, and dark, almond-shaped eyes. His brown shirt and slacks were pressed and creased and screamed professionalism. He waved me into the cage while he remained on the phone, listening. Judging from his expression, the call was not going well. He pointed to a chair and I sat.
The call ended and he looked across the desk. “That was the mayor’s office telling me it’ll be another six weeks before they can break ground on our new law enforcement center. We were supposed to be in our new building last winter, but our funding got cut at the state level so here we are.” McAlhany aimed his coal-black eyes at me and said, “What can I do for you?”
I passed him one of my Cool Ghoul Gazette business cards. The lieutenant studied the front, then turned it over. His eyebrows arched when he read the note from the marshal of Deadwood.
“Deadwood Canyon. I think I remember something about that case. The ghost town murder that wasn’t, then was. The way I heard it, a boy identified the killer by watching TV.”
“I compare evidence against police and detective shows,” I said, trying to sound calmer than I was.
Dad had warned me to stay out of trouble and keep my mouth in check, and here I was sitting across from the one guy who could lock me up if I said the wrong thing.
“After I analyze the shows that best fit the crime, I tell the authorities who I think committed the murder. Or try to. Most don’t respond to my emails or calls. It helps to watch a lot of TV.”
“I know a few of my officers who might be candidates for that type of work. Can’t keep them off their smartphones long enough to do their jobs.”
“I’d be happy to give them a demonstration, if you like.”
I couldn’t tell if he was making fun of me or truly interested in my work, so I kicked the conversation in a different direction.
“McAlhany? Is that Irish?”
He chuckled. “I know. The hair and eyes throw people off. My mother was a full-blooded Cherokee. She worked most of her life at the casino outside Waynesville and wanted more for her son than reservation work and working the tourist trade. Married my father when she was in her thirties. He was an ex-New York cop, pushing fifty. Spent his whole life in New York’s 114th Precinct. Died of a heart attack my sophomore year at Notre Dame. But you didn’t come by to hear my story.”
I shifted uneasily in my chair. “Any thoughts on who might want Mr. Forester dead?”
“Get to the point much quicker and that sergeant who brought you here won’t have time to finish running the background check on you. Orlando, was it? On a trip with your family?”
“Yes, sir.”
We were dancing. He was enjoying it more than I was.
“You know I can’t comment about the case. It’s an ongoing investigation. Not even allowed to confirm if there is an investigation. I’m only speaking with you because earlier today your aunt dropped off a platter of sugar cakes. She’s a right persuasive woman, your aunt.”
Good old Aunt Vivian was fast becoming my favorite relative.
“But Forester is dead. And somebody killed him.”
“Fact is, we haven’t ruled it a homicide yet. Might have died of natural causes. The chest wound could have come after he was dead, which would make it a whole different kind of crime. Look, I know you’d love for this to turn out to be one of those gruesome horror stories that gets spread across the Web. Bet that’d make the editor of your little website real happy. That is why you’re here, right? For a story? But until I know more, all we have is a dead man on a golf course with cause of death undetermined. Fact is, dying during a round of golf isn’t all that strange.”
“But getting stabbed with a wooden stake is. Did you know Forester was part of a vampire role-playing game?”
“I heard something about that. Never have understood this infatuation with vampires and zombies. It’s like people today are searching for evidence of ghosts and monsters while at the same time rejecting any notion of God. I’m not saying I’m a religious man. Being raised both Catholic and Cherokee made for some pretty strange discussions in our home. But I’ve never seen anything like what’s going on today. You a believer?”
“Believer in what, vampires?”
“God. I’m asking because it seems to me a boy your age coming in here asking all these questions about vampires might be looking for something other than information about one man’s death.”
All this God business made me uncomfortable, so I steered the conversation ba
ck to the case. “Mind if I read you something?”
“You know it’s okay, right? To believe? Most everyone does.”
I held up the vampire mythology book I’d found in my room. “Found this by my bed last night. Mind if I read you something?”
“Why not? All we’re doing is wasting time.”
“ ‘Although Europe experienced an outbreak of the Black Plague in the sixth century, the disease lay dormant until 1320, when a pandemic developed in the Gobi Desert. It spread and decimated populations across the globe. The Black Death reached Europe in the mid — fourteenth century and resurfaced regularly throughout the next couple hundred years. The sheer number of deaths meant communal graves had to be reopened regularly. At the time, little was known about the process of human decomposition. The grotesque appearance of decomposing corpses led some to believe that the bodies were being reanimated. Meanwhile, symptoms of the Black Plague often appeared as tumors on the neck that burst open and bled. Later, victims would often vomit blood.’ ”
“What are you driving at, son?”
“What we’re seeing today with vampires isn’t all that new. People have been freaking out over this stuff for decades.”
“Only proves people today who believe in vampires aren’t any smarter than they were back then.”
“By chance do you have a list of players who might have participated in the vampire slayer game? I’m sure that’s a lead you’re looking into.”
“We’re holding off on that until we see what the autopsy report says.”
“But that could take days.”
“Time is the one thing I have lots of. What I don’t have is enough resources to track down every harebrained idea.”
It seemed to me that McAlhany wasn’t nearly as anxious to catch the killer as I was.
“Who discovered the body?”
“Groundskeeper.”
“Which hole?”
“Thirteen. If you think that bit of information will be of interest to your readers, you might want to mention that it’s a dogleg par four. Plays longer than the yardage due to the narrow fairway and the sharp drop-off next to the out-of-bounds area.”
“Any thoughts on the victim’s strange dental work?”
“You mean the fangs? Glued on, obviously. But I can’t say conclusively because …”
“I know. It’s an ongoing investigation.”
“I was going to say, until the oral surgeon arrives and delivers her findings. Leave me your number and I’ll call you once I know something definitive. How’s that for helping a struggling reporter?”
I forced a smile, mumbling, “Thanks.”
I imagined myself in the lieutenant’s position, trying to do a job and working out of a boys’ locker room with some fourteen-year-old kid asking lame questions about a dead man dressed up like a vampire.
I said, “Ever seen the movie Rampage?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“Released in the late eighties. It’s based on the case of Richard Chase, the so-called Vampire of Sacramento. Chase was a deeply disturbed young man who injected rabbit’s blood into his veins. They had him committed to a mental institution. He’d only been in the facility a few days when they found him with blood all over his face and in his mouth. Turns out he’d built a bird feeder and was catching sparrows and drinking their blood. Staff began referring to him as Dracula. Hospital doctors diagnosed him as a paranoid schizophrenic and treated him with psychotropic drugs. After a few months they pronounced him cured and released him into the care of his mother, but she didn’t like her son being doped up all the time so she took him off his meds. Chase killed six people before they captured him. He never bit anybody’s neck, though.”
“This isn’t what we have here.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Even if Forester was going around acting like a vampire and biting people’s necks, I can’t imagine anyone actually killing him with a wooden stake. Sure, someone might call a tabloid news reporter, but commit murder? I don’t see it.”
“Have there been any reports of vandals digging up graves? Opening caskets? Looking into old burial grounds, that sort of thing?”
“Sounds to me like you’ve been talking to Phillip Raintree. If I were you, I’d ignore most of what that man says. Raintree would put up billboards on the Parkway and advertise vampire covens in Transylvania if he thought it would bring people to his store and help him sell books.”
“He told me occult books were only a small portion of his business.”
“Son, if you believe that malarkey, you’ll never make it in journalism. Twice Raintree has been threatened with eviction. Both times he got caught up on his rent payments just before they padlocked the doors. Someone or some organization is keeping him in business. Could be that game you’re referring to.”
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. “The fact is, we don’t have any evidence tying Raintree or anyone else to Forester’s death. I’m not saying Raintree wasn’t involved. I am saying it’s a stretch to make more of this than there is until we have an official cause of death.”
“Suppose Forester was into hanging around cemeteries. Getting ideas for his vampire slayer game and scoping out locations. Any idea where he might go?”
“If you’re dead set on chasing that rabbit trail, you should check out Skull Creek. That’s the Randolph family plot. The way I understand it, Forester moved to Transylvania for his health. Winters here can be harsh, but not like up north. The Randolph Manor came on the market, and Forester put a bid in and bought the place. And as far as this vampire game business goes, around town people think it’s a joke.”
I was tempted to tell the lieutenant that the vampire slayer “game” scared the mess out of me. Instead I asked what the victim had been wearing. Maybe I could get a decent quote from that.
“I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. Black cape, black slacks, white shirt.”
“And the murder weapon? Any chance I could take a look?” Please, please, please!
He shook his head. “Part of an ongoing …”
“Investigation. Got it.”
McAlhany rose from his chair, signaling the conversation was over. He walked around the desk and rested his hip on the corner.
“Mind if I give you some career advice, son? Don’t make more of this story than it is. I met the marshal of Deadwood at a conference a few years back. Seemed like a straight-up lawman. Can’t say working in a ghost town is my idea of real police work, but it’s not my place to judge another man’s vocation. That’s why it’s a shame about what happened with your suspect out there.”
“What do you mean? We caught him.”
A look of genuine concern came over his face. “I’m sorry, I thought you’d heard. Your lead suspect hired himself a top-shelf lawyer and got himself released on bail, then jumped. Last I heard he was still on the loose.”
“He’s gone?”
“Like the wind.”
I slumped in my chair. I’d worked hard to solve that case, and now to think the killer might never stand trial … “I appreciate you taking time to talk with me, Lieutenant, I do.”
I started to stand, but he put his hand on my shoulder and kept me seated.
“People in Transylvania, we like our solitude. That’s why my father came down from New York, to get away from crackpots and criminals. We can’t change the name of our town, at least not without going to a lot of trouble. But you’d better believe we can do something about what people think of us. If I hear that you’re making Transylvania look like something it’s not, then I don’t care how sweet your aunt is — you’ll have me to deal with. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thing is, you say murder and people go, ‘What? Where?’ Then after a few days they forget about it. You say vampire and I’ve got every news outlet in the country calling me. You get what I’m saying?”
“I think so, sure.”
“Good. Then we
should get along just fine.” He released his grip on my shoulder and walked me into the hallway.
I took a few steps, turned, and asked, “By chance, do you happen to have a picture of the deceased?”
“I wish I could, but …”
“It’s part of an ongoing investigation.”
He winked. “If I hear anything from the oral surgeon, I’ll call. I have your number,” he said, thumping my business card against his knuckles.
“Thanks again for your time, Lieutenant.”
I worked my way back through the maze of cubicles in the gymnasium and out the front door. Standing on the front steps in the blinding white sunshine, I realized that nearly twenty-four hours earlier I’d been sitting in the Brown Derby with my parents, trying to convince them to let me come to Transylvania. Now I stood neck deep in a murder investigation involving a vampire — or at least someone pretending to be a vampire — and I still did not have a solid lead on who had killed Forester and why.
On top of that, the one case I had solved might not even matter because some judge let the killer out on bail. Things definitely weren’t going my way. Just then my phone buzzed.
“Nick, oh my gosh, I can’t believe it. Something’s happened.”
The voice sounded on the edge of panic.
“Meg?” My mind went immediately to Aunt Vivian. “What is it?”
“When I got back from lunch I found the door to the morgue standing wide open and the fridge we use to store blood samples cleaned out! Nick, Forester’s body is gone! I think our dead vampire escaped!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
DEATH THREAT
I’m a pretty fast runner. I know my parents think all I do is lounge around and watch movies and videos on my computer, but during commercials I do push-ups. Twenty reps if it’s a long one. And at least three times a week I sprint a mile. Not the whole mile, obviously. I mean, that would kill me. But I leg it out pretty good. I have no idea what my time is, but I’m no slouch. I’ve watched too many cop shows where the fat detective can’t catch the bad guy … or escape from him, and I don’t want to be dead like the dude on TV.
