Blood Games

by Lee Killough

  Garreth snatched up his raincoat and hurried after her.

  Outside, she never paused between the ER door and the Porsche, but once in the passenger seat, said, “I think my favorite police vehicle has to be the tank in the movie Dragnet with Have a nice day on the end of its ram. Go back to the highway you took down from the Interstate, but turn left. That puts you on 83. Follow it to New Prospect. It’ll seem like forever and the road twists a bit but keep going.” She turned on his radio and slid the tape into the console’s cassette slot.

  The distress Andersen’s wife reported to Garreth came through clearly as the tape began, an anguish in the deputy’s voice that wrenched at Garreth. Then as Sechrest and Householder drew the story out of him, he gradually caught the trick of insulating himself from the event’s emotional impact by answering in dispassionate professional terminology. But even couched in official language, the encounter played out vividly in Garreth’s mind.

  * * *

  Troy Andersen always made the Gas ‘N More a frequent stop on his rounds. Sheriff Sechrest liked maintaining a visible presence there since its location off the Interstate made it a tempting target for felons wanting a quick score on their way cross-country. Today, however, weather concerned him more than armed robbery. The darkening sky told him better than Dispatch’s announcement of a thunderstorm watch that he had rain coming any time, and he worried how that might affect traffic as exhibitors funneled toward New Prospect for the county fair.

  Parking at the end of the building, he noted a white Aerostar at the pumps. All week he had been following the continually updated ATL’s from that officer killing in Kansas, but the latest information from Lincoln sharpened his interest even more. This Aerostar had the ATL’s described color and body style, but the windows made it a conversion van, not a delivery van, and it carried Iowa tags.

  All the same, he ran the tags. They came back for a white Aerostar registered to Alan and Jessica Nelsson in Neola, no warrants, no report of their tags being stolen. Andersen shrugged. It had been worth checking.

  The dispatcher continued, “We have a new update on the ATL for the three suspects in a white Aerostar.”

  As she gave him the new information, he shook his head. How could they think anyone would be fooled by painted windows? Then he froze, staring at the Aerostar. The rearmost side window did appear...odd. Moments later he identified why. The darkening sky had switched on the station’s lights and that window did not reflect them the same way the others did.

  Andersen thumbed on the mike of his unit’s radio. “I’ll be on high band taking a closer look at this Aerostar.”

  Approaching the vehicle shifted the reflections on the other side windows, but not that rearmost one. And as he reached the van the window’s three dimensional appearance suddenly proved to be an optical illusion. Running his hand across it found a flat surface. An edge he caught with a fingernail lifted when he pried at it.

  Heart racing, Andersen reached for mike on his shoulder, but stopped before activating it. Presumably the van’s occupants were in the Gas ‘N More, but if one remained in the van, he did not want them warned they had been identified.

  A quick glance at the building spotted no one near the windows. So hopefully he had not been seen. He eased away from the van and strolled into the building.

  “Hi, Cass,” he called to the clerk. Glancing around he did not see the male described in the ATL, but one of the security mirrors showed two juvenile females in the potato chip aisle who matched the female suspects’ descriptions: both petite, the little blonde one looking anywhere from nine to twelve, the dark-haired one, fifteen or sixteen. And while they never looked up from studying the chips, when he sauntered past toward the restrooms, he noticed they watched him from the corner of their eyes. The older one carried a large brown leather shoulder bag similar to the one described in the ATL, with a zipper top and a leather flap on the side.

  His heart raced even faster. Under that flap would he find a pocket sculpted into a holster for a Desert Eagle?

  The men’s restroom was unoccupied. So the male remained in the van? Good thing he had not called this in out there. Standing in the restroom, Andersen thumbed his radio mike. “Travis Twelve requesting backup! I have the wanted white Aerostar van at the Gas ‘N More. They have the fake windows on it and it’s carrying the Iowa tags I just ran! The juvenile females are here inside. There’s no sign of the male suspect. He may be in the van.”

  No other Travis County deputy might be close enough to assist, but his call would be picked up by all the area agencies and he could count on Edgemoor PD officers and maybe a Shelby County deputy to respond. He just had to hold the suspects until backup arrived.

  He took a deep breath, strolled back out of the restroom to the chip section, and put on a friendly smile. “Hi, girls.”

  Though almost colorless blue, the small girl’s eyes made him think of a deer’s...huge and filled with panic. She took a step backward, clearly ready to bolt.

  The older girl caught her hand, stopping her. “It’s all right, sis.” She smiled at Andersen. “She’s kind of shy. Do you want in here to pick out some chips?” She hid her feelings better than the small girl, but her voice still betrayed tension.

  He shook his head. “Thanks, no. What’s your name?”

  The small girl went even paler. The older girl’s grip tightened. “August. August...Morgan. This is Beth.”

  “And I guess that’s your Aerostar out front?”

  The smile fixed slightly. “Well, we’re traveling in it, but it belongs to our uncle.” She paused. He watched her mind race before she continued with a tone of satisfaction, “Alan Nelsson...in Neola.”

  Proud of being able to recite the tag owner’s name and address? They must have stolen not only the tags but broken into the Nelsson van and taken the registration as well.

  “Sis, what kind of chips do you want?” When the small girl shrugged, “August” sighed. “Well, choose something.” Releasing the small girl’s hand, she moved down to the drink cooler.

  The small girl stood rooted...staring blindly at the chip packages. Andersen remained near her where he could watch both girls.

  “August” opened a cooler door and fingered the soft drink bottles inside. “Is something the matter with the van?”

  “No.” Where the hell was that backup? He could not keep them talking forever and still pretend this was casual chitchat. “You’re traveling with your uncle, then?”

  “Uncle Alan loaned the van to my brother.” Tension thickened under the off-hand tone.

  “And he’s in the van?”

  “Oh yeah.” She picked out two bottles of Pepsi and after a moment of hesitation, an Arizona Tea. “Plotting route and mileage. The Great Navigator.” She rolled her eyes. “Like there’s any mystery to finding Des Moines. Oh, Bethie.” Sighing, she came back to the smaller girl and thrust the two Pepsies at her, then a bag of chips. “Take these to Donny while I pay for them.”

  Andersen cursed silently. Still no backup! It appeared action was all up to him. He needed to catch the male in the van by surprise, though. Thought of the weapon stolen from the Kansas officer sent cold down his spine. Fortunately the girl gave him a perfect approach. “You have your hands full there, Miss Morgan. Let me open doors for you.”

  The small girl’s nerve broke. Dropping sodas and chips, she bolted for the entrance.

  One thought shot through Andersen’s mind: Don’t let her warn the suspect! He caught her arm.

  The girl screamed in a piercing note of fear.

  “Let go of her!”

  He glanced around into blazing dark eyes, and only a split second later registered the Arizona Tea bottle held club-like by its neck...swinging toward his face. A split second too late.

  His nose flattened under the blow and he reeled backward, blinded by the explosion of excruciating pain. He struggled to breathe while wet warmth poured down over his lips, filling his mouth with the metallic tang of blood.
/>
  “Run, Amber!”

  Beyond the pain Andersen heard feet scrambling on the tiled floor...felt movement past him. He grabbed at it...found his arms wrapped around a body larger than the little girl’s. The bottle hit him again, this time across the temple. He groped for the arm, found it, followed it up to the hand. “Give me the bottle. Give me the bottle!” He forced her hand backward, and grabbed for the bottle as her grip loosened. But she clawed for it and at him with the other hand and the bottle slipped away from both of them...fell, shattering as it hit the floor. Then he lost his footing, slipping on the spilled tea, or his blood, and the two of them went down together.

  Pain pierced his arms, but it seemed inconsequential compared to the agony enveloping his face...or the effort of hanging on to the girl. She writhed, clawed, kicked...struggling in wordless, panting desperation.

  “Stop fighting! Quit resisting!”

  But hanging on became harder by the moment as she turned slippery. From his blood? He wished desperately he could see more than this red haze, and even it was dimming as his eyes swelled shut. He gave up trying to talk and concentrated on keeping a grip on the girl, hanging on however he could until backup arrived, praying it came soon.

  Then abruptly, she stopped struggling...sagged motionless. At first he thought she was playing possum, waiting for his grip to loosen. But she remained limp...and he gradually became aware that he had an arm around her throat.

  Cold flooded him, fear overriding his pain. Hurriedly releasing her, he groped for the carotid area of her neck. The cold in him deepened. He felt no pulse. The hand on her chest detected no breathing.

  No. No! Frantically he rolled her onto her back and felt for her mouth, took a breath through his own mouth, blew into hers, pressed the heels of his hands down on her breastbone, breathed for her some more, pumped her chest. What was the ratio of chest compressions per breaths? He could not remember.

  “Breathe, kid...breathe! Come on, come on! Please breathe! And give me a heartbeat!”

  He kept going, pleading with her. She could not die. He refused to let her. Whatever she was involved in...Christ, she was just a kid!

  An eternity later he became aware of sound around him...footsteps, voices, exclamations of horror. Hands pulled him away from her to a stretcher. “Troy...Troy! Come on...we’ll take over now.”

  He yielded reluctantly. “Just don’t let her die. Okay? Don’t let her die.”

  * * *

  “But of course she already had,” Sechrest said as the tape ended. She shook her head. “God what a mess, both of them covered with blood--his mostly--blood and glass all over the floor.”

  “And the van long gone, of course.”

  Sechrest grimaced. “Of course. We’re not even sure in which direction. As soon as she saw the suspect hit Troy with the bottle, Cass Stephens called 911 but didn’t think to run outside to see which way the van went.” She sighed. “Poor kid. He’s taking this hard, though I guess I’d be more worried if he didn’t care. I hope this doesn’t finish him in law enforcement. He’s a good deputy. There’s New Prospect. Beyond the second stop sign turn right, then left on 7th, then right again on Chestnut to the hospital.”

  They parked outside the St. Francis ER. And as soon as they stepped through the automatic doors, the sense of presence tugged at Garreth, so overpowering he even forgot the ordinary blood scents around him. This was blood calling to blood. Urgency drummed in him. He had to reach the body as fast as possible, had to ensure she did not reawaken. Circling the ER desk, he headed up the corridor, following the pull.

  “Mikaelian!”

  He turned.

  Sechrest had stopped at the intersection with another corridor. “Where are you going? The body is in the autopsy room, this way and downstairs.”

  Fear bloomed in him. Suddenly he could hardly breathe. “What’s in this direction?”

  “Surgery and ICU.”

  “Sheriff!” A nurse hurried up the corridor toward them. “Your office said you were on your way so we didn’t have them radio you. You won’t believe what’s happened.”

  Fear turned to ice in Garreth. His voice went hoarse. “The girl isn’t dead after all.”

  The nurse stared at him. “How did you guess?”

  Sechrest frowned. “That’s impossible. I know dead when I see it and that girl was. The paramedics called it, too.”

  The nurse shrugged. “Well, they mis-called it. A few minutes ago we went to put another body in the cooler until the mortuary picks it up in the morning and we found the girl on the floor, rolling around in the body bag screaming. She’s now in ICU...under sedation because she was so hysterical.”

  A whole catalog of emotions played across the sheriff’s face, starting with disbelief and settling finally into amazed relief. “I’ll be damned. Let’s have a look at her, then...after I call the Edgemoor hospital. Troy Andersen’s going to sleep a whole lot better tonight.”

  Which Garreth did not begrudge him. He was happy for the deputy. But sick with dismay for himself. It was one thing to break the neck of a corpse. This...an entirely different situation. Now what did he do?

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The girl lay in the ICU bed with her eyes closed. Despite sedation, she did not rest, however, but groaned and twisted. She looked smaller and thinner than Garreth remembered, every bit the waif Gerald Greenstreet described in Cheyenne. A heart monitor attached to her beeped at long intervals.

  Blood scent curled around Garreth from the nurse standing beside him at the window. “I can’t believe how much sedation we’ve had to give her...or that we’d dare to with her vital signs so low. She’s probably having nightmares about coming to in that body bag.”

  Just the start of the nightmare, she would discover. Garreth swore silently. If only he had arrived sooner. If only that Mini’s driver had exercised a little good sense, or he had not felt compelled to help work the accident. Now she lived. Undeservedly. And he had to decide how to deal with her.

  He could picture Irina puzzled by his dilemma. Their few philosophical discussions revealed she took no pleasure in killing, considering it often wasteful and likely to attract unfavorable attention, but had no qualms about acting in self-defense or expediency.

  I never did either, Lane’s voice whispered in his head. What’s your problem? You know you want her dead. Doesn’t she deserve to die for killing Maggie? You killed me, so why not this little bitch.

  Because he killed you in self-defense, Maggie’s voice came in sharply. This would be murder and Garreth’s whole life has been upholding the law.

  So...he’s supposed to leave her to your precious criminal justice system? Give me a break. What can they do with her?

  Garreth winced. Now he not only imagined Lane and Maggie talking to him, he had them arguing with each other. Articulating his conflict.

  Footsteps sounded behind him and Sechrest joined him at the window. “I wouldn’t have believed it, but I’ve never been as happy about a mistake. How about you?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Disappointed your county’s not saved the expense of a trial?”

  He made himself shrug. “Maybe questioning her will give us something that helps track down her boyfriend. He’s the one we really want.” Not that he could ask any of the important questions in the sheriff’s hearing. “How’s Deputy Andersen?”

  She smiled. “Feeling a whole lot less pain. Any idea when the girl will wake up?” she asked the nurse.

  The nurse shrugged. “It’s anyone’s guess. As much sedative as she took, she might sleep a week.”

  “Excuse me for a minute.” Carrying her phone, Sechrest left the ICU. Returning a few minutes later she said, “The PD is loaning us an officer to stand guard and notify us when the girl wakes up. We’ll wait until she shows up, then if you’ll drive me to the office, Mikaelian, you can help go through the suspect’s property.”

  Was it safe to leave her? Maybe. Even having lived with the albino she needed a while to realize what
had happened. She had no fangs yet and in any case, hunger came later.

  Twenty minutes later he and the sheriff sat in Sechrest’s office on the lower floor of the courthouse annex, with everything removed from the girl spread on the desk between them.

  Sechrest checked the clothing and put it aside, shaking her head. “Nothing helpful there. The jeans cost over a hundred dollars a pair, rips and all, if you’re paying for them, but she could have shoplifted them at any good mall.”

  Garreth’s hands went automatically to the shoulder bag, fingering the soft leather, lifting the flap to reveal the holster molded into the side pocket. It smelled of saddle soap and gun oil. Handling it felt almost like touching Maggie again.

  Belatedly he realized the sheriff had asked a question. He smoothed the flap back down. “Yes, it’s Officer Lebekov’s purse.” He longed to take it with him as a link to Maggie, as the ZX had been to Marti. He made himself lay it aside to help Sechrest examine the contents.

  The amount of stuff in purses always amazed him. Much of Valerie’s he anticipated...the comb and brush, cosmetics, mirror, cigarettes and matches, billfold, sunglasses, a pre-paid phone, ballpoint pens printed with the names of businesses and hotels. The three condom packages did not surprise him, either. She had also fit in a miniature folding hair dryer, a small flashlight, pocket calculator, folding multi-tool in a carrying case, a dog-eared paperback novelization of the movie The Lost Boys, an equally dog-eared little spiral notebook, and three tape cassettes.

  The billfold yielded a sheaf of drivers licenses. Eight, from five different states. Garreth spread them on the desk. “She comes with plenty of ID.”

  “And an instruction manual,” Sechrest said, thumbing the notebook. “We’ve got step by step directions for...” She counted pages. “...seven different scams.”