“Is that all he had to say?”
“Yeah. I only got to ask him a few questions before all hell broke loose.”
“Damn.”
“What?”
“We can’t use any of your interview.”
“Why not?”
Philips used the same calming voice on all his reporters when they felt like their work was being unjustly criticized. “You conducted a good interview. The problem is the kid gave you little information to work with. If I run with what I have, Jason’s mother will have my ass in court for violating her son’s privacy. I can’t risk it.”
“I understand.” Jessica did not, but knew better than to argue with Philips once he had made up his mind.
“You need to find out who attacked the kid, and why. Why did Matthews chase the attacker? And where is the attacker now? Which reminds me.” Philips reached under his jacket and pulled from his pocket an 8 x 10 sheet of paper folded in half lengthwise, then handed it to Jessica. “Would you explain this?”
Jessica took the paper and opened it. Her mouth went dry. She held the test results and a bill for almost one thousand dollars from the independent lab that had analyzed the jaw fragments.
“I had them analyze the jaw fragments found near the truck Drake had been chasing. When I talked with Dekker…”
“Wait. Who’s Dekker?”
“Chief Medical Examiner for the D.C. Police. I interviewed him about the remains found at the crash site.”
“Well, the lab you chose can’t do its job. Did you read the results? It says the fragments are over three hundred years old.”
“I know.” Jessica paused, contemplating if she should continue. “Those are the same results Dekker came up with.”
“You’re joking?” Philips looked over at Jessica to gauge her response, drifting slightly into the adjacent lane.
“I’m not. And watch where you’re going.”
Jerking the wheel right, Philips corrected the car’s path to the accompanying blare of car horns. He hardly noticed, completely enthralled by this new mystery. “What the hell is a three-hundred-year-old corpse doing on a tanker truck involved in a high-speed chase?”
The fragments did not belong to a corpse but to the driver, but Jessica would not tell that to Philips until she could explain it herself. So far, the only explanation she could provide was that vampires walked the streets of Washington. If she even hinted at that, Philips would be convinced she had gone off the deep end. Instead, she shrugged. “I’m still trying to figure out that out.”
Philips thought for a few minutes, then suddenly snapped his fingers. “Grave robbers.”
“What?”
“The only reason I can think of for a three-hundred-year-old corpse to be on that truck is if Drake Matthews is involved with grave robbing.”
“Possible,” Jessica lied again.
They arrived at Jessica’s apartment building. Philips pulled over and double parked out front, switching on the flashers. He turned to Jessica. “You’ve got the makings of a great story here. You just need to flesh it out more. So what are you going to do now?”
“There’s someone in Boston I need to talk to who knows Drake Matthews. Once I have that background information, I’m going to corner Drake for an interview.”
“I thought he already refused to talk to you? Twice.”
“He did. But he can’t say no to me forever.”
“That’s true. You can be obstinate when you want to. And I meant that as a compliment.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“I’ll authorize airfare for you to fly up to Boston on Monday and for a rental car. We need to get moving on this before one of the other papers scoops us. I want the story on my desk in a week. Can you do it?”
“Not a problem,” said Jessica with more optimism than she actually felt. She opened the car door and stepped out.
“Good luck.” Philips called out. “And for God’s sake, be careful.”
She closed the door. As Philips drove off, Jessica watched his car moved down the street. She had an uneasy feeling that over the next few days she would need to be very lucky and extremely careful.
* * *
“NOT SO FAST, HUNTER.”
The words sent an icy chill down Alison’s spine. Summoning every ounce of courage she could muster, Alison turned around slowly. She looked into the face of a very attractive redhead. In an instant, the skin shrunk tightly around its skull and the eyes morphed into glowing blood-red orbs. A slow growl emanated from between shriveled lips that contorted into a sneer, exposing a set of fangs. The master lunged at Alison. Alison knew she had to react, but could not. Her mind told her body what to do, but her limbs refused to respond. Her body would not block the attack, would not fight back with a kick or punch. She could not even run away.
With a swing of its arms, the master slapped Alison across the face with enough force that, for a second, Alison thought her jaw would snap. Yet her body would still not respond. Fight back, she yelled at herself. Fight back or…
Another slap across the face, only much harder. The force of the blow knocked Alison off her feet. She spun around and slammed into the center pole, then slid to the floor onto her back, unable to move. The master straddled Alison, pinning the hunter’s pelvis to the floor with her own. It ripped open Alison’s blouse, exposing her neck. Alison desperately tried to throw off the master, but her body refused to respond. Her breath grew belabored, either from exertion or the weight of the thing on her chest. Or from panic. Alison began to hyperventilate.
Bending over Alison, the master drew back its lips and bore its fangs. Alison could smell the sickeningly sweet odor of decayed flesh and feel the cold, lifeless breath blowing on her neck. She tried to scream, but could muster only a frustrated murmur. Her breathing was shallow and quick. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t fight. She couldn’t cry out. She could only lay there helpless and wait to be turned into the undead. Alison felt the master’s fangs press against her neck, then puncture her skin. Oh, God. No. Not like this. Please don’t let me die like this. Summoning every ounce of strength she had, Alison screamed.
Alison sat upright in bed, still screaming. Completely disoriented, she had no idea where she was. Someone approached from her right. She moved back, trying to get away. Then she recognized the approaching figure as Drake. He stepped up beside Alison, wrapping one arm around her back and wrapping the other around her waist. Drake pulled her close. Alison hugged his arm tight and rested her head against his chest. She realized that she was not about to die.
Not yet, at least.
Alison’s panic slowly subsided. Her heart rate returned to normal, and her breathing eased. She became aware of an ache in her back and shoulder blades, and of a soreness across her chest. With the pain came memories of being attacked by the vampire in the subway. After that, her memory went blank. She glanced at her surroundings. It looked like a hospital room, though she could not remember being admitted.
Drake gently patted the shoulder he cradled. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine. If you don’t count my back, my shoulders, my head, my chest, and the fact that I’ve been unconscious for God knows how long.”
“Point taken.” Drake patted her shoulder again and tried to break his embrace. Alison hugged his arm tighter and caressed his upper arm, not wanting to let go. She felt a thrill of excitement when Drake ran his hand up over her shoulder and gently massaged her neck. After a few seconds he pulled away, but still stood by the side of the bed.
“Do you remember what happened last night?” he asked.
“Things are blurry. I remember being on the Metro tracking a snuffy and you calling for back-up, then the bitch attacked me from behind. I saw a human face before it morphed into a vampire, so I assume a master attacked me.”
“It did. And you’re lucky to be alive. I pumped eighteen holy-water rounds into it, and it still had enough energy to escape. I doubt I did much more than piss it off.”
<
br /> “What do you mean? You saved my life.” Alison flashed him an embarrassed smile. “Again.”
“That makes us three for a dozen. So I still owe you a few.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Just over twelve hours.” Drake sat on the edge of the bed. “You passed out while getting into the SUV at Rosslyn Station. We brought you here to be checked out.”
“Where’s ‘here’?”
“Arlington Hospital.”
“I’m surprised you’re here. I thought you viewed hospitals as Death’s waiting room?”
“I do. I just have a good reason to be here this time.”
“Am I as bad off as I feel?”
Drake shook his head. “You’re banged up a bit. But nothing’s broken.”
“So then I’ll live?”
“I hope so. I’d hate to have to train another assistant.” He patted her knee. “Do you feel well enough to go home?”
“Can I?”
“I talked to the doctor this morning. He said if you felt up to it, he’d check you out once you woke up.”
“Good. I have more important things to do than lie around here all day.” Alison tried to sit up but stopped suddenly, cringing in pain.
“When you leave here you’re going home and take it easy for a few days.”
“We have to find the master that…”
Drake placed his fingers over her mouth. Alison felt a tingle course through her body and fought back the urge to kiss them.
“We’ll find the master later. Right now, you need rest. You’re no good to either of us in this condition. Capisce?”
“Capisce.”
Drake stood up. “You rest a bit while I go get the doctor. Then I’ll take you home.”
“I can take a cab.”
“We take care of each other. Remember? Besides, I have the Dodge in the garage, so it won’t be a bother.” Drake opened the door leading to the corridor and paused. “Get some rest. I’ll be back in a few.”
As Drake left the room, Alison made herself as comfortable as possible. Drake was right. Before they could hunt down the master, Alison would need to be back in top condition, which at the moment she fell far short of. She would do as he asked and take the next few days off to relax. But when she got back on her feet, she had a score to settle.
* * *
UNSCREWING THE CAP, Roach tapped out two ibuprofen. He popped the caplets into his mouth and washed them down with a swig of cold coffee. He had taken two caplets an hour earlier, but did not care. He suffered from one of those pounding migraines that plagued him every time he had a run-in with Drake Matthews.
It started as a dull pain early that morning when he received a phone call at home advising him of the gunfight that had occurred on the Metro, which left two people dead. When he arrived at the office and read the initial reports, and in turn the first gruesome description of the corpses, the dull pain became a throb. When the Metro Police arrived with a compilation of the security camera videos, the throb quickly became a head-splitting migraine. Much to Roach’s consternation, the video showed Drake Matthews and Alison Monroe in the middle of the melee.
Closing his eyes, Roach massaged the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger, futilely trying to rub away the pain. He should not have been surprised when he saw Matthews and Miss Monroe enter the Metro train just before all hell broke lose. Since these two had moved to Washington nearly three months ago, it seemed like hell had broken out all over the city. Every time it did, Matthews was always in the middle of it. Almost as if he sought it out. Or it sought out him. In either case, trouble and Drake Matthews went hand in hand. Roach felt reasonably certain that if he could put away Matthews, then the trouble would dissipate. Easier said than done, though. So far Matthews and Miss Monroe had avoided serious jail time or prosecution because of their anonymous benefactor. This video should provide enough evidence linking Matthews to the crime scene, at least enough to stand up in court.
Picking up the remote control from his desk, Roach rewound the videotape and began watching from when the Metro train pulled into Smithsonian Station. The video showed several passengers stepping off the train onto the platform, followed by others boarding. Matthews entered the third car from the front, while Miss Monroe entered the last. Seconds later, the train pulled out of the station.
The video cut to shots of the same train pulling into Federal Triangle, Metro Center, McPherson, and Faragut West Stations. At each Station, people disembarked and embarked. Nothing unusual. All that changed, however, when the train arrived at Foggy Bottom. Barely had it come to a stop and the doors slid open when the passengers from the second and last cars raced out. A few stumbled under the stampede of panicking riders or tumbled headfirst into those waiting to board, pushing them along in the mad rush to the exits. Through the windows, Roach could detect movement in the second and last cars that looked like fighting, but he could not make out faces or details. Then suddenly, a figure in a dark-blue parka with the hood covering its head bolted out of the second car, with Matthews close behind. Matthews stopped, looked toward the end of the train, and jumped back on board just as the doors slid shut again. Roach assumed Matthews went back for Miss Monroe.
The next clip showed the train entering Rosslyn Station. Flashes of light were visible in the last car, probably from the firing of a gun since shell casings were found on the floor. The train slowed to a stop. As the doors opened, Matthews emerged from the last car assisting a staggering Miss Monroe. Since the train ended its run at this station, and since the video showed no one else entering or leaving the train before the police arrived, Roach surmised that Drake was the one who had fired the pistol. Which made him a prime suspect in the murder of the young man whose body was discovered in the last car.
Yet something did not settle right, though Roach could not figure out what. He rewound the videotape and played it again from when the Metro train entered Smithsonian Station. He watched Matthews board the third car and Miss Monroe the last. Then it dawned on him. An attractive redhead in tight jeans and a denim jacket boarded the last car right behind Miss Monroe. He had noticed her during the first viewing of the video because of her good looks. But he did not see her get off the train. Roach opened the report filed by the officers who had arrived at the scene first and read it again. Two bodies were found aboard the train, the young man in the last car and a black nurse in the second. But no redhead. He fast forwarded the video through each stop until Rosslyn Station, continuing the video until the police finally arrived, but did not see the redhead again. So what happened to her? Were any other passengers missing?
Roach rewound the videotape to the very beginning when the empty train pulled into New Carrollton Station at the far end of the Orange Line. Taking a pad of paper from his drawer, he began to tally how many people got on and exited at each station. By the time the train arrived at Smithsonian Station, Roach calculated that twenty-eight people were on board, including Matthews and Miss Monroe. Only twenty-four passengers got off at Rosslyn. Taking into account the two dead bodies found aboard the train, that left two individuals missing and unaccounted for. He would have to check with the officers on the scene to see if anyone had searched the subway tunnels between these stops.
In any case, Roach had all he needed. He could place Matthews and Miss Monroe at the scene of a double murder, and most probably link them to the disappearance of the two missing persons. Once he got back the forensics results, then he could…
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. “Yes?”
Dekker entered the office carrying a manila envelope. Roach motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “What do you have for me?”
“I’m glad to see you, too.” Dekker sat down and crossed his legs.
“Sorry.” Roach placed his pen down on the pad of paper. “I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that every time I deal with Drake Matthews I become…”
“Obsessed?”
“
Distracted,” Roach said coldly. “Drake Matthews has caused more trouble for this city than any single person I can remember. But he screwed up big this time. I have video evidence putting him at the scene of two murders.”
“Then you’re going to be disappointed. Drake Matthews didn’t kill that nurse. Not unless he turned into a werewolf first.” Dekker handed Roach the manila envelope and waited for the chief to open it. “I performed an autopsy on the nurse. Sylvia Jackson, from Bethesda. She was on her way to the nightshift at George Washington University Hospital. Apparently she had switched shifts with a co-worker who had needed…”
“The autopsy results,” demanded Roach.
“Miss Jackson died from a hemorrhage as a result of having her carotid artery torn out.”
“Torn out?”
“Technically, chewed out. Something bit her neck with enough force to cut clear through her artery. Nearly ripped out her throat. And before you ask, whatever did it wasn’t human.”
Roach looked at the autopsy photos of Sylvia Jackson. The right side of her throat looked like a mass of raw meat that had gone through a grinder. “What did this?”
“I’m not sure.” Dekker pointed to the photograph. “Look at the pattern of the teeth marks around the wound. The molars and front teeth appear human, but the incisors are finely pointed and more than twice as long as a human’s. Almost like fangs. There’s also the fact that the force behind the bite was more powerful than that of a human. In either case, these wounds were not made by Drake Matthews.”
“Then what made these wounds?”
“An animal of some kind.”
“Impossible. I’ve watched the security camera footage from the Metro. There were no animals anywhere near the train when the attack took place.”
“All I can tell you is what the forensics showed. And according to that, Miss Jackson died from hemorrhaging from the neck artery as a result of the bite wound from some large animal. Between you and me, if a person made those wounds, then you’re dealing with something out of a Friday the Thirteenth movie.”
The Vampire Hunters: Book I of The Vampire Hunters Trilogy Page 16
