Bloodlust (Frailty Book 2)

by Baker, Alex

  As the young female stared longingly at the purple and black top adorning a mannequin torso and twirled her brown hair with a finger, she made a mental note to pay Laura a visit.

  Not now, though, Constance thought. Right now, it was time for the hunt. Yes, the hunt. There was a thrill to it. She and Roofy had set off to find that feeling of being alive. He had been taken from her, but she had found another stimulus; an able substitute.

  Constance was driven.

  The corset would have to wait. It was time to feed.

  Effortlessly, she glided down the cobblestone streets, senses in full tilt, looking for that someone special.

  Constance came to a stop in the shadowed arch-style doorway of a closed and empty historical district shop cater-cornered from a bustling night club. The darkness shrouded and enveloped her like a cloak as she watched the patrons come and go, but it did not hamper her sight.

  So many prospects, she thought as her palms rubbed in anticipation over the white painted brick wall she had backed-up against. Time seemingly inconsequential to her, she was patient, but eventually pondered moving to another location. That idea was stifled when a familiar scent caught her nose; a sweet scent.

  Constance remained hidden in the doorway alcove, scanning the crowds until she found what she wanted. Coming out of the club were the three college boys she had spied earlier in the evening. Concentrating on them, she brought their conversation to the forefront of her attention, while all the other noises faded to the background.

  It appeared they were calling it a night. Poor boys struck out. The one she wanted, the sweet smelling one, commented that he would catch the other guys later.

  “Well, your luck’s about to change,” Constance said to herself. “I’ve got something better for you to catch.”

  4

  The brass-colored door handle of the City of Richmond Police Department was cool to the touch; the type of cool that came with late November weather in central Virginia; the type of cool that left Laura Stenks wishing she had not left her gloves in the car.

  She froze. Chills ran over her, causing a fresh batch of goosebumps. Neither of these things had to do with the cold, smooth, metal handle she still had her hand wrapped around, though. It was what was on the other side of the labeled entrance that had given her a case of nerves. Easy case to solve, Laura thought. She knew the culprit – her own anxiety.

  Having the reputation of a stone-cold bitch had been second nature. Now, Laura felt herself having to work the frost back up – rebuild the barriers. She inhaled long and hard, letting the chilled air run through her airways and fill her lungs. Centered, she pulled on the door and walked in to a rush of warm air. It was like someone had taken the pause off a movie and life started again.

  “Good day, Detective,” said Roselyn, manning the entry desk. A few assorted officers walked through the room. Nothing else. No fanfare. No gauntlet to walk. Just a very unconcerned desk guard.

  Relieved and somewhat disappointed at the same time, Laura made her way through the neutrally colored halls, heading in a bee-line for her desk. Every step came easier. Each one made the building feel more familiar – more comfortable. By the time she reached her destination, the full extent of her absence had almost melted away.

  Almost. Eyes fell on her from around the room that housed the department’s investigative area, preceding the expected comments and hushed whispers that could be heard here and there. Some seemed indifferent, or at the very least, attempted to hide their reaction. Some scrutinized her right to set foot back into the office. Some reassured her. Laura knew she had to tune it all out. Other than herself, there was only one person she really had to prove anything to.

  “Well, look what someone scraped in on the bottom of their shoe,” a familiar voice with bad intentions came from behind her.

  That is not the one person, Laura thought smugly. For a moment, taking the high ground seemed like the right thing to do - to not lower herself to the officer’s level.

  Nah, she decided. He had this coming. Laura sniffed a little at the air before replying, “You should certainly be used to the smell of shit, since you’re full of it.” Slowly, for effect, she turned with a smirk to face Patterson. “Or is that large gut just full of rotten lard.”

  “Oh, ha-ha,” Officer Patterson replied, “all that time off for going bat-shit crazy and that’s the best you could come with.”

  “Probably the only time you’ll get to use the word ‘come’ in a sentence with a woman,” Laura fired back, crossing her arms and cocking her head.

  It hit the intended nerve. Patterson shot a fat finger up into her face, spitting as he lashed back at her, “Let’s get one thing straight, nut job – I haven’t forgotten you trying to pull a gun on me or the fact that you crossed a line in that last case. I don’t care why they let you slither back in here, got me! Keep your tentacles out of my way.”

  “Tentacles,” Laura chided, “whatever porn you’re in to, freak show, keep it at home.”

  “You better hope…,” Patterson took a step forward, his intensity going up a notch, “you better hope it’s not me you ever call for back-up, because it ain’t coming!”

  “Don’t worry,” Laura responded, determined to have the last word, “if I had to depend on you, I’d be dead long before your fat ass could get out of your donut stained seat to help me.”

  There was a quiet stare down before Patterson turned and stormed away. Laura was sure it was meant to further intimidate her, but she actually felt better than she had in weeks. Maybe she should have her therapist bring in that dumbass for her to unload on every time she had a session. The thought made her chuckle to herself.

  Turning back to the desk, she decided to start getting caught up on phone messages and emails, although she had to admit that the amount of paperwork waiting for her was nowhere near what she expected. Certainly, the chief had someone help cover her work load during the mental sabbatical – but still.

  Laura hung her coat on the back of her chair and sat down, flipping through a couple of items to get herself reacquainted with where she had left off. Nothing jumped out at her – at least nothing too pressing. Grabbing the phone, she began logging into her voice mail, taking a few times to remember the last password she had set-up.

  A finger tapping on the end of the desk stopped her. “I didn’t ask you back here, young lady, to surf the desk.” The chief’s voice was reassuring and steady, like an anchor in a storm. She imagined it must be how a waiting father sounded when greeting a wayward child finally returning home.

  “Sir,” Laura said, hanging up the phone and standing. She waited until he had passed before falling in behind him, keeping her eyes pasted to the chief as they headed for his office instead of engaging any more of her coworker’s glances and facial judgements.

  There was a real strength that could not be measured by his salt-and-pepper hair: a weight of wisdom in his quiet demeanor, a deliberateness to his actions, and trust in his words when he did speak. His outfits were typically adorned with a vest, and today had been no exception. This one was a soft, pale blue that complimented his dark skin and hung a little loose on his wiry frame, despite being cinched in as far as it could be.

  He stopped at the entrance to the room, enclosed in stained wood and frosted glass, allowing her to pass by before closing the door. As he rounded the desk, the chief brought the glasses up that had been hanging around his neck and let them ride low on his nose. In the middle of the work area, in the only spot clear of clutter, was a manila folder that seemed to have been placed with the intent of being prepared for her arrival.

  All of Laura’s attention was on the file as his fingers reached for it, but after a moment’s hesitation, she realized the chief was staring at her.

  “How are you feeling, Detective?” He asked, catching her completely off-guard; so much so that Laura was not entirely sure how to answer.

  Her being unsure was obvious and hung out in the air long enough that s
he was sure the chief picked up on it.

  “Are you up for this, because I need your head in the game,” he finally added.

  “Sure. I’m fine, Sir,” Laura replied, instantly feeling that her words fell flat and did little to convey the confidence she had intended to. Keeping her eyes locked with his, she hoped the strong physical presentation would provide the needed reassurance.

  It did not. The chief adjusted his glasses. “Now Detective, I did not get to this position simply on my good looks.” He paused just a moment, long enough to drive his point home, Laura figured, before nodding towards her torso and continuing, “That certainly is not the wardrobe indicative of my feisty, best field worker.”

  If any other man had made a statement about her attire and being feisty, Laura would have assumed they had been ogling her and were trying for a cheap come-on. Not Chief Epps. No, his cool, calm voice was merely relaying fact.

  Laura glanced down at her outfit, comprised of department issued pants, shirt made of poly-cotton fabric that was fairly wrinkle proof, and shoes; nothing flashy. Nothing that would draw attention. Comfortable. Easy to press, not impress.

  The Chief had made his point effortlessly and eloquently. For a moment, Laura pictured Chief Epps in a light brown wool suit working as a professor, schooling young, inexperienced students on…well, on anything. She could literally imagine him successfully teaching just about anything.

  And here he was letting her know he had easily connected the dots between her emotional struggles and scars and the continued change in her attire. It made sense, as one might expect that had she made real headway in her therapy it would show in her outward appearance.

  She was not some wet-behind-the-ears rookie, though. He had said it himself, she was the best in the department. Laura matched his demeanor and tone and replied, “Does my clothing really have anything to do with my skills? You did call me to come in, didn’t you, sir? Why don’t you let me do what it is you brought me back in here for.”

  “Fair enough,” he responded, voice unwavering. If there was any other doubt, her superior did not display even the slightest hint about it. The thought did stick in her mind, though, and maybe that was his intent, she wondered, to get her thinking about it.

  He slid the folder closer to her, opened it, and, with one hand, gently splayed out a series of pictures.

  Laura’s pulse quickened and her mouth went dry as she took in the details presented in the evidence. Any indecisiveness still lingering in her mind as a subject of importance about her wardrobe left entirely.

  Two different women were identified: attractive, bound, beaten, and sexually assaulted. One had been killed, while one had lay in a coma until finally passing.

  It was a series of brutal crimes, to be sure, but that, in and of itself, would not have distinguished it from any other homicide that she had worked. No, that detail was left to the clothing.

  Stars set on a purple background and a white capital letter ‘A’ accented by red, revealingly shaped fabric comprised a one-piece style costume, accessorized by shiny, nude tights, that both victims shared in common at the time the crimes took place.

  Amazing Woman.

  A musky scent lingered in the back of Laura’s nose, and images flooded her mind: flashes of an animal-like man with fanged teeth, a teen covered in bite marks, and fear for her own life as she was assaulted and threatened. No, not threatened – promised death.

  “He’s back,” she finally muttered, still fixated on the crime scene photos.

  “It would certainly appear so,” the Chief acknowledged.

  “What sort of sick devices did he use to assault these two?” Laura asked, failing to pick-up on the reservation in the tone of Chief Epps’ previous statement.

  “Exactly the problem, Detective. These two met their end the old-fashioned way – they were beaten. Most likely with a blunt object, which...,” He paused, removing his glasses. He breathed heavily on one of the lenses before wiping it with a handkerchief and replacing them on the lower portion of his nose, “would at least be a common thread with the previous assaults.”

  Laura looked up at him, puzzled. “No bites?” she asked.

  “No bites,” the Chief replied. “No bites. No blood loss either, unless you count what came from the wounds they received from their beatings or the unlucky small, wild animals found.”

  “So,” Laura said, looking back down at the pictures as the pieces of evidence began lining back up, “their pets were drained.”

  “Only if their pets wandered all the way across town, were feral, and lived in the wild,” Chief Epps said, derailing the connection. “These two did not have any pets, at least not with them at the hotels where they ended up. The victimized animals were found near the Goochland – Henrico border. A whole mess of them out there were sucked dry and mangled.”

  Laura strained hard to find the dots to connect the attacks to the previous murders, but there were too many differences. No themed devices used, and the unsub, as they called an unknown subject, had not fed on either victim. “And the outfits are the same,” she said out loud, finishing her line of thought.

  “Good point. Our attacker seems fixated on this particular costume,” the Chief added.

  “A copycat maybe,” Laura added, but it was an arbitrary afterthought. She had already moved on to speculating about the circumstances. The only other relation to the previous murders, that had gone unmentioned, was her, and she was not about to bring that up. Wearing the Amazing Woman costume while reenacting what had happened to Sarah Whent had been a desire she could not ignore; a sexually charged hunger.

  Could Ambrose be calling her out? It still did not add up, though. Why would he do that yet change his M.O.? And he was not aware of her fetish driven reenactment. She was missing something.

  “Whatever it is, we need to reel it in before the sharks start smelling blood in the water,” the Chief replied. The press loved a good serial killer story, and it would not take long before the news outlets were flooded with a blend of fact and misinformation. The channels would enjoy the ratings. The populace would be whipped into a frenzy, bloating the police department with calls of paranoia, bad leads, and city officials wanting answers – answers they currently did not have. That led to increased pressure as those same officials wanted to save face with their constituents instead of asking for patience.

  “Anything else going on?” she asked, a heavy tone of sarcasm in her voice.

  “There has been a string of clothing robberies in Carytown,” the Chief answered, obliging her rhetorical question with his own humor.

  Laura began to lay out how she was going to approach her investigation but barely got into the first sentence when the sound of the door opening stopped her. Glancing up she saw that look in the Chief’s eyes. It was not a full-on scowl, nor did he articulate any dismay in dramatic fashion. No. It was far more subtle than that, yet one could tell, without a doubt, when they had brought on the leader’s ire due to unwanted interruption.

  The officer leaning in the door certainly got the unspoken point. “Sir.” That was all that was said. Laura waited for the rest and finally turned to make sure the young man was even still there. His sensitivity sure was showing, she thought, as he looked nervously back and forth between her and the department head. “Sir, pardon the intrusion. There is someone out here that is insisting they speak with you, and it seems urgent,” he finally spit out.

  “Seems or is, son?” Chief Epps answered back flatly.

  “Is, sir. It is.”

  “Well,” the Chief said as he shuffled the case photos back into the manila folder and closed it from prying eyes, “let’s not keep them waiting then.” He rounded the desk and followed the young officer out of the room, with Laura falling into step behind them.

  They did not have to go far, and the detective recognized the frantic woman as soon as she laid eyes on her. Not wanting to attract the immediate attention of Constance’s mom, Laura shielded herself behin
d her boss. The reaction caught her somewhat by surprise, though – that she would be so concerned with what the woman might have to say. Maybe this was some deeply entrenched guilt for what had happened to the woman’s daughter. She certainly felt her share of responsibility for the teen being turned into a chew toy. Laura filed the moment into one of her mental folders – the one marked for topics of conversation in the next therapy session.

  The officer made the introduction between the elder Kysta and Chief Epps, who immediately set about calming the woman so that he could get the details of what it was that brought her into the department in her current emotional state. It took some time for her to pull herself together and, all the while, Laura tried to stay out of sight. She expected the explanation to center around Constance but not in the way that it did when Missus Kysta finally spoke.

  “My daughter is missing,” she said, the words stumbling out between sobs.

  “Yes. It was very tragic that she lost her life at such a young age. All of us here at the Richmond P.D. share our deepest, heart-felt sympathies with your family,” Chief Epps responded consolingly.

  “No…her body…it’s missing,” Mrs. Kysta replied, her voice steadier as her emotional state leveled out.

  “I’m sorry. How’s that?” the Chief asked, and Laura could not help but notice that he was as caught off-guard by the remark as she was.

  “I stopped by her grave to see her on the way home. I try to go by there a couple times a week,” Constance’s mother stated, “and I could tell when I got out of the car and began walking towards her site that something was wrong. There was dirt piled up there. Then there was this hole that went right down to where she had been.”

  She had to stop speaking. The last few words had barely come out as intelligible before Missus Kysta began sobbing again. It was different, this time, though, Laura noticed.

  The detective, leaning a little and discretely peering through the space between the Chief’s arm and the young officer, could just make out the woman’s balled fists. And, when the words came again, there was a clear mixture of anger and sadness, like someone crying through clenched teeth.