by Judith Post
Since they were talking shop, Enoch had a few questions of his own. “Did you have any luck getting a description of someone new to the bar? Someone who only started coming recently?"
“I got a few descriptions. Some people remembered enough that I had the sketch artist draw pictures.”
"Of every new customer for the night?"
"There weren't that many. Only four. Most people there were regulars."
Then they had a chance. “Did you bring the drawings?”
“I didn’t just come to bring donuts.” Danny went to the living room and came back with four sketches.
When Enoch flipped to the third one, he stopped and stared. Could it be? The eyes were the same. He studied the flat nose, the square chin. “That’s the guy I saw in my vision, the one the vampire girl threw against a wall.”
“The guy who was attacking a woman?”
Enoch concentrated, trying to pull back the image. “He had a pair of pantyhose in his hand.”
“You didn't say that before. That’s how he strangles them.” Danny got to his feet, all business. He patted the picture. “Your girl might have rescued that woman from our clown killer.”
“It hasn’t happened yet, remember?”
Danny shook his head. “Whatever. This might be our guy. I’m going to have men go door to door to see if anyone recognizes him.”
Enoch’s long fingers drummed the slate countertop. He frowned at the picture. “He looks odd, doesn’t he?”
"Odd how?" Danny bent to take a closer look. Thick sideburns, bushy brows, long hair, a mustache and beard. "Hell, he’s wearing a disguise. You can hardly see his face.”
“Look at his eyes, though. Cold and pale. No wonder someone remembered them. He’ll strike again, I know it, and I can’t do anything.” Enoch balled his fingers into fists. “I can’t get a vision of the next victim. He didn’t touch Katy. I need a touch to see something.”
"Hold on, pal. You've given us more to work with than we had before—which was nothing."
"But it's not enough!"
“What about the woman with the vampire? Maybe she's next, or do your visions jump around?"
“I saw her when I touched the robbers Voronika killed. I was following Voronika's trail, not the killer’s.”
Danny’s eyebrows shot up. “The vampire has a name?”
Shit. He'd slipped up. Enoch didn’t intend to tell Danny everything. “I got Katy’s name, didn’t I?”
“I thought you only saw victims."
Enoch had to think fast. "Nothing was the same about the vision I had with Voronika. Maybe vampires are different."
"Maybe." Danny hesitated. "I’d like to dig up some answers before I get called to the next body. Maybe the sketch will help. And we know that he wears disguises. I'll send men to the shops around town to see if someone's buying wigs and fake beards.” He took the picture Enoch recognized and headed to the living room, stopped for a moment and looked around. “I never thought I’d be invited to some place so swanky.”
The walls of the spacious room were painted a soft, warm brown, the moldings cream. The carpet design mimicked a huge Oriental rug. A low-slung sofa and two, silk-upholstered chairs formed a seating group on each side of the archway that led to the foyer. Enoch’s 18th-century lacquered secretary was angled in a corner in front of floor to ceiling bookcases crammed with old and new volumes. A Gauguin and Picasso mingled with newer art pieces on the walls.
“Originals?” Danny asked. The mahogany-and-gilt-bronze tables and Louis XV side chairs made him nervous, Enoch could tell.
Enoch shrugged. “I like my luxuries.”
“Wouldn’t we all?” He skirted the porcelain pieces on a coffee table.
"It's home. Everything's meant to be used."
"Not by me. If I knock something off a table, I have a feeling it couldn't be replaced, and even if it could, I wouldn't be able to afford to."
“Then we'll stay in the kitchen. You're comfortable there. Dinner at seven?” Danny opened the door to leave. “I’ll be here. Maybe someone will recognize the sketch by then.”
Enoch doubted it. The killer was no fool. The next time they met him, they probably wouldn't recognize him.
Chapter 10
Marie Lemmon smoothed her short blond hair away from her face and applied pink lipstick carefully so that it wouldn't seep into the lines that puckered her mouth. Getting older wasn't for sissies. She smiled at her image in the mirror. Age did have its advantages. The kids were grown, and since Martin retired, they each had free time to do the things they loved. Tonight and every Tuesday night, Marie drove to the Senior Center on Main Street to teach a class on handwriting analysis. Students of all ages attended. They paid a nominal fee to cover the cost of the book by Andrea McNichol that Marie had chosen to instruct them.
"What's it to be tonight?" Martin asked her as she pulled on her thick, wool coat.
"Signatures." She grabbed her purse. "We've already covered slant, spacing, and baselines." She walked to his recliner and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Enjoy your game tonight."
Remote in hand, potato chips on the side table, he nodded.
Before she went to the car, she grabbed a bag she'd left by the door—a little something for the girl who sometimes came to the center for help. Such a beauty, but so mixed up. Marie doubted that she could keep a job, she seemed so paranoid, didn't trust anyone. With long, silver hair and blue eyes, the girl turned heads, but what good did that do if you couldn't be around people? It was getting cold, and Thanksgiving was this Thursday. Marie had talked to people at the hospital where she volunteered too, and they'd donated two warm blankets, a black leather jacket, and three bags of groceries for the girl. Not homeless. At least, Marie didn't think she was, but the girl always looked cold and hungry.
On the drive downtown, Marie went through her own mental list of preparations for the holiday. Their two sons were coming home, along with their wives and children. There'd be ten people around the old dining room table. Marie bought a turkey when it was on sale and an Ossian ham. She ticked off side dishes on her fingers—sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole (her younger son's favorite), broccoli salad, pumpkin rolls and lemon meringue pies. She had all the ingredients to make those. She decided to add a few more things to the menu, just in case. She was debating between a Waldorf or seven layer salad when she reached the Senior Center. She was early on purpose and carried the sacks inside. She was just thinking about the girl when she walked through the doors. She looked healthier than usual, but tired.
"No sleep?" Marie asked.
"Lots of people have been coming in and out of where I stay."
The girl never gave an exact address and purposely kept her information vague. That was all right with Marie. A person should be able to keep her pride, even if she didn't have money. Marie admired her fierce pride and need for autonomy. She motioned to the bags. "It's a holiday. We always take up a collection at the hospital this time of year. All of us decided we'd like to support you. It's bitter cold outside. You need warmer things."
The girl was dressed in black pants and a shabby jacket. When she opened the bag and saw the leather jacket, she took a deep breath. "Thank you."
Marie motioned to the groceries. "I don't know if you cook or not, but there's enough for a Thanksgiving meal there."
"Thanks."
Headlights pulled into the parking lot and Marie glanced at the clock. "You'd better go. Students are starting to arrive. No need for you to be bothered with that."
The girl picked up the bags and walked out the back door. She turned quickly before stepping into the darkness. "I appreciate this."
"We're glad we can help." Marie had become concerned for the girl. She wasn't sure when it had happened, but she liked her. She wanted to do what she could to help her.
Her first student walked through the front double doors. "Guess what?" she asked. "I used your last lesson on one of my boyfriend's love letters. The man's a
total liar. He swore he wasn't sleeping with his ex-girlfriend, but when I looked at how much space was before the word "slept," I knew he was a cheater and dumped him."
Marie smiled, listening to the student's story, as the silver-haired girl slipped into the night.
Chapter 11
Simple was better, Enoch decided, when it came to Danny. He drove to his favorite butcher shop on the south side of town and bought a beef tenderloin, fresh green beans, and a bag of apples. At the last minute, he tossed in a bag of potatoes too. Danny had a hearty appetite.
Home again, in the kitchen, his thoughts wandered as he peeled and sliced apples for a tart. No, on second thought, he’d go with a pie. Danny liked homestyle better. Nothing too sophisticated or gourmet.
Caleb had laughed at him once when he'd popped in unexpectedly with telepathy and found him cooking. "Look at the little homemaker you've become. Life must be exciting for you here."
"You're the one who craves excitement," Enoch shot back, "and look where it's gotten you."
"In my idea of heaven. I'll stop in some other time when you're not busy. Don't cut yourself with your paring knife. I might not be able to control myself."
Screw him, Enoch thought. Most chefs were men. If he wanted to cook, he'd damn well cook. The more Enoch thought about it, the more he liked the idea of working with Danny on this case. With no need for sleep, Enoch had too much time on his hands. Dabbling in the mortal world would fill the day time hours when vampires slept. At night, he could search for his rogue. He doubted he'd stay in Three Rivers after that. By then, Danny should have caught his killer, and Enoch would move on to the next city, the next bad vampire.
He rolled out pie dough, picturing the sketch Danny had shown him earlier. The killer had worn a different disguise in the vision with the vampire girl, but the eyes had been the same. Enoch wondered how many times their guy changed his hairpiece and fake beard and how hard it made it for people to identify him. Would he be able to if he saw him?
Once the pie was in the oven, Enoch went to his computer and started to work. He'd chosen an easy meal with a minimum of preparation. He wouldn’t have to think about it until later that night. Usually, when his fingers met the keyboard, other thoughts faded to the beauty of words and language, the joy of expressing ideas. Not today. He found himself thinking about Voronika. Each time his fingers slowed, his concentration faded. How had she become a vampire? How long ago?
A part of him harbored shame and guilt. If he hadn’t tried to save Caleb, there wouldn't be vampires. His old friend wouldn't have turned to drinking blood, infecting mortals with his own immortality, to replace the healing powers of the Light. And if Caleb hadn't created vampires, this woman would never have been bitten. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of people wouldn’t have suffered because of Caleb’s cruel turn. Not your fault, a still voice whispered in his mind. Caleb chose this course, not you. But Enoch felt responsible. Always would.
He pushed away from the desk. No writing today. He was too restless to stay indoors and stare at the walls. He needed fresh air, movement. Pulling on a new, long, leather coat, he left the apartment. He’d walk down Main Street and see the converted condos and the church in the day time.
It was odd how differently things looked in sunlight. On side streets, Enoch noticed paint peeling on some of the old Victorian houses with their fancy gingerbread trims. The backyards of most of the houses were cramped. Fences sagged. Steps tilted. Lawns were beaten down. A neighborhood in need of a transfusion of money.
He studied dark basement windows. Did the vampire girl live close to here? Did she own a home so that no one disturbed her during the day? He shook his head. Why did Voronika creep into his thoughts so often? He pictured long, silver hair and a thin, curvy body. Tempting, but there were other temptresses out there. What made Voronika so compelling?
He passed a school where children laughed and played during recess. The girl in the condo was studying to be an elementary school teacher before she was murdered. Why did the killer pick her? How did he choose his victims?
He stopped to watch a group of boys playing kickball until the teacher on duty stared at him and walked closer. He gave a small nod and left. He hadn’t meant to alarm her. Sad, how stopping to enjoy the sound and energy of children caused concern these days. But for good reason. There were all sizes and shapes of predators these days.
Before he realized how far he’d come, he ended up on Wells Street, close to the bar where Katy worked. His stomach rumbled, and he remembered that he hadn’t eaten since Danny brought the donuts this morning. He went inside and ordered a club sandwich and a beer.
“What are you doing here?” Katy asked. It was a slow day. She came to sit across from him.
“I couldn’t concentrate. Went for a walk and lost track of time. Are you off duty now?”
“Yeah, signed out at two. Working a split shift.” Her dark hair was pulled into a high chignon with wisps that escaped to frame her face. "What were you working on?"
"An article."
She wrinkled her nose. "I don't like to read."
“You look like a Gibson girl,” Enoch commented, changing the subject. “Is Danny still keeping an eye on you?”
“Yeah, says he'll be my personal bodyguard, but he insists on sleeping on the couch in the living room.” She gave a crooked grin. “I’d love to get that guy in my bed.”
“Not when he’s on duty. Danny takes his job seriously.”
“A good thing, I guess, or I might not be here.”
Enoch frowned. “Maybe we played this whole thing wrong. If we hadn’t come to guard you, maybe you’d have shot your attacker, and the case would be solved.”
“Not likely. I usually drink a couple beers before I go to bed. Nothing wakes me up. And I usually keep my gun in a drawer in my nightstand, not under the pillow on the other side of my bed. If you hadn’t scared the crap out of me, I’d be dead.”
Enoch’s shoulders relaxed.
“You can’t carry the weight of the world on those, broad as they are," she told him. "You and Danny are only human.”
Only human. Right.
“You know, for such a good-looking guy, you run pretty deep. I don’t know what your hang up is, but you can’t let it eat at you like this. You’re going to grow old before your time.”
Enoch sighed. He’d never grow old, and he had all the time in the world. “We had a lead. I thought we could stop him.”
“It’s my fault you didn’t. If you want to get mad at someone, get mad at me. Danny almost had him before I shot him in the arm.”
Enoch smiled. "At least, you didn't hit any major arteries or bones."
“See? Life has its good and its bad. You can't beat yourself up so much. Enjoy yourself a little.”
"Guess you're right. Thanks for the pep talk.”
Katy pushed herself to her feet. “It’s part of the job. Now, if you’re finished, get out of here. Do something fun.”
He laid a twenty-dollar bill on the table and turned to leave.
“Do you just have a big wad of those stashed somewhere? You throw them down like quarters.”
“I have an endless supply.” Of money and blood, of time and Light.
“So you’re handsome and rich? Why do I always fall for the wrong guy?”
“Whoever gets Danny will be lucky.”
“Who's talking about getting. I'm just interested in a little action.”
"Not Danny's style."
"Don't I know it."
Enoch watched her take the twenty dollar bill to the bar and hand it to another waitress. "You've had a slow day. Get yourself and your kids a turkey for Thanksgiving."
Enoch hit the street in a better mood. He might not have won the war, but at least he'd won a battle. Since his Fall, he worked with limitations. Men had free choice. He couldn’t control what they did or why. On his walk home, his thoughts turned once again to Voronika. Maybe they could help each other. He wasn’t the only one who’d see
n the vision of the man attacking the older woman. Voronika had been there too, and she was aware of everything that happened.
Could she remember why she rescued the woman? he wondered. Would she know who that woman was?
It was possible, he decided. After supper with Danny tonight, he’d hit the streets to stalk her neighborhood. Maybe he could make her an offer she couldn’t refuse.
Chapter 12
Voronika needed a turkey and gravy like she needed sun block and sunshine—not at all. Nothing was hooked up at the deserted house. No gas. No electricity. And no stove. But it was so nice of Marie to give them to her that she didn't have the heart to turn her down. She smiled at the thought of having a heart. She had one, of course. It just didn't pump. She suspected that even if Marie knew that, she'd still offer help.
Voronika hadn't stopped at the Senior Center for handouts, even though the blankets would come in handy. It was uncomfortable sleeping on cold cement. Her real reason was to check on Marie. She was worried about the vision she'd shared with Enoch—whoever or whatever he was. She wouldn't let anything happen to the older woman. Marie was too nice, just like Liza had been. Voronika couldn't waste the food she'd given her. It would be disrespectful. Besides, there were people who were hungry. She saw them on her endless prowls around the city.
The good thing about winter was that the sun set early, close to six thirty at night. It didn't come up again until seven in the morning. That meant she could be outside for hours. She pulled her leather jacket closer around her and inhaled its newness. Lovely. She changed direction at the Courthouse and started toward Superior Street. She knew what she'd do with her Thanksgiving goodies. Twenty minutes later, she knocked on the door of the Rescue Mission. When someone opened it, she thrust the bags of groceries into his hands and said, "Happy holidays." Then she turned and hurried away. She was tempted to stroll through Headwaters Park, but Enoch's words made her hesitate. There was a new vampire in the city—a rogue. A follower of Vlad's?