Adding to his frustrations was a lack of solid leads in the two murder cases. There was nothing tying the two victims together to confirm, or even suggest, that they were committed by the same killer. But Detective Marks had strong instincts, and his gut was telling him it was the same guy. If his superior asked him for proof of that assumption he wouldn’t be able to provide it, but he knew it was true. The task now was to find this guy and prove, beyond doubt, that he’d killed both Amanda Simms and Toby Matthews.
And to catch him before he killed again.
That was currently his greatest fear. If he was right, then he had a serial killer on his hands.
Marks was sitting there staring into his coffee when the telephone rang. He awoke from his stupor and snatched it out of its cradle.
“Detective Marks,” he said into the receiver.
“Good morning, Detective.” Marks recognized the bright tone and knew who it was even before he introduced himself. “It’s Dr Jenkins here from QHSS. I have some new information for you.”
Marks sat upright, suddenly very alert. “Okay. What have you found out?”
“We have some results regarding the mystery virus, and we’ve managed to obtain a DNA profile on the killer.”
“I’m listening.” Marks felt his heart race.
There was hesitation on the other end of the line.
“Is it possible for you to come visit me at my Brisbane office? I’d really prefer to go through these results with you in person. Maybe together we can make some sense of them. Because, quite frankly, Detective, in my twenty five years in the industry, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
* * *
The very first thing Ryan did that morning was bank Selena’s expenses cheque. He even paid a hefty fee for an express clearance on it. He would have the funds in twenty-four hours and really couldn’t make much headway on Selena’s assignment until then.
On a visit to the post office he sorted his phone and electricity bills and his credit card bill. The car registration could wait a few more days.
He went to the Coffee Club in Cavill Mall and ordered a cappuccino, which he took to an outside table by the low-rise barricades that were plastered with Coffee Club advertising. After spooning the chocolate-coated froth off the top, Ryan took a sheet of paper from his back pocket and spread it out on the table, smoothing the creases out of it with his palms. He took another sip of coffee and read.
Doctor Marlon Becker, age forty five. Emigrated from Germany ten years ago. Renowned biochemist, pathologist and hematologist. Also a part-time lecturer at Sheldon University in Brisbane. Works at the Research Institute for Blood Disorders in Brisbane, Sydney and Melbourne. Single with no children.
There was no residential address, contact phone number or email address included, but they wouldn’t be very hard to dig up.
It wasn’t much to go on, though.
Ryan sat back with his coffee in hand and gazed absently about the mall. What was Selena’s interest in this scientist and his work? And why did she get so defensive with him last night? His mind lingered back to the two cheques he was yet to receive. If he got her what she wanted - whatever that was - and honored their confidentiality agreement, then there was a further two hundred grand coming his way. He still couldn’t believe how much she was willing to pay him for this gig. Whatever the good doctor was up to, it was obviously of extreme importance to Selena Thorne.
They had parted ways soon after Selena had presented him with the expenses cheque and told him what his assignment was. Things had started off with a bit of chemistry, but that had all vanished quickly as soon as they’d got down to business. Hell, he didn’t even know if she was married or not, or whether she had a partner. He’d never confided his romantic status - or lack of it - to her either. Maybe he had the attraction thing all wrong. For her it may just be purely business and nothing more. Some people flirt just to get what that want. But it was more than flirting. There was something there, some vibe between them that wasn’t deliberate on either side.
Anyway, he told himself, he had to forget about that now and focus on the job at hand. Harboring romantic thoughts about her like a delusional adolescent male wouldn’t achieve anything. Get the job done, get her what she wants, collect those two juicy cheques, then see what happens. Maybe they could go on a real date or something? Dinner, drinks, a movie. Something normal. Get to know her without any business involved.
He recalled that gloved hand slowly and somewhat seductively sliding up and down the tall glass of water. In body language terms that could mean something. Another thought entered his head then and pushed the previous one out. She never did drink any of that water. Maybe she just wasn’t thirsty and only had it there out of politeness so he felt like he wasn’t drinking alone? Who knows? And what was with those gloves all the time?
There was something intangible about Selena Thorne that was very unusual, and he had a feeling he would soon discover what that was.
* * *
Marks drove to Brisbane that afternoon. The drive from the Gold Coast took less than an hour. Once again he had the air conditioning cranked full blast. Storm clouds were accumulating on the western horizon, congregating around the tops of the mountains and preparing for an onslaught.
He turned off the Pacific Motorway into Kessels Road and drove into Coopers Plains on Brisbane’s south side. A few minutes later he pulled into the parking area of QHSS headquarters. He straightened his tie and jacket when he got out of the car, striving to look respectable despite the uncomfortable weather. Marks headed into the building, told Reception he had an appointment with Dr Jenkins and was asked to take a seat until he was called. Before he did he poured some chilled water from a dispensing machine into a small plastic cup. He gulped that down and immediately poured another. Just as he selected a magazine to mindlessly leaf through, the receptionist told him to go on through the Jenkins’ office.
Marks dumped his empty cup into a waste basket and walked down a wide corridor. Jenkins’ office was second on the left. He paused outside the closed door, knocked twice, then entered.
Dr Jenkins was seated behind a large desk covered with computer monitors. The walls were adorned with certificates, diplomas and awards of all kinds. The ducted air conditioning hummed quietly and the room was pleasantly cool.
Smiling, Jenkins rose from his chair and shook the detective’s hand with a firm grasp. The doctor was a few years older than Marks, maybe mid-thirties. He had a full head of blond hair that was spiked up with product on the top, giving him the appearance of a thirty-something adolescent. The man looked for all money like Dexter Holland from The Offspring; a band Marks had been a fan of in his youth. He was wearing a white shirt over a trim frame, and a red and navy tie that was fastened with a perfect knot; something Marks wasn’t very adept at himself. Both men took a seat and Detective Marks waited for Jenkins to fill him in on what he’d found out. He switched on his trusty voice recorder.
“Would you like a coffee?” the doctor offered, obviously procrastinating for some reason.
Marks shook his head. He checked his watch, wanting to get business dealt with and be back on the Coast before the storms hit. He didn’t fancy driving in the midst of a thunderstorm and he didn’t want to wait around for them to pass, either.
“I’m not sure how to put to you the results of our research,” Jenkins said eventually after staring at a sheet of paper for an eternity.
“Just lay it out on the table,” Marks said.
Jenkins nodded and adjusted his already-perfect tie. “Okay.” He leaned forward, elbows on the desktop. Marks, meanwhile, was busy stroking his goatee. “Have you ever heard of a disease called Porphyric Hemophilia?”
“No. Should I have? Obviously it’s quite rare, as you said in our phone conversation last Friday.”
“It is, and it’s very unusual. We don’t have much information on it, I’m afraid.”
“Doctor? I don’t mean to be rude,” Marks interjected,
“but it seems like your hedging here. Just get to the point and we’ll work it out from there.”
“Okay,” Jenkins said with a firm nod. “My team managed to track down a scientist who has encountered this virus, disease - whatever you want to label it - before during his time in Europe. His name’s Doctor Becker and he’s a very gifted hematologist, currently working in Melbourne on a research project.”
“So he’s a blood doctor.” Marks was familiar with the term.
“That’s right, among other talents.”
“So what is this disease you mentioned? What does it do?” Marks wanted to know.
“That’s the tricky part. Even Doctor Becker was rather reluctant to elaborate after admitting he had seen it before in Germany. Which is where he’s originally from, by the way.”
Jenkins paused again to study the sheet of paper in front of him.
“Doctor?” Marks prodded.
With a resigned sigh, Jenkins said, “Dr Becker refers to it as a vampire disease.”
Detective Marks nearly choked on his own tongue. “What the...? A fucking vampire! Is that what you’re telling me here?” Marks shook his head in total disbelief.
Jenkins held up his hands defensively. “I’m just telling you what he told my team. I’m not for one second suggesting we have a vampire out there committing murder and sucking the blood from its victims. They’re a myth.”
Or are they? Marks wondered, thinking about the lesions on the throat of Amanda Simms, the lack of blood present in the body with no apparent reason for its absence. Surely the legend couldn’t be real. He posed a question to Jenkins.
“Was this Doctor Becker stating he’d had dealings with actual vampires in Europe, or just stating he’d seen the disease before?”
“He never said he’d encountered vampires, no. What Becker explained in his report to me was that people who suffer Porphyric Hemophilia have an extreme deficiency in their red blood cell count and therefore need a direct way, or source, of fulfilling that inadequacy.”
“By sucking another person’s blood?” Marks couldn’t believe two sane, professional adults were sitting here having this absurd conversation.
“Or animal blood,” Jenkins said. “This is not to suggest that people with the condition are the walking dead with superhuman strength and abilities like we see in the movies. They could just be normal people with a genuine medical condition that is so rare virtually no one on the planet has any solid experience with it.”
“No one except Doctor Becker.” Marks played with his goatee some more, thinking. “I’m going to need some time to mull that over, Doctor, so let’s move on to the DNA profile you have on my suspect. You said you’d never seen anything like it before.”
Jenkins nodded. “That’s right.” Again he went into hesitation mode.
“Come on, Doc,” Marks urged.
“I won’t get all technical on you here, Detective, but to suffice to say the DNA profile we created on your suspect isn’t entirely consistent with that of a human being.”
Marks shook his head in bewilderment. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It appears to be some sort of a hybrid pattern,” Jenkins explained. “You see, pure human DNA consists of forty six chromosomes, or twenty three pairs. Our subject in question has a count of fifty.”
“And can you explain that?”
“Frankly, no. Not yet, anyway. The only way he could have a different chromosome count is if he is either a hybrid, or he isn’t human at all.”
“Are we back to the vampire theory again?”
“I never put that forth as a theory at all, Detective.”
“So, are you basically, in layman’s terms, telling me that the perpetrator I’m looking for is not a person at all?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure what I’m telling you. I’m just giving you the results of our studies. I did warn you on the phone earlier that this case was highly unusual.”
Marks nodded. “Okay, thank you, Doctor. Can you arrange copies of your information?” He stood up. “And can you also give me contact details for this Dr Becker? I may want to get in touch with him myself.”
“Will do.” Jenkins printed off copies for Marks of everything he requested. “Thanks for coming up.”
They shook hands.
“Let me know if you come up with anything else,” Marks said and left the room.
* * *
The drive back to the Gold Coast was uneventful. The thunderstorms, although building rapidly, were still quite a distance off and there was no immediate threat. The humidity, however, had risen markedly. If that were possible. Marks had the windows closed and the air con up full again. With the afternoon sun beating down on the car, the climate control struggled to keep things all that comfortable inside the cabin.
Marks had the radio on at a low volume, his mind going over everything he’d just discussed with Dr Jenkins. None of it made any real sense. In fact, nothing about these cases made logical sense at all. He didn’t feel like he was getting anywhere, and the results he’d just received weren’t going to really help him any. There was no point running a DNA profile match through the national database when the profile didn’t even match up to that of a person in the first place. And this virus, disease, whatever, what was that all about?
Could it be that someone, some freak, was masquerading as a vampire and committing these murders? But that didn’t add up either, not with the forensic evidence he had now.
His mind thought back to the camp site where Toby Matthews’ headless body was found, the cranium ripped off in such a violent manner. That feat didn’t match the abilities of a human being either.
He sighed and turned off the M1.
Maybe he would get in touch with this Dr Becker himself and see what the man had to say. Just possibly he could shed some light on things.
Twenty Two
Ryan was in his room sitting in front of the computer. Chelsea was out somewhere, probably hanging out with Emma. Emma had proven fruitless when it came to his plea for her to convince his sister to stay in school. That didn’t look like it was going to happen now.
To take a break from the glare of the screen for a moment, he looked out through the open doors and stared at the nightscape of Surfers Paradise. He had all the lights off and the only light source in his room was coming from the computer monitor.
He raised his arms and stretched, yawning at the same time, then refocused his eyes on the Google search results page he’d been looking over.
He clicked on a promising link and scanned the page that opened, finding something useful at last. It was a mobile phone number for Dr Marlon Becker. Ryan scribbled it down on a notepad and sat back to contemplate it. What should he do? Call the number and say what? Hi, I’m a private detective and I’ve been hired to learn what you’re currently researching or working on. Could you please fill me in with all the details.
That wasn’t going to work.
Ryan opened another page that gave some details on Becker when he was in Germany. Thankfully the page was written in English and didn’t require translation. The gist of it was that Becker was brilliant in his chosen fields of science from an early age. He was at the forefront of some groundbreaking research into some common blood diseases in the 1990s and had received many accolades for his work. It mentioned his emigration to Australia a decade ago, but failed to offer any reasons as to why he left his home country to relocate here.
Twenty minutes later Ryan stumbled across another snippet of information that may be helpful. Apparently the good doctor was currently working out of the Melbourne branch of the Research Institute for Blood Disorders.
Ryan made a note of that on his pad, including the address. It looked like a trip to Melbourne might be on the cards. He wasn’t sure if that was where he’d find the information Selena wanted, but better to start where the man was currently located, he figured.
Somehow he would need to get an appointment with Dr Becker so he coul
d at least meet the man and work out his next move from there. What were the chances he could just call up the Institute and request some face time with the guy? Probably pretty slim without a credible premise for such a request.
He’d have to come up with one and set the wheels in motion tomorrow morning when his money was cleared.
* * *
Chelsea was sitting down on the beach with Emma. She’d just finished work and the pair were chilling out with some Vodka Cruisers - purchased legally by Emma now that she was eighteen - and cigarettes. Drinking alcohol on the beach was outlawed and attracted hefty on-the-spot fines if caught, so they sat in the darkness of the dunes away from the Cavill Mall spotlights. Out to sea lightning flashed intermittently.
“Have you spoken to John today?” Chelsea asked. “Was he at school?”
“He wasn’t at school, but I called him this afternoon to check on him.”
“How is he?”
“He’s fine and will probably be back at school tomorrow.” Emma puffed on her cigarette and washed it down with Vodka Cruiser. She looked at her friend in the darkness and grinned. “Just ask what you wanna ask, Chelsea.”
Chelsea puffed on her own smoke. “Has he heard from Travis?”
“No, he hasn’t. As soon as he does he’ll pass on your phone number to him.”
“It seems like weeks since your party,” Chelsea mused. “Not three days ago.”
“I know what you mean. That night seems so surreal now. Did your brother give you the third degree about it?”
“No, not really. I’ve hardly even seen Ryan this past week anyway. Which is probably just as well. I don’t wanna hear any more about why I’m not going to school and all that bullshit. I’m an adult now. I’ve got my own life and he just has to accept that I can make my own decisions. Right or wrong they’re mine to make. He should focus on fixing his own crummy life. He’s got nothing and is nothing.”
Night Realm Page 14