That was the last thing Terrill remembered.
Chapter 13
Captain Anderson wasn’t happy with the interruption of his weekly bowling night, but agreed to give Judge Parrish a call. An hour later, Carlan had a search warrant in hand.
He drove by himself to the Badlands Motel and watched the suspect’s room for an hour, until it became obvious that no one was home. He considered calling for backup. Without another officer as a witness, whatever evidence he found would be in doubt, possibly not even allowed in a court case. Then again, he didn’t plan to ever let it get that far. He’d already decided to take this suspect down by himself. A little “resistance” and maybe the problem could be taken care of here and now. It was always easier to explain after the fact, especially if there weren’t any witnesses who might second-guess his actions.
I probably should wait until the suspect returns, Carlan thought, but he was nervous. Parrish had signed the warrant with great reluctance.
“This is the flimsiest excuse I’ve ever seen for a search,” the old judge had said. “A traffic ticket a block away from the scene of a crime is hardly evidence, or we’d all be guilty. Still, I trust Captain Anderson’s instincts on these kinds of cases, and if he thinks there is something here, then I’ll go along.”
“Thank you, your honor,” Carlan had said.
“But I warn you, you’d better find better evidence than this if you intend to arrest this man,” Parrish had said.
“Yes, sir. That’s why we need the warrant.”
If the suspect showed and refused to answer questions, Carlan might never have a chance to confront him. He decided to go ahead with the search. Better to find something incriminating now.
He entered the motel lobby and flashed the warrant. He asked the young clerk, who looked barely out of high school, for the key. The clerk didn’t volunteer to go open the door, just handed him the key.
“I’m not surprised you’re here,” the clerk said, swallowing nervously. “The guy is spooky. He’s gone every night, gets back just before dawn, and then stays in his room all day.”
“So?”
“Hey, this ain’t the Ritz. Hell, he doesn’t even turn on the TV!”
“Good to know,” Carlan said.
He had no doubt he’d find something, or at least that he’d be able to concoct a story based on something he found. There was always guilty stuff hanging around; it was just how you interpreted it. Anything sharp? It could be a weapon. Porn? Evidence of a dirty mind. Bounced checks? A dishonest character. Alcohol? An out-of-control drunk.
The evidence might be flimsy, but it would be more than he had now. He didn’t need much––just enough to justify more digging, and more digging always exposed more guilty secrets.
#
An hour later, Carlan had found nothing. The guy was a ghost. There was nothing personal at all in his room. He had a single change of clothing. The clerk had said he wouldn’t allow maid service, but the room was spotless. The bed was made. Who the hell made their own motel bed? Who took out their own motel trash?
The more Carlan thought about it, the more suspicious it seemed. But it was hardly the kind of thing he could use for an arrest.
“What’s your evidence?” Parrish would ask in that dry tone of his.
“That’s just it, your honor. The guy is spotless––it’s suspicious, I tell you!”
In desperation, Carlan searched the suitcase one last time, and then he found it.
The chain was curled up in one of the side pockets. He recognized it right away. The last time he’d seen it, it had been tight against Jamie’s neck as he pulled on it, choking her, screaming at her.
She’d pushed him too far that time. What did she expect? How could she lead him on like that and then just drop him? He had a right to be upset.
The chain was missing the silver crucifix, but had something even better on it: blood. The links were encrusted with the dried brown stuff.
Carlan put the chain back where he’d found it and looked around the room. Was there anything there to betray his presence? He was glad now that the suspect was so tidy and minimalist in his habits. The place looked untouched.
He slipped out the door and walked quickly to the lobby. He saw the clerk’s face pressed against the window as if he’d been watching.
“I decided to call for backup before I go in,” Carlan explained.
The kid looked surprised, and Carlan knew he’d seen him enter the room. He walked over to the counter and then around it, stopping only inches away from the clerk. “I poked my head in, that’s all,” he said evenly. “You don’t need to tell anyone that.”
“Of course not,” the kid said, backing up as far as he could in the narrow space between the counter and the mail slots.
#
Carlan waited outside the motel in his unmarked car.
He hadn’t really expected to find anything––maybe just enough to satisfy himself. It didn’t take much to turn the criminal justice system against someone. Sometimes just a suspicion was enough to get the ball rolling; an actual accusation was enough to get you halfway to guilty in the eyes of the public; and an indictment, more often than not, was all you really needed for a conviction.
To find slam-dunk evidence? Well, he was willing to let the system grind this guy down. He’d seen it often enough. It was very satisfying.
He could always take further revenge sometime down the road.
Officer Patterson showed up, lights flashing and sirens blaring. Carlan winced. He’d still been hoping he could catch the killer when he returned. Then again, Patterson was the perfect cover. The rookie was completely by the book, and was unlikely to catch on to Carlan’s earlier snooping. Hell, he wouldn’t even suspect it. Patterson still believed that all cops were the good guys.
The suspect was all but caught. As soon as the chain was found, Carlan would put out an alert for the Cadillac.
He made sure the rookie had put on his gloves, and then proceeded into the room. He went into the bathroom, knowing Patterson would probably make a beeline to the suitcase. It wasn’t more than a few minutes before he heard the exclamation. Impressive. Carlan had almost missed it, but the rookie had found it right away. Carlan could barely remember ever being so conscientious and diligent.
“Hey, Officer Carlan?” the young man said in an even tone, which only revealed how excited he really was. “Didn’t the crime scene reports mention a missing necklace?”
“Yeah. Miss Howe had a silver chain and crucifix.”
“Well, I think I found the chain, at least. And it looks to me like there’s blood on it!”
“Bag it up!” Carlan said, having no problem showing excitement. Game, set, and match. “Careful. We don’t want to contaminate anything.”
“Yes, sir,” Patterson said, sliding the chain into an evidence bag and sealing it. They went over to the desk, and both of them signed the bag and dated it.
“Call it in,” Carlan instructed. “The guy is driving around Bend right now. The license number is in the report.”
“You want me to do it?” The young man could barely restrain his excitement. Carlan smiled. He felt calm, and he knew that he radiated a veteran’s coolness that the rookie would try to emulate.
“Sure,” Carlan said. “You earned it. In fact, why don’t you take lead in this? I’ll just tag along.” His past relationship was bound to come up in the trial. Best make it seem like he was just along for the ride.
He glanced around the room one last time and shuddered. Such neatness was unnatural. The guy was a real freak. He looked forward to looking the murderer in the eye, making sure that he understood that Officer Richard Carlan was responsible for his downfall.
Then he’d make sure that Sylvie knew it, too. She’d forget all about their little disagreement. He’d be the hero.
Chapter 14
Terrill awoke with his head on the lap of angel, looking up into her glowing face. Angel. An angel. He hadn’t thought
of angels for centuries, certain of his damnation. She was looking out the car window, worried.
He groaned, and her gaze transferred the full power of her caring down upon him, and he squirmed in response. He didn’t deserve her concern; she would spit on him if she knew what he’d done to her sister. It was too much.
He groaned again, not from the pain, but from the memory of Jamie. Kind, hopeful Jamie, whom he’d killed in a moment of hunger, without restraint. He didn’t deserve this girl’s pity.
“Let me up,” he said.
He managed to prop himself upright, but the lights shining through the car windows made him dizzy. He was in the backseat of a taxi.
“Where are you taking me?”
“We’re headed for the hospital,” Sylvie said.
“What about the others?”
“They ran away. They thought they killed you. So did I.”
“No hospital,” Terrill said, slurring his words. He said it louder, trying to be clear. “No hospital. Take me to my motel.”
“But they really hurt you,” Sylvie protested.
“I’ll pay you!” he shouted at the taxi driver. “Badlands Motel. Forget the hospital!”
The driver shifted subtly in his seat, slowed down slightly, then turned into the left lane. Terrill was sure he’d gotten through to the guy. He nearly dropped his head back into Sylvie’s lap, but instead pushed her away.
“I’m fine. I just need some sleep.”
“They beat the crap out of you! I don’t know how you can still be conscious.”
“I’m tough,” he said. “Tougher than you can imagine.” There was a packet of raw steaks in the refrigerator back in his room. That’s all he needed, at least for the moment.
They drove for a few minutes in silence. Then Sylvie said quietly, “Why didn’t you fight back? I could see you wanted to.”
“There were two of them. I didn’t have a chance.”
“I heard you snarl at them, as if you wanted to tear their heads off. They heard you, too. If you had gotten up, put up a fight, I think they would’ve backed off. Instead, you… just quit.”
How much did I give myself away? Terrill wondered. “I didn’t want to hurt them,” he muttered.
“My hero,” Sylvie said softly. He couldn’t tell what she meant by that.
#
The flashing red and blue lights bounced off the windows of the motel, the metal of the cars, and the wet pavement, seeming to suffuse the air around them.
Through the pounding in his head and the rhythmic pulse of the lights striking his eyes, Terrill understood what it meant.
“Take me back to my car,” he said. “Back to the restaurant… the bar…”
The cabbie ignored him, pulling into the parking lot. A few more yards and they’d be visible to the assembled cops.
“Turn around, now!” Terrill shouted.
“Look, buddy,” said the cabbie, “if you’re in trouble, I don’t want any part of it.”
“A hundred dollars if you turn around right now!”
The cabbie slammed on the brakes. He backed out of the driveway with a vertiginous swoosh and accelerated away down the street.
“What’s going on?” Sylvie asked.
“Don’t worry about it.” Terrill had been about to say “It has nothing to do with you,” but of course it had everything to do with her.
She and the cabbie were looking at each other as if wondering what kind of man they were sharing a cab with.
“Look, I fell a little behind on my motel bill, that’s all,” Terrill said, sounding insincere to his own ears. “My money is in the car––if I show up without it, they might throw me in jail.”
“You got no money?” the cabbie asked, sounding outraged, slowing down as if he was going to toss them both out onto the street.
“Like I said, it’s in my car––plenty of money.”
“Better be,” the cabbie growled.
#
They were silent on the way back. Terrill didn’t know what to say without lying, so he didn’t say anything at all. Sylvie apparently didn’t want to hear him lying either, so she didn’t press him.
They got to the Cadillac, which was the only car in the Black Bear parking lot. Terrill retrieved his secret stash of emergency cash from under one of the back floor mats and paid the cabbie off. He’d have to go to the bank first thing in the morning, because he was down to his last few hundred bucks.
“Do you need a ride home?” he asked Sylvie.
“If you don’t mind,” she said quietly.
It was probably obvious to her that he was taking a less busy route to her house. If the police were searching his motel room, then they had his license plate number and the information that he was driving a black Escalade.
I should tell her now, he thought. She’d find out soon enough. By tomorrow, it would be all over the news. He’d been thinking about how he would explain himself ever since the morning it happened, but no explanation seemed strong enough.
Because no explanation was strong enough, or ever could be.
Was it possible she could ever forgive him?
#
He’d asked Jamie to take off her crucifix before having sex.
“I take it you aren’t religious?” she said.
“You could say that.”
“I’m not either. My sister, Sylvie, gave it to me, and I wear it for her. She’s sweetly religious––completely nonjudgmental and loving.”
“She’ll grow out of it,” Terrill said, only half joking.
Jamie was naked except for the chain around her neck. She removed it, kissed the cross and laid it on the nightstand.
“I don’t think she’ll change,” she said. “It was weird. My family isn’t religious at all, so we were really alarmed when Sylvie got involved with one of the local charismatic preachers. It was almost a cult. But Sylvie walked away from that. She kept her belief in God and the goodness of man and the possibility of redemption. She dropped all the rest of the claptrap.
“Funny thing is, she was always kind of… kind of holy, even before she got religion. It just gave her the terminology, the structure she needed. But she already understood forgiveness and understanding. If I went home today, she’d never say a word of condemnation. That’s not her way.”
Terrill was almost tempted to talk more about it, except that the sight of Jamie’s perfectly naked and perfectly beautiful body knocked the thoughts right out of him.
Later, as he nuzzled her neck, he noticed the small imprint of the cross on Jamie’s chest, right between her breasts, as if she’d recently tanned without removing her jewelry.
“The possibility of redemption,” she’d said.
Terrill had long wondered if such a thing was possible. Sometimes, like now, when he was in the presence of someone good, he could almost believe it…
#
“I need to tell you something,” he said as they pulled up in front of Sylvie’s house. “You’re going to hear a lot of things about me in the next few days. I just want you to know… I’m sorry it happened. I wish it had never happened. If I could change it, I would.”
“What did you do?” But he could tell she’d already figured it out, if not consciously, then at some level of her subconscious. What else could he have done that would cause such an uproar? What else might have caused him to show up on her doorstep with blood money in hand?
“I’ve tried to change, but my nature won’t allow it,” he said. “I can’t help being what I am.”
Sylvie was looking at him with fear in her eyes, as if suddenly conscious that she was in a strange car with a strange man she’d only known for a day. She fumbled with the door latch, and he reached over and pushed the door open, accidentally brushing against her. She nearly cried out, and then she was out of the car and halfway up the sidewalk.
“Forgive me,” he called after her, but he wasn’t sure if she heard him.
#
Leave town, Terrill told
himself. You’ve done what you came for.
But he drove only a few blocks before he found a quiet cul-de-sac and parked. He got into the backseat and closed his eyes. He hurt all over, but he barely noticed. The look in Sylvie’s eyes as she began to suspect what he’d done would never leave him.
In all his years of hunting, he had never cared, never given a second thought to how the families and friends of his victims were affected.
Until the day he’d tried to prove a point to Horsham, and instead had changed his own life forever.
Chapter 15
It had been a long time since Horsham had felt the thrill, the danger of the hunt. Now, as he was chauffeured over the mountains, he felt more and more certain his quarry was close.
He had bought a small motor home in Portland, straight off the lot, astonishing the salesman by not negotiating. He had only one condition. “I want curtains on the windows or no deal.”
“No problem!” the salesman had said, unable to hide his excitement. Horsham saw him summon one of the carwash monkeys and send him out to the local Bed Bath & Beyond. They’d quickly outfitted the motor home to his specifications. He casually mentioned removing the mirrors, and they readily agreed. A cash sale, full price… he could’ve asked them to kiss his ass and they would’ve done it gladly.
The pilot of his private jet, Shepard, agreed to be his driver, and they headed over the pass.
The vastness of the American West had always intrigued Horsham. A vampire could get lost out here. He’d contemplated moving here from Europe a century ago, but realized that vastness didn’t mean anonymity. The settlers tended to know each other and to notice strangers.
Now it was different, obviously. The average Westerner was no different than any other city dweller––many of them lived in cities. They pulled up to their suburban houses, hit the garage door opener and entered their houses without ever interacting with their neighbors. They went to giant Walmarts and wandered the aisles, not knowing anyone. They interacted over the Internet and avoided each other in person.
The Vampire Evolution Trilogy (Book 1): Death of an Immortal: Page 7