“Next time we’ll take my car.” Corin opened the passenger door and escorted Angelique to the driver’s side.
“Are you saying you don’t care for my car, Corin von Vadim?” She slid behind the wheel.
“Not at all. But it’s no Corvette.”
“I’ll give you that. Honestly, though, you forget our date…criticize my car. I’m almost afraid to ask what comes next. It leaves me wondering if there’s anything you like about me at all.”
“I like everything about you, Angelique.” He bent down, giving her a tender kiss on the lips.
Angelique held onto him, prolonging the moment, running her fingers through his mass of blond hair.
At the side of the house, Tomes fumed. He raised the staker, boiling with anger and disgust, taking aim at Corin with an itchy finger twitching on the trigger. It was hard to find restraint, but he didn’t shoot. He wanted to, but he needed Corin’s help to find the nightwalker. Without him, he may never avenge Louisa’s death. But he wouldn’t sacrifice his sister to make that happen. He had warned Corin numerous times to stay away from her, and if he didn’t back off, next time he might not have any qualms with using the staker on him. No qualms at all.
* * * *
Sheriff Pierson received a call from Ann Tinley. Patricia was awake and asking for him. Breathing a sigh of relief, he rushed to see her, finding her alert and comfortably settled in a room. When their eyes met, several seconds of poignant silence passed between them.
“I’ll give the two of you some privacy,” Ann excused herself, patting Sheriff Pierson on the shoulder as she left the room.
“How do you feel?” He took a seat next to her bed. “I see they have you all bandaged up.”
“I guess I won’t have to worry about my hair for a while.”
“Are you sure you’re up for talking right now?” She looked weak.
“I need to tell you what happened, Allen. I was so scared,” she spoke through building tears. “I knew he was there to kill me. If Jessica hadn’t shown up when she did, I’d probably be dead. I know I’d be dead.” She broke down. “And Jessica…. That should have been me. I couldn’t even help her. I was barely conscious.”
“You can’t blame yourself for what happened to her. You are both the victims of a sadistic killer.”
“I just can’t believe it happened…that she’s dead.”
“I hate to question you right now, but I need to know if you can give me a description. Did you get a good look at him?”
“I couldn’t make out much, his features were blotted out and there was a lot of fog. He appeared tall, thin, and it looked like he was wearing a long coat. It made me think of the man on the surveillance tape.”
“You think it was the same person?”
“I can’t be certain. I only saw him for a moment when the fog parted, and only his silhouette. He hid in the fog, calling out to me. He knew my name.” Her heart rate spiked and she pressed her hand to her chest. “The sounds…like an animal.”
“Animal?”
“I heard what I thought were growls, and Jessica’s scream. How can I ever get that out of my head?” She buried her face in her hands.
“That’s enough for now.” He knew how hard it must be to relive the horrifying incident.
Her mention of animal sounds piqued his interest, along with the fact that the killer knew her by name, giving him something more to contemplate.
“I promise you, Patricia, I’m going to get this guy.” He took her trembling hand in his. He couldn’t stand seeing this vital, confident woman, whom he’d come to admire and care for, reduced to such a weak and fragmented state. “I have to leave now, but I’ll be back to see you soon.”
Sheriff Pierson called Ann back in and returned to the crime scene. Profanity rolled off his tongue when he saw onlookers and reporters buzzing the site. And to make matters worse, his least favorite person—Jordon Black—was right in the middle of everything, poking around vital homicide evidence.
“I hope you’re not planning on stealing evidence from this murder site too, Marshal.” Sheriff Pierson still believed he’d taken something from the first crime scene at Jaffler Farm regardless of his lack of proof.
“You insult my professionalism,” Black countered. “Just like you, I work strictly by the book.”
“By whose book?” Sheriff Pierson scoffed.
“The same book you use to regulate your county, Sheriff, the good book of laws and ethics?” Jordon tossed back.
“We do know how to follow proper protocol here, despite what you think of us, Black. And look at what you’re doing, hindering our investigation by clomping all over the crime scene. Contaminating evidence. You need to move back behind the tape with the rest of the spectators,” Pierson ordered. “See to it you stay out of the way of my team. And that’s not a suggestion.”
“How many times do I have to remind you, I am authorized to be here.”
“This is my jurisdiction and I will handle things in whatever manner I see fit. And if you’re still insistent on arguing, Marshal, I’d be more than happy to pass that information along to your superiors,” he threatened.
“I’m not here to work against you, Sheriff,” Jordon backed down. “I’ll get out of the way and let your crew do their job.”
Sheriff Pierson wasn’t fooled by a word coming out of Marshal Black’s mouth. In fact, he got the distinct impression his intent was to prevent him from calling the agency.
Could he have something to hide?
With that thought, Sheriff Pierson jotted down a reminder on his list of priorities, check out Black’s credentials. Until he knew the marshal was on the up and up, he was cutting off his access to the cases.
Looking down at the body of Jessica Daniels, it was evident the killer was targeting women. A duplicate of the second killing, she had suffered a cruel death, the proof in the numerous bite marks covering her body. Sheriff Pierson recalled his conversation with the medical examiner that morning, regarding the previous victim’s autopsy. In Dr. Berg’s study of the bite marks on the body of Sandy Darnell, when comparing his tissue findings with Forensics’ lab results, it was conclusive that canine saliva was present. However, in spite of the findings and the sudden increase in wolf activity, Sheriff Pierson found it hard to believe that the animals alone were responsible for her death. Besides, Patricia had encountered the killer, and her assailant was human. But she had heard growls.
He speculated that canines may have perhaps been employed as trained killers, or used as a cover for the true cause of death—the chronic loss of blood. At any rate, with the animals linked to the killings, questions were bound to arise about the possibility of a wild pack of wolves endangering the county. So, just to cover all bases, he proceeded to alert the department of a potential threat.
Stepping around the body, he flipped through his notepad. Inconsistencies between the first and latter two victims irked him. Each drained of blood, showing a definite connection, yet Louisa hadn’t sustained any bite marks whatsoever, only two small punctures found on her neck. All three women were attractive, of similar build, and in their prime of life. So, what was he missing?
“The blood irregularity,” he remembered, wondering if that could have had something to do with it.
Sheriff Pierson sighed. He had too many questions and no answers. The thought of facing family members empty handed twisted his guts. These victims were much more than just case files. They were mothers, sisters, wives—women who didn’t deserve having their lives snatched from them by some nefarious killer. He could only hope something would point him in the right direction, because, if nothing else, the families were due justice.
Pierson knew Dr. Berg would be exasperated to find another body on the way, but it couldn’t be helped. Even though the doctor was exhausted, he refused to pass any work to a colleague. Seeming haunted, he’d labored 24/7 since receiving the corpse of the second victim, Sandy Darnell, for autopsy.
His odd beha
vior left the sheriff to speculate the gossip floating around to be true—that he and the deceased had been involved—lovers. Both married, this information was, of course, of a sensitive nature. Knowing the situation now, Pierson could only imagine how hard it must have been for him to perform the postmortem examination.
Patricia came to mind, he’d come close to losing her at the hands of this murdering psychopath. He wanted nothing more than to make the killer pay for all the suffering he’d caused these poor women and the people who loved them, and not necessarily in the legal way. He might have been sheriff of Jackson County, but he felt more than capable of turning rogue cop and throwing that book of “laws and ethics” right out the window.
“Sheriff, we’ve found something.” Rudy held up a gold pocket watch with a latex-gloved hand.
Sheriff Pierson slipped on a pair of gloves and examined it closer.
“There’s an inscription on the back,” Rudy observed.
Sheriff Pierson read it aloud, “For my prince of the night. Miralanya.”
“The chain’s broken,” Rudy pointed out. “I think the victim might have grabbed it during their struggle, ripping it off her attacker.”
“I’d say that’s a strong possibility,” Pierson agreed. “Where did you find this?”
“Under the victim’s car.” Rudy showed him the exact spot.
“Do you know anyone locally named Miralanya?”
“No, I don’t. It’s not a very common name, is it?”
Sheriff Pierson shook his head. “No. It isn’t.”
“I could run a search and see what pops up.”
“That’s a good idea.” Pierson passed the watch off to another officer with orders to bag and tag it. “And Rudy, let me know right away if you come up with anything.”
Repossessing the evidence, disregarding procedure and his own better judgment, the sheriff started to slip the watch in his pocket, but halted his action when he caught sight of the marshal watching like a hungry hawk.
Mumbling an obscenity, he reconsidered the undertaking, knowing evidence wasn’t supposed to leave the crime scene due to the possibility of tampering. It had to follow proper channels to guarantee holding up in court. But being the sheriff, there had to be a clause written somewhere in that doggone book of laws, excluding him from having to abide by the same rules.
“Holding the title of Sheriff ought to count for something.” He shoved the bagged evidence in his pocket. “I’ll deal with you tomorrow, Black. We’ll see then, if you are who you claim to be.”
Contacting the agency and confirming the marshal’s credentials was definitely going to be his next order of business.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Cemetery
Tomes confronted Corin, gripping the staker so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“I thought we were clear about Angel.”
“I won’t hurt her.”
“You know there’s nothing you can offer her. She has no idea what you are. It isn’t right, or fair to her.”
“I know that, Tomes. And regardless of what you think of me, you can trust me when I tell you her well-being will always come before my own.”
“That doesn’t sound like you intend to keep away from her.”
Corin moved past Tomes, taking a seat in a high-backed, burgundy-colored chair. “We have more pressing matters to focus on at the moment.”
“We’re not finished with this. You know I want the nightwalker, justice for Louisa, but I will also do whatever it takes to protect Angel.”
Glaring into Corin’s dark, wide-open stare, he searched for a soul apparently lost to the immortal.
“As will I. And right now, the newcomer is her biggest threat. Tonight, when I left her alone tonight to buy tickets, he made contact with her again.”
Tomes lowered the staker.
“He knows we’re after him.”
“Yes,” Corin agreed. “You’ve cut your face…must have caught a thorn on the bougainvillea while spying from the side of the house.”
Tomes scanned the room for a mirror to examine his injury. “That darn bush ought to be cut down.” He wiped blood from his right cheek with the sleeve of his left arm. “I forgot, you have no use for mirrors.”
“The soul reflects who we are, and since I have no soul, I cast no reflection,” Corin explained. “So, no, I have no need for mirrors. But I do keep one in the guest bath for the sake of visitors. You know where it is, just down the corridor, second door on the right. Any others would be in storage on the third floor. Out of sight is out of mind.”
“It bothers you to look at them?” Tomes asked with interest.
“It’s only a reminder of what I’ve lost.”
“I see your point.” Tomes picked up a picture frame, holding it in a way that showed the reflection of the room behind him. He saw the chair where Corin was sitting, but not Corin.
“It’s true.” Tomes whirled to face him. “How do you keep people from noticing?”
“I’m careful when I’m out in public. Over the years, I’ve developed a talent for hiding certain things.” Corin swung his right foot onto his left knee. “What is that weapon you have?”
“This little baby is what I call a staker,” Tomes said with pride. “I had it specially made. It’s a nail gun converted to shoot these wooden nails, or small stakes, ergo the name.” Tomes held one up. “They’re made from blackthorn.”
“Cleverly thought out. You’ve done your homework. But I hope you weren’t planning on using it on me just now.”
“I confess, I thought about it…pissed as I was.”
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t. Blackthorn would no doubt give a good sting.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure it would have given you a little more than a sting. This thing packs a punch. Would you care for a demonstration?”
“Not if I’m to be the target.”
“I have a board set up out back.” Tomes led the way to the back yard where he took position, aimed, and fired a shot into the panel.
“I think you really have something with this, what did you call it, a staker?”
“That’s right,” Tomes could see that Corin was impressed.
“It might just come in handy.”
“My thoughts precisely.” Tomes fired off a second shot.
“I was thinking we should take a look around the cemetery again. When you found me there four nights ago, I had no idea what we were dealing with.
Discovering that I can’t sense the newcomer, he may very well be taking shelter there during the day. It’s more likely he’d choose an abandoned building, but it’s worth checking.”
“No better time than the present. We’ll take my truck. I parked in the garage.”
“Taking over the garage now? You’re getting rather comfortable in my home.” Corin followed him out.
“I didn’t want Angel to know I was here,” Tomes explained.
Corin climbed into the passenger’s seat of the oversized vehicle in desperate need of a paint job. A sharpened machete lay on the floorboard.
“Like it?” Tomes observed him eyeballing the weapon. “I’m sure you have a good idea what it’s for.”
“Yes. I think I do.”
“If I take the nightwalker’s head, I’ve taken his life.”
“That’s one way to go about it. Sever an immortal’s head from his body, and he won’t be coming back to the world of the living.”
Tomes reached for the machete. “Which is exactly why I’m keeping this close.” He secured the weapon between them and backed out.
“You’re turning into a dangerous one, a real commando.”
“A hunter on a mission.” Tomes flipped on the radio, catching the latest report on the hospital murder.
“A third killing now. We’ve got to catch a break at some point.”
“Maybe we’re on the right track tonight,” Tomes replied. “The cemetery is a perfect hideout.”
When they reached their destinatio
n, Tomes parked just outside the gate and pulled a flashlight from the toolbox in the back of the truck. The moon was full, hanging low in the sky, but Tomes felt he needed some additional light.
“Take this.” Armed with the staker, he passed the machete to Corin.
“I have to carry this?”
“I need the flashlight. Just bring it.” Tomes was going in prepared for a fight. “What are we looking for?” he spoke in a whisper as they entered the cemetery, looking over the scattered gravesites.
“There’s an above ground family vault, dating back many generations—the Chesterson crypt—he might be utilizing. We should check there first. There are also several partially-raised vaults that would meet his needs.”
“You’re familiar with the place, so lead the way.” Tomes motioned.
The headstones appeared florescent in the night, in combination with shadowed bases, casting the illusion of floating inches above the ground.
“It’s creepy out here.” Tomes stayed close to Corin with his finger twitching on the trigger of the staker.
“You’re not going to get spooked and accidentally shoot me in the back with that contraption are you? Maybe I should walk behind you.”
“If I shoot you, Corin, believe me, it won’t be an accident.”
“That certainly evokes confidence.”
“I aim…to please.” Tomes snickered at his own lame joke.
“This is it.” Corin approached a large crypt with “CHESTERSON” etched across the top of the stone door. “I’ll take a look inside.” He shoved the blade of the machete into the earth, dematerialized into mist, and disappeared beyond the door. Returning a moment later, he materialized where he’d previously stood. “It’s uninhabited—by anyone living, anyway.”
Disappointed, Tomes cursed.
Corin raised a hand. “Wait.” He turned and scanned their surroundings.
“What’s wrong?”
Corin & Angelique (After the Fall of Night) Page 14