Murder in Vein

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  With the speed of a striking snake, Mike Notchey grabbed Madison's hand again, but this time he didn't look at it or stroke it. He headed for the back door, pulling her behind him like a reluctant canine at the end of a leash. She growled in protest, but he ignored her. Once inside, he dumped her back in her seat at the table.

  "Look again, Madison," he ordered. "This is very important. A matter of life or death for some folks, maybe even for another girl."

  When Madison didn't answer, Mike picked up a large brown envelope that he'd brought with him. It had held the photos that were now scattered on the table. Without a word, he reached inside and took out more photos. One by one, he slapped three photos of young women on the table in front of her. They were enlarged snapshots showing the women, two brunettes and a redhead, smiling for the camera. All were lovely and around Madison's age.

  "Recognize these women?"

  Madison casually looked over the photos and shook her head in a slow, bored manner.

  Mike reached inside the envelope again and pulled out more photos. He slapped them on the table in the same manner. "Maybe you'll recognize them now."

  Madison's eyes widened in horror and her mouth went dry as dust. In front of her were a half-dozen photos of dead women. In half the photos, the women's necks had been slit in a wide, curved gash, like a second mouth laughing into the camera while the face above it stared in horror. The other photos showed their torsos, each with deep, short cuts covering the naked white skin. In spite of the cuts and slashing, there was little blood.

  Madison fought to keep her breakfast down. She turned away from the photos, a hand over her mouth. Mike came behind her and grabbed her head, forcing her to look at them. She closed her eyes, but it was too late. The vision of the carnage had already been burned into her brain. Pushing Mike aside with all the strength she could muster, she ran to the sink and retched several times. Finished, she clung to the counter, afraid she would collapse if she let go. Tears ran down her hot face, soaking the bandage on the one side and stinging her cuts. Strands of damp hair clung to her cheeks and forehead. She didn't turn around but looked out the window, focusing on the playful ripples a gentle wind was making across the pool.

  "What do you want from me," she finally squeaked out in a nearly inaudible voice.

  "Cooperation, Madison. Any one of these three women could have been you. Doug said Bobby Piper was hovering over your neck when he saw you. That's why Doug attacked him. He thought you were going to wind up like this."

  For a few minutes, Madison and Mike were silent. The detective waited. Madison tried to digest, then erase, the horrible photos. She ran water in the sink to clean up her vomit. Stripping off the bulky bandage, she splashed some of the water on her face. After taking a deep breath, she turned to face Mike, willing herself not to look down at the photos of the dead women.

  "I'll cooperate," she told him in a small, compliant voice. "But take those pictures away."

  He studied her injuries a long moment in silence, then gathered up the photos of the women and stuffed them back into the envelope. Madison returned to her seat, weak and broken, and waited for the next level of hell.

  "These people, Madison," Mike said, pointing again to the people in the photos spread on the table, "are all involved in local vampire cults. They're not vampires, but they believe in them, worship them, even want to be them."

  Madison once again examined the photos. She swallowed and said, "I can tell you right now, most of these folks have never been in Auntie Em's-at least not looking like that or when I've been around. We don't get goth types in the diner."

  Mike vibrated with frustration. "Why didn't you say that earlier?"

  Ignoring him, Madison pulled out the only three photos of people not dressed in the goth style-two men and a woman. "These people don't look like they're into vampires. They look normal."

  "See, that's the thing, Madison," Mike explained, his voice straining in its attempt to be civil. "Not all goth types are into vampires. And you don't have to be part of the goth culture to be involved in vampirism. With the near-hysterical interest in vampires now-with all the movies, books, and TV shows-those who worship the undead easily go unnoticed. There are nightclubs, social groups, even religious orders now centered around vampires. Some of it is very well organized."

  Mike took a seat at the table, trying on patience as if it were a too-small shirt. "Practicing vampirism, in our day, can involve anything from mind control to absorbing other people's energy to the drinking of human blood. It has nothing to do with real vampires like Doug and Dodie, who are actually immortal. And very few real vampires want anything to do with these wannabes."

  Madison was horrified all over again. "People like you and me drink human blood? Isn't that dangerous, with diseases like AIDS and HIV and hepatitis?"

  "Extremely dangerous, Madison."

  "But what about Doug and Dodie? Aren't they worried about disease?"

  "They're immortal," he repeated. "Blood-borne diseases won't harm them" Mike offered a small smile at Madison's concern for the Dedhams. "The people in these photos are all leaders of various vampire cults here in Southern California. We think it's someone from one of these cults who is kidnapping and killing these women." He tapped the envelope, now resting on the table, for emphasis. Madison leaned back as if the photos might reach out and touch her, leaving behind prints of blood.

  "Someone," Mike continued, "who probably practices mind control over his or her followers. As I told you last night, we're pretty sure Piper and the creep in custody didn't do this on their own. They weren't smart enough. Someone else is calling the shots, and it might be one of these characters." He indicated the photos spread between them.

  A mind-numbing chill went through Madison as she looked down at the photographs again. Suddenly, being in the house of real vampires didn't seem that scary.

  EIGHT

  adison watched Dodie sip a beverage from a tall, colorful mug. Something didn't seem right. Madison took a drink from her own mug. It was a heavenly mix of coffee, chocolate, and spices.

  "I thought you guys couldn't eat regular food," Madison observed.

  Dodie delicately touched a burgandy-colored napkin to her lips. "We can't. This isn't the same thing you're having."

  The girly stuff Dodie had planned for the two of them had been a visit to a salon that was open very late. Dodie had her hair cut and colored, along with a manicure and pedicure. She'd treated Madison to the same, minus the color. At first Madison demurred, but she finally caved. She'd been cutting her own hair with kitchen shears and couldn't remember the last time she'd had her nails professionally done. She'd nearly cooed herself into a pampered puddle during the pedicure and almost, but not quite, forgotten about the horrific photos Mike Notchey had shown her. Whenever the visions of those mangled bodies reared their ugly and evil heads in Madison's mind, she worked hard to push them aside. If not, she feared she would go mad. After, Dodie had taken her to a restaurant a few doors down from the salon. The restaurant didn't have a sign, nor was it accessible from the street. They'd entered through a bright red door that faced an alley.

  A part of Madison didn't want to know what was in Dodie's mug, but another part of her had to know. "Is it ... you know?" she asked.

  "Human," Dodie completed. "Yes, it is. While all the blood at the house is animal, human blood is best for us."

  When Dodie saw Madison's face turn the color of campfire ash, she quickly added, "Don't worry, no one died so I could drink this. In fact, it's rare that anyone would die from a vampire drinking their blood. It's not like we need to drain a body dry to be satiated." She added a small chuckle, accompanied by a small shake of her head. "The movies have really done us a great disservice over the years." Her face took on a serious flicker. "I'm not saying a vampire has never torn a human asunder in bloodlust, but that was more in days gone by, not the present. Today, most of us live quite peacefully among the living, totally undetected."

 
Torn asunder. The words vibrated in Madison's head like a tuning fork. The women in the photos had been torn asunder in bloodlust, and Mike Notchey was sure it had not been done by a vampire. Madison watched as the seemingly sweet and warm Dodie Dedham raised the mug to her lips and sipped, looking like a grandmother enjoying a spot of tea after shopping. But the mug held in Dodie's elderly hands did not contain tea. It held human blood-the same blood that coursed through Madison's own veins.

  Dodie looked at Madison, her wise eyes reading conflict in the girl's facial expressions and demeanor. Catching Madison's attention, she indicated the restaurant in which they sat. It was a large room with a small bar at the far end and two dozen tablecloth-covered tables with chairs, half of which were occupied. The decor was modern and sleek. It had no windows but was well lit. One wall was painted black and covered with interesting and bright paintings. The other walls were painted a pale silvery gray and also held artwork.

  "This place is called Scarlet," Dodie told Madison, "after its owner. It's a vampire restaurant. A living person can only come in here accompanied by a vampire. It's a place where the two can come together socially for a meal, each of their own kind. It has a limited food menu, but I'm told the food is quite good. Are you hungry?"

  Madison shook her head and mumbled, "No, thanks." She'd nibbled on the pot roast earlier. It was delicious, but she hadn't had much of an appetite, eating what she did only because she knew she needed to eat something.

  "Don't worry," Dodie said, seeing Madison stare into her coffee mug with concern. "The kitchen where the food is made is separate from where the blood items are prepared." She laughed lightly. "Think of it as a kosher kitchen, where the meat dishes and the dairy dishes are never allowed to mingle."

  Madison looked around the restaurant, thinking maybe some small talk would get her mind off of the photos. "So," she began, swallowing hard before continuing, "are the waiters here also vampires?"

  "Yes, though the chef for the food is not. Since vampires don't eat, how could a vampire chef tell if something tasted good or not? Although most of us do enjoy the aroma of a well-cooked meal."

  "Pauline told me that's why you enjoy cooking-for the smell."

  "Yes, and I like seeing people enjoy what I make. Did you enjoy the pot roast?"

  "I wasn't too hungry, but I had some. It was very good, but I thought Pauline fixed that."

  "I put it on before I went to bed. It's one of my specialties, like the chicken soup is one of Pauline's. It was also a favorite of my first husband."

  In spite of her continued wariness, Madison found her tension begin to melt and the memory of the photos retreat from the forefront of her thoughts. Dodie's company was as pleasant and soothing as the coffee and chocolate beverage in the mug she held. For the first time since she was a young girl, Madison felt a little spoiled and pampered, even cared about. She also warned herself not to get too used to it. As soon as this thing with the murders was over, she'd be back to her own life in a lonely, dingy apartment, slinging burgers and juggling classes. There would be no indulgences, but there also wouldn't be photos of bodies or blood in the fridge.

  "You were married before?" Madison asked with surprise. "To a beater?"

  Dodie laughed. "I was a beater then, too." Taking on a faraway look, she traveled through her memories. "I was a widow living in Arizona when I met Doug Dedham. My husband had died six years earlier. Our only son had died years before in the military. I was waiting to die myself. Doug didn't tell me right off about being a vampire. Probably a good thing he didn't, but he gave me back my enjoyment of life. We fell in love. I became a vampire to spend eternity with him. After losing my first husband, there was something very appealing in knowing I couldn't lose my second."

  "So you can never die?" Madison was sitting at attention, wondering what it would feel like to know that life could go on forever. Would it be a curse or a blessing? She decided it would depend on the life you had to lead for eternity.

  "Vampires can die, Madison. We can be killed by a couple of methods."

  "Like being in the sun?"

  "Another myth spread by movies and literature." Dodie shook her head in amusement. "We can be out in the sun without exploding or turning to ash, but we prefer not to be, because we're very sensitive to it. It tends to sap our energy and powers, and it makes us feel under the weather. It's almost like it gives us the flu." Dodie paused to think about the subject further. "Perhaps if we were exposed to it continuously over a very long period of time, it could kill us, but I've never heard of that." She looked at Madison and winked. "But I do know you won't find many vampires traveling to places where there's extended daylight, like Greenland."

  Dodie took a drink from her mug. "We're also not sensitive to crosses, garlic, holy water, or silver. Those are concepts created by the early Christian church to give people comfort and a sense of protection. And except for what the sun does to us, we don't get sick." Dodie screwed up her face in pretend confusion. "The funny thing is, even though we're technically dead, our hair and nails still grow. Not sure why, but they do. But I'm glad, because I love going to the salon."

  Madison ran a hand through her newly shaped hair and loved its silky feel. Dodie had also purchased some makeup, and the stylist had shown Madison how to apply it to cover the black eye and other bruises. When they were done, Madison didn't look half bad. "Was that a vampire salon we went to?"

  "It's owned by a vampire. By day it's a regular salon. Several nights a week they stay open to serve us. It's also a popular tanning salon. Many of us get spray tans so we don't look so pale. Others use makeup when they go out in public, but Doug and I prefer the spray tan. It covers everything and lasts longer."

  Madison closed her eyes tight and shook herself. "I feel as though I've fallen into a Tim Burton movie. One minute I'm freaking out, the next minute I'm fascinated."

  Leaning forward, Dodie patted Madison's hand. "Ask any questions you'd like, dear. Just be discreet about where you do it. Here or at home is fine"

  The two women sat quietly. Madison tried not to stare at the other patrons but couldn't help herself. She wondered which were vampires. No one looked particularly dead to her, though it was easy to spot the living. They were the few using knives and forks.

  After a minute, Madison turned her attention back to Dodie and wasn't surprised to find the older woman watching her much like she had been watching the vampires.

  "That was nice of you to get some of my stuff for me," Madison said. She paused, then added a quick and quiet thanks.

  "And thank you, Madison, for not leaving when Pauline gave you your car keys. We really do need you to help us solve these murders before our way of life is threatened. Not to mention averting the panic that would occur if the people of Los Angeles found out about us."

  Dodie hesitated, choosing her next words and tone carefully, understanding that Madison was skittish and uncomfortable in personal situations. "Madison, is that your mother in the photo?"

  In answer, Madison buried her nose into her mug and nodded.

  "Where is she? Do you mind telling me?"

  Madison put down her mug and stared at one of the paintings. It was an abstract blend of yellows, reds, and oranges, with the occasional surprise of blue-sharp angles that came together in smooth and pleasing harmony.

  "She's dead," Madison told Dodie in a voice devoid of emotion. When Dodie didn't comment, Madison continued. "She died when I was five. I was raised by my father's aunt, Eleanor, until she died a few years later. After that, I made the rounds of foster homes until I turned eighteen." Madison's voice began to break. She swallowed the lump in her throat and corralled her emotions. "You know that ratty old stuffed animal? The one you brought over from my place?"

  Dodie nodded. She had sensed the battered toy meant something significant to Madison.

  "My mother gave that to me right before she died. It's all I have left of her-that and the photo."

  "How did she die, Madison? Was she s
ick?"

  "No, she wasn't." The words came out of the girl spiced with bile. Seeing that Madison looked about to break into tears, Dodie didn't prod. After another few moments, Madison said, "My mother was killed in a robbery."

  "I'm so very sorry, Madison."

  Madison, considering she'd gone this far, decided she might as well complete the story she hadn't told anyone-ever. "My mother and father and I were coming home from something, not even sure now what, when my father decided to stop at a convenience store. Mom was driving. My father went into the store. Then there was the sound of shots. My father ran out of the store and yelled at my mother to get going. She screamed at my dad. I remember her asking him over and over about what he'd done. He kept screaming for her to drive. A man came out of the store and fired a gun at the car. My mother was killed."

  Dodie's lips were pressed tight, holding back tears that in reality she couldn't shed. "And your father?"

  Madison shrugged. "He's in jail-or was. He shot one of the store clerks, paralyzing him. Even before then, I don't remember him around much. And when he was around, he was mean to us, especially to my mother"

  Madison filled her lungs with air, held it, then expelled it, as if doing that would rid her of the horrible memory. When that didn't work, she shoved the pain back into the shadows to sit next to the photos of the dead women. "Aunt Eleanor left me a little money. Not much, but I couldn't get it until I turned twenty-one. As soon as I did, I left Boise and headed here to start over."

  In a sharp motion, Madison pushed away from the table. "Where's the ladies' room? Or don't they have one?"

  "It's over there, dear." Dodie pointed to a door just to the left of the bar. "It's for their live customers."

  NINE

  hen Madison headed back to their table, she saw that Dodie wasn't alone. Seated with her was another woman. She appeared to be in her late thirties, with straight brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and bangs worn just past her eyebrows. Her body was compact and athletic.