by J. R. Rain
She nodded. “I kept everything after his disappearance. Wasn’t sure what would be important or not.”
She had good instincts. I said, “Did the police go through the records?”
She nodded. “Cursory at best. They looked at them, but as far as I know, that’s all they did.”
“And what’s in the files?”
“Just routine stuff. Records of various house calls. Sometimes to businesses, too.”
“Businesses?”
“Yes.”
“May I see his file?”
“Of course, honey.”
She spun her chair around and rolled over to a big filing cabinet in the far corner of the office. There, she dug through the first drawer until she came out with a thickish folder.
“Everything’s in here,” she said, rolling back, setting it in front of me. “The service orders and final receipts. Not to mention his evaluations and anything else we had on him.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“If you need any help, Samantha Moon, you let me know. I would personally like to bring this piece of shit down, whoever he is.”
“I’ll keep you in mind.”
She held my gaze a moment longer, and I think the two of us might have bonded. When she was gone, I cracked the file open. It took me precisely two minutes to find a service order for the Fullerton Playhouse.
Called in by Robert Mason himself.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Sherbet answered on the first ring.
“First-ring relationships are serious business,” I said.
“Don’t get used to it, kid. I just kinda, you know, sensed you were going to call me. Or something like that.”
I laughed. “Why, Detective, you sound kind of freaky.”
He growled under his breath, which nearly made my phone vibrate against my ear. This was all new to Sherbet. After all, homicide detectives don’t sense things. They operate on facts and evidence. At best, they might get an informed hunch.
“So what’s the news, Sam? Out with it.”
I told him about the file, about my trip to Best Buy, and about the missing tech guy. Although I still wasn’t sure what the hell a Nook was, I had discovered that Robert Mason had hired the missing tech.
“Good work, and what’s this Nook thing you’re talking about?”
“I haven’t said anything about a Nook. You’re reading my thoughts again, Detective.”
More growling. “What’s this tech’s name again?”
“Gabriel Friday.”
“Hang on. I’ve got his file somewhere...okay, here it is.”
I had no doubt that Sherbet’s home office looked similar to mine, stacked with files and reports. I soon heard him flipping through pages. He paused in his flipping—reading, no doubt—then said, “Okay, so it says the kid disappeared on his way to work.”
“Yes.”
“And phone records indicate he received an unknown call just prior to coming in to work.”
“Says the same thing in my file,” I said.
“Probably because you illegally copied the file,” said Sherbet. “So, what are you thinking, Sam?”
“I’m thinking Robert Mason gave Gabriel a call.”
“Maybe asked him to swing by the theater early one morning, perhaps to fix a bug in the computer.”
“Something like that,” I said. “Sort of a follow-up call.”
“Gabriel’s car—a VW bug—was found burned out in Corona,” said Sherbet.
“Near where Brian Meeks’s body was found.”
Sherbet paused, no doubt reading the same information I was reading. “Within a few miles, actually.”
“Yup.”
“So Gabriel Friday shows up to give Robert Mason a helping hand...maybe do some pro bono work to help out the local theater...and Mason offs him,” said Sherbet.
“And drains him of blood.”
“Jesus,” said the detective. “I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”
He called me back, in fact, in fifteen minutes.
“I got it,” he said.
“Got what?”
“The search warrant. We’re going in tonight.”
“Going in where?”
“His house.”
“What about the theater?”
“The warrant only covers the house and any outbuildings on the property. The theater isn’t on the property.”
“But he owns it.”
“Let’s take it one property at a time, Sam.”
“Fine. I want to go with you tonight.”
“You can’t, Sam. You know that. Official police business and all that.”
“Then do me one favor,” I said.
“This have anything to do with Hanner? Why did I just say that?”
“Because I gave you a peek into my thoughts.”
I gave him another peek. In particular, I gave him access to my suspicions about Hanner.
“I don’t understand, Sam,” said Sherbet. “What’s this got to do with Hanner?”
I next showed him an image—my own memory, really—of Hanner and myself on the deck of her house. Drinking blood. Together.
Sherbet didn’t say anything for a long time. So long that I wondered if the old geezer had fallen asleep. But I knew he was working this through.
Finally, in a voice so deep that it nearly rattled my teeth, he said, “How did I not know, Sam? I feel like an idiot.”
“It’s a gift of hers, Detective. She can plant thoughts and, I think, alter thoughts. In the least, divert thoughts.”
“Can you do this, too?”
“I...I don’t know.”
“So, as far as I know, this whole damn city could be full of vampires, and I wouldn’t know. No one would know. Because anytime one of us gets a whiff of a vampire, they put a subliminal thought in our head to order a Starbucks instead.”
“Sounds like a valid conspiracy.”
“This isn’t funny, Sam. I’m seriously freaked out here. I mean, a bloody fucking vampire has been working under my nose for, what, five or six years, and I hadn’t a clue.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Detective. Remember, you sniffed me out pretty quick.”
“Not really. I just thought you were damn weird.”
“Something every girl wants to hear.”
“You know what I mean, Sam. You had my radar pinging. Detective Hanner...nothing. Not even a suspicion. And she even works the goddamn night shift.”
“She’s an old vampire, Detective. Old enough, I think, to know a few tricks.”
“Worse,” said Sherbet, “is that I like her. Legitimately like her.”
“So do I.”
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll conduct this tonight without her. I’ll round up a few of our boys and hit this house hard. I’ll call you when it’s over.”
And he disconnected the line.
Chapter Thirty-nine
I had just set aside my cell phone when there came a loud knock at my front door. Loud and obnoxious.
And since my inner alarm was not ringing, I relaxed a little as I moved through the hallway. Still, if there was a vampire hunter on the other side of that door, he was in for one hellacious fight.
It wasn’t.
As I glanced through the peep hole, I saw a wildly warped and misshapen, yet familiarly handsome, face.
Fang.
His face, if possible, appeared even more misshapen due to what he was holding in his right hand: a bottle of hooch. I opened the door and he veritably spilled into my living room.
“Hope I’m not disturbing you or anything, Moon Dance,” he said, catching himself on the center post that divided the foyer from the living room. His speech was nearly incoherent.
“You’re drunk, Fang.”
“Oh, am I? I thought I was just shit-faced.”
I shut the door and double locked it behind me. As I did so, Fang began whistling for a dog. “Here, wolfie. Here, boy.”
“Kingsley’s not here,” I sa
id, irritated.
“Oh, that’s a shame...I had brought him some bones from work. Ribs, I think.” He briefly held up a greasy bag, which he shoved back into his coat pocket.
“You’re being a jerk, Fang.”
He stood before me, swaying slightly. “You’ll have to forgive me, Moon Dance. I’ve kind of been dealing with a broken heart.”
Fang wasn’t looking too well. His hair looked dirty. His clothing was wrinkled. His hygiene was questionable. He also looked like he’d lost about ten pounds since I’d last seen him.
He held up his bottle of booze. Vodka. A big bottle, too, and it was nearly empty. “Would you like a drink, Moon Dance?”
“What are you doing here, Fang?”
“Oh, that’s right. Vampires can’t drink the hard stuff. Only the red stuff.” He laughed a little too hard at his own joke, then pushed away from the center post and stumbled into the adjoining living room. Like I said, I live in a small house. With two or three steps, a person could go from the foyer, to the dining room, to the living room.
“You mind if I sit, Moon Dance? I’m not feeling too well.”
As he stumbled across the floor, I ran to his side and helped him down onto my beautiful new couch. Once there, I positioned him so that his boots hung off the edge. I also relieved him of the vodka bottle.
As I positioned a pillow under him, he watched me with big, wet eyes. They were beautiful eyes. Knowing eyes. Drunk eyes. “Ah, Moon Dance. It almost feels as if you care about me.”
“Of course I care about you, Fang.”
I went into the kitchen, poured the booze down the drain, and deposited the bottle in my recycle bag. When I came back, Fang was trying to remove his boots. I knew that the drunk bastard would have to sleep it off here. Sighing, I helped him with his boots. Once again, he watched me. This time with a big, stupid, drunk grin.
“I like when you help me, Moon Dance. It feels good.”
“Yeah, well, you smell like greasy ribs and vodka and its turning my stomach.”
“Words every man wants to hear.” He patted the area next to him on the couch. “Lay next to me, Moon Dance.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not right.”
“Hey, if you’re not going to turn me into a blood-sucking fiend, then at least throw me a few crumbs here, Sam. Something, anything.”
“If you’re going to talk like this, Fang, then I’m calling you a cab.”
“Talk like what, Moon Dance? Affectionately? Lustfully? I loved you long before your shaggy wolf friend came sniffing around. I poured my heart out to you. Gave you all my attention. All my love, even if it was from afar. How many times did I drop everything to help you? How many times did I forego my own needs to help you, to talk to you, to be there for you?”
“You stalked me, Fang.”
“It was the only way, Moon Dance. The only way. You would not have come out into the light. Literally.”
“I would have. Someday.”
“But not soon enough, obviously. I waited too long, and look what happened. Aroooooo.”
“You’re drunk, Fang.”
“But that makes my pain no less real, Samantha Moon. I loved you like no other, and you tossed me aside for your doggie toy. The least you could do was turn me, to make me like you, to help ease the pain.”
“You’re trying to manipulate me, to make me feel guilty, Fang, and that’s a shitty thing to do.”
“It’s nothing but the truth, Moon Dance.”
“Get some sleep, Fang.”
Indeed, his eyes were dropping fast. He turned on his side and wrapped an arm around himself and I saw something disturbing at his wrists. Fresh wounds. Bite marks. Had he been biting himself again? I didn’t know.
I stared down at Fang, a man I legitimately cared for and loved on some level. A man for whom I had no answers. That he was miserable, there was no doubt. That he loved me in his own way, I had no doubt either.
What I should do about it all, I still didn’t know.
Soon after he was snoring loudly into one of the couch cushions, I decided to follow up on a hunch.
I grabbed my stuff and headed out the door.
Chapter Forty
I was looking down from a roof top, watching the Fullerton Playhouse below.
It was windy up here, and my light jacket flapped wildly. Too wildly. I think I was losing weight. A steady diet of blood will do that to you.
I was kneeling on the roof’s corner, four stories up. Directly below me was a bank. Why a bank needed four floors, I hadn’t a clue. Sure as hell wasn’t to store my money. So far there was no movement below, although I had spotted something very interesting in the alley behind the theater.
A blue cargo van.
I waited and watched. Other than the van, the theater looked empty. There was no movement. No lights. It was well past time for any rehearsals and any cleaning crews.
I decided not to make a move, unless something prompted me to. I was here for one reason only: to keep an eye on the theater, should the shit hit the fan. Or should someone get tipped off about the police raid.
So far, all was quiet.
My cell phone chimed. A text message. I glanced at the screen. A text message from Danny.
Thanks, Sam! They didn’t come back to collect from me. Whatever you did, I owe you one.
“You owe me two, loser,” I whispered, and erased his message.
I was dressed in jeans and the aforementioned light jacket. There had been an old fire escape that I had managed to grab onto. Now, I waited and watched. Just another mom with two kids, waiting on the roof of a bank building for a serial killer to emerge from his creepy theater.
Perhaps an hour later my cell vibrated.
I picked up on the first vibration which, I think, was the equivalent to a single ring. It was, of course, Detective Sherbet.
“Mason wasn’t there,” he said.
“Go figure,” I said. “Anything turn up?”
“Nothing yet, but my guys are working on it. If there’s a blood stain anywhere, they’ll find it.”
“Except if he’s as good at killing as I suspect, then there’s not going to be any evidence at his home.”
“What are you saying, Sam?”
“He kills at the theater, Detective. You know that, I know that. He kills and drains and bottles his victims’ blood all at the theater.”
“A blood factory.”
“Or a slaughtering house. A human slaughtering house.”
“Jesus, Sam.” Sherbet paused. “Then why not destroy the bodies there?”
“Maybe he does. Or maybe he usually does. Maybe he ran out of room. Or maybe he’s decided to make it a bit of a game.”
“Jesus, Sam. I’m too old for this shit.”
“We have to stop him, Detective.”
Sherbet paused again, said, “We’ve got another missing person reported tonight. A female. Twenty-three. Last seen leaving class at Fullerton College two nights ago.”
“She’s there,” I said, with a surety that wasn’t psychic. It was my gut. My investigator’s instincts. “The son-of-a-bitch has her. And my bet is she’s somewhere behind that door.”
“We can’t just go in there, Sam.”
“Perhaps you can’t, but I can.”
“Sam, wait.”
“What?”
He exhaled loudly and if I truly wanted to I could have followed his entire train of thought. Instead, I gave him his privacy, let him work this out on his own. Finally, after exhaling again, he said, “I’m coming with you.”
“Welcome aboard, Detective.”
Chapter Forty-one
We met behind the theater.
Sherbet was wearing jeans and a leather jacket that barely covered his roundish mid-section. He was also sporting dark-leather shoes that looked like a cross between running shoes and hiking shoes. I knew he was packing heat, and the truth was, I felt better having him here. Sherbet exud
ed an aura of control and security. More so than any man I’d ever met, even Kingsley.
I might be a creature of the night who has faced my share of monsters, but sneaking into the dragon’s lair alone just sounded like one hell of a shitty way to spend an evening.
The alley parking lot was empty, with only a single spotlight shining down on the back door. A sticker claimed that there was an alarm system in use, but we were about to see. I doubted there was. If this place was what I thought it was, then I doubted Mr. Robert Mason ever wanted the police anywhere near the premises. If anything, he would handle the intruders himself.
Not to mention, Mason had help. Two goons had shown up at my house and neither had been Mason, I was sure of it. Three against two. I liked our chances.
I doubted Hanner was directly involved in the production of the blood. She seemed more refined than that. She seemed...better than that. What her connection was, exactly, I didn’t know.
But I was going to find out.
I was the first to try the door. Locked, of course. I turned the lever a little harder, and it broke free in my hand. “It’s not really breaking in,” I said, holding up the broken handle. “If the door is broken, right?”
Sherbet shook his head and eased his bulk around me. As he did so, I had a momentary whiff of Old Spice and sweat, which, for me, was one hell of a heady mixture. “We’re not breaking in,” he growled, as he broke in. “This is an emergency search. There’s a young woman missing, and he’s our only suspect. I’m sticking to that story until the day I die.”
“Sounds good to me.”
He removed his Smith & Wesson from his shoulder holster. “C’mon.”
The hallway was pitch black to anyone but me. To me, it was alive and alight. Sherbet reached into a pocket and removed a small flashlight that had a lot of umph to it, revealing a narrow hallway with a door to either side.
“Lights?” I asked.
Sherbet shook his head and continued sweeping the powerful beam over walls and floors and ceilings. “I don’t want anyone running; at least, not yet. We’ll catch the bastards by surprise.”
“Sounds like my last date.”