Carmen looked at the corpse. “Why are you asking me?”
“Just take a look,” he answered.
Carmen and I stood alongside the table directly opposite of Johnson.
He pulled back the sheet and uncovered Jane Doe’s head. The eyes were clouded marbles recessed into the dark, wrinkled pits of the eye sockets. A delicate nose pointed from a face molded of spotty, darkened flesh pressed against the skull. Black hair jutted from her scalp in matted tangles. As an amateur specialist in corpses, I guessed the woman had been dead three days. Too bad; alive she must have been a looker.
Something had left ragged edges at the lobes of Jane Doe’s ears and the loose skin of her throat.
I looked at Johnson.
“Crabs,” he said. “They had a munchfest.”
Carmen’s foot nudged against mine and pressed. The movement was deliberate yet secretive. What was she trying to signal?
Johnson leaned against a file cabinet and drummed his fingers. “Well?”
Carmen pulled her foot from mine. She returned Johnson’s gaze and shrugged. “Who is this?”
Johnson stopped drumming his fingers. His eyebrows slanted downward and wrinkled the skin over the bridge of his nose. “Your missing guest was Marissa Albert. This isn’t her?”
“Nope.”
Johnson pulled the sheet back but kept his attention on Carmen. “Are you sure?”
The knobs of Jane Doe’s shoulders were splayed back as rigor mortis had arched her spine upward. Her breasts lay flat against the rib cage like a pair of rotting apples. There were more spots of hamburger lacerations where the crabs had fed.
“Holy shit,” Carmen pointed, “what happened there?”
In the center of the woman’s sternum was a deep, thumb-sized hole lined with charred flesh.
My fingers tingled as my vampire sense went on full alert. The wound was identical to Gilbert Odin’s. Jane Doe had been killed with an alien blaster.
Chapter
10
The cold trail of Odin’s killer had grown red-hot. The killer was here three days ago. Before that he had been in Sarasota. Where he was today was anybody’s guess.
My vampire sixth sense sounded a warning, and my fingers trembled against the edge of the table. A warning of what?
Johnson noticed my twitching fingers. “You’re going to toss your cookies?” I heard the sneer in his voice.
The medical examiner held up a paper barf bag. “Not on my floor, please.”
I took the bag to appease her. “Thanks.”
Carmen appeared puzzled at my reaction. A vampire getting queasy around a corpse? Her expression seemed to ask, What is it?
Johnson turned to Carmen. “Doesn’t seem to be affecting you.”
She shrugged. “I lived in Detroit. It’ll take more than this to shake me up.”
Johnson’s breath puffed against the inside of his paper mask. “You sure you don’t recognize her?”
“I’ve already told you that I didn’t.”
Johnson looked at me. “What about you?”
“She’s still Jane Doe.”
Carmen leaned over the corpse and studied the chest wound. “What killed her?”
“Don’t know yet,” the examiner said. “We wanted to ID the body before we started an autopsy.”
Carmen’s finger hovered over the wound. “I’ll bet it was this.”
The examiner narrowed her eyes. Smart-ass.
Johnson was clearly furious that Carmen couldn’t identify the body. Why? My instinct was to remove my contacts to zap him and the examiner, and interrogate them both. Why was Johnson so upset? Wasn’t this just another Jane Doe? Why ask us?
Before I did anything drastic, I surveyed the morgue. Two security cameras watched; one covered the front door, the other the examination table.
We were being taped. Causing trouble might be too complicated to undo.
Johnson covered Jane Doe with the sheet. He acted like his disappointment was our fault.
Outside the morgue we took off the booties and masks and dumped them in a trash bin. Johnson took us back to the entrance desk, where we turned in our badges.
He offered Carmen a business card. “In case you need to chat.”
“About what?”
He gave her a final once-over. His frown morphed into a grin, quick as a chameleon changing colors. “Whatever.”
Carmen refused the card. “I know where to find you.”
Johnson tightened his lips in annoyance and acted like he wanted to shove the card against her face.
She gave him an innocent look. “Anything else, Deputy?”
His lips curled upward and he dropped his gaze to her chest. His eyes flicked left to right. He shook his head and cocked a thumb to the door. Dismissed.
Carmen and I went out and headed to the dock.
“I’m surprised he remembered Marissa’s name,” Carmen said. “On the way over here Johnson did nothing but stare at my boobs. I feel I need to wash them. The next time I meet up with that bastard, I’ll drain every drop of his blood. Al dente.”
That meant fanging someone without secreting enzymes to deaden the victim’s pain. The agony was like having acid pumped through every blood vessel until the organs boiled. It was a ghastly death, usually reserved for the most vile of human enemies.
“He was setting me up.” Carmen stared ahead as we walked.
“How so?”
“Because Jane Doe was Marissa Albert.”
“She was? Why did you lie?” I asked.
“To give me time to figure out what Johnson is up to. They find Marissa’s body this morning and then he comes to my resort looking for someone to ID the body. There are hundreds of hotels, spas, hideaways all over the Keys. He knew who she was from the beginning. Otherwise, why did he come to my resort?”
“How do you figure into this?”
“My guess is that once I identify the body, then the investigation turns to the resort and me. What did I know about her? Why had she come here? It’s a matter of misdirection by Johnson.”
“Because he knew who killed her?” I asked. “If that’s the case, why recover the body?”
“Maybe the body wasn’t meant to be found.” Carmen quickened her pace. When we got to the dock, she gave Thorne the signal to start the engine. Carmen grasped my arm and turned me so our backs were to Thorne. As a chalice, Thorne could be trusted with any vampire secret, but we still took precautions.
She squinted at me. “That’s not all that bothers me. What shook you up in the morgue? Very unvampire-like behavior.”
Here goes. The Araneum told me to keep my investigation of the extraterrestrials confidential. Now I had to violate that trust to keep Carmen’s. Tell Carmen the truth and she’ll have a conniption fit over my not sharing what I’ve known. My dilemma fastened around me like a pair of pliers.
Carmen gestured impatiently. “Well?”
I felt the pliers squeeze. “Marissa was killed with an alien blaster.”
Carmen’s brow lowered. “How do you know?”
“I’ve seen those wounds before.”
“Where?” Her eyes narrowed and crinkled the center of her brow.
I confessed how I’d found the alien Gilbert Odin, the space blaster, and the delivery of his rotting corpse to the UFO. The more details I gave her, the more her eyes narrowed, until they looked like slits. Her nostrils flared and one corner of her mouth twitched. I thought she was going to lunge at me and bite.
Her eyes opened a bit and glistened like hot rivets. “When the hell were you going to tell me?”
“I’m telling you now.”
“Anything else?”
There was no point in holding the rest back. I told Carmen about the message from the Araneum.
Her expression turned from anger to worry. The glint in her eyes dimmed. “You were only doing what you were told. I would’ve done the same.”
“Before Gilbert Odin died, he told me, ‘Save the Earth w
omen.’”
“And who’s supposed to save the Earth women?” Carmen’s voice sharpened with sarcasm. “You?”
“Very funny. But the point is that since we know Marissa was killed with an alien weapon, maybe she’s the first of these women that needed saving.”
Carmen cast a look past me and across the horizon, as if searching for the meaning of what I’d just shared. “Or the first that we know about.”
I added what I knew about the charter plane that had gone down.
Carmen remained quiet and her eyes focused back on me. “And the connection?”
The best I could do was shrug and say, “Don’t know.”
We started for the boat. Carmen’s arm moved in a blur and by the time I figured out what she was doing, she had already slugged my left shoulder.
I rubbed the spot where her punch had landed. “What did I do?”
“Besides bringing me all this goddamn trouble, I’m so goddamn jealous.”
“Of what?”
“Of what?” Her voice rose. She stopped, then moved close to whisper, “Isn’t it obvious? You’ve seen UFOs twice. Once at Rocky Flats and then here. I’d give my left testicle to see a UFO.”
“Carmen, you don’t have testicles.” Though I wasn’t really sure about that.
“And I haven’t seen a UFO either. What’s your point? I’m queen of the space cadets—and nada. You, on the other hand, practically get inside one. Probably a Class Three Sigma the way you described it. Tell me again about the blaster.”
Carmen watched my hands as I described the shape.
“Did you shoot it?”
“No. The UFO took it from me.”
“Using a tractor beam, right?”
“I guess.”
She hit me again. “You guess? You know jack shit about UFOs and it’s you the aliens come to see. Where’s the justice?”
“Don’t ask me.”
“Maybe things aren’t so bleak,” Carmen said. “I’ll bet Deputy Johnson knows more than he lets on.”
“I can start with him,” I replied. “I’m going to stay behind and have a chat.”
“Keep him busy. I’ll come back tonight with Jolie and take Marissa’s corpse. I want her to stay missing for a while.”
“Careful, there was plenty of security back there. Lots of cameras.”
“Felix, the night I can’t sneak into a morgue and steal a corpse is the night I’ll start wearing a chastity belt.”
“What about the computer records?”
Carmen showed her fangs. She extended the talons from her index fingers and brought them together. A spark jumped from each tip. Zap. “Jane Doe? What Jane Doe?”
“How did you do that?”
“The answer will cost you, Felix. The poses on pages 29, 46, and 92 of my Kama Sutra manuscript.”
“I’m not that limber, Carmen.”
“Then sign up for Antoine’s yoga class.”
I undid the bowline and tossed it on the boat. Carmen hopped into the fantail. Thorne gunned the engine and the Bayliner rocked backward from the dock.
Carmen faced me and flashed a vampire’s smile of pointed teeth. She looked ready to meet Johnson again. Al dente.
Chapter
11
The Bayliner cruised out of the harbor. Carmen waved good-bye. She joined Thorne at the helm and cupped his butt. No doubt she’d be getting a nooner on the high seas before they arrived at Houghton Island.
I returned to the medical examiner’s office. My plan was simple. Catch Johnson privately, zonk him with hypnosis, and cull the secrets from his brain. But I didn’t know when Johnson would leave and I couldn’t stand around without attracting attention. I circled the building to check for the exits. There was one on the southern side and another in the back. If he used that one, he’d have to come around the building to leave the premises and I’d see him.
I stood in the grassy square outside the entrance. Three palm trees grew in the middle of the square. From the treetops I could view the medical examiner’s office and catch Johnson on his way out. I checked if anyone was watching me—I saw no one—then put my fingers against the rough bark of the tallest tree and walked them upward, pulling my body along. I hid in the center of the dense fronds. If anyone asked, I was checking for tree mites.
I remained in the shadows under the fronds and kept watch. A seagull rode the afternoon breeze and hovered close to me, its beady eyes inquisitive.
Was this gull a friend of the crow and here to spy? I gave the gull the finger. It shifted its head to see if I offered some food, saw that I didn’t, then peeled away for the shore.
At a quarter to five, the day shift swarmed out and headed to the parking lot. No Johnson. He couldn’t have gone out another way without me seeing him.
The swing shift trickled in. The sky darkened and the lamps in the parking lot flicked on.
A little after ten, Johnson appeared. He had changed into a light-colored Hawaiian shirt and dark blue beach shorts. He carried a gym bag. His pompadour looked unusually shiny, as if he had shellacked it. He walked briskly across the square on the far side, about two hundred feet away.
I started to climb from the palm when a man and a woman wearing white lab coats came out of the office. They strolled beneath me to share smokes from a pack of Winstons. With these two below, I couldn’t get down. Though my frustration grew with every moment, I couldn’t do anything except fold my legs and remain tucked against the fronds.
Johnson made a beeline through the parking lot to a red Mustang convertible with the top up. He fumbled with a set of keys, opened the car door, and tossed his bag into the backseat.
Damn, he was so close. I kneaded my fingers in irritation. Below me, the two smokers chatted like parakeets. If this had been a coconut tree, I would’ve beaned them.
Johnson climbed into his Mustang and cranked the engine. The convertible top retracted. Mötley Crüe belted from the speakers. He used the light from a lamppost to check himself in the rearview mirror and patted his pompadour into place. My throat tightened as I saw him preen. All I could do was watch him escape.
The smokers ground their cigarette butts into the mulch and walked back to the office building. About time. I floated down from my perch and started after Johnson.
The Mustang rumbled out of the lot toward the highway. He headed to Key West. I cut across the strips of sand and broken shells along the road, hoping to head him off.
Johnson didn’t waste time putting the pedal to his V-8 engine. The Mustang whipped into traffic.
I vaulted over a guardrail and sprinted on the highway shoulder. A delivery truck whooshed by. I jumped and clung to the rear doors, my fingers and feet holding firm with supernatural sticky force. I moved around the truck to the right side of the cab and stepped on the running board.
The driver, a chubby white guy with a mustache, sunglasses, and a ball cap, leaned against his door. He brought a plastic cup to his mouth. He munched ice and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel in time to country music on the radio. I could’ve done jumping jacks and the driver wouldn’t have noticed me.
Six cars ahead, the Mustang continued in the left lane. I tracked Johnson’s aura, having memorized its outline and wave patterns so I wouldn’t lose him in the night traffic.
I opened the passenger door and got in. “Hey buddy, can I have a lift?”
The driver jerked upright. The truck swerved to the left. The cup rolled from his lap and ice cubes splattered on the floor.
With vampire swiftness, I lifted my sunglasses and plucked his from his brow. “Surprise.” His eyes opened wide, the pupils dilating. His mouth gaped.
Hypnosis should hold him for a minute perhaps. The truck slowed and swayed across the lane. Cars behind us honked. I grabbed the steering wheel and straightened the path of the truck.
I dragged the driver over the bench seat and took his place behind the wheel. I sped up to match the traffic flow.
The driver remained s
lumped where I’d shoved him against the passenger door. His hands twitched and he blinked. Normally I’d use fangs to keep him unconscious but I couldn’t bite and drive.
So I slugged him across the jaw. “Sorry pal, but I’m on a mission to save the Earth women.”
His eyes rolled back into their sockets and I expected to see them display TILT!, like a pinball machine.
I coaxed the truck across the lanes until I was behind Johnson. He kept reading his mirrors, though he seemed clueless that I tailed him in this big white truck, as conspicuous as a beluga whale on roller skates.
Once at Key West, he continued south on Truman Avenue and parked beside a strip joint called Bottoms Up. I pulled over.
Johnson hustled out of his Mustang. Bumps like welts formed along his aura, signaling anxiety. He turned against the car like he was going to pee. Johnson lifted his shirt and checked an automatic he had tucked inside the waist of his shorts. His aura calmed.
Off-duty cops carried guns. Did Johnson check his pistol because he thought he might need it? Against whom? Was he undercover?
Johnson made a brief call on his cell phone. He climbed the short steps to the porch. A doorman greeted him. When the door opened, a roar spilled out, sounding like that rude, fun place between a drunken riot and bedlam. Johnson disappeared inside.
The street was too busy for me to abandon the truck there. I turned the corner and parked in a loading zone. I left the driver snoring behind the steering wheel, his chin hooked over the rim. He’d been such a good sport about this—the hijacking and the punch to the face—that I tucked a hundred-dollar bill under his cap.
I turned the corner when Johnson appeared in a side exit of the Bottoms Up. His aura roiled with excitement. Why the side exit and not the front? He held a cell phone against his cheek and talked with great animation.
I halted and retreated behind the cover of a myrtle bush. He was two hundred feet away and too far for me to pick up what he was saying.
Johnson hesitated outside the threshold of the door. He looked down the street as if checking to see whether someone followed him.
The Undead Kama Sutra Page 6