Sam went over and took Matt’s hand. She didn’t say anything, but her forehead wrinkled as she looked at Shooter.
Barbara walked to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll find TJ and she’ll be just fine.”
His eyes filled. “I just wish I could believe that.”
She patted his shoulder. “In the meantime, before you tell us about Dr. Goddard, would you like a roast beef sandwich and some soup?”
Shooter attempted a lopsided grin. It was pretty awful. “How about two sandwiches? And do you think you could rustle up a beer to go with ’em?”
She smiled. “Sure. How about you, Matt?”
Matt nodded. “Sounds great. Can I help fix anything?”
“No, don’t be silly. You men sit and rest and I’ll bring it out to you. By the time you finish, the rest of the Vampire Task Force should be here.” She smiled at her use of the term, taking some of the tension out of the room.
Sherry Landry and Chief Clark arrived moments later. Barbara let them in, and they joined the group in the living room.
* * *
The hunter sat in his Mercedes and watched as Chief Clark and Sherry Landry got out of their cars and walked up to the house. Though it was fully dark by now, he had no trouble seeing the couple and recognizing who they were. Just as he prepared to open his car door, another set of lights eased down the street behind Clark’s car. The lights were extinguished and the car sat idling in front of the house.
The hunter slipped noiselessly out of his car and glided up to the driver’s side of the parked car. He saw that it was Hillary James and deduced correctly that she had been following Clark, looking for a story. He squatted in the darkness, not two feet away, listening as she picked up her mobile phone and dialed a number.
“Hello, Buzz, this is Hillary. You were right. Chief Clark and Sherry Landry are attending a meeting at Dr. Silver’s house. They must be working on something really secret.”
She paused, listening to the phone for a moment. “Okay, okay, I believe you. This must be very important if the chief isn’t letting the other cops in on it. Maybe if I sneak up to the house and eavesdrop, I can hear what they’re up to.”
From outside the car, the hunter could hear the angry squawking from the receiver.
“Yeah,” Hillary answered, “you’re probably right. That righteous son of a bitch will arrest me if he catches me.” She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “Anyway, it’s almost time for my evening newscast. Be sure and watch. I may have a surprise for the chief of detectives and his mysterious friends.”
She started the car and pulled away without putting on her lights. After Hillary’s car left, the hunter walked up to Silver’s house. He deliberated about whether he should break into the house and kill everyone inside to end the threat they represented, but the presence of the newscaster bothered him. He wondered how much she knew, and if she’d told anyone else. Also, he knew that if the group inside had shared their suspicions with anyone in authority, their deaths would make the search for him even more intense.
He decided to wait and observe until he knew more. After all, Others were easy prey and he could kill them any time he wanted to. His teeth flashed in the darkness, shining in an evil grin. He realized he rather enjoyed this game of wits. It had been far too many years since he had been truly challenged. He slipped between some shrubs and listened beneath the living room window.
* * *
The members of the “task force” finished their coffee and were ready to talk business. “I want to thank you and Shelly, Barbara, for letting us use your house as a conference room. It would be impossible to meet at the station without someone noticing,” said Clark.
Barbara dismissed his thanks with a wave of her hand. “Don’t mention it, Chief. I enjoy being allowed to listen in.”
“Okay, how about a status report? You go first, Shooter.”
By the look on Shooter’s face, Matt knew he hadn’t found out anything about TJ’s whereabouts.
Shooter took a cigarette out of his pocket, looked at it a moment, and put it away. Matt knew he was thinking about TJ and her admonitions to him about the evils of smoking.
“We took Goddard into an interrogation room and confronted him with what we had. When I showed him the pictures, he broke down and cried, wailing about how his career was over.”
“That’s it?” Sam asked incredulously. “Nothing about the women he’d killed?”
Shooter held up a hand. “Wait, it gets better. I showed him a bag containing the bloody clothes we’d found in his office this morning, and he was blank. Not a sign of recognition, and I’m pretty good at reading it if it’s there.”
“What?” Matt asked. “But they were in his office closet!”
Shooter nodded. “I pulled out a notebook with the dates of the most recent killings and asked if he had an alibi, and he began to get hysterical. Claimed he’d received some calls threatening to reveal his secret sadomasochistic activities if he didn’t meet someone out on Highway forty-five halfway to Galveston.”
“So, even though he claimed not to know anything about the clothes, he still didn’t have an alibi for any of the killings?” Matt asked.
Shooter shook his head.
“I still think the bastard’s guilty!” Matt said.
“I don’t,” Shooter said shortly.
“Why not, Shooter?” Shelly asked.
“He’s too weak, for one thing. The son of a bitch who’s killed this many people has got to be hard as nails and have nerves of ice.” He shook his head again. “Anyway, I gave him a lie detector test and he passed with flying colors. He’s not our man.”
“But the clothes?” Matt protested.
Damon nodded. “I think our man is setting him up. First he called Goddard and got him out of the way when he was going to kill so Goddard wouldn’t have an alibi; then he planted clothes from one of his victims in Goddard’s office.” He sighed. “Pretty slick. Maybe he figured we’d be desperate enough to take him as a scapegoat.”
“So, you’re sure it’s not Goddard we’re after?” Shelly said with a speculative look on his face.
Both Damon and Shooter nodded.
“Well, then, I have someone else we should maybe take a closer look at.”
“Who?” Sam asked excitedly.
“Roger Niemann.”
“Why him?” Matt asked.
Just as Shelly was about to reply, there came a tremendous barking and growling from the front of the house, followed by a shout.
Sherry and Shooter drew their guns and everyone ran to the front door. Matt followed, his hand on the Beretta inside his coat, but he thought it prudent not to draw it in front of Clark unless he had to. He had already loaded it with the silver bullets so he stayed alert, just in case they were needed.
As Shooter opened the door, there was a shrieking howl from the side of the house.
Clark held Shelly and Barbara back and motioned for Sherry and Shooter to investigate. Matt slipped by him and followed, his hand sweaty on the checkered grip of the automatic.
They rounded the corner just in time to see a black-clad figure leap over the wooden fence surrounding the house next door and disappear from sight. At the foot of the fence lay a German shepherd, his head practically torn from his body. As they leaned over the dog’s body, Matt heard a sound and whirled around, the Beretta out and pointed.
The dog’s owner, an elderly man, didn’t even notice Matt’s gun. His eyes, streaming tears, were locked on his pet. “He just grabbed him by the throat and killed him. . . . My dog never meant to hurt anybody.” He looked up. “He just liked to bark and play.”
Shooter put his hand over Matt’s gun and pushed it down, frowning at him as he did so. Sherry put her arms around the old man’s shoulders, leading him away from the dog. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of the body. We’ll bring him over to you when we’ve finished our tests.”
The man mumbled his thanks and then
said he’d better go tell his wife. He shuffled off toward a house down the street just as Clark, Sam, and the Silvers walked around the corner of the house.
After they had put the dog’s remains in a plastic bag, the task force met to discuss this latest development.
Shooter glanced around at the group gathered in the Silvers’ living room. “Matt, the way that dude moved, you’d better be glad it wasn’t Goddard, or you wouldn’t be here now.”
Sherry interjected, “Chief, he took that German shepherd apart like it was a stuffed toy, then jumped over an eight-foot fence like it wasn’t even there.”
Clark asked, “Was there any blood or tissue on the dog’s teeth?”
Shooter just shook his head. “I think the man moved too fast for the dog to react. One minute he was standing there, the next it was all over and he was gone. I barely got a glimpse of him as he disappeared over the fence.”
Barbara, shaken by the death of the neighborhood dog that she had liked, excused herself and went into the bedroom.
“Chief,” Matt said, “this brings up a subject that we’ve all managed to ignore until now.” He looked at the door Barbara had gone through to make sure she couldn’t hear what he was about to say. “This . . . this creature obviously knows that we’re on to him, and that we suspect his identity. I think this visit tonight is evidence that he is not going to disappear.”
Clark rubbed his chin. “I agree, Matt. I think we had better be prepared for retaliation on his part.”
Sam looked thoroughly frightened. “I wonder why he didn’t just burst in here and kill us all?”
Shooter sneered. “And face three cops with guns?”
Sam sat quietly, looking down at her hands clasped together in her lap. “The man in Bellaire had a gun, and used it. That didn’t even slow him down, much less stop him from doing what he wanted to do.”
Matt went over and stood behind Sam, his hands on her shoulders.
“Sam’s right.” Clark took out his cigarette case and selected a cigarette, then leaned his head to the side to light it. “I don’t think he held back out of fear. My guess would be that he wanted to find out how much we knew, and who we had told, before he . . . before he attacked us.”
He turned to Shelly. “Do you have any weapons in the house?”
“You mean like an elephant gun?” He chuckled, though his face showed no humor at all. “No, Damon. I have an old shotgun, but I doubt if I’d even get a chance to use it.”
Sam looked up. “What about crosses, or silver bullets, or even wooden stakes.”
“For God’s sake, Sam!” said Shooter.
“She’s right,” Matt said.
Clark said, “Matt, if you’re suggesting . . .”
He held up his hands. “Wait a minute, hear me out.” He stood, hoping to gain some authority for what he was about to say. “The problem is we just don’t know all the ways he can be stopped, but we do know one way he can be killed.”
He saw that he had their full attention. “Remember the man whose body was found, the one whose flesh had been dead for a hundred years and had CJD?”
Clark nodded. “Yes, but . . .”
“How was he killed?”
“He was decapitated and the body was set on fire.”
Matt spread his hands. “Then, we may assume that one way to kill these creatures is to behead them and burn their remains.”
Clark looked around for an ashtray, and finding none flicked his cigarette ash into his cupped hand. “That’s quite a stretch, Matt. We can’t just assume that the other man was like this one.”
Shooter shrugged. “I hate to say it, Chief, but he’s got a point. We know bullets and dogs aren’t much good against him. Maybe we should all start carrying swords or axes and a flamethrower.”
“That brings me to another point,” Matt said. Pulling out the bag of silver bullets from his coat pocket, he held it up. “Because we just don’t know enough about this creature to know what is necessary and what is overkill, I took the liberty of having these made up.” He emptied the bag onto the coffee table, spilling the bullets into a pile.
There was a hushed silence. Shooter took out his. 38 Police Special and emptied the bullets into his palm, sticking them in his coat pocket. Without speaking, he reloaded the pistol with the silver bullets, and took two speed-loaders out of his other pocket and replaced the lead bullets with the silver ones.
Clark looked at Sherry, shook his head, and began to reload his guns. He said, “If either of you tell anyone in the department about this, I’ll make sure you’re checking parking meters until you retire.”
Shelly smiled, saying, “You don’t happen to have any silver shotgun shells, do you, Matt?”
As Matt started to reply, Barbara rushed in and turned on the television set. “I think you all need to hear this.”
Hillary James was speaking directly into the camera, a solemn expression on her face. “Ladies and gentlemen, this reporter has uncovered a startling new story. It seems that Chief of Detectives Damon Clark has enlisted the aid of a local physician and pathologist, Dr. Sheldon Silver, to help solve a crime, or crimes, of such magnitude that the details are being kept secret not only from the public but even from the rest of the police force. This reporter and this station feel that it is your right to know about any such crimes, and so tomorrow I am going to request a meeting with the chief of police and the mayor to find out just what is going on at police headquarters.” She smiled sweetly. “Until tomorrow, this is Hillary James.”
Barbara reached over and turned off the set. Clark bowed his head. “Shit! Just what we need.”
Thirty-three
The task force members sat in stunned silence. Finally, Damon Clark shook his head and turned to Shelly. “Now, since the cat seems to be out of the bag, how about sharing with us why you suspect this Roger Niemann.”
Shelly glanced at the papers on his lap. “First of all, and this should have tipped us off much earlier, he’s a hematologist, a blood specialist.”
“But, Shelly, Roger’s the one who told us about the tissue on the bullet being dead and that it had evidence of CJD in it.”
Shelly nodded. “Only because he had to, Matt. I remember now I told him identical specimens were being sent to the FBI lab in Quantico. He didn’t dare falsify his report or it would have pointed a finger directly at him.”
“Just the fact that he studies blood is pretty thin, Doc,” Damon said.
“That’s not all. While in his office yesterday, I noticed several grant applications he’d filled out. Several dealt with Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, and a couple of others had to do with Erythropoietic Uroporphyria.”
“What the hell is Erythro . . . whatever you just said?” Shooter asked.
“It’s a disease that’s inherited, Shooter, and it causes a severe, rapidly progressive hemolytic anemia, which in turn can only be treated with repeated infusions of whole blood. Also, some of the side effects of the disease are pink- or red-tinged sweat and urine, marked photosensitivity, and fluorescent teeth.”
“So?” Shooter asked. “The way that son of a bitch went over the wall, I don’t think he was very sick.”
Sam looked over at Shooter. “Don’t you see, Shooter? This disease might account for the killer’s need for blood. It also just happens to be a possible explanation for some of the legends about vampires, without invoking supernatural causes or abilities.”
Shooter shook his head. “That’s very interestin’, Sam, but I never believed in that supernatural crap anyway.”
Suddenly, Sam snapped her fingers and gave a low laugh. “Niemann . . . Nie . . . Mann,” she mumbled.
“What are you talking about?” Matt asked, worried she might be getting hysterical.
“The bastard was toying with us all the time. His name, Niemann, means no man, or not a man, in German.” She looked around at the group. “He had the clue out there for us the whole time.”
Shooter turned his attention to Clark
. “That must have been him outside the window, listening to us. Do you think he’ll try to run now that he knows we’re on to him, Chief?”
Damon shook his head. “I don’t know. If I were Niemann, I’d move to another city as soon as I could.”
Matt thought for a moment, then disagreed. “I don’t know, Chief. I don’t think he’ll leave town just yet.”
Shelly frowned. “Why not? It would be foolish for him to stay in a town where he’s wanted by the police. What makes you think he won’t just pack up and move to another big city where he can kill with impunity?”
“Well, the way I figure it, Niemann has a big stake in this town. He’s put in a lot of years establishing an identity; he’s bought property, and he’s probably got a safe house somewhere nearby, a place where he feels secure. I just don’t think he’ll pack up and leave all that overnight. There’s also the matter of the computer files of victims that he went to so much trouble to amass.”
Sam glanced up at the mention of the computer. “Speaking of that, Matt. With his ID number and password, Niemann could have ordered the tests under Dr. Goddard’s name, then checked the results himself later.”
“That’s why so many of the victims showed up under Goddard’s name,” Sherry said.
Matt continued his argument. “Think about it. If he’s the vampire killer, he’s probably at risk for contracting CJD and AIDS or almost any other blood-borne disease, and almost certainly he was using the hospital computer to find a list of ‘safe’ victims to choose from. If he leaves here, it’s going to take him some time to come up with more victims that he can be sure aren’t infected. Also, it’ll be difficult to establish a new medical identity without being able to account for his activities the past few years.”
“You mean, you think he’ll continue to pick victims from that list even though he knows that we’re on to him?” asked Damon.
“Sure. What’d we figure, he feeds about every one to two weeks? My guess is he’ll take a few more victims that he knows are safe, using the time in between feedings to travel and set up his new identity, or at least try to procure a list of safe victims wherever he plans to move to.”
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