by David
"Is it that strong? I've gotten used to it after all these years. I wish they made an unscented kind." Lee looked at his hands as they gripped the steering wheel. His fingertips were especially vulnerable, so at crime scenes he really appreciated the latex gloves.
Lee made a hard right with the traffic light in their favor, then pulled into the parking lot surrounding the Pit, I he local name for University Arena. The helicopter was already setting down onto the asphalt, maneuvering carefully away from the nearby light poles.
The pilot waved, motioning them around to the door on the passenger side. As they climbed in, he yelled his name as a way of introducing himself.
Diane chose one of the back seats and Lee followed her in, taking the seat beside her.
"Where exactly are we going?" Lee yelled to the pilot, who was also a New Mexico state police officer, one of three or four who flew the department's fixed-wing aircraft and helicopters.
"West of Shiprock, and north of Highway 64, on the mesa above the river. Supposed to be several vehicles on-site. That's all I've been told." The pilot turned his head slightly in their direction, then looked forward again, watching the path of his ascent.
Once they were past the small San Mateo Range, steep mesas, deep arroyos, and canyons carved by wind and the infrequent rains spread out below them. The few green areas were scattered forests at higher altitudes or the flood-plain bosque astride the San Juan River Valley. The rough, dry, relatively inhospitable region was the home of the Navajo people, fossil fuel in abundance, and a small number of hardy farmers and small-business owners.
In a little more than an hour the stomach-churning ride ended with a quick descent and one last jolt as the helicopter touched down a hundred yards from where several patrol units were parked. The pilot shut down the engine, then turned to Lee as he was unfastening his seat belt. "I'm supposed to stay here with the helo and give you a ride back. If I have to leave before you're done, I'll let you know."
"Thanks." Lee climbed down out of the helicopter, enjoying the feel of the ground once again, even if it was dry, dusty, and possibly inhabited by the ghosts of the dead. A sip of calf's blood would go down easy right now and soothe his parched throat, but this was definitely the wrong setting.
He turned to help Diane down, but with a distracted smile, she refused his hand.
"I am woman, watch me roar?" he commented.
She brushed past him, taking the lead. "Roar, hell. I bite."
"Me too," he smiled, quickly catching up as they approached a group of officers inside the yellow crime-scene tape. It was bright outside, and Lee glanced at his wrist-watch, calculating he had at least one safe hour before risk of major sunburn. It was close to noon now.
A young Hispanic man who reminded Lee vaguely of the Cuban actor Andy Garcia broke away from the group and stepped up to meet them. His out-of-place gray suit and the expensive sunglasses, the same brand Lee was wearing out of necessity, shouted FBI to any police officer or deputy.
"Agent Lopez, Officer Hawk?" Seeing them nod, he continued. "Please examine the bodies and take a good look at the scene. See if you spot any connection at all to the cases you've been investigating."
Lee stepped under the tape and Diane followed. Almost in unison the other officers, three of them Navajo cops in khaki uniforms, turned to watch. Lee doubted that they'd speak to him or Diane unless absolutely necessary. These weren't the same officers as last night, but coming from a small department they probably knew all about it and would resent his and Diane's presence on the reservation again so soon. Local officers everywhere, Lee had observed, resented intrusions on their "turf."
As they walked over to the draped bodies, Diane nod-tied to the OMI man, a slim Anglo about forty years old with thinning hair and a sunburned forehead. Seeing the man's skin damage, Lee automatically adjusted his dark uniform cap.
"Officer, Special Agent." The Office of the Medical Investigators man, having met Lee and Diane last night as well, greeted them simply, then lifted back the first blanket. The body was that of a tall, slender Anglo man, obviously the state policeman. Lee recognized the plainclothes officer, though he'd never known his real name. As he studied the body he noted that the officer's shirt was covered with caked, dried blood from several gunshot wounds. Diane pointed to where the blood had run down the victim's side. There was none on the ground below that point.
"He bled out someplace else," she said, looking at the OMI man, who nodded, lifting the covering from the second body.
Lee looked at the body of the second, Navajo officer, noting that the body seemed relatively fresh. "This officer, like his companion, was shot with a shotgun and several times with a large-caliber handgun—also somewhere else," the OMI man said.
Diane caught the medical investigator's eye. "What was the time of death, approximately?"
"From the state of the bodies I'd say they were killed sometime last night. Twelve hours or less. We had a breeze just before dawn, and the bodies have some of that dust and plant debris on them. I'll have a better estimate later."
Lee didn't see any obvious indication that the two officers had encountered skinwalkers, at least in their animal form, but skinwalkers used guns when in human form if it served them. He found it interesting that both had been out of uniform when killed, an indication they were either off-duty or working undercover.
They searched the ground around the victims, and except for a few unmarked footprints that almost certainly belonged to either the officers on scene or the OMI man, there was nothing obvious. Whoever had dumped the bodies had rubbed out their tracks. Lee looked at Diane. "Are we finished here?"
"Looks like it." They walked back over to the yellow tape, where Agent Romero was standing alone. The remaining officers were watching and listening.
"Anything to suggest a connection between these killings and your respective cases?" Romero asked immediately.
"I didn't see anything that would suggest a link." Diane turned to Lee. "Did you?"
"All I can see is that these killings took place elsewhere and the bodies were dumped here. I might have more questions if the bodies had been found in the Grants area or near Fort Wingate, where the terrorists were based. Call us in again if you determine that the shootings took place in one of those areas."
He paused, then added, "As far as last night's incident, there are no points of similarity at all. These officers didn't die from an animal attack, and if it turns out they were killed after the lady died last night in the truck wreck, she obviously couldn't have been the shooter."
"Was there any physical evidence on or around the bodies that we should know about?" Diane asked.
"And how were the officers identified?" Lee added.
"Their pockets were empty and all jewelry such as rings and watches were taken. But the tribal officers here recognized their own man, and two of them had seen the state officer before," Romero said.
"Both of the deceased are out of uniform. What can you tell us about their current assignments? Were they working undercover on a case?" Diane asked.
"According to the police chief, they were working together, but I still don't know anything specific about the case. As soon as I get that information, I'll pass it on to you two—if I can," Romero said. "None of the officers here know anything, or if they do, they haven't shared it with me."
"Do you get the feeling this is an internal-affairs kind of investigation?" Lee asked, lowering his voice and turning his head so the other officers couldn't hear him clearly. "That cops were involved?"
"Not at all. The Navajo officer—I won't say his name for reasons you understand—usually investigated vehicle thefts, organized smuggling of contraband like liquor or drugs, property crimes, stuff like that. The state policeman worked on investigations related to smuggling, drug interdiction, and so on, and had done some interagency work before. Your people will know more," Romero said, looking at Lee, who simply nodded.
"Then I guess there's no reason to keep y
ou here any longer," Romero said, giving them a return nod that looked impersonal and arrogant at the same time.
"We'd appreciate a briefing once you get more details," Diane said. "And on a more or less personal matter, did you get that black Lab puppy?"
Romero smiled. "Yes, and my children were thrilled. Worked out great for all concerned."
Lee and Diane said good-bye to Romero, then hurried to the helicopter. Two minutes later, they were on their way back to Albuquerque.
Elka Pfeiffer gripped the armrests of seat C-l tightly as the 737 bobbed up and down sharply for the third time in the past minute. The commercial aircraft was descending rapidly as it approached the western end of the Albuquerque runway.
Elka hated flying. Impacts at hundreds of miles per hour and explosions of aviation fuel took away the relative invulnerability she enjoyed as a vampire, and she'd never balanced the risks equally against the gains in time—sweating out each flight as if it would be her last. Vampires had plenty of time, and only decapitation, massive trauma to the heart, or being burned by sunlight or fuel could cut their lives short.
Yet despite the fact that they were hard to kill, death did find them on occasion. The knowledge stung now especially as she remembered her brother's death. Hans was gone forever. Although he'd adopted the name Wolfgang Muller later in his life, to her he'd always be Hans.
They'd shared many lifetimes, and the bond between them had always been strong. Now that he was dead there was a massive void in her life, one that would never be filled, but experience told her that, in time, she'd learn to go on. People—and vampires—usually found the will to survive, even after the death of a loved one. It was an ability that was practically encoded into both species.
Yet it was the way that he'd died that bothered her most. The instrument of his death hadn't been a plunging aircraft with a badly lubricated screw jack, or pilot error. It had been a young Navajo state police officer that her brother had, in a moment of desperation decades ago, made one of them.
But she hadn't come to New Mexico just to confront this Navajo policeman. Someone else was on her list and eliminating him was her first priority. Officer Nez and the woman who'd apparently helped him would die in due time, and then the hunt would be complete.
Elka smiled, grateful that this purposeful line of thought was distracting her from the roller-coaster flight that had troubled her stomach since Dallas. She loosened her death grip on the seat and looked into her travel portfolio. The folder with the tickets was sticking out for easy reach, and I ilka checked her ticket to confirm the gate where her luggage would be delivered.
Her cover as a sales representative for luxury sedans was still intact and a valuable asset that could take her anywhere in the world—especially Europe and the Middle East. Her job provided her with a good living, especially with the freelance work she and the others in her family did on the side. Or had done. Now with her husband, brother, and the Plummers dead, only she and Bridget were left. Yet, even if the Navajo had already turned the FBI woman he worked with, Bridget and she would win the fight. They had experience on their side and, most important of all, they knew what was about to happen—the Americans did not.
CHAPTER 3
« ^ »
A week had gone by since he'd left Albuquerque, and Lee was now back on patrol in south-central New Mexico. No word had come down from federal, tribal, or state agencies since the bodies of the two officers had been discovered on Navajo land. And although they continued their search, neither he nor Diane had been able to find a trace of Clarence Atso or Angela. Now both he and Agent Lopez had resumed their normal duties, and the search for the skinwalkers was more or less on hold.
His long night patrol had just ended, but Lee was still careful not to get complacent just because he'd arrived at home. He glanced up at the top of the doorjamb, noting That the match was still in place, wedged between door and trim. That was the warning mechanism any competent professional would have detected before sneaking into his apartment. That list, in his experience, included trained law-enforcement officers, intelligence officers, and vampires who'd managed to survive more than a few years. And maybe a skinwalker with black-bag experience, he added as he checked for the white thread, the backup indicator that only those with superior training would seek out. It was also in place.
Lee unlocked the door, opened it an inch, and saw the paper match on the floor beneath the jamb. He'd placed that there to catch the most dangerous intruder, the paranoid genius. When they opened the door and saw it—he'd crimped it first between the door and jamb—they'd hopefully think it had been knocked out of place. If it wasn't on the floor, but wedged between the door when he returned along with the other indicators, he'd know he was dealing with genuine trouble.
Clarence Atso was just another skinwalker, not nearly as dangerous as Angela. But it wasn't because she was tougher. Angela knew who and what he was, and would be stalking him sooner or later. Angela—the skinwalker with the face he'd never forget—had survived the battle with him and Diane as well as one with three full vampires out for her blood.
Angela wasn't just lucky, she was dangerous on every conceivable level. First, she knew he was a nightwalker. That was bad enough. But what made her deadly to him was that Angela physically resembled his late wife, Annie. They looked so much alike that he was nearly certain that he'd hesitate at the wrong time one of these days and end up dead. Annie had been killed decades ago by skinwalkers who'd invaded his home, but in some ways it seemed like only yesterday. They'd come for him, but found Annie at home instead, alone and unprotected. She hadn't stood a chance.
The resemblance between Annie and Angela was so striking that Lee prayed he'd meet her in animal form next time. He still hadn't been able to figure out if Angela had been a relative of Annie's or just the twin everyone was said to have out there in the world.
Stepping into his apartment, Lee shut the door and paused, listening. He could hear the whirring of the electric alarm clock in the bedroom, the sound of the refrigerator, and the creak of the building's frame as if the place had already begun to sense the coming dawn.
Glancing around, he noted that his laptop was still on the dark maple computer desk, closed up but with the green light showing it was fully charged. The desk chair hadn't been moved, judging from the lack of imprints in the thin blue carpeting, and the inexpensive vinyl sofa and matching chair against the opposite wall were as he'd left them.
Turning his head, he saw that the kitchen area and dining table looked undisturbed as well. The bedroom door was ajar at the same angle as usual, and, around the corner, the open bathroom door revealed nothing unusual within. The apartment, virtually identical to the old one that had been damaged during a recent confrontation, was simple, utilitarian, and free of uninvited guests. The daddy longlegs spider in the corner against the ceiling didn't count.
It was dark outside, beyond the full-length curtains across the room, and it was nearly black inside as well to any normal human.
Lee removed his uniform cap and sunglasses, then turned on the lights to avoid undue suspicion concerning his true nature.
Tonight's patrol had been almost routine, and it was a relief after what he'd been through lately. Last night he'd spent his tour of duty pulling a half-dozen people over for speeding, then responding to a rollover on the Interstate involving three drunken teenagers in their daddy's SUV. It had taken two hours to extricate the upside-down kids, but It had ended unusually well.
Happily, he'd been able to tell the terrified parents that their dumbass kids had been uninjured despite being loaded to the gills with beer, because they'd actually been wearing their seat belts.
Stopping by the fridge, he grabbed the quart bottle of what appeared to be tomato juice, and poured himself a glass. It was only cow's blood, but it would have to do. The desire for human blood never went away, but this substitute kept it at bay.
It also became a constant reminder of what he was—and what he was n
ot. He looked mortal, but he was different. For as long as he continued to exist, he'd be an outsider. He was part of both the human world and the dark world of the vampire, yet the truth was that he belonged in neither. Among them, but never one of them… He drained the last of the cow's blood, rinsed out the glass, and walked to the bedroom.
Flipping on the overhead light, he walked to the bed and removed his black leather boots and his commando knife and sheath from his left leg. Finally he removed his Sam Browne belt, the .45 Smith and Wesson duty weapon, and the rest of his gear, placing everything atop the generic-looking dresser.
With his small backup .45 in his uniform trouser pocket, Lee walked back into the kitchen and poured himself another glass of blood. He didn't like it chilled, but that was one of the many compromises he'd learned to make. He was forever bound to this world—searching for peace in a place where no peace existed.
He took a deep swallow, set the glass down, and pushed those thoughts aside. They did no good. Instead, he embraced his loneliness, welcoming it like the old friend it was, and letting that fill the emptiness inside him.
Lee sat back in his chair and read the E-mail message again.
No ID yet on possible witness from Fort Wingate area. APD officers have been given copies of your sketch. Any luck from your end?—DL
So Diane hadn't had any luck searching for Angela through the Albuquerque Police Department and FBI. In his many years Lee had developed some skill as an artist, and he'd made a sketch of the Navajo woman, which had included the light streak in her black hair, for other law-enforcement agencies. When Lee had seen her last she'd been in the form of a cougar—with a knife wound under her eye that Diane had inflicted while defending herself. But Lee was the only law-enforcement officer who had seen Angela in human form up close.
Sketching her had been easy, but looking at the finished image had been one of the most difficult things he'd done in years. Even Diane had noticed and asked him about his reaction. Once he'd reminded her of the old photo she'd seen of him and Annie, she'd understood and never mentioned it again.