Jazz filled the air from the area's non-commercial radio station. Two other tables were full—a student sat at one, copying something from an oversized book into a yellow legal pad, and two women at another, deep in an intimate conversation.
She took a table beneath the art-covered wall and ordered an omelet, with a lemon poppy seed muffin. To that, she added an espresso, which the woman behind the counter gave her before she returned to her seat.
Cammie opened her briefcase and pulled out the letters and the Eugene phonebook she had taken from the hotel room. She needed to see what sorts of self-help services were available in Eugene before she went to the police station. She really didn't want to contact the center in Roseburg if she didn't have to.
Nothing listed under Vampires or A[C&F103] ddiction in the yellow pages. She turned to Counseling and found more listings than she had ever seen. Most just gave a name and an address, but some counselors listed their specialties. Only one listed vampirism as an addiction. The clinics focused on drug and alcohol abuse, and a number of clinics focused on help for long-term physical pain. She wondered what kind of things occurred in the community that would call for such a clinic.
The man at the stove called her name. She got up and picked up a hot plate with an omelet pushed square against the hash browns. Ham and melted cheese oozed out of the flattened egg. Her stomach growled. She hadn't even touched her espresso, and she needed the caffeine. She took her plate back to her table, copied down the counselor's phone number, and pushed the phone book aside.
Then she started eating breakfast. The food tasted better than she expected: the egg light and fluffy, the ham warm, and the cheese mild enough not to overtake the omelet itself. She didn't remember eating dinner the night before, and the drive to Portland had left her stressed and anxious.
Through the window, she could watch the city. People threaded up the stairs to the post office, some carrying packages, others with nothing at all. Most would stop outside after they had picked up their mail, and read a letter or examine a bill. The sunshine was bright, making the green lawn vibrant against the blue sky. Such a pretty place. She had wanted to believe that there were no vampires here, that she had finally discovered a place that was safe.
The smell that first night should have clued her. This town was even farther back than Madison had been twenty years ago. No treatment centers for vampires. No eradication programs. The problem would only spread as time went on. And somehow,[C&F104] Ben was mixed up in it. Maybe he had gone into the Keg to meet his friend Steve, and had never come out.
She finished the omelet and pushed the plate aside. Then she ate the muffin slowly, letting its sweetness fill her. The espresso was warm and she sipped it as she watched. All those Westrina Center children disappearing. Some kind of revenge? Or something else?
Revenge would be difficult to encompass all those children, unless the actor was well placed in social services or with the OCS. Possible, but then the vampire would have to be a young one whose obsession had not yet affected his job performance.
If Whitney were here, he would have an opinion about what was going on. So would Eliason. Even DeeDee. Anita would tell her to let it go, but Cammie wasn't going to rest now. Things had gotten too complicated.
Cammie ripped off the sheet of notepaper with the phone number on it, grabbed a quarter, and went to the pay phone outside the restaurant door. The phone was bolted to the wall next to the stairs leading to the bookstore. It had an odd sort of privacy. Cammie dialed, leaned against the wall, and waited.
A receptionist picked up. Cammie asked for Dr. Brooker only to be told that he was with a client. "I would like to see him today, if possible."
"Is this an emergency?" the receptionist asked. Her voice had the bored tone to it, as if a life and death matter could not shake her.
"I'm from the Westrina Center in Wisconsin. I need to talk with him about some things going on in Oregon."
"You're here now?" the receptionist asked.
"Only for a few days." Cammie hated that tone. How could clients speak to a man who hired a woman as unfeeling as this one?
"I have a half [C&F105] hour only. Two o'clock?"
"Wonderful," Cammie said. "I'll be there." She hung up the phone. The omelet turned in her stomach. Nerves. She would go into a waiting room where vampires sat. Maybe even Brooker himself had gotten contaminated. Or maybe he had a staff large enough to carry on a program like the Westrina Center's.
She put a hand over her stomach and went back into the restaurant. The clock over the door told her that she had been there nearly forty-five minutes. She packed up her briefcase and bused her dishes. She still had time to go to the police station.
The police station was only a two-block walk from the restaurant and her hotel. No wonder the town seemed small. Every important building was within one square mile of every other. The sunshine felt warm on her face. She would never get used to the feeling of light on her body. It made her feel free and joyful. No one could touch her in the sunlight. The sunlight kept her safe.
The police station was a three-story windowless building that appeared to have been built in the late ’60s[C&F106] . As she followed the signs up a set of concrete stairs, she found herself in a small courtyard. Flowers twisted along the columns,[C&F107] and benches faced away from the street. A rabbit's warren of offices faced the yard. The windows were here, running floor to ceiling, offering a view of the greenery and the sunshine.
Cammie went inside the reception area. It was a small room that opened into a larger area. The larger area was protected by a security door and bulletproof glass. She approached the intercom. An officer looked up. She had been stamping traffic tickets on the desk behind the glass.
"Help you?"
"I'm Camila Timms. I'm here to see Officer Thornton. She is expecting me sometime today."
The woman nodded. She had short brown hair clipped back like a man's. Her hands were stained with red dye from the stamp. "I'll let her know you're here."
She walked to a back desk to page. Cammie could hear nothing through the glass. She went to the window and looked out at the concrete garden.
Two officers were sitting on a bench, eating bag lunches. A bird swooped overhead, building a nest in a newly planted maple, and the officers laughed and pointed. A woman in a blue business suit hurried into one of the back offices and a thin man wearing ragged blue jeans emerged from the office next door.
"She'll see you." The officer's voice sounded tinny and scratchy through the intercom.
Cammie turned. A buzzer sounded as the security door was released. She pushed it open and stepped inside.
The silent room of the front office became a cacophony of voices, typewriters, and blaring radios. Cigarette smoke, old coffee grounds, and filtered air mingled. The air conditioner made the station too cold in patches, just right in others. Cammie unrolled the sleeves of her blouse as she followed the officer through a maze of large metal desks.
Most of the desks were empty. One, toward the back, was covered by a receptionist's grid. The man working it wore a headset and smiled as they passed. Other officers were on the phone. The wide communal room narrowed into a hallway that led to the interior entrances for the outer offices.
The officer stopped at a desk on the edge of the hallway. It was clear except for a file folder[C&F108] and two photos, both of young children. The phone had a dozen lines, all indicated by small red lights. Most of the lights were on.
The chair behind the desk was empty. The officer pulled back a hard wooden chair. "She'll be right back," the officer said. "Have a seat."
Cammie sat down. The officer left. The file folder was full, but not labeled. The children's pictures had individual frames—the cheap silver kind found in any K-Mart or Target. The green desk chair had a light indentation in its fake leather cushion.
A white coffee mug with the saying I-I-I Like Str-EEEE-sss slammed on the desk in front of her, steaming hot coffee sloshing at the s
ides. A tall, slender man with close-cropped black hair and deep blue eyes sank into the chair. Then the man smiled, and Cammie realized she was looking at a woman.
"Officer Thornton?"
"In the flesh." Thornton had a low voice that some men would have been proud of. She slurped her coffee, then ran a long hand through her hair, leaving strands of it on end. "You got something for me?"
"I don't know." Cammie extended her right hand. "I'm Camila Timms of the Westrina Center."
Thornton rested her right ankle on her left knee and balanced the coffee cup on her calf. Her blue pants leg rode up, revealing bright pink socks. "What's your interest in the Sadler case?"
Quick, sharp and to the point. Like the people Cammie was used to dealing with. Time to be honest with someone. "Will our conversation remain confidential?"
"If possible." Thornton tugged her pants leg over the non-regulation socks. "What's in it for me?"
"I don't know yet," Cammie said. "Except that I'll share information with you as I gain it. My work here is unofficial, but I am using the Westrina Center's information base. I'm expecting some pre-adoption files on the missing kids in the afternoon's mail."
"Thought we were going to have to get a court order for those." Thornton cradled the coffee mug between her hands. "All right. I'll keep quiet, for a while, anyway. What's your interest?"
Cammie swallowed. She hadn't talked to anyone outside the Center about this. "I'm Ben Sadler's sister."
Thornton rolled her eyes and slammed the mug on the metal desk. The sound stopped conversation throughout the room. She sat up and leaned forward. "Guess again, honey. Sadler's an only kid. We checked him out—" She paused and didn't quite gasp. Her mouth quirked into a half smile. "Oh. You're the sister who murdered the dad."
Cammie flushed. Thornton made it all sound so casual. Not at all the gruesome, bloody event that haunted Cammie's dreams. "The Sadlers don't know who I am."
"Good thing," Thornton said. "They'd want you the hell outta here. You lie about the Westrina Center?"
Cammie shook her head. "I've worked there for nearly three years. I—uh— worked in Eradication until a few months ago. They let you do that until the memory comes back—"
"Jesus Christ, woman. You telling me you're a professional assassin?"
The conversation in the room completely stopped this time. An officer standing near the hallway put his hand casually on his gun. Another hung up the phone, slowly, as if he expected a problem. Thornton glared at them. They returned to work, but their movements were different, as if they were listening.
"In the Midwest," Cammie said calmly, "it's like being a skip tracer."
"It's nothing of the sort," Thornton said. "I read about you folks. They call you religious vigilantes, and say somehow you got the courts to agree. God, I've watched this stuff on television. It's obscene. You get to barge into people's homes and slaughter them, when our cops get nailed for busting pot smokers at the local Saturday market."
"We have state support," Cammie said. Her mouth was dry.
"Good thing, honey. Try that in Oregon, and individualists from all sides of the political aisle would nail you to the proverbial cross." Thornton leaned forward, her dark eyes snapping. "How many you killed?"
Cammie smoothed her hands over her jeans. This interview was not going as she expected. "It doesn't matter. What does matter is that until a few months ago, I had no memory of my childhood at all. It—came back—and I decided to find Ben."
"Just like that?"
Cammie looked up. "Just like that."
"And you manage to show up when he's disappeared? Such a coincidence, Miss Timms."
"I was still in the Midwest when he disappeared," Cammie said. She wasn't sure if she liked Thornton. She wasn't sure if it mattered. "I came here to see if I could help find him."
"We've got people on it."
"People who have dealt with vampires?"
Thornton picked up her mug and took a ladylike sip. Then she set the mug down again, and shoved the file aside. "I know you people like to think you have the monopoly on knowledge. But I've dealt with a few vampires in my day. So has everyone in the department. We can handle damn near anything we come across."
"I'm sure you can," Cammie said. "But Ben's not your major focus. He's mine, though. You know that his girlfriend was supposed to meet him the other day, and now she's missing. And the man she got Ben's address from hangs out in a cow-bar in Portland."
"A what?"
"A bar where vampires get easy prey. Surely you have some here."
"I never heard them called that before," Thornton said. "You sure about all this?"
Cammie nodded. "I was at the bar last night, but I didn't go in. I need some help before tackling this. We're talking about a nest of vampires. Ben might have gotten himself mixed into the wrong kind of company."
Thornton sat up and sighed. "We can't put a watch on you, Miss Timms, and we can't let you work with our people. You're better off giving us the information and letting us do the work—"
"I've already gotten twice the information you have," Cammie said. "I promised to keep you informed, but I don't know this area. What I need from you is a different kind of help. I want to know what organizations, if any, work in vampire eradication. I also want to know who the vampire specialists are here, and where I can find local nests. I have an appointment with Dr. Brooker this afternoon."
"Ted Brooker?"
Cammie nodded.
"You found our specialist. There are no eradication laws on the books in the Northwest. There's an addiction clinic in Roseburg, a few rehab clinics in Portland, and a big one in Salem connected to the state penitentiary, but they won't have anyone trained in assassination." Thornton's eyes narrowed. "That is what you're looking for, isn't it?"
"I'm looking for some experienced help," Cammie said. "But I guess I won't find it here."
She stood, and picked up her briefcase.
"Wait," Thornton said. "About the information you promised. We can still work together."
"Only if you share in return," Cammie said.
Thornton studied her. Finally, Thornton said, "What do you need to know?"
"What you know. Everything you know."
"I'll need to check you out first."
Cammie nodded, but did not sit back down. "Throw me a bone. Let me know I can trust you."
Thornton smiled. Her face cascaded into a valley of sun-wrinkles. Now it was impossible to mistake her for a man. "You're a tough lady."
"I'm not alone."
Thornton nodded. "All right. Sadler was sighted two days ago in the Steelhead bar a few blocks from here. He met that girlfriend of his and she left with him. They went to the Hilton."
The night Cammie had arrived. Her skin crawled. She had been only a few rooms away from him. So close,[C&F109] and she hadn't even known it. "Where did you find this out?"
"We followed the girl's path after the mother called. We can't officially look yet, but since she's part of the Sadler investigation, we were able to fudge."
Cammie was breathing shallowly. "And?"
"He'd checked out by the time we found him. Used his family's address when he checked in. Valet said he parked a Targa with a Washington plate. License plate attaches it to an empty lot outside of Spokane."
"Ben's car?" Cammie's voice was trembling.
Thornton shook her head. "Car's registered to a William Charles Schiff. Schiff's been behind a number of other unsavory things along I-5. We think it's an alias, but for whom we don't know."
"So you haven't traced him."
"Not yet."
Cammie's shoulders hurt. She had been holding them too rigidly. "What aren't you telling me?"
"The girl went with him willingly."
"I got that," Cammie said.
"No." Thornton's voice was soft. "The next day. They drove off together after he checked out. Two different valets saw them."
"So you think it's some kind of young love adv
enture?"
"I would have, if it weren't for the car. Something odd is going on. The fact that you found a link to a vampire nest has me concerned."
Something heavy was pressing against Cammie's chest. She was finding it hard to breathe. "Why?"
"Because when I interviewed that girl, she claimed she hated your brother. And now she leaves with him. What does that suggest to you?"
Cammie's mind skipped over the implication. Ben wouldn't be a vampire. Not after all he had lived through. He would avoid vampires. "Maybe she was angry at him. Maybe she was lying to you." Her words didn't sound convincing.
"And maybe she wasn't." Thornton ran her hands through her hair. "We have an APB out on the car. We're treating it like a kidnapping."
"With Ben at fault?"
"He showed up here of his own free will. An adult's not missing just because he fails to tell his parents what he's doing."
Cammie's hand was trembling. She set the briefcase down. "You said Candyce went with him willingly. Why are you following up on that?"
Thornton took a sip of her coffee, winced, and set the mug aside. "Because it bothers me. The Targa bothers me. The girl's change in attitude bothers me. Something's not right, and the fact that there could be vampires involved in this mess only makes it worse. Think your brother's gone over?"
"No!" The word exploded out of Cammie. "He knew what it was like. No one would ever choose that as a lifestyle."
"Kids become their parents," Thornton said.
Cammie shook her head. "I didn't. My friends didn't. We made it out. Ben had an even better chance."
Thornton raised her eyebrows. "You made it out, huh? You just got done telling me you kill for a living. How is that different from your father, the vampire?"
Cammie felt as if Thornton had hit her in the stomach. Cammie gasped for air, then took a step back from the desk, nearly tripping on her own briefcase. "It's different," Cammie said when she could speak. "I save lives. He took them."
"Save lives by killing people, huh? Odd little sense of justice you have, there, girl."
Sins of the Blood: A Vampire Novel Page 22