Cold Dead Past

by John Curtis

  "Doc, you know he won’t go for that."

  "Well, at least warn them not to be out alone at night. I’ll back you up on that."

  "I’ll see what I can do. And I’d appreciate it if you could get me a report as soon as you can."

  Franklin nodded his agreement as a biting gust of wind penetrated his coat.

  "I knew I should have taken that job in Las Vegas. I’m headed on in."

  As the doctor walked to his pickup, Gary watched as Gene and the deputy helped the EMTs manhandle the stretcher the last bit of the way up on to the road. As the EMTs hustled the stretcher into the back of the ambulance, his attention focused on Gene, who’d sent the deputy back over the side with the line to attach it to the car.

  He turned Gary’s way for a moment and their eyes locked. He could have sworn that just for a moment a guilty look fluttered across Gene’s face.

  Later, on the way back into town, Gene pulled off onto a side road out of sight. He wanted to take a look inside the car. Sometimes in these cars he towed for the county, he found some pretty good stuff. One time, when some fool had run his Lexus into a tree after he’d been out drinking, Gene had found his wallet under the driver’s seat. He had been able to make a few hundred bucks out of that one. No one noticed that the wad the rich guy had been carrying at the time of the accident was a little lighter. It wasn’t a bad second income if you didn’t mind a little blood.

  He ran his hands around under the seats. He was wearing gloves, like always, so he wouldn’t get any of the drying blood spattered on the seat and the floor on his hands. He dug out an empty pop bottle, some old checkout receipts from a grocery store, and about eighty-three cents in change.

  It was in the last handful of stuff he pulled from under the seat that he found something that stopped him dead in his tracks and caused his face to go pale. There, in his outstretched palm, was a piece of bloody fabric. He wouldn’t have taken any notice, except for the fact that it matched the coveralls he was wearing. Gene quickly jammed it into his pocket and frantically felt under the seat looking for more.

  CHAPTER 17

  The girl’s death showed up in the police blotter of the Monday Haddonfield Examiner as an auto accident. Jay knew better, though. When Abe called to tell him he might have found some helpful information, the first words out of Jay’s mouth were, "I’ve had another dream." Abe told him to come around at closing time that night. Jay decided that now was the time to let Meg in on what was going on. She was already starting to think that he was a little unhinged.

  When the two of them entered the Evil Eye that evening, the only other person in the store was the pimply boy. He was shelving some books in one of the side aisles, so Jay led the way back to the office. They found Abe reading at the table, which was once again covered by books.

  Jay cleared his throat to get his attention. Abe stood and motioned for them to sit. He was wearing reading glasses that hung around his neck from a chain. When he spoke to them, he cocked his head so as to see over the lenses.

  "Would you like some coffee?" he asked. "It’s a very good blend."

  "Sure," said Jay. He turned to Meg, who nodded her head in the affirmative.

  Abe walked over to a coffee maker set up on the counter and returned with two steaming mugs, which he set in front of them before returning to his seat.

  "Please. I’m sorry that I don’t have any sugar and cream, but I haven’t had a chance to shop."

  Meg nervously surveyed the room.

  Abe took a deep, wheezy breath and continued, "I had a lot of research to do. Jay presented me with quite a puzzle. Did he explain to you what is going on?"

  Jay interjected, "Only in a simple way. I thought that we could use the help and I didn’t want to scare her off too soon."

  "He said that he knew something about the death of that man the other night and that he had asked you to help him," Meg said. And to Jay, "I still don’t understand. If you know something, shouldn’t you be talking to Gary? Or the sheriff?"

  Abe laughed and Jay cut him off with a look.

  She went on, angry now. "I’m sorry, but I don’t see what’s funny. Maybe I should just leave."

  Jay settled his hand on her knee as she went to stand up and she settled back in the chair.

  "We can’t," he said. "You already are wondering if I’m crazy, because of our past history. It’s a weird situation and they’d probably call me a crackpot."

  "Why?"

  "Because I saw what happened in a dream. That and more, that’s why."

  Meg’s lips pursed tightly and she turned away for a moment to let it soak in.

  "You really are crazy, then. It’s like when we were in college all over again. You and your neurotic fantasies."

  Abe scowled and slammed his hand on the table, causing Meg to jump.

  "I’m sorry, but we don’t have the time to play around trying to explain to the uninitiated. I’m really impatient with that type of attitude. If you would let Jay explain further, then maybe it will clear things up for you."

  Jay told Meg about the dreams he’d had about Frank, the one where Charlie had died, and then about the latest one, the girl who’d gone off the road into the gully. The one that the sheriff had so far been able to hush up and pass off as an accident.

  "So you see," he said, "with the dreams and all, I asked Abe to help me get at whatever is going on."

  She thought for a moment before replying. "Okay, but if I'm to buy this for even one minute, I want to hear a good explanation of why you think that Frank Jordan or whoever would be back and talking to you after all these years. Why now? Why not five or ten years ago?"

  Abe gave Jay a look and said, "This is my department."

  He waved his arm at the books spread out before them and continued, "When Jay came into this shop and told me his story, it piqued my interest. A man with such a story, well, especially a best-selling author-"

  He rubbed his palms together.

  "At any rate, I decided it might be a little fun to do some hunting around. This kind of thing is my interest and a specialty."

  He picked up an old, thick book from the top of a stack on the table and opened it to a page marked with a Post-It note.

  "Throughout history, there have been legends of the dead coming back to life. And usually not with very happy consequences for the living. Many times there is some sort of link which binds them to a particular person. Friendship, for instance."

  Meg leaned forward. "So you think that Frank has come back to give us a little ‘hello’ from beyond the grave?" she asked facetiously.

  "Unfortunately, no," he replied. "In this case, I think that he was summoned back by someone."

  "But who would want to do that?" asked Jay.

  "There’s always some purpose to it," Abe said. "Sometimes it’s benevolent, like when a widow misses her husband or a parent misses a child, but I’ve not been able to find one instance in any of my books where it turned out to be of benefit to anyone. And that’s putting it mildly."

  Meg rolled her eyes and turned to Jay. "The only person I can think of who’d want to do something like that is that idiot, Gene."

  Jay turned to Abe. "That’s Frank’s brother. I can’t think of a more likely person, either. They were almost joined at the hip, those two. Could’ve been twins except for the age difference. And he took Frank’s death hard."

  "Tell me," said Abe, "was this a particularly violent death? Was there a lot of pain, misery, psychological torment?"

  "Well, he drowned, Abe. I would say that yeah, he was in some pain and not particularly happy."

  Abe rolled his eyes as he ran his fingers down the page of the open book in front of him on the table. "Don’t be a smartass," he said, angrily. "You know what I meant. Was there some specific reason that he’d want you here, of all people, and tie himself to you the way he apparently has?"

  "Well, we’d just made up. My dad had died not too long before and we’d been pretty close growing up. When my
mom decided to move back to the city, he kind of felt that I was abandoning him. He didn’t have a lot of other friends, you know?"

  Abe ran his tongue along his lips to wet them and gave his beard a tug. "There’s why. For whatever reason his brother may have called him, his relationship with you has the stronger pull. I’m afraid this Gene person may have lost control of him, if he ever had it to begin with."

  "So what does that mean? We just find Frank and ask him nicely to leave?"

  Abe shook his head and his lips pursed into a thin frown. "Nothing quite as simple as that. There are many types of the undead. The only way to find out what we are dealing with is to find the exact method used."

  Meg was still trying to get her head around the idea that Jay could have anything to do with this crazy idea. Everyone knew that this was the stuff of movies and madmen, but she was willing to go along with it for a bit, just for Jay’s sake. This, though, was a bit too much.

  "We just run down and ask Gene if he’s been talking to dead people?"

  She didn’t get the answer that she anticipated. She had been hoping for a snide remark from Abe so that she could snap back at him, at least something that she could do to maybe show Jay that this was all so idiotic, that he’d turned some coincidences into a house of cards that she could blow away with a whisper.

  "Exactly," said Abe. "Each type of the undead has a specific means of disposal. If we try the wrong one, we might be the next bodies found in some alley or vacant lot."

  Meg shifted uncomfortably in her chair. There wasn’t much she could say to dispel the obvious. If he’d at least tried to give some sort of complicated scientific explanation for what was going on, she could have grabbed onto some small point and poked at it like some sore, bringing some doubt.

  All she could manage was, "It sounds like we’ll have to do something illegal."

  Abe removed his glasses and rubbed the marks they left on the bridge of his nose. "Well, I have plenty of books on breaking and entering. We’ll be looking for some sort of altar, most certainly. There usually is one for rituals of this kind. Also, there may be a bad smell. Like something’s rotten. It’s from whatever he’s been fed. We'd be lucky if this brother of his is someone who isn’t too into cleanliness."

  Meg’s nose wrinkled at the thought. "You mean we might find some bodies in the basement?"

  "No. That would be too much. His brother would want to keep control of him. I would bet that until his escape, he was living mostly on small animals. Rats or squirrels, for instance. Anything that had enough life energy in them to keep him animated, but not enough to allow him to function freely with a will of his own."

  "But now he’s graduated to bigger things," interjected Jay.

  "Yes. And we need to act fast. His more sophisticated appetites will allow him to roam at will. As I see it, we need to figure out what we’re dealing with as soon as possible."

  Abe turned to Meg. "Do you know where this place is that Frank

  died?"

  "Sure. I can take you there, but why?"

  "Because he needs an anchor, a place that is familiar and because I’m sure that after you’ve spent some time in my charming company, I’ll grow on you and you’ll learn to love me like one of your own family." He laughed.

  Jay’s fingers thrummed on the table. "But wouldn’t he use Gene’s house? I mean because that’s where he grew up?"

  Abe shook his head and grabbed Jay’s hand to stop his drumming. "I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that. If his brother is the one who called him back, he’ll want to stay as far from there as possible. He doesn’t want to take a chance that he’ll be put back in the box, so to speak. I think that the place he died would leave a stronger imprint, anyway. That’s where we’ll have to get him."

  Jay grabbed Meg's hand under the table and gave it a squeeze. "Are you sure it’ll be safe? I mean if you’re right, won’t it mean you’re going right into the lion’s den?"

  Abe waved his hand with a flourish, his eyes ablaze with the thrill of the chase.

  "We’ll be okay. We won’t be going until after dark. If he follows his previous pattern, he’ll be off and busy with other things."

  Abe picked up his coffee, breathing the aroma in deeply before taking a sip.

  "What do you want me to do?" asked Jay.

  Abe’s cup rattled as he placed the delicate piece of rose-patterned bone china back onto its matching saucer.

  "Your job will be a little harder. You need to get into Gene’s house and find his little recipe book. I have no idea what it will look like, but you’ll know it when you see it."

  Jay settled back into his chair, letting Meg’s hand slip from his.

  Abe continued, "Yes, I think we’ll be okay if we wait to get started until after the moon is up."

  CHAPTER 18

  Whatever money had been spent on the renewal of the rest of the town, none seemed to have made it to the small, cramped interior of the sheriff’s station. The waiting area was wedged tightly between the twenty-year-old walnut-grained Formica front counter, which was backed up by a couple of even older metal office desks. The only concession to the modern age evident was a new police band dispatch system up against one wall and brand new computer terminals which glowed green under the bluish light of the ancient fluorescent overhead lighting fixtures.

  Gary and Doctor Franklin entered, their shoulders dusted with powdery snow. Gary stomped his feet on the rubber mat, clearing off the slush so as not to add to the wet, muddy footprints left on the linoleum by earlier visitors. The coroner closed the door and repeated the ritual before following him through the swinging gate at the end of the counter.

  They had just come from the diner, where they'd seen the sheriff giving an interview and talking about how the towns "guardians" had everything under control for the tenth time. The term had begun sounding like a joke. Gary thought to himself that the thick manila envelope and folder bound together with rubber bands that Franklin was carrying snugly under his arm were sure to add to the amusing connotations.

  He turned to the deputy on duty as they passed. "How’s it going?"

  As he finished what he was typing with a few more leaden taps on the keyboard, he looked up and said, "Not too bad. We had a couple of calls on accidents and car three is reporting a lot of glazing on the Post Road. It sounds like it’s going to be pretty nasty after two."

  Gary picked up the day’s activity summary from the in box on the desk in front of him and gave it a cursory glance. Nothing really major, just a couple of fender benders downtown involving tourists in a hurry.

  "Has the sheriff called?"

  "Not yet. He had to go to a meeting at the mayor’s office. Was kinda sudden. From the look on his face, I think it was going to be a royal ass-chewing." The last bit came with a smile. "He’ll probably show up at the Longbow."

  Gary frowned and continued on to his office. Franklin trailed along after him, the items he carried causing his shoulder to stoop slightly to the right. When they arrived at the office door, Gary fumbled for the keys in his pocket. The first thing that caught the eye when he opened the door and flipped the light switch were several "Deputy of the Year" plaques mounted prominently on the wall above and behind his large desk and expensive Herman Miller chair.

  He hung his coat on the tree next to the light switch and headed directly to the chair and sat down.

  Franklin removed his coat with some difficulty. He kept shifting the weight of his package from one hand to the other as he slipped off the long, black woolen overcoat.

  Gary waited patiently until the coroner was comfortably ensconced in the faux leather seat in front of the desk before taking his own seat. It was an old bit of etiquette he learned at his mother’s arm. He leaned back in the chair with his hands laced behind his head, blinking away fatigue, before he spoke.

  "You’ve got a death grip on those."

  "I can’t stay. I just wanted to make sure that you got these as soon as possible." He leane
d forward and passed the bundle across the desk. Gary opened the envelope and looked in as if it contained a snake which might bite him. He slipped his hand in and fished out a set of photographs.

  Franklin pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his brow. "Man, it’s hot in here."

  Gary flipped through the photos and replied, without looking up, "You’re just cold-blooded doc." After checking out the entire short stack, he asked, "So, what is it I’m looking at here. Is it what I think it is?"

  "Yeah. Those are the neck wounds. I had the university boys take a look at the pictures we took of Hauser, too."

  Gary pulled the rest of the papers from the envelope and then slipped the rubber bands from the folder. He ran his index finger up the side of the stack slowly and let out a whistle. It was the size of the Haddonfield phone directory times two.

  "There’s an awful lot of stuff here."

  Franklin shoved his handkerchief back into his pocket. "They’re pretty thorough. Don’t worry, though, I gave you an early Christmas present. Check out the contents of the folder."

  He lifted the folder and a plastic evidence bag fell onto the pile of papers on his desk. When he picked it up to examine it, he saw an oil-stained piece of cloth with the name Gene stitched neatly onto a name patch near one ragged edge. The white portion of the patch also held a familiar rusty stain.

  "Blood?"

  "Yeah. And you see whose name is on it. That’s my present to you. I found it clutched in the girl’s hand when we went to pull her out of the car."

  "That son of a bitch." Gary spat out the words. "No wonder he looked so nervous this morning. Is there anything else that definitely might link the rest of those cases back to him?"

  Franklin slumped down into his chair. "Unfortunately, no. The guys at the lab said that the wounds all matched up on the victims’ necks, though. If we can get a bite impression from him, you might be able to get a case."