“From my bridge club,” I said to Saber and gave him credit for not rolling his eyes.
Millie sighed. “I knew Yolette would look you up sooner or later, just because you’re a vampire. Was it a sickness with her?”
I spread my hands. “I don’t know.”
“Eugene found out they bought ghost tour tickets and that they specifically asked for your tour. He was going alone, but I decided to go myself, to see her firsthand. It didn’t take much to get my friends together, and—”
Millie shrugged and twisted a tissue in her hands. “I wanted revenge. I wanted her to suffer. Now she’s dead, and all I feel is cheated.”
Millie gave us one of Eugene Cassidy’s business cards. As we left, she also said she and her friends really had meant to guard me from “that nasty man,” but they couldn’t make it tonight. I told her not to worry, that Gorman was off the streets for at least another day and that Saber was guarding me now. She smiled, patted my arm, and promised to see me another time. I didn’t count on it.
Saber called the number on the PI’s card from the car while we were still parked at Millie’s. He barked a message at voice mail, flipped his cell phone shut, and put it in a holder on his dashboard.
It rang not five seconds later.
“Saber.” He listened, cut his gaze to me, and said, “She’s right here. I’ll put you on speaker.”
“Ms. Marinelli, Detective March. We’ve gone over your truck but didn’t find anything useful. It’s ready to be released.”
“Thanks. I’ll call Tom and ask him to pick it up. At the impound yard, right?”
“Right. It’ll be open until five.”
“Got it.”
“The second reason I’m calling is to tell you Gorman woke up. He wants to see you.”
“See who?” Saber asked.
“Both of you. He won’t talk to us without you. Officer Michaels from City—the same guy from last night—is already at the hospital, and I’ll meet you there.”
Saber flipped his phone shut, his expression as puzzled as I felt.
“Gorman wants to see me? That head injury must be worse than we thought.”
Saber cracked a smile. “If he can identify his attackers, we’re a big step closer to solving this before anything else happens.”
Since he laid rubber turning out of the condo lot in front of a speeding jeep full of teens, I hoped the anything else wasn’t a car wreck.
I reached Tom at the body and paint shop, and he promised to pick up my truck and call me with an estimate. Something else to think about when I had time.
At five thirty, traffic flowing off the island wasn’t as packed as that coming on. Flagler Hospital was just on the other side of the 312 bridge on the left, and the way Saber drove, we were there in twenty minutes.
We met Officer Michaels and Detective March in the hall and entered Gorman’s room. Michaels and March stood at the bedside, Saber and I took positions at the foot of the bed. I guess I expected Gorman to look frail in a hospital gown. Wrong. Oh, he looked worse for wear, but the bruising around his strange light blue eyes made them look colder than ever.
Detective March took the lead. “You see who did this to you, Gorman?”
“Son of a bitch hit me from behind, and I never did get a good look. But she,” he pointed at me with a perfectly steady hand, “had to have somethin’ to do with it. She searched my house and set me up for murder. Shit, I’d just had a little talk with her at Wal-Mart, so it ain’t no coincidence I got beat up not three hours later.”
Detective March shifted his weight. “Special Investigator Saber is supervising Ms. Marinelli. She’s never out of his sight.”
Gorman eyed us both. “That true?” he asked, his voice sounding harsher than ever. “You gettin’ it on with Mr. Special Investigator?”
Saber and I looked at each other.
“And he wonders why he got beaten,” Saber said mockingly.
“Poor people skills,” I answered, then looked at Gorman. “I had nothing to do with the beating or any of your other troubles, Mr. Gorman. What’s more, I think you know it.”
“Well, somebody searched my house while I was fishin’, and somebody planted things,” Gorman blustered. “If it wasn’t you, who the hell was it?”
I shrugged and spread my hands. “The murderer?”
“You didn’t kill that Frenchie?”
“I just said I didn’t set you up. I was sure you killed Yolette until I went to get my mail and found you bleeding.”
“You found me?” His jaw went slack, his eyes bulged. “You didn’t lick on me, or bite me, or anything, right?”
Lick on him? Gads, what a revolting image. “Mr. Gorman, I wouldn’t bite you if you were the last meal on earth.”
Michaels coughed into his hand. March harrumphed.
“Mr. Gorman,” March said, “the Fourniers complained that you were stalking them.”
Gorman’s eyes shifted away. “I wasn’t stalking ’em.”
“But you were following them,” March said.
“I live here. I have a right to keep track of what goes on in my city.”
“You were also following them in Daytona last Friday,” Saber said.
I looked at Saber, wanting to drop my jaw at this new piece of information. Instead, I clamped my teeth together and eyed Gorman anew. Maybe he had killed Yolette. Or Rachelle. Or both of them.
“So what if I was,” Gorman said picking at the edge of the blanket draped over his belly and casting an uneasy glance at March. “I got a right to go where I want.”
“Those surveillance photos you took of the Fourniers sure make it look like you were stalking them,” March said. “We have your computer and your digital camera. The photos are dated. It could look to a jury like you were planning to kill the woman all along.”
Gorman balled the blanket in his fist. “But I didn’t. Hell, I got beat up last night, and I don’t know who did it or why.”
“Did you see the Fourniers with the Daytona vampires, Gorman?” Saber asked.
“Yeah,” Gorman admitted cautiously.
“Any particular vampires?” Saber pressed.
“You got the pictures. You tell me.”
Saber gave Gorman a long look. “You know their names?”
“No, and I’m gettin’ tired,” Gorman complained, a whine in his voice as he looked to March again. March stared back.
“We’re almost finished.” Saber leaned both hands on the metal foot of the bed. “How long have you been following Ms. Marinelli?”
“Three months, off ’n’ on.”
That bit of news made me want to shower for a solid week, but I managed not to gag.
“Who told you the Fourniers would be in St. Augustine?” March asked.
“I got friends,” Gorman said defensively.
“The Covenant?”
“Yeah, the ones down in South Beach. They were on recon at the clubs and overheard the Frenchies invite a bunch of vampires to have sex with ’em. Then the sickos bragged that they were havin’ sex with vampires all the way up the coast. They had a lure or somethin’ vampires liked. That’s when I knew I had to watch this ’un—” Gorman pointed at me again. “—extra close.”
“Gorman,” March said, “do you remember anything about the attack that can help us? How many there were? Voices, smells, anything?”
“Blood.”
“Yeah, you bled a good deal from what I heard,” March said.
“No, I mean what I remember. I was standin’ at the bank entrance—”
“The entrance to Ms. Marinelli’s building,” Saber said.
“Yeah, yeah, but I’m trying to tell you I smelled blood.”
“Describe it.”
Gorman shot Saber a petulant look and smoothed his blanket over his belly. “You know, blood. A kinda sweet, metallic smell only a thousand times stronger. Like a whole bath of blood.”
I felt myself sway and groped for the end of the bed.
Gorman saw my weakness and smirked. “Thinkin’ about all that blood make you hungry, vampire?”
“It makes me queasy.” You nitwit, I wanted to add but didn’t. I was too busy taking cleansing breaths of chemically treated hospital air.
When I trusted myself not to lose it all over Gorman’s hospital blanket, I said, “Are you sure that’s what you smelled?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. What are you, some kinda wimp? Swoon at the sight of blood.”
“Not the sight, the smell.”
FIFTEEN
“What the hell happened in there?” Saber demanded as soon as we were in the hospital parking lot.
“You heard me,” I said, pacing beside him. “I got queasy.”
“Thinking about blood?”
“Smelling it.” I shuddered and rubbed my arms. “For just a second, I was picking up what Gorman smelled before the attack.”
“You mean a psychic thing?”
“Yes, and I never want to be in that guy’s head again. But it triggered something.”
“What?” he probed, beeping the car unlocked.
I sighed to throw off the memory of Gorman’s evil thoughts and climbed in. “That same scent of blood was on my truck the night it was trashed, and a fainter version was on Yolette at Scarlett’s last Monday. Fainter than it was when we found Gorman, but there.” I rubbed my forehead. “I think I smelled blood on Etienne, too, but I can’t remember when.”
He slammed his car door. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.” I reached for my seat belt and suppressed another shudder. “But I have the gut feeling it’s important.”
“There wasn’t any blood on your truck. Just paint.”
“I know, and that’s what’s confusing.”
“Yolette could’ve cut herself,” Saber mused.
“I remember thinking the same thing and that I didn’t want to be blamed for it.”
He started the car but stared out the windshield as it idled. After a full half minute, he turned to me. “The smell of blood really makes you sick?”
“Yes,” I admitted.
“How the hell do you feed?”
Darn, I knew this would come out sooner or later. Wouldn’t it figure, Saber would be the first to know?
I grimaced and blurted the truth. “I hold my nose, okay?”
“You hold your—” He broke off and stared at me. Disbelief and amusement crossed his features. “But you drink flavored blood.”
“You snooped in my mini-fridge.”
“Why drink flavored blood if you hold your nose?”
“I like the caramel aftertaste.”
He gaped, then simply shook his head. “You’re the weirdest damned vampire I’ve ever met.”
I gave him a tired smile. “Get me home, will you?”
We took U.S. 1 back downtown. I didn’t feel like talking, and Saber didn’t push me. True, he was probably trying not to laugh, but his silence gave me the space to think.
Whatever was tickling my memory or my psychic sense, it was driving me crazy by the time we arrived at the penthouse at six fifteen. I had more than an hour before I had to get ready for work. Maybe the notes we’d made last night would help crystallize what I was reaching for.
“Saber, where’s the suspect list we made?”
“In my duffel. Why?”
“Just get it. Please.”
He gave me an I’m-humoring-you look but wheeled down the hall. While he retrieved the papers, I checked phone messages and found one from Maggie I’d return before I went to work. In the kitchen, I set the timer and got a pen from the junk drawer. The alarm would remind me when to stop sleuthing and get ready for tonight’s tour.
Saber met me at the kitchen table with the legal pad and notes but minus his jacket and holster. I shuffled through the papers twice, with Saber looking on but not interrupting. The third time I started through them, he slapped a hand over the sheets.
“What are you looking for?”
“I’m not sure, but work with me, will you?”
He gestured toward a chair and took one himself. I sat and spread the papers in an arc between us.
“Let’s look at this again from the beginning,” I said, pen poised. “We have Rachelle murdered last Friday night, right?”
“Early Saturday morning somewhere between midnight and three,” he supplied.
I sketched out a time and crime grid and filled in Rachelle. “Then Yolette is killed, what, the following Thursday morning?”
He hesitated, then shrugged. “You’re not a suspect now, so yeah. The ME figures she was killed between two and five.”
I scribbled the time by Yolette’s name. “Next we have my truck vandalized on Thursday night between eight and elevenish. It could’ve been a bomb or my brakes could’ve been tampered with, but that didn’t happen.”
“So?”
“It’s a less violent crime.”
“If you consider extensive damage and DIE spray-painted on your tailgate less violent.”
“Who has reason to trash my truck? Only Gorman. He threatened me, and he hates vampires, but, oops, he was gone.”
“Everyone else in town likes vampires? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Are you going to carp or help?”
“Carry on, Sherlock.”
I crossed my eyes at him but recorded the vandalism. “Now last in this string of events, Gorman is beaten. I didn’t do it, so who did?”
“Too many people to count?”
I couldn’t stop the quick grin at his deadpan expression. “He is repulsive, isn’t he?”
“He’s worse, but I’ll grant you, the beating probably wasn’t random.”
“Okay, then,” I said with a final notation, “we have two murders—”
“And the victims knew each other.”
“Yes, but the vandalism and the beating don’t look connected. So, let’s do a process of elimination.” I folded my hands on the legal pad. “Is it possible Ike or one of his nestmates killed Rachelle?”
“If they had, there wouldn’t have been a body to find.”
I made a face. He was right. “Are the Daytona Beach police pursuing the case?”
“For all intents, no. They called me according to procedure and dumped it in my lap.”
“Did you interview Ike?”
He threw me a dark look. “Where are you going with this?”
“We have two dead women connected by their past.”
“Not to mention their broken necks and the .22 silver slugs in their brains.”
“Which is odd, too. For a vampire, sure, the bullet has to be silver. For Yolette?”
“Maybe the killer forgot to change ammo.”
“Or just didn’t bother, but silver isn’t dirt cheap, and breaking a neck isn’t easy. It’d have to be someone with military training.”
“That’s not a given, but it’s a good premise.”
“Saber, what about the autopsy? Weren’t there any handy finger or hand bruises on the victims?”
“To indicate how large the hands that snapped the necks were?” he said with a grin. “No. Both women’s faces and bodies in general had some pre-and postmortem bruising, but nothing to give us a lead. The toxicology tests won’t be back for at least another week.”
“Damn. All right then,” I pressed on, picking up my pen. “Who gains what by killing these women, and who’d know how to break a neck? Let’s start with Gorman. There were guns at his house, correct?”
“Which he insists were planted.”
“Is there a ballistics match, or do you know yet?”
“The results will be in by Monday, but even if there’s a match, I don’t think he did it.”
“I agree. Also, there’s no way he’d get close enough to Yolette or Rachelle to break their necks.”
“Rachelle was shot first.”
“Fine,” I said scribbling another note, “but Gorman wouldn’t use a little pistol to shoot her. He’d use s
omething bigger, like an elephant gun.”
“Or a rocket launcher.”
“And he’d take pictures and brag about it.”
“But his alibi holds, so who’s next?”
I put a big X over Gorman and skimmed down. “There’s Millie and Mick, but they’re both off the list, too.”
“Millie, yes. Why eliminate Mick?”
“Don’t start on Mick.”
“He has ties to the Daytona Beach vampires, and he’s ex-military.”
I raised a brow. “Really?”
“Navy,” Saber said.
“But he doesn’t really have ties, Saber. He has a history with them that would keep him far, far away from the nest. He wouldn’t work for Ike in a billion years.”
Saber didn’t look sold but said, “Go on.”
“Gomer aka Holland aka Eugene the PI.”
“He knew exactly where the Fourniers were staying.”
“But Millie’s no fool. She hired a reputable PI, not an assassin. Although,” I added, tapping a nail on the table, “Ike could’ve hired him to investigate Rachelle’s death.”
“Not likely. Vampires might enslave or enthrall, but they don’t look in the freaking phone book for a PI.”
I look in the phone book for all sorts of things, but I let it go. “Maybe Ike saw Eugene following Yolette and glommed on to him that way.”
“That’s possible.”
“But it still doesn’t make sense that Eugene would kill Yolette. Not for Millie or for Ike.”
“You’re right. Ike would want the killer brought to him for some old-fashioned vampire justice.”
I knew from the past what that could mean, and Ike’s reputation wasn’t any kinder or gentler than King Normand’s.
“So why don’t you call Ike and ask him about Eugene?”
He pointedly cut his gaze to the living room windows. “It’s still light out. Ike won’t be up for at least an hour, and—” He stopped and gave me an odd look. “What time’s the tour tonight?”
“Nine to about ten thirty. Why?”
“We could go see Ike after that.”
“We who? I’m not going anywhere near him.”
“Oh, come on, you’ve never met your closest vampire neighbors.”
La Vida Vampire Page 18