by Lee Killough
Zane hailed Russ Dolan, one of the officers drafted from Patrol. “What’s Dracula’s story?”
Dolan grinned. “It’s a game. Players called Van Helsings are hunting him and some other vampires. He’s thinking that sitting there he’ll see any Van Helsings coming in time to slip away out the back. You ought to hear this guy. He’s got the accent...everything. He’s really into it.”
Eight o’clock...no sign of Blondie. No Van Helsings, either. Zane noticed that Dracula remained in place, beer mugs accumulating in front of him. At that rate he might soon be unable to move.
Then up the sidewalk of his own block Zane saw Gary Golden. The other officer wore civilian clothes and leaned against a roof support...like someone hanging out waiting for a friend. However, his eyes scanned the pedestrians and passing vehicles intently and he wore an earphone. The wire ran down his neck under the collar of his polo shirt.
Keeping a trio of young men between the two of them, Zane slipped up on Golden. “What are you doing here?”
Golden started. “Ah...just enjoying the evening.”
“Wearing a radio?”
After hesitating, Golden shrugged. “Okay. This scumbag attacking Travis and trying to frame Peter makes me mad. I want to help get him. You know, if you let me shadow you, two pairs of eyes see twice as much.”
He could certainly sound chummy when he wanted something. “I’ll ask Allison.” Zane hit his mike switch. “Thirty-three, go to Tac Four.” On Tac Four he told her about Golden.
She sighed in his ear. “Gung-ho young cops, always wanting to be where the action is. Go ahead...let him shadow you. At least then we know where he is and can make sure he isn’t compromising the operation.”
Golden had not touched his radio, so he should have no way to hear her, but he grinned as though he knew what she said. Remembering the conversation he saw between Golden and Allison when Makepeace came in, suspicion clanged in Zane.
“Did you know he was going to be here? Is this a setup?”
The shift of Golden’s eyes answered him even before Allison said, “Twelve wasn’t going to be enough on the operation, so...I accepted volunteers.”
“But never bothered to tell your partner.”
She sighed again. “Sorry...but if shit hit the fan, that way IA couldn’t come after you.”
A good story, which he believed none of. To hell with her then, he decided angrily. Let her treat him like a gopher. The next case she could make a gopher out of some other sucker.
“You’re cool with this, right?” Golden said.
Zane turned to scan pedestrians across the street. “Do you care?” In the next block Dracula had left his table. Now he strolled beside Russ Dolan up toward the corner. “Is Dracula another volunteer?”
“Probably.”
Zane frowned. That tone sounded a little too off-hand. Sudden suspicion buzzed in him. “Is that Peter Makepeace?” Zane reached for his mike switch.
“Don’t tell Allison,” Golden said hurriedly. “Peter just wants--”
“A piece of the action? When we’re hunting the most dangerous killer in this city’s history?” Of all the A-one stupid ass stunts. And Golden had gone along with it? “He’s a civilian! If anything happens to him...”
To Zane’s astonishment, Golden started laughing. Quickly, he choked it back. “Sorry. It’s just...Peter isn’t defenseless. He...served a hitch in the Marines. He’s probably better at hand to hand combat than you are. Come on...” He punched Zane’s shoulder. “Don’t call Allison. He’ll be all right...and I guarantee he won’t get Dolan hurt, either.”
Having Golden chummy was astonishing enough. Hearing him wheedle flabbergasted Zane. To his own surprise and against his better judgment, he found himself saying, “Okay.”
Golden slapped Zane on the back. “All right! Now let’s hope Blondie comes trolling on our block so we can have some fun!”
Fun? While Blondie figured prominently in the wheels turning in Zane’s head, fun did not. That Dracula costume convinced him more than ever that Makepeace had come to Quickie’s as Blondie...and if that were so, he somehow beat the voice stress test. He lied about knowing Blondie’s identity and got away with it. If Blondie were someone important enough for him to protect, Allison must have at least some idea who it was, too. She had her conversation with Golden before she talked to Garroway, so she had been encouraging volunteers before she knew how many officers the stakeout would have.
A twinge ran through his gut. What was going on? Was she trying to find Blondie or...did she have another agenda entirely?
10.
Allison checked her watch. Nine-thirty. Anxiety ate at her. True, the hunter did not seem to come out until late in the evening, but already Allison worried that she might not show up at all. She might pick a victim on a boat and use the Coral Gables MO. Dorcas Cherry had household members watching the marinas...and someone up Laguna Drive at the Yacht Club, but the advantage was all with Blondie. A moment of inattention and she could slip by them once again.
Her cell phone warbled.
“Allison.”
The tension in Honora’s voice set her skin prickling. “What is it, Baba?”
“There’s someone here at the gallery you need to meet.”
With that tone, Honora could mean only one thing. Electricity shot through Allison. She gripped the phone. “Who is she?”
“Deirdre Hilst.”
“Hilst?” The Hilsts were human, and had been in Arenosa since the turn of the century.
“The wife of Leonard Hilst, old Charlie’s son.”
Allison stared at the phone. “Wife? A volke married a human?”
“Apparently. She sounds British, and they both smell non-local. Teresa Broekert tells me she read in the paper that they live in Florida.”
She clenched her fist. Florida! And if they were staying at his father’s house, that explained why the hotel and realty offices canvass came up empty. “What’s your impression of her?”
Honora hesitated before answering. “She’s like none of our people I’ve ever met before, even the rogues. She’s...” Allison heard an intake of breath. “She’s like a black hole. You have to meet her to understand.”
“I’m on my way.” Before letting Kerr know she would be out of the area, she clicked dit dit dit dah on her mike button, switched to Tac Six to update the covert stakeout.
Ten minutes later at the Broekert Gallery west beyond Mercado Square, their door dragon...sheathed in black, gleaming blonde, flawlessly groomed to the point of looking plastic...stared down her nose at Allison. “This event is by invitation only.”
Allison raised her brows. “I have been invited...by my grandmother...whose show this is.” She pointed out her name...on her police ID.
“Formal dress is required.” Barbie’s implausibly azure eyes focused with disdain on Allison’s grey silk slack suit, crumpled from a day of wear.
Allison resisted an urge to shove her aside. “Ask Mr. or Mrs. Broekert over and let them decide.”
Judging by Barbie’s expression, she considered it an imposition to disturb her bosses and intended to refuse.
Before she could speak, however, the rattle and thump of walker feet sounded behind her and Honora said, “Don’t be such an officious bitch, Joyce. Come in, Allison dear.”
Barbie/Joyce stepped aside, scowling.
Honora turned the walker around to face into the gallery. “One advantage of getting old is you can say what you think.”
Despite her impatience to see this Deirdre, Allison had to smile. Physically, Honora had changed very little from photographs of her in the twenties, when she first started wearing her tuxedo with tails at art shows, but humans never seemed to see that. Using a handful of props... the walker, wire-rimmed glasses, a makeup base that sallowed her skin, and a testy edge on her voice...she created an amazing illusion of age.
Allison peered around the gallery. “Is she still here?” Pillars and short sections of wall set at vary
ing angles broke up the center of the space, making it impossible to see the entire room, and heels rapped overhead on the hardwood floors of the mezzanine level, too.
“Oh, yes.” Away from the door Honora continued using the walker, but its feet came down more gently, and she spoke in her normal voice, though keeping it low. “Mr. Leonard Hilst has been very flattered that the artist herself will spend so much time with him, helping him choose a painting to grace his Palm Beach home. He owns a marina similar to the Basin, except just for pleasure craft, with an emphasis on high end pleasure craft.”
So Deirdre would be familiar with boats. Also, Palm Beach, north of Miami, was far enough from Coral Gables, south of it, to hunt without fouling her own nest. Did Deirdre have access to boats here that she could have used Tuesday night?
“He’s upstairs writing a check and arranging for shipment of the painting, so Deirdre is alone.” Honora nodded toward the rear of the gallery.
Allison followed the direction of the gesture but also took a deep breath. Through the assorted human odors came a flood of sex pheromones, so strong it was hard to believe the human males in the room could be oblivious to it. Only one she saw showed any reaction, and he appeared chiefly puzzled, edging closer to the woman with him. She sniffed again, and coming around one of the divider sections, she hit the scent she hoped to find. A scent that took her back to Lavaca Street.
Relief sang in her. The hunter! She hurried forward toward another divider.
A moment later she frowned. The scent was not quite the hunter’s. Very close, yes, but as she closed in on the source, she detected differences. Could she be remembering incorrectly? Or could some element of the local environment be altering it?
Trying to analyze the difference, Allison stepped around the divider...and saw her quarry in front of a landscape depicting a storm over the coastal prairie. However, Deirdre stood sideways, staring into space rather than at the painting.
Allison studied her. Unlike Blondie, she wore her hair in a French roll as sleek as metal. Where Blondie’s little basic black dress revealed, Deirdre’s concealed...everything from neck to wrists and mid-calf...unadorned by anything more than a triple strand gold necklace. Simple, elegant, and...restrained. The word characterized Deirdre in general, Allison decided...with emphasis on strained. Deirdre was rigid with restraint. Her grip on her clutch bag almost crushed it.
Now Allison understood Honora’s comment about a black hole. Despite all the pheromone output, she felt no energy aura around Deirdre. None at all. Even humans produced some.
Time to go up close and personal. “Hello, cousin.”
Deirdre started. Her eyes dilated. For a moment energy surged around her, then vanished as if sucked back inside by her sidestep away. “I beg your pardon?”
Definitely a British accent, but...since when did one volke use that chilly I-don’t-believe-we’ve-met tone on another? Even rogues, or at least the one in Allison’s experience, pretended to be sociable when necessary. “I’m Allison Goodnight, Honora Goodnight’s granddaughter.”
“The old woman who convinced my husband to buy that appalling seascape?”
Appalling? And Honora’s props fooled her? Allison hurriedly regrouped her thoughts to stay on track. “I came over because I saw you alone here.”
“I’m waiting for my husband.” Deirdre turned to face the landscape.
The body language screamed loud and clear: Go away and leave me alone. Allison’s skin crawled. She agreed with Honora; Deirdre was indeed unlike any their people. Terribly, unnaturally unlike.
“Do you know how long you’ll be in Arenosa?”
For several moments Allison wondered if Deirdre were going to answer, but finally: “No.”
“This is our Spring Gathering weekend. If you’ll be here, you’re certainly welcome to come as a guest.” Normal volke would gladly accept, while a loner might find a reason to decline. “Or those stuck in town because of jobs will be having mini-Gatherings in the evenings at their--”
“No!” With the vehement whisper, Deirdre spun toward Allison, groping in her bag. Her hand came out again...clutching a crucifix. She thrust it at Allison. “Get away!”
Allison felt her jaw drop.
Deirdre backed away a step. “Go back to Hell where you--Len!” Relief flooded her face. The crucifix vanished as suddenly as it appeared and she ran to a tanned, handsome, self-assured man in his fifties. In type, he resembled Demry and Cromer, Allison noticed. Wrapping both hands around his arm, Deirdre snuggled up against him. “Len...if you’ve paid for the painting, may we go now? Please?”
Leonard Hilst frowned. “The evening’s young and the people here are good for business to mix with.”
She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “I’m so tired. Please may we go?” Leaning close to his ear, she ran her tongue up the back edge. “Please, Len?” Her voice went husky. “Please?”
He grinned. “Sure, babe. I guess it is about bedtime back home. Excuse us?” he said to Allison, and hustled Deirdre up through the gallery.
Allison shook herself out of her stupefaction and ran in search of Honora. “They’re leaving. Quick! I need the keys to your car.”
Honora dug the keys out of her trouser pocket. “If you think she’s the one, I’m coming with you. The Cord’s in the gallery receiving area. You follow the Hilsts on foot while I plead age and exhaustion to the Broekerts and get the car. Phone me where to pick you up.”
The Hilsts headed for a Lincoln Continental with Texas plates, parked across the street at Mercado Square. They pulled out Mercado Square heading east down North Bayside. Allison jogged after them. Shortly Honora’s red Cord slowed beside her. As they took off after the Lincoln, Allison described her encounter with Deirdre.
Honora looked as dumfounded as Allison had felt. “Shook a crucifix at you?”
“It’s the way she was with Hilst that makes me understand what the youngsters mean when they talk about being creeped out.” Allison shuddered.
“Her behavior sounds similar to Blondie’s, though.”
The light ahead turned amber. Lincoln cruised through the intersection. Honora stamped the accelerator and gunned after it on the first seconds of the red.
Allison fished out her police ID in case a light bar came on behind them. “It was a parody of Blondie, not seductive. It was...” She grimaced in disgust. “...obsequious.” A check out the rear window found no flashing red and blue lights. “I wonder why she’s with him.”
Honora nodded. “Me, too!”
Allison could not resist the opening. “Why, Baba, you’ve always considered human males your favorite lovers.”
Honora sent her a withering sideglance. “Mine were never like Hilst. You should have seen him...sucking up to the great artist, but oh so patronizing--the paintings are marvelous; he has to have one; it’s wonderful to see a woman able to make her own way in the world. And the ultimate compliment, of course: I paint as powerfully as a man.” Her lip curled.
Ahead, the Lincoln swung around the curve where North Bayside became Laguna Drive.
“If we were spiders, I’d bite his head off before mating...and skip the mating.”
Allison chuckled. Then she sighed. “It bothers me that in spite of everything else making her look good for being the hunter, her scent isn’t identical.”
Honora shrugged. “Perhaps we’ll find a reason for it. Meanwhile, you have to follow up...and in any case, even if she isn’t the hunter, she clearly needs help.”
The Lincoln stayed on Laguna...past the beach hotels, past the Yacht Club, and into the stretch where Arenosa’s wealthiest humans built their castles on sand. At number 1610, the Lincoln turned in through the wrought iron gates of a stone Mediterranean villa on the bay side. The gates swung closed, and after the vehicle crossed a court area inside the fence and disappeared through one of three broad archways, a garage door slid down behind it. The house already had lights on downstairs but a short time later a light went on in a second
floor room. The drapes whisked shut.
“Their room, do you suppose?” Honora said. “What now?”
Allison frowned at her watch. “Now we wait. It’s not ten-thirty yet. I’m assuming her plan is sex enough to wear him out, then when he’s sleep, she’ll go hunting. I’ll call for more help but until it arrives, do you want to sit out here or watch the beach side?”
“Because rank hath privilege, I’ll sit in the car and skip the sand in my shoes. I’m the one to deal with her, after all.” Honora frowned. “I can’t imagine what’s affected her this way.”
Easements required by the city, to give homes across the drive access to the beach, left narrow passages between adjacent properties. Allison ran down the one between the Hilst’s ten-foot iron fence and the brick wall of its neighbor to the south. Beyond, almost a hundred yards of beach stretched down to the bay. The rear of the Hilst house had a ground level courtyard with a pool. Deep galleries stretched between the wings of the house on all three levels. Steps against the wings led up to the second-level gallery...off the street side’s ground floor. While all the galleries had light fixtures on the house, the gallery pillars and heavy balustrades offered plenty of cover for anyone slipping out...and unless the pole lights flanking a flag pole at the rear of the courtyard, presently turned off, had motion detectors, only the moon lighted that area. Deirdre could make herself a fleeting shadow across that space and over the fence...gone in seconds.
Allison dug her radio out of her shoulder bag and clicked the Morse “V” on the mike. On Tac Six she said, “I think we have her. I’m waiting for her to move. I need two more here with me...officers please, in case we have to go official, and willing to stay all night if necessary.”
“Bob S.”
“Del K.”
Bob Sweet and Del Kindly would do fine. “Okay. The twenty is 1610 Laguna. Everyone else please hold your position just in case I’m wrong here.”
11.
Something was happening and Zane wished he knew what. First Allison took off to meet an informant who claimed to have vital information...no mention where they were meeting, no estimate of when she would return. No, second. First had been the appearance of current around Golden, then came Allison’s radio traffic. Now Golden’s energy field had stepped up and he looked distracted...watching the street around him but just going through the motion, his mind clearly elsewhere. Both Golden’s reactions had followed a Morse “V” on the radio. The juxtaposition could not be just coincidence.