Pale Death

by Aimée Thurlo

  Lee shook his head. “Too much firepower, and he’d have a hard time blending in. My guess is that he wants to read about his big cojones in tomorrow morning’s paper. He obviously reads the news.”

  “Then where did he go from the pickup, and did he walk, or steal another vehicle?” Diane picked up the mike and placed a call to the police station. Within a few minutes, she had officers checking the video from cameras that monitored the area around the station. Like banks and most big businesses, the local government had decided years ago, after the Oklahoma City attack, that it would be a good thing to keep an eye on their own front yards. It also cut down on vandalism to police units.

  Then a call came through on Diane’s cell phone. She spoke for a moment, then ended the call. “That was Victor. He’s confident that if Tanner decides to make a move on him or the lab, they can deal with him.”

  “Dr. Wayne must have a small army up at that lab. But no way he called just to reassure us about his safety. What did he really want?” Lee asked.

  “He’d like for us to check out Baca’s hotel room. We wants us to figure out how Tanner got in. I agreed to take a look. Okay with you?”

  Lee shrugged. “Until we get some idea where Tanner has gone, we might as well. He has a habit of making return visits, so maybe he’ll go for some of the other judicial targets at the hotel. People have a way of relaxing their security, sometimes too much, when they think they’ve already dodged the bullet.”

  They gave up their search pattern, which had been directed to the west, and returned to the hotel. Lee had taken the wheel while Diane contacted the officers at the hotel, warning them to continue tight security. The reminder that he’d returned to the scene of his last murder got their attention, she told him when she broke contact.

  Lee parked across the street in a fire lane, noting that officers were visible at each outside corner of the building. A crime-scene tape had been placed across the entrance, and two officers were stationed there, shotguns out and ready.

  “Who’s working the scene?” Lee asked as they crossed the street. He looked all around, high and low, hoping to verify that Tanner had not returned. Traffic was being diverted around the hotel, so no vehicles except those belonging to emergency units were in front.

  “FPD detectives, two OMI techs, and whoever else they can find. Dr. Wayne—Victor—instructed them not to move anything until we had a look,” Diane said, holding up her gold shield for a tall, angry-looking uniformed FPD sergeant who was blocking the hotel entrance.

  Lee, in plainclothes, also had his gold state police badge out. He recognized the sergeant from previous encounters—mostly traffic accidents—and nodded.

  “Ma’am. Officer Hawk. I think you’re going to Room 412. The elevator on the east side is reserved for official traffic.”

  “Thanks, Sergeant … Braun.” She noted the photo ID on his pocket, which was at her eye level, then looked around the lobby, now empty of guests. A doorman stood glumly by the main desk, watching them.

  “Sergeant, do you happen to know if SWAT is still watching from the roof across the street?”

  “Somebody is there,” Lee answered before Braun. “I saw a cap and shoulder when we crossed the street.”

  The big cop nodded. “We’re keeping in touch on a tactical frequency. The sniper tracks everyone coming in the front and sides. Three officers are now in the back lot.”

  “Stay sharp, Sergeant,” Lee said. “Tanner might decide to come back.”

  “Let him come,” Braun said, his voice a low growl.

  They didn’t have to look hard for Baca’s hotel room. A woman FPD officer was standing in the doorway, holding a clipboard. The room across the hall and facing the rear of the hotel was sealed with yellow crime-scene tape. The door was ajar, and from the damage on the door itself and the lock, it had been kicked in. Tanner had descended to the parking lot from there after killing the judge.

  Diane had clipped her badge to her belt, beside her pancake holster, and Lee had fastened his to a shirt pocket, but the officer at the victim’s door, a tall black woman, insisted they wait until she checked their names on a list.

  “If you think you might puke, do it out here,” the officer—hard-looking and in her early fifties—warned. Her name tag identified her as Officer Johnston.

  Diane frowned. “I’ve already seen the victim across the street, Officer Johnston.”

  “I haven’t,” Johnston said. “But this scene’s gotta be worse.”

  Lee caught Officer Johnston’s attention as Diane stepped into the room. “Trust me, kid,” she whispered to Lee.

  Lee was used to a person who looked physically much older than he was believing he was young, and it didn’t faze him anymore, so he just nodded.

  As he came into the room, Lee noticed Diane had stopped, and he looked past her. Judge Baca was looking toward the door. At least his head was positioned in that direction from its resting place on the backrest of a small sofa.

  The judge’s decapitated body was ten feet away, on the floor to the left, a spindle from a damaged wooden desk chair jammed into his chest. Blood was splattered everywhere, but the biggest pool came from where the neck had been severed. On the soaked carpet was a black-handled machete and a bloody white jacket like those worn by room service.

  On the far side of the room, next to the open window, stood two men in OMI jackets and a couple of police detectives in suit coats. They looked at him too, but only briefly before all four sets of eyes returned to Diane.

  “Ma’am. The room where the perp used the rope to climb down was vacant—no vic. We’ll get to it next. We were instructed to stop our work until you and Officer Hawk had the opportunity to survey the scene,” the shorter of the two detectives said, not bothering to introduce himself.

  Diane nodded. “We appreciate the courtesy. Who was the first officer on the scene?”

  “Christine,” the short detective said. “Officer Johnston.”

  “How’d she get in?” Lee asked.

  “Officer Johnston found a key card on the floor outside the door.”

  Diane and Lee took a quick look around, noting that the machete looked new and still had the price tag from a local hardware store on the handle. There was a bullet hole in the plate-glass sliding door, from the SWAT sniper’s rifle. The bullet had passed through the wall on the opposite side, entering the bathroom and coming to rest inside the shower stall, shattering a tile.

  “Go ahead and continue,” Diane said, looking over at Lee, who nodded. “If you find anything of interest other than the machete, let me know.” She looked at each person in the room, waiting until they had all nodded or replied before stepping back out into the hall with Lee.

  “Officer Johnston. The door to the victim’s room was closed when you arrived?” Diane asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. But there was a key card on the carpet, right there.” She pointed to a white card on the floor. “That’s my business card. I gave the key card to Detective Shannon, who had me sign off on it before he put it in an evidence pouch.”

  “You had to use the card to get in, didn’t you?” Diane asked.

  “Yes. I know … fingerprints. But I held it by the edges as much as possible.”

  Lee nodded, then turned to Diane. “Where did Tanner get the right card for this door? The front desk?”

  “Unless it was a passkey used by someone on staff, like housekeeping,” Diane suggested.

  Officer Johnston’s eyebrows went up. “I didn’t think of that. Maybe we have another victim.”

  “What’s the number for the front desk?” Diane asked the officer, who was already checking her clipboard.

  Lee was already running down the hall, looking for the closest linen closet or housekeeping location.

  There was a door beside the stairwell with a sign that said “ICE.” Lee stepped inside. A Pepsi machine was against a wall, and beside it a big stainless-steel icemaker. On top of the icemaker was a big wad of white sheets and a blank
et. The bedding moved slightly, and he heard a noise, like someone mumbling.

  Lee stood on tiptoes and reached up, moving the bedding aside. A young woman was on her side, a pillowcase tied around her mouth, serving as a gag. He couldn’t see her arms, but assumed they’d been tied behind her back. The woman’s pale blue eyes were full of tears, and when she tried to speak all Lee heard was “mig mife. Eee as mmm mig mife.”

  “It was a machete. But don’t worry, he’s gone. Hang on to me, ma’am, and I’ll lift you down.” Lee slid his arms under the woman, who couldn’t have been more than nineteen and probably weighed around a hundred pounds, and lifted her off the ice machine.

  “Nod if you can stand up,” Lee asked, cradling her in his arms, her head up. She was so entangled in the sheets and blanket he didn’t know how to try and unwrap her.

  She nodded, so Lee eased her to the floor feet first, holding on to her so she wouldn’t topple over. Fifteen seconds later the sheets and blanket were on the floor and the woman, dressed in a short-sleeved blouse and slacks, was standing on her own.

  Lee grabbed his commando knife from the boot holster and cut the sheet holding her feet together, then slit the pillowcase that bound her wrists. Somewhere during the unwrapping, a folded piece of paper had appeared and fallen to the floor. Lee scooped it up by the edges and stuck it into his jacket pocket.

  Her hands went to her gag at the same time as his. “Thank God you found me,” the woman cried, putting her arms around Lee.

  “Uh huh. I give you five minutes alone …”

  Lee recognized Diane’s voice and turned his head. She was standing in the doorway.

  “Uh, this young lady is from housekeeping, right?” Lee stepped back as the girl, suddenly embarrassed, released him.

  “Your husband rescued me, that’s all, ma’am. This crazy man with a big knife—machete—tied me up and stole my key card. I work for the hotel … really. My name is Regina Kalugin.”

  “He’s not my husband, Regina. I’m an agent with the FBI, and your hero is with the state police. Tell us exactly what happened.”

  Five minutes later, the young woman was out in the hall answering questions fired at her from Detective Shannon—the shorter officer, as it turned out. The housekeeping supervisor was standing close by, but was not part of the interview.

  Lee motioned to Diane, who scowled, then went with him back into the ICE room, which was not much bigger than a walk-in closet. “Want a Pepsi?”

  Lee put three quarters into the machine and pushed a button. Bringing out one can he handed it to her, then bought himself another one.

  Diane was sipping the Pepsi, her thoughts elsewhere, and after studying her expression, Lee said, “Hey, the girl hugged me. It wasn’t my idea.”

  “That’s not what’s bothering me.”

  “Then what is?”

  “I’m not that old. I don’t look over thirty, do I?”

  “Of course not. You could be the housekeeper’s sister.”

  “Right. Blue eyes—blond—skinny. That’s me.”

  “Okay, so what got you thinking you look old?”

  “Everyone calls me ma’am—like I’m their mother. Even the old guys.”

  “I think it’s just a show of respect. And it rolls off the tongue a lot faster than Special Agent Diane Lopez. You should be used to it.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not.” She took a deep swig of the cool drink, then raised an eyebrow at Lee. “You didn’t bring me in here alone just to ply me with drinks. Does this have something to do with the note I saw you sneak a look at a minute ago?”

  He brought out the folded piece of paper, opened it by the edges, and held it out for her to read. On the piece of hotel stationary, in pen, were the words:

  “Take my life, I’ll take yours.”

  —Pale Death

  “He’s got a flair for the dramatic. Pale Death. That’s what some of the Navajos are calling him. We knew Tanner was taking time to read the newspapers,” Diane said. “That’s also how he found out about this judicial conference—and Judge Baca.”

  “I wasn’t sure this particular message should reach anyone else’s eyes,” Lee said. “Tanner’s trying to generate fear—and not just among law enforcement officers. He isn’t even trying to hide the fact that he’s a vampire. Kicked open that other door as a show of strength even though he had a key card that would do it for him.” Lee brought out a small evidence bag, placed the note inside, and handed it to her. “This is your call.”

  Diane took the note and held it in her hand for a moment. “We’ll need all the help we can get to stop Tanner, and this may motivate someone to come forward. The man’s hiding somewhere in the community during the daytime, and we need to root him out. The more people looking, the better our chances.”

  “You’re probably right,” Lee answered. “Let’s get back on the hunt, then.”

  Diane gave the note to Detective Shannon, mentioning that it had been found among the bedding used to bind up the housekeeper. The young woman, Regina, was standing with her supervisor a short distance down the hall, drinking from a water bottle.

  Diane suggested that Shannon use care in divulging its contents, and when he read the note himself, the FPD detective nodded.

  “He read me that note,” Regina said. “I was so scared I’d forgotten all about it. I thought he meant me.”

  “Did he say anything else, maybe even something that sounded strange or silly at the time?” Lee asked immediately.

  “You’re right, there was something like that. He said that the government was out to get him because he was a vampire. I’m telling you, the man is seriously insane. Scary too.”

  “Vampires. What a nut job,” Detective Shannon muttered, shaking his head slowly.

  “All the more reason to bring him in,” Diane added. “Let me know if you find anything that even hints at Tanner’s next target, okay?”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  Diane sighed, then glanced at Lee, who was about to crack a smile. “Ready to go vampire hunting?”

  Lee grinned, knowing it was the safest response to make at the moment.

  After convincing the Farmington police to maintain a high level of security at the hotel, Diane contacted SAC Logan in Albuquerque to see if they had anything new on Stewart Tanner’s background, hoping it would direct them to someone Tanner might try to contact. Tanner didn’t have any family in the area, and a search through the local public schools hadn’t turned up his name. There were several private schools, but none of their calls had been productive so far.

  Nothing the metro agents had managed to find seemed particularly useful at the moment, though she pressed them again to track down Tanner’s friends and business associates. She wanted to know the extent of his hunting skills, preferably from someone who might have hunted with Tanner.

  Diane finally hung up, frustrated by the lack of information. “He was an orphan, adopted when he was in his early teens. But those records are sealed, even his birth certificate, and his Albuquerque foster parents are long dead. In short, we’ve got nothing new.”

  “Let’s go harass Victor Wayne. He knows more than he’s admitting about Tanner. Victor should be able to tell us what Tanner knew about his captors, and the people behind his imprisonment, not to mention the person who originally ratted him out. That’ll give us a real good idea of who Tanner’s potential targets are.”

  “Okay, but first let me talk to my SAC again. Maybe he can get someone higher up than the Bureau to lean on Dr. Wayne from another direction. Maybe Homeland Security. So far, with the exception of the lawyer, Tanner’s been killing federal employees, so that might get their attention. Maybe they can classify Tanner as a terrorist.”

  Lee led the way out of the hotel to their unit while Diane spoke on her cell phone to SAC Logan. There were law enforcement officers from several agencies around the hotel and across the street at the brick office building. Looking up on the roof he saw the sniper was still there, but
this time he had a second officer with him as a spotter. The military had known for years that sniper teams were much more effective, and despite their limited manpower, the local cops were covering all their bases—finally.

  Still on the phone, Diane tossed him the keys and Lee started the engine. A moment later she closed up the phone. “Logan says he’s going to find Dr. Wayne’s supervisor. Wayne will be getting a call shortly. SAC Logan can apply pressure better than anyone else I know. Think we should hang around here and wait for confirmation?”

  “Waste of time. Tanner won’t be coming back here tonight, Diane. There’s just too much firepower, and he barely escaped being shot when he stood in front of the window to taunt us after killing the judge.”

  “Okay. You’re driving. Shall we go lean on Victor and not wait for Logan?”

  “That’s what I was thinking. And if he holds back again, I vote we press him until he tells us who he thinks Tanner’s next target might be.”

  “I’m with you on that, Lee, though I think the doctor has already figured it out for himself. That’s why he has his own small army of federal marshals.”

  “If that’s what they really are,” Lee added quietly.

  CHAPTER 8

  Lee and Diane found a parking place in the now very brightly illuminated parking lot next to the research lab. Before reaching the site they had already gone through two checkpoints manned by heavily armed Navajo police officers.

  “You must have made a positive impact with the tribal cops the other day. They’re even carrying knives. That big blade the chubby cop had, what was it, a bowie knife?”

  “One thing for sure, if they ever take Tanner down, vampire or not, he won’t be getting up again,” Lee said, climbing out of the car. For the moment he wished he had his old .30-30 Winchester, but that had disappeared back in ’45 and he’d never picked up another. He did have a department-issue shotgun, but had decided to leave it in Diane’s loaner car and rely on his 9mm Beretta with the big pre-’95 legislation magazine capacity. For real close work, his big commando knife, honed to a razor’s edge, would serve. Every vampire Lee had ever known carried an edged weapon.