James noticed he could see Deke’s breath in the cool night air. “She’s just lost her child,” he said, more to himself than to Deke. And he didn’t like how this felt. This wasn’t right, none of it. When he’d seen Jillian McComb’s dead features, he’d expected to see the bite marks Emma had described seeing five years ago. But apparently neither Jillian nor this woman had been bitten. He almost wished there were bite marks. At least he knew how to deal with that.
“And maybe we could tell her how it happened if she’d let us do our job,” Deke put in.
James took his phone from his belt and flipped it open.
“Who are you calling?”
“Doc Jenkins.” James replied, “I want to ask him if there was any evidence of a snake bite on our first victim. That would certainly clear things up and make me feel better since we’d know what we were dealing with, although I’ll tell you, I saw her body during the autopsy.” James doubted he would forget seeing her on the steel slab in the morgue. “I don’t recall any discoloration or swelling.”
He was quiet while he waited for Doc to answer. “Yes, Doc, this is Chief Winchester. I was just wondering if you’d found any poison in Jillian McComb, anything that might indicate a snake bite.” A pause. “Yes, I know there are no snakes on the island. Yes, I know there is probably an official report on my desk somewhere, and yes, I should have read it.”
“Has he seen your desk?” Deke whispered.
James ignored Deke and went on with his conversation with Doc. “Do you have any idea when you might get those lab reports back from the mainland?” A longer pause. “Yeah, I know how the guys on the mainland sometimes like to drag their feet. I’ll call them in the morning and tell them we need the information as soon as possible.”
“They probably wouldn’t move any faster unless you lit a fire under their asses,” Deke put in.
James gave him a sharp look and drew his lips into a thin line to keep from chuckling. There was nothing funny about any of this. “Yes, Doc, we’ve got another body. No, I have no idea why things like this always have to happen in the middle of the night. But you know as well as I do that nothing good ever happens after midnight. It’s what my mother always said.” He paused and listened. “Well, this victim managed to call her mother and say something about snakes biting her. I know. That’s pretty impossible with no snakes on the island. Can you meet us at the clinic? Okay, I’ll call you when we’re moving her. Thanks.” He flipped the phone closed, took a loud, heavy breath, pushed himself away from the Jeep and headed toward the front door of the duplex. “Standing out here is a waste of time.” The last thing he needed to do was to waste time while Emma slept in front of his fire. “I’m going in to see what I can find out.”
The duplex was small and, oddly enough, smelled of cinnamon. The furniture looked used. The small radio on an end table looked older than James, and the refrigerator looked as if it needed a new coat of white paint to cover the yellow. It was easy to see how much Glenda Farmington must have struggled to have her own place and make it into something resembling a home.
Glenda lay on the floor, close to the sofa. Just as Jillian McComb stared up the sky, Glenda stared wide-eyed up at the ceiling, her expression nothing short of terror, her mouth open as if in a silent scream.
Not too far away, one kitchen chair lay on its side. Seated in another chair near the small kitchen table was a woman who was an older version of the dead girl. Her hair was more silver, and her face was a bit fuller. She crumpled and uncrumpled a tissue she held. It appeared she seesawed between anger and uncontrollable grief. There was no doubt this was Ms. Farmington. Officer Ghetts stood before her, and James heard his nasally voice as he tried to get Ms. Farmington to let him take her home. Ghetts reached out and patted the woman’s hand. The gold ring on his finger reflected the light strangely, James thought. Then he couldn’t help noticing the way Ms. Farmington pulled her hand out of Ghetts’s reach. He didn’t try to touch her again.
“My little girl is dead, and what are you going to do about it?” she asked, looking pointedly at James.
James stepped around the girl on the floor to approach her.
“Watch where you’re walking there, young man,” Ms. Farmington snapped, switching back to her angry self. “Don’t you dare step on her.”
James wouldn’t dream of stepping on Glenda Farmington. He stepped in front of Ghetts, who appeared frustrated and tired—probably because he wasn’t out patrolling the streets and writing tickets, James thought sarcastically. James knelt beside Ms. Farmington, stooping down enough so that he was at eye level with her and introduced himself.
“And are you more important or more qualified than any of these other officers here?” she asked.
“I’m the Chief of Police, and I’ve had a great deal of experience in investigative work, ma’am. But all of the men on the force here on Medusa’s Island are highly qualified to do their jobs,” he replied, wondering why in hell he added the ma’am in the middle of that statement, and why she could so easily make him feel as if he were ten years old again. Being polite and respectful to victims’ families was one thing, and he should be able to do it without her somehow making him feel degraded.
“And what do you think your investigation will tell you about my little girl?” she asked.
“You’ll need to let us do our work so we can determine the cause of her death. As long as you’re here, you’re hindering our investigation.”
“I don’t know how you can say that; I’m not even near her,” she pointed out.
“We need to check out this entire apartment, not just is the living room. Do you understand that?” he asked, quietly.
A tear slid down her cheek. “She was my little girl,” she said, her voice suddenly small, making her sound like a little girl herself.
“I know,” he said, gently. He reached out and took her hand, and she let him as she sat without moving. Funny, he thought. She wouldn’t let Ghetts hold her hand. But then James didn’t think his voice grated on people’s nerves like Ghetts’s voice did.
“You’ll find out what happened to her, won’t you?”
“I will do my best. Why don’t you let Officer Ghetts here drive you home,” he offered. “Do you have someone who can stay with you, someone we can call for you?”
“My friend, Edie,” Ms. Farmington replied.
“Officer Ghetts will call her for you, and he’ll take you to her house or pick her up and bring her to yours, whichever you wish,” James offered, saying the words loud enough so Ghetts understood this was an order.
Ms. Farmington looked beyond him into the living room where her daughter lay. “What will you do with her?” she asked softly, her whispered words filled with something close to fear.
“We have to take her to the clinic, to Doctor Jenkins for an autopsy. Then we can release her to the funeral home for you,” James said. “You can talk to Mr. Ramsey, the funeral director, tomorrow about making arrangements.”
Now, large tears slid down her cheeks. “Doctor Jenkins delivered her, did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t,” James said, but if the girl was an island native, he would have assumed that . Doc Jenkins had probably delivered everyone born on the island in the last thirty years.
Then, when she was five or six, we moved to the mainland. When she insisted on moving back here, I shouldn’t have let her. I should have insisted she stay in Wilmington. Will he cut her into little pieces?”
“No. You know Doc as well as I do. He’ll take good care of your daughter.” He looked right into Ms. Farmington’s eyes as he spoke.
“And he’ll find out how Glenda died?”
“Hopefully,” he replied, not promising. He gave her hand a slight squeeze before letting her go. “Before you go, can you answer a few questions for me?” He wanted to make her feel important. He wanted to make her feel helpful, as if she’d done something. He knew from past experience how important that was to family members.
“If I can,” she replied.
“Did Glenda have any enemies that you know of?”
She shook her head sharply. “She is—was—very sweet. Everyone who met her loved her.”
“Can you give us the names of some of her friends?”
“There’s Marianne at the store where she works. They are pretty close, I think, and there’s another friend, Laurel. She works in the library.”
“Did she have a boyfriend?” was his next question.
“She met a man a few weeks ago. I think they were sleeping together, having sex.”
James worked to keep the surprise out of his expression, not surprised that Glenda would be sleeping with a man, but that Ms. Farmington said the words. He recalled that Jillian McComb had apparently had a boyfriend, too. The man of her dreams. “Do you know his name, where he worked or where I might find him?”
“Quinn something is his name,” she said.
“You never met him?”
“No, he was always too busy to meet me. I just know that since she met him, she’s barely had time to come see me.” Her eyes flooded with more tears.
“Do you know where we could find him? Did she ever mention where he works or where he lives, or if he’s here on the island or on the mainland?”
“He lives right next door, on the other side of this duplex. She told me the day he moved in, and I think it was probably two or three weeks ago. But he was never home when I came over here.”
James really had to keep the surprise out of his expression at her revelation. He didn’t remember seeing a single light on in the apartment on the other side of the wall. There had been no car in the drive. And unlike the rest of the block where nosy neighbors quietly watched, hoping to get a glimpse of something they considered exciting, no one stood at that side of the building. Perhaps this Quinn worked nights. At least the boyfriend should be easy to find, and James had a place to start looking.
He watched Ghetts escort Ms. Farmington out the front door. He worked to cap his frustration as his officers started their various investigative procedures. He explained to them the importance of confidentiality. He wanted to keep this on the island and keep the mainlanders out of it, if at all possible, since he wasn’t certain what it was that threatened the islanders. He looked at Glenda Farmington, and then he headed out the front door to go to the other side of the duplex and talk to “Quinn something,” as Mrs. Farmington had called him, or at least to see if he was around.
A few minutes later, he didn’t bother to hide his irritation as he discovered the other side of the duplex empty. It was dark and locked, but even through the drapeless windows, James could see the duplex was empty of furniture and the walls were bare. He spent the next several minutes getting the name and number of the landlord from Deke and calling the man, only to have his thoughts confirmed.
No one had rented or lived in the other side of the duplex for over four months. And no one named Quinn had ever rented it.
Chapter Eight
Reality, Dreams and Nightmares
James watched Doc slide Glenda Farmington’s body into the large cooler in the clinic’s basement. Had it really been only two days since he’d been down in that same place watching Doc sew up Jillian McComb? It seemed more like weeks or even months.
“I’ll start the autopsy tomorrow afternoon.” Doc looked at his watch. “I mean this afternoon, after clinic hours are over at three. If I’m not too busy, I’ll do it sooner. I’m sure her mother will want her released as soon as possible.”
Twelve hours, possibly sooner, but not probable, James thought. Twelve hours before he would even begin to possibly have a clue as to what killed Glenda, and that was if Doc found anything. If Doc found nothing, as he had with Jillian McComb, they were back to square one—again.
James so wanted to drill Doc for answers. Why had Jillian McComb come to the clinic? What had Doc found to be wrong with her? Had Glenda Farmington been to the clinic in the last week or the last month?
And why didn’t he feel that fear that touched him whenever he was needed to hunt a vampire gone bad?
He had felt nothing like what he’d felt of the vampires he had hunted in the past, just that simple gust of wind telling him there was evil close by. And regarding these two victims—there was no loss of blood or the ill feeling that occurred when a vampire chose a victim and drank from her night after night before turning her or killing her or tiring of her. There were no bite marks. There were no trancelike victims who might be under a vampire’s curse.
Hell, he hadn’t even had any calls from family members reporting strange behavior.
So why was the hair standing up on the back of his neck?
And just how much should he question Doc?
“You’ve hardly said a word since you met me at the door,” Doc commented once he and James were alone.
“I have a lot on my mind,” James replied.
“Where’s Emma?” Doc asked.
“At my house, asleep on my living room floor.”
“She didn’t attempt to scratch your eyes out to get you to bring her home before dark?” Doc asked with a quizzical glee in his eyes.
James was suddenly glad he hadn’t asked Doc his questions. He hadn’t before realized how this empty, cold, dead room echoed. The echo was nearly as hard to take as the strong smell. “No,” he replied. “I even persuaded her to step out onto the deck after dark.”
“Good, it’s about time that girl got her life back.”
“I had wondered what you thought about my taking her to my house for dinner,” James said as the two of them climbed the stairs. James was glad to get out of the dreary basement.
Doc didn’t look at him as he pushed open the door at the top of the stairs. “You don’t know this, but I have tried many things regarding her. For so long, she had such a tormented soul. I sent her for therapy, a few different types, even. Each one helped, but only a little. It has taken so long for her to even look anyone in the eye. And yet, I couldn’t help noticing the way you look at her, or the way she looks at you and how she responds to you. I know you come to the clinic just so she can help you, and you may have no idea how much it helps her.”
James hadn’t realized Doc had noticed. He had a keener eye than James thought. And James didn’t let on that he knew about all the different therapies Doc had tried regarding Emma. What Doc didn’t know was that the so-called great deal he got having the pool installed for Emma was James’s doing. James didn’t let him in on the secret now, either.
“Besides, I told her she could trust you,” Doc went on.
James stopped after they walked through the door into the clinic’s hallway. “Don’t take this wrong, and don’t mind my asking, but what makes you trust me besides the fact that it helps her when I come into the clinic?”
Doc ignored the fact that James had stopped walking, and he moved on to the dimly lit reception area. James had no choice but to follow the older man. Doc finally looked at him. “Aside from the fact that you’re the Chief of Police and I see how you care for this island and everyone one it, I remember you,” he said bluntly.
“Excuse me?”
Doc sat down in one of the chairs in the reception area, as if he was too tired to stand. “That night five years ago, the night that no one talks about; the night the old mill burned; the night that Emma somehow got the life sucked out of her soul; the night that my Mary died . . .” his eyes actually saddened with the last phrase.
“What about it?” James asked, his guard up instantly.
“I remember you,” Doc said again.
“I don’t understand,” James said, thinking that perhaps he really did understand.
“You brought Emma to me and told me to help her. You said she’d been hurt.” Doc met James’s gaze evenly. “You didn’t think I remembered, but I do. I was still grieving when you showed up on my doorstep, but I didn’t want to kill anyone any longer. I was seeing things clearer. I saw what was happening. Perhaps I
didn’t quite understand how or why, but I knew it was terrible. It was horrific, and I didn’t want to believe it. I especially didn’t want to believe my Mary had become one of them.” He paused at the memory. “But I did see the truth and recognize it for the impossibility that it was. Vampires,” he said absently. “No one would ever believe such a thing.”
He chuckled lightly. “I could just see myself calling the mainland—the FBI or the Carolina State Police and telling them our island was infested with vampires and that I’d killed a few of them by sticking my medical instruments into their chests.” Doc grew serious again and looked pointedly at James. “What I also saw was the way you cared for Emma, the way you held her in your arms, as if she was the most precious thing in the world to you. What made you wait so long to ask her to dinner?” Doc asked, as he leaned forward, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair and holding his chin in the palm.
“She wasn’t ready. She’d been through a traumatic experience. I’ve dealt with many victims, and I didn’t want her to think I was trying to force anything on her,” James explained, trying to make it sound simple. He would have liked to discuss the idea of vampires some more, but Doc seemed finished with that topic.
Doc looked at him thoughtfully. “I don’t know what happened to her, but there was never anything forced on her, at least not physically.”
James looked at him just as skeptically. “I disagree with you, Doc. I heard her screams. I saw the shock on her face. I’ve been a cop long enough to know a victim when I see one.”
“Yes, I saw a victim, too, enough of a victim to send her to therapy. But I sedated her and examined her, and all I found was the burns on her wrists and ankles where she was bound.”
“That’s . . .” James started to say impossible, yet he knew he wasn’t impossible. Just as he knew that with some vampires, just about anything was possible.
Doc must have known exactly what he was thinking. “I know, you think it’s impossible. Well, tell me about seeing my Mary come back to life. That’s pretty impossible, too. What you don’t know about that night was that there were four others, the McConnelly boy and his father, Paul Ricker, and Sue Hampton. Hysterical family members or friends who had no idea how they’d died brought them to me. They all woke up, just like my Mary, with strange teeth, stranger eyes and the thirst for blood. I killed them all just like Emma did Mary,” he explained. “So don’t ever tell me about anything being impossible.”
No Fear Page 9