by Lee Killough
On the scanner, the designated deputy’s voice drawled, “Then I think I’ll head that way and see what inappropriate gestures he makes at me.”
Garreth could not help but smile.
The dispatcher turned, smiling, too. “Yes?”
He held up the printout. “These all look worth requesting more details from the agencies involved.”
Her brows arched. “Then I’m sure Sheriff Reichert will do so.”
Which puts me in my place, Garreth reflected wryly.
Behind him he heard a doorknob turn. Reichert paused for a moment in the doorway, then strolled up the room. “Mikaelian. So you really aren’t hallucinating, Cheryl. Where’s this printout from NCIC?”
Garreth handed it to him.
Reading it, Reichert said, “I understand this was your idea, Mikaelian?”
Garreth listened for criticism in Reichert’s voice, but the tone came across as neutral. “I hope I wasn’t out of line...just after you left I thought about off-line searches so...I called in to suggest it.”
“Good suggestion.” Reichert kept reading. “Do you have any others?”
Garreth peered at him. The sheriff sounded genuinely interested. “Request more details from these three agencies, and maybe fax them our sketches for their witnesses to look at. Speaking of which...have you heard back from Cheyenne about whether the check victim recognizes any of our suspects?”
Reichert looked up. “Any?” He turned to eye the dispatcher. “Did you send the females’ sketches, too?”
She nodded. “Sure. He suggested it and it sounded reasonable.”
Why did that make him feel guilty? Garreth wondered. When Reichert turned back to face him, he tried not to sound that way. “Sir, even though no one saw them in Colby, I have this gut feeling the girls have been with the albino for a while.”
Reichert arched a brow. “Do you want to ramrod this manhunt?”
Now Garreth heard a dry edge in the sheriff’s voice. In response he felt heat climb his neck. “No, sir! I just want to help.”
Reichert nodded. “Of course. But I don’t let my deputies investigate their own crimes and I expect your department has the same policy.”
That had the sound of refusal. Garreth caught Reichert’s gaze. He hated doing this to the sheriff...but he needed an official role in the hunt. After playing lone wolf in hunting Lane...no badge, no authority, all alone in the cold...forget doing that again! “Sheriff, listen. Let me help.” He leaned toward Reichert and lowered his voice to keep Cheryl from hearing. “Think what an asset my investigative experience can be, and a wounded officer on sick leave is perfect for a desk job, manning a phone. If I’m part of the team, you’ll always know where I am and what I’m doing.”
Reichert stared back at him, blank-faced for a few moments, then frowned and tugged at an ear. “On the other hand, you do have investigative experience that can be useful.” He cocked a brow. “Will you be satisfied with just manning a telephone at a desk?”
“Yes, sir!” Garreth put all possible sincerity into the words.
“All right.” The tone said: back to business. “Let’s request the details of these three cases and then for god’s sake you go home and sleep. It may be your last chance until we nail these bastards.”
Chapter Nine
Dan Seward picked Garreth up in the garage under the Law Enforcement Center. Grinning, the lanky deputy loped around the Cherokee to open the rear passenger door so Garreth could toss in his bag and the carton of effects from the ZX. “Man, you’re a fucking walking miracle, you know that? I couldn’t believe it when Missy Ironsides told me you’d already been let out of the hospital. I was first on the scene out there, you know.” He raced back around to jump under the wheel and head his patrol unit out of the garage. “I worked a double shift yesterday because Clay Kinderman’s wife went into labor at 0600. They had a little girl about 2200.” He halted at the parking lot exit, but though the street lay empty, he sat staring ahead. “That’s about when Lebekov died, isn’t it? You know, I had this new age type I pulled over once try to tell me the reason I’d really stopped her was left-over anger from when we were married in another life...that we all live over and over because there are just a certain number of souls and as the body dies the soul goes to a new body. A lot of bull, of course, but I let her go for being so creative.” He revved the motor and pulled out. “Now I kind of hope it isn’t bull. It’d be nice if Maggie Lebekov got another chance in Clay’s daughter, because if anyone deserves another go-round, it’s Lebekov.”
She certainly did. Irina, too, had speculated about old souls. Could it be true? If he ever met the Kinderman child, would he see a spark of Maggie peering from her eyes?
Seward rattled on. “When I saw your car down there on top of that fence looking like it’d lost a round with a trash compactor and all I could see of you was a bloody arm hanging out the slit that used to be your window, I thought, ‘Fuck, they’ve bought it.’ And I half fell, half slid down to the car and your arm is stone fucking cold and I can’t find a pulse, so I’m screaming into my radio, ‘He’s 10-40! I think they’re both 10-40!’ And about that time Lebekov starts moaning something and I run around to her side and find her not only still alive but trying to talk. She’s saying, ‘They drank our blood, they drank our blood, they got my weapon,’ and then she starts giving me the descriptors on the females, which I’m yelling into my radio as she gives them to me. There she is, had to be in a world of pain, head injury, chest injury, broken bones, bleeding, and probably thinking she’s dying, but she’s making sure we know what the bitches who did this to her look like. Now is that a hell of a cop or what?”
Not that Seward expected an answer, rattling on without pause, and good thing. The tightening in Garreth’s throat made speech impossible.
I’m so sorry I never let you meet my father, Maggie. You were his kind of cop. He would have been crazy about you.
As they pulled into Baumen, Seward broke off his monologue to ask for Garreth’s address.
Garreth said, “Can you run by Duerfeldt’s first? I want to take a close look at Hal Landreth’s Corvette.” He did not intend to stay on a desk, of course, but he would be stuck unless he had wheels.
Duerfeldt displayed the ‘Vette on the front corner of the Used Car side, facing the northbound lanes where the lot lights would gleam on the silver panels of its T-top and the Limited Edition medallion on the side. Garreth and Seward circled it, Seward salivating. Black over silver, it seemed not so much to park as crouch poised for attack, like the Mako shark it had been styled to resemble. He imagined himself behind the wheel with the kick of 375 horses driving him into the bucket seat.
A Baumen patrol unit drifted up the deserted street and pulled in behind Seward’s. Nancy swung out. “Mikaelian?”
Garreth sighed at the tone of disbelief. “You’re not hallucinating. Except for being knocked cold in the crash, I’ve pretty much just walked away from it, so I’ve also walked away from the hospital.”
Nancy grinned. “That’s cool.” He sauntered over to join them by the ‘Vette. “And now you’re window shopping? If Duerfeldt’s got you hooked by this baby, you’d better take a close look at the engine before you sign any papers.”
“He told me it has a new one. Apparently Landreth traded it for a minivan because he got married.”
Seward blinked in disbelief. “A minivan? Now that’s true love.”
Nancy chuckled. “No...I’ve met the new Mrs. Landreth--we go to the same church--and yes with her three kids they need a vehicle bigger than a Corvette, but I have to say that whipped best describes the dynamic in that relationship.”
Seward and Garreth exchanged glances. Seward grimaced. Garreth reflected that if the new wife made Landreth give up the ‘Vette, it might be in good shape after all. He liked the idea of hunting the albino in a shark-shaped car. In the morning he would see what kind of deal he could cut with Duerfeldt.
Chapter Ten
As so
on as his hand touched the knob on his door, Garreth felt a presence waiting inside. For the first time in years he regretted owning no off-duty weapon. Then he remembered the folding shovel he had kept in the ZX. Taking care to make no sound, he set the carton and his bag down on the landing, and eased the shovel from the carton. Crouching low, he pressed against the door.
Wrench!
He came through more doubled than crouched, clenching his teeth against the pain. Huddling behind the drum table beside the door, he reached out with his senses to locate the other presence. It seemed to be at the far end of the couch. Not until he started to peer around the table did the lack of blood scent and a familiarity in the feel of the presence register.
He laid down the shovel and pushed to his feet. “Irina.” She sat cross-legged on the couch, brows arched in amusement.
Opening the door, he pulled in the carton and bag, then flicked on the light.
“You felt my presence. Good. Better, though, if I found you in hospital.” She frowned. “You should not reveal how quickly you heal.”
Resentment flared in him at the chiding tone. He crossed to the little refrigerator and pulled out a pint bottle. “It’s impossible to sleep in a hospital bed. Would you like half of this?”
She waved it away. The gesture seemed to also brush aside his excuse. “Nonsense! Surviving means doing whatever necessary. Whatever necessary. I endured Holy Water when I believed it could kill me. This--” She tapped her head. “--is key. Be determined. Be imaginative. Example. Bed sits on floor, true? Floor rests on joists, connected to sill, and sill rests on foundation and foundation on earth. All places, except flying aircraft, ultimately connect to earth. Feel such connections and you, too, touch earth. Is stopgap but sufficient...like drinking animal blood. But never mind. Is done. I’m sorry about your Maggie. Is doubly difficult I know so soon after losing Grania.”
He gulped half the bottle’s contents. The salty metallic aroma filled his head and flowed sweet over his tongue. Even cold, the blood warmed him, sending heat and energy spreading out from mouth and stomach, loosening the knot in his throat and erasing pain from the door passage. But bitterness remained. “I could have saved her.”
“No!” Irina shook her head. “Prolonged her life, but not saved her. Not saved her!”
His jaw tightened. “She deserved my blood more than that scumbag and his baguettes.” While he finished off the pint, he told her about the albino.
Irina sucked in her breath. “This is bad. You must find them and guard them from harm...or see they die true deaths. We cannot afford such predators at large.”
Amen to that. “My big question is the albino. Is he a vampire? Do you know him?”
She frowned. “No. But we are not like social club or clan. None of us know all our kind.”
The sharp edge on the dismay in him told him how much he had been counting on her being able to settle the question about the albino. “Do you know any tricks that will help me hunt down the bastard?”
She raised a brow. “You are trained in detective skills. As you found Mada, you can also find these three. Though not your fault, they of your blood and so your responsibility. I will, of course, make inquiries also. Now...to business as I am overdue already in Geneva.”
Unfolding from the couch, she picked up a briefcase he had not noticed until now and carried to the kitchen table. She motioned him to sit down while she took the other chair and began removing papers and envelopes, bank books and check books from the case. Within minutes Garreth forgot all about the albino. He sat numb as Irina presented stock portfolios in half a dozen names, accompanied by bank accounts--four in off-shore banks, all with safe deposit boxes--bonds, real estate holdings, and a Swiss account. “You have credit cards I assume but I have acquired additional ones in these account names. Also forged various documents to verify identities.”
He stared at the cards. Platinum? Titanium? He felt as if he were drowning. Lane had bragged about investment information she hypnotized from the men she bedded and bled, but he never imagined it resulting in this. “I don’t know what to do with all this or how to manage it. The accounting and tax work has to be staggering.”
She smiled. “Most would not complain so about acquiring a fortune.” She patted his hand. “It will sort out in time. As Mada did, you may let stock brokers continue handling your portfolios and Trublood Financial Management Associates in Chicago oversee all else, including taxes. Here are stock broker and Trublood addresses and phone and fax numbers.”
He frowned. “They can be trusted?”
“Of course you should read all statements, but...yes. I helped found Trublood, and majority of board positions are held by us. We also comprise much of clientele. Unknown, of course, to all but select human employees. Corporate records list you as six different clients. Acquiring multiple e-mail addresses will support this. For unexpected expenses in near future where credit cards or checks are inconvenient, use this.” She opened the back half of the briefcase to reveal packets of hundred dollar bills.
He gaped at them.
She returned everything to the briefcase and pushed it across the table to him. “I must go. I wish to be airborne and well on my way before dawn.”
“Will you be able to take off from our airfield here?” He assumed she must be flying some corporate jet if she intended to reach Europe in it, and like a number of other air fields around Kansas, Baumen’s was a decaying artifact from World War II. Crop duster pilots and the flying club kept a length of one runway in repair, but the remainder of it and both other runways had been left to weeds and frost heave.
“No problem.” She grinned. “I learned flying in 1915, so have flown off far more fields and country roads than tarmac. Flying is valuable skill for you to learn also.” She headed for the door. “Take care, child. But do find those three and neutralize them.”
Chapter Eleven
He always bought clocks with the loudest, most obnoxious alarm possible. Even so, when Garreth pried an eye open, the time indicated it had sat blasting for an hour before it dragged him awake. Groaning, he pulled the pillow over his head. He had just gone to sleep for heaven’s sake, so tired he slept soundly even through the night and with the albino’s mocking laughter punctuating a weird dream about a baby with Maggie’s eyes.
Maggie! Pain and anger jerked him upright. Memorial service!
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and started to reach for yesterday’s shirt and jeans. Shaving and showering could wait until he dressed for the memorial service. Then he discovered he still wore yesterday’s clothes. Stretching out for a minute on his pallet had turned into hours.
The briefcase Irina brought still sat open on the kitchen table. Garreth reached out to close it, but could not make himself touch it. Yes, he needed money to track the albino and eventually set up a new life elsewhere, but...blood covered all this...blood both from Lane and her victims. And why had she accumulated so much? More than someone could spend in several lifetimes.
He heard his last thought and felt the kind of wrench he did passing through a door. A mocking laugh echoed in his head. Lover, Lane’s voice said, you are such a slow learner. How long before you realize that ‘lifetime’ has a whole new meaning here? Take the money. As long as you’ve murdered me you might as well enjoy the fruits of your crime. In your place, I would.
He slapped the case closed. Dealing with this could wait until later. Right now he had things to do.
Foremost being the acquisition of wheels.
He fished his spare pair of mirror glasses from the top dresser drawer, settled his cowboy hat down over his forehead and the bandage there, and headed out the door.
Sales personnel had already opened the showroom when he arrived at Duerfeldt’s. Garreth started for the Corvette, sure one of them would show up momentarily with the key, then he stopped short. Through the glass of the showroom he could see Duerfeldt pulling into the drive on the far side in a car Chevrolet never built...a black
Porsche 911 Carrera.
That’s a car! Lane’s voice sang in his head.
It sucked him toward it like a magnet, and had barely stopped before he reached it.
“Officer Mikaelian!” Duerfeldt climbed out of the car, gaping in disbelief.
“I’m not as seriously injured as they first thought so they let me out of the hospital.” Garreth ran his hand across the Porsche’s hood. It felt almost alive, engine vibration coming through from the rear like the purr of some great cat.
“No offense,” Duerfeldt said in a concerned voice, “but you don’t look like you should be out of the hospital. Come inside and sit down.”
Garreth shook his head. “Really, I’m fine. You can’t tell me someone traded this for a minivan.”
Duerfeldt laughed. “No. My brother’s taken it away from my nephew for speeding and DUI and wants me to sell it.”
Sell? The word reverberated in Garreth. He took a breath, staring at his reflection in the paint. German engineering, Lane breathed. Power. “What are you asking for it?”
Duerfeldt stared at him. “Are you interested in it? I have to be frank...it’s expensive.”
No doubt. But Lane’s whisper goaded him: Do it, lover, do it...for me! It’s my money and you know how much I loved fast, expensive cars! Then, slyly: You need something like this to catch the albino if there’s another chase.
Garreth said, “Life is too short not to splurge once in a while.”
The expression in Duerfeldt’s eyes changed to: Ah, yes, I understand. Thinking, Garreth had no doubt, that the brush with death had brought Garreth a sudden sense of mortality and desire to make the most of fleeting time. Duerfeldt walked around to the passenger side. “Let’s talk while you take it for a test drive.”
Chapter Twelve
Parking in the rear parking lot of the country courthouse, Garreth checked his watch. Fifteen minutes to go before the county treasurer’s office opened and he could register the car. No problem. He would use the time to drop into the SO.