Blood Night

by Heather Graham

  She laughed and turned for the bathroom in the guest room, shedding her clothing as she walked in.

  He was very close behind her.

  They needed a decent shower. They’d been on a plane for hours, and then they’d spent a large portion of the day in a cemetery.

  But…

  Soaping up became far more than a bid for cleanliness.

  Rinsing, not so important.

  Using the fluffy towels to dry was more of a promise than a real fight against moisture, and they were quickly entangled with one another and falling onto the bed. The washing had been great, though, and Cheyenne loved the feel of Andre’s skin as she ran her lips and fingers across him, luxuriating as he touched her in turn. He had an amazing ability to tease and build desire within her, to please and withdraw, and then give so fully that she felt as if the world itself might burst into a rain of firelit pleasure. Within her at last, he paused a moment and whispered, “Making love—first time in England.” He grinned. “Diary notation,” he teased.

  She laughed and pulled him back to her, urging him into a deep, long kiss that escalated with his movements inside her. Thrust and parry…the fireworks coming ever closer.

  After, they lay together, his arms around her. She knew his thoughts had gone back to the matter at hand.

  They had both learned that while the job might rule their world most days, there were also times that, no matter how dire, they had to be together. They took the moments they stole to remember the beauty of life when set against all they had witnessed.

  But now…

  “We know there’s something going on. I can’t get over being in the catacombs…or mausoleum—whatever one officially calls the places we visited—because it showed how clearly there can be confined spaces in the ground and above the ground.”

  “Elizabeth said the earth was moaning,” Cheyenne said. “I think it’s obvious. The killer is taking his victims underground somewhere. Elizabeth said it came from the high point of the lane. There could be dozens of subterranean tunnels. I mean, I read online that there is a tunnel that connects the cemetery’s east and west sides.”

  “You think the person is killing his victims in the cemetery?” Andre asked thoughtfully. “I mean, it’s possible. Despite walls and gates and the determination against vandalism and so on that began in the mid-seventies, people who want in will find a way. But I don’t think our killer would be so obvious. Highgate is convenient. The story about the Vampire of Highgate is convenient, too. I believe you’re right. But I don’t think we’ll get much support if we start digging up the streets.”

  “The killer didn’t just dig up the streets,” she said.

  “No. But with this topography, all manner of things could have been constructed at any time throughout the hundreds of years of history. There might have been natural caverns, covered over now. Time does a number on things.”

  “Ah. Suggests a historian?” Cheyenne murmured.

  “We need to meet the rest of these characters tomorrow. And guess who else we need to meet?”

  “Who?”

  “Birmingham.”

  “Why? He wants nothing to do with us.”

  “Yes, and that bothers me. He’s very cold and dismissive.”

  “Some people are like that. We all know most cops and agents are certainly decent when working together, and there aren’t nearly as many jurisdictional creeps as some people think, but we are Americans. In Britain.”

  “Right. Still.”

  “Yes?”

  “He’s a jerk.”

  Cheyenne laughed and rose against him, straddling him.

  “Ah, sir, you have a wicked tongue!”

  “I speak only truth.”

  “I wasn’t referring to speech,” she told him solemnly. “And, in truth, I am quite fond of your very, very wicked tongue.”

  His dark eyes narrowed upon her with laughter, and he teased her with a Scottish brogue. “Ah, lass! I’ll show you a wicked tongue, I will!”

  “Promises, promises!” she giggled, but then they were kissing again and then escalating and making love and…

  He did prove he had a deliciously and wondrously wicked tongue.

  Chapter 6

  “You have information on all of them?” Andre asked. He’d stepped outside when his phone rang. It was early morning here, so he knew it was late in D.C. for Angela.

  “Quite a bit, actually. I’ll email it all and start with the banker, Mark Bower,” she said.

  “Still waters running deep?”

  “Maybe. He goes to work every day and, in the past, has had a tendency to date women much like him—serious nine-to-fivers. But we’ve also discovered several pictures of him that came out recently on social media. In them, he’s attending a club that sounds like it’s a bit on the wild side. A strip club. He enjoys a lot of, shall we say, expensive female companionship. That does make him interesting, though it is a leap to go from strip clubs and prostitutes to draining the blood out of murder victims.”

  “Agreed. What else?”

  “No arrest record, not even parking tickets. Until recently, he’s been a Boy Scout.”

  “Okay. Benjamin Turner?”

  “I need more hours than you and I have together. He started his own media channel about five years ago. Since then, he’s been everywhere. He does have a penchant for bringing the weird to life. He’s done the necessary bit on Jack the Ripper, a segment on H.H. Holmes, Madam Bathory, Vlad the Impaler, the Yorkshire Ripper, Burke and Hare…and so on. Naturally, he’s done Highgate. Check out the video yourself. He was born in north London, a few miles from where he lives today. He definitely has a penchant for creepy people and things, but so do many, many others. He’s handsome and charismatic.”

  “I’m thinking our killer is handsome and charismatic. He’s luring his victims somehow,” Andre said.

  “Yes, well, then I have the last name on your list. And I also checked out the other fellow you mentioned, William Smith, Father Faith.”

  “And?”

  “Clark Brighton. Claims he’s a bishop in the Church of the Shining Spiritualists, but I checked data sources from just about everywhere.”

  “And there is no Church of the Shining Spiritualists.”

  “Right. But he seems to be benign, spouting cheer and optimism, seeking wisdom from rainbows, that kind of thing. And he does have a following. Seems he may not have a church himself, but he knows a lot about Satanism and is continually damning them. Oh! And have you seen him?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You’d be expecting a wizened, creepy little man. Maybe. I was. But, no. He looks like a California beach boy. Tall, blond, middle-aged, good-looking. He finds happiness rowing and at the gym.”

  “Strong?”

  “I would imagine. But none of your guys is too small to subdue a woman. Not that you need size. He’s probably luring them and knocking them out or doing something to make them more pliable. I have the medical examiner’s reports on the women who were killed, and there is nothing in their toxicology. All of them had alcohol in their systems, but none to the point of drunkenness. They would have been aware—unless they were made somehow unaware. Some substances aren’t tested for in general autopsies, or if the cause of death is evident—such as having the blood drained from the body. So, it’s unlikely a medical examiner would have searched for them. Remember, many things are possible, but most government facilities tend to be short on funds and use their budgets judiciously.”

  “Right.”

  “On to Father Faith,” Angela said.

  “Yes, please. And thanks.”

  “He might be a Brit, but he’s a pure capitalist,” she said. “Apparently, he was asked to be a vampire in a B movie about fifteen years ago—he had the look—and discovered it brought him all kinds of fame. He turned that into being a psychic, learning about tarot cards, tea leaves, and all manner of fortune-telling and divination. He had two shops for a while, one near the Tower of London
, and the one in Highgate. Highgate brought in a massive clientele. He carries books written by all those associated with the Highgate vampire craze and more. I get the impression that he’s all for show.”

  “Him, I did meet. And I agree. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t living a secret life.”

  “Well, that’s what I have so far. If you need specifics or more on different suspects, we’re here for you.”

  “I know that, and thank you again.”

  “How is Cheyenne doing?”

  “She’s okay.”

  “Another cousin after…well, losing a cousin all those years ago. Do you think Emily is in danger?”

  “I’m still trying to figure out what I think,” Andre said. “And I am trying to rush that along. We’re down to four days before Halloween. And—”

  “Yes, Halloween is already crazy here! We’ve had to send agents out on Halloween-related cases, as well. I didn’t think the Brits embraced the holiday the way we do, though.”

  “They don’t go all in, but it’s becoming more popular. But this isn’t most of Britain. This is Highgate. Where some still believe in vampires, vampire hunters, vampire kids…and a killer is stealing blood and life. So…I guess that is a vampire, too.”

  “By sick definition, yes. Okay. So, give Cheyenne our best, and call or text if you need anything. And, Andre,” she said seriously, “be careful.”

  “Always.”

  “Extra careful.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Adam is working on a diplomatic angle to get you more access. I’ll be back in touch when I have something on that.”

  “Sounds good.”

  As he ended the call, he found himself looking at the front steps.

  Someone had scrawled letters on the lower one.

  He stooped low to read them and then groaned aloud.

  Two words had been written in chalk.

  Blood Night.

  “What the hell does that mean?” he muttered aloud.

  As he did so, the front door opened, and Cheyenne stepped out, frowning as she saw him crouched down, staring at the porch step and muttering.

  He shook his head, and she came down the steps to join him.

  “Blood Night?” she read aloud, looking at him. “What the hell?”

  “We have to call Inspector Adair on this,” Andre said to her.

  “I believe it was the title of a movie.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if it’s in reference to a rite, but I don’t know about all of that. And, as we know, anyone can make up their own church these days. But maybe it’s just a taunt. Someone who wants to make Emily and Eric look bad,” Cheyenne added hopefully.

  Andre was already dialing Adair.

  Emily came to the door, smiling. “Hey, guys, breakfast! Eric wanted to start early. He whipped up one of his fantastic major-league English breakfasts. So much stuff…”

  Her voice trailed off.

  “Oh, God, what is it?” she asked.

  “A prankster, probably,” Cheyenne said lightly.

  Emily ran outside. She, too, hunkered down.

  “Hey, Yankee bloke and lady!” Eric called playfully from the doorway. “Breakfast—”

  He fell silent and then walked out to join the others, stooping down, as well.

  Eric phrased his question differently.

  “What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?” he demanded angrily.

  Andre finally reached Inspector Adair and asked him to come out. When he was finished with the call, he used his phone to take pictures of the writing on the step.

  The others looked at him.

  “Breakfast,” he said. “Go on in. I’ll join you as soon as Adair comes. I don’t want to take the chance of anyone erasing this before the inspector sees it.”

  They all kept staring at him.

  “I am excited about Eric’s cooking,” he assured them. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  Emily and Eric kept staring. Their faces pale, stunned, and he thought, scared.

  “Hey, Andre’s got it,” Cheyenne finally said firmly, shooing them toward the door. “Let’s go in. You’re not providing just pastries and juice. I love a full English breakfast!”

  Neither Emily nor Eric responded, but they let Cheyenne usher them back into the house.

  Andre took a seat on the porch far enough away from the writing so he didn’t mar or brush it with his legs.

  And he waited, curious what Inspector Adair would think the message meant.

  * * * *

  “It’s a fry-up over here, mostly because almost everything is fried. Well, not the fruit and juice,” Eric said, obviously babbling somewhat, determined to take Emily’s mind off the writing on their step. He looked at Cheyenne. “So, voilà! You will see we have bangers—sausages to you, I believe, though I know you’re familiar with the term—and bacon, fried eggs, fried tomatoes, and even the mushrooms are fried. Whoops, I didn’t fry the bread. That’s straight out of the toaster.”

  “It all looks great. Right, Emily?” Cheyenne said.

  Emily forced a plastic smile. “Lovely.”

  “Shall we?” Cheyenne motioned to the food, glad she was hungry. Because she, too, wanted to know what the hell the writing on the step meant.

  She sat, looking up and waiting for her cousin and Eric, surely showing them that she couldn’t possibly begin to eat unless they joined her.

  They sat, and Eric picked up his fork.

  Cheyenne grabbed her utensils and dug in, starting with the tomato and eggs.

  “Wonderful!”

  Both her cousin and Eric stared at her, so she set down her flatware. “Oh, please. Come on. That could have been a prank by a teenager. It could mean nothing at all.”

  “You don’t believe that,” Emily said. “I don’t know all about your criminology college courses or what you do with the Krewe of Hunters, but I know you all have some kind of gut instincts. You don’t believe that.”

  “Everyone has gut instincts,” Cheyenne said. “Okay, I don’t know what is going on yet. But we’ll be here until we figure it out. Okay? And I know you two aren’t guilty of anything. We’ll get through all this.”

  “You know Emily,” Eric said bleakly. “You don’t know me all that well, Cheyenne. What if I’m a crazed killer and I don’t even know it?” He paused, turning to Emily. “Oh, God, Emily!”

  “Eric, you’re not a crazed killer,” Emily said. She stood and walked around to him, placing her arms around his shoulders and hugging him for a minute. “That you’d even think that way—that’s crazy. And you don’t believe it.”

  He held her in return. “No,” he said softly. “I don’t. I just wanted to give you an out if you wanted one.”

  “Well, I don’t. And I didn’t kill your ex-girlfriend either,” Emily said with certainty. She managed a real smile then. “If we were crazed killers, we’d have to have a different method of murder. Eric and I don’t even like to help each other with a scratch.”

  “Not blood people,” Eric agreed weakly.

  “Okay, I’m glad that’s settled. And this breakfast is delicious. I’m going to get back to it, and you two need to eat up. Andre will be back in any minute. He’s going to love this.”

  Andre returned a few minutes later. Cheyenne had finished eating, and she hopped up, looking at him expectantly but instead asking, “Would you like your breakfast warmed up? It might be a little cold now.”

  “Naw, I work for the federal government. I’ve come to like cold food,” he said lightly and sat at the place setting where his food waited. But he didn’t eat. He smiled, aware that they were all waiting.

  “Inspector Adair came and photographed the steps and duly noted the bit of minor vandalism. He’ll include it in his files. He’s gone now.”

  “He could have come in for breakfast,” Eric said.

  Andre shrugged. “No, he’s on the case. Breaking bread with us wouldn’t be a wise thing for him at the moment.” He shifted his attention
to the food. “Wow. This looks great, Eric, thank you,” he said and started to eat.

  “Pleasure,” Eric murmured.

  Andre swallowed and took a sip of juice. “I also sent some pics I took to Krewe headquarters. We’ll see if anything comes up. In the meantime, Cheyenne and I are going to head out to meet a few people and see what we can find. I suggest you two try to relax here. Keep close to home. What about work?” he asked.

  “I’m good from home,” Eric said.

  Emily nodded. “I asked for leave. I didn’t say it was because the police think I’m a deranged killer. I just told them family was coming in from the States.”

  “Great,” Andre said.

  “How do we relax?” Emily wondered, not really addressing any of them.

  “Movies!” Eric said. “We can cook and clean and watch movies.”

  Andre had finished his plate of food in the few minutes they’d been talking. He stood up, placing his napkin by his dish.

  “Movies, cleaning, whatever. Sit tight this morning. Maybe we’ll go out together tonight, mingle with the community, see if anyone notices. Or we’ll see if there’s anything unusual when we get back. I’ve also asked Inspector Adair to see if he can make sure the regular patrolmen keep an eye on your home. Did you know there is surprisingly little CCTV coverage of any kind in this area?” He hesitated. “Hey, that’s it. Security cameras. I’m going to see that you have a few installed today. How about it?”

  “Oh, I don’t…” Emily said and paused. “I’m not sure we can afford a system like that right now.”

  “Housewarming gift.” Cheyenne smiled.

  “Cheyenne, I’ve been living here for over a year, and it’s been Eric’s home since he bought it from his folks a decade ago,” Emily said.

  “Wow, I’m late with that gift!” Cheyenne said. “So, we’re going to let you two pick up alone again. Sorry. But we’re out of here. And don’t you dare refuse to accept a gift from me. Andre…Andre knows people. We’ll get the best for the buck. Um, pound. And with your computer skills, you’ll know what to do with it, Eric,” she promised.