LV48

by Matt Doyle

  Finally, we reach a door with “Captain A. Hoover” written on the window in block lettering. We enter and my unusually quiet escort waves me to a nice, padded chair at the front, then immediately heads over to his personal percolator. From how steaming hot it looks, I’ll assume he had someone fill it while he was waiting for me. He grabs two mugs and fills them black. I’d rather a double-double at this point, but I’ll take whatever caffeine I can get. I have no idea what blend he’s using, but the scent is enough to jolt me awake a little more. I push the mug aside to cool and take another swig from my depleted water bottle instead.

  “So,” Hoove says.

  “So.”

  “I know you’ve probably got a lot of questions right now, and to be honest with you, Caz, I don’t even know where to begin with this.”

  I sigh and decide to play nice. “I guess we start at the beginning. How about I tell you what I remember, and we move on from there?” Hoove nods and I continue, “I was walking home, heading south down Main Street. I’d come from Cartwright’s, a café up on Dunstone Avenue, and must have been about halfway down, I think? It can’t have been much later than maybe quarter past nine. I stopped to look at one of the EU25s and…”

  “Was there a reason you stopped? Anything suspicious?” Hoove interjects, and I shake my head.

  “I just like them. Look, Hoove, my memory is a bit hazy. I know it’s not really protocol, but do ya think you could hold off on the questions until I get through what springs to mind? Let me try to work through it all before you start nudging me, eh?”

  Hoover sits back into his chair and grins. I can’t think there are many who would talk to him like I sometimes do. He’s approachable enough, but he demands respect, and most of his staff give it to him freely. I’m not staff, though. “Go ahead,” he replies.

  “So, I hear a voice coming from down an alley, calling for help. I can’t remember which alley, but I’d guess you guys know. It was a woman’s voice, saying she’d been mugged by three men and she was bleeding. I got about halfway down there when I realised some of the stuff she’d said, she’d repeated in the exact same tone, like it was a recording. I turned to leave, and that was when I got attacked. This is where it all gets a bit weird. There was this bright light flashing in my eyes, and I started feeling dizzy, and off balance. Then, there was this fear that washed over me and …”

  I freeze, eyes wide, and Hoove leans forward again. “You okay? Do you need some more time?”

  I blink, shake my head, and make a grab for the coffee. It’s still too hot, but the slight burn as it runs down my throat helps, in a way. “No. No, I’ll keep going. There were voices. They were sort of chattering, I guess. I couldn’t really make them out. Uh, this person was walking towards me. I passed out just after they touched me. It’s weird, though. I mean, the whole thing is weird, but the way they moved…it could have been the way the light flashed, but they had this sort of smooth lope to them. But they were all over the place, moving side to side. I couldn’t track them properly. And the way they looked. It was odd. I can’t quite…”

  I trail off again and start staring at the wall at the back of the room. I can see the person in my mind, but I can’t seem to get the words out.

  The silence hangs in the air for a few seconds, and my brow furrows.

  “Let me try,” Hoove cuts in, his voice deep but gentle. “Dressed all in a shiny, black, skintight material. They wore boots, and gloves that made their fingers look elongated. You couldn’t see their face because they wore a helmet of some sort. It had a long visor covering the entire face, other than two long sections at the bottom that seemed to glow. It was smooth, had two protrusions on the side looking kinda like ears, and the number forty-eight was printed at the top where the forehead should be.”

  I nod. “Yeah. I can’t give you any more than that, because it was too dark. Or too light. The helmet, though. I mean, I didn’t really notice the number on it, but it… It made think of an old film. Nosferatu?” I realise I’m stroking the marks on my neck again and force my hand back onto the desk with a slap. “I sound crazy, even to me, but I just kept thinking…” I swallow hard. “Vampire.”

  Captain Hoover drops his chin onto his hand and says, “Sounds about right.”

  Ah, now that reaction tells me a lot. I take another mouthful of coffee and ask, “I’m not the first victim, am I?”

  “No.”

  “How many attacks have there been?”

  “Too many. I’m glad you remember what you do. If you hadn’t, that would have potentially made this a lot more difficult, on a number of levels.”

  “How so? Has this got something to do with what the doc was saying about—what was it, proteins?”

  There’s an old interview where the reporter accidentally said Captain Hoo-Haa instead of Captain Hoover when making his introductions. Hoove was unable to stop himself reacting and ended up wrinkling his nose like he’d just realised the guy hadn’t washed for a month. He’s pulling the same face now.

  “It’s all crackpot conspiracy theory stuff. You ever hear of optogenetics?” I shake my head, and he continues, “It’s the study of how light affects neurons or something. He thinks that, as none of the victims can remember every little detail, whoever’s behind this has been targeting specific people and flooding their water supply with light-sensitive proteins carried in viruses. That way, the light these people are using causes a partial memory loss and stops them getting caught.”

  “But you don’t think that’s the case.”

  “No. There’s no evidence to support the theory in terms of illness or the handful of DNA tests he’s done. Plus, we’ve been looking, and there’s nothing to link the various victims yet. This is more likely opportunistic. He won’t drop it, though, so I’ve given up calling him on the theory. To be quite frank, as long as we get useful information out of his checks, he can chase dead ends all he wants.”

  “Opportunistic, eh? In a normal robbery, sure. But this is a real weird way to mug someone.”

  “It would be, if these were straightforward muggings. I’ll get you to check later, but I don’t think you’ll find any personal items missing. In all the previous attacks, only one thing has been taken. I’ll give you a clue what: what do vampires take?”

  “Blood.”

  “Exactly.”

  I narrow my eyes. “You’re being awfully open about all of this. It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but you shouldn’t be telling me everything you are.”

  “Of course I should. Why wouldn’t I share pertinent information with an investigating officer? I’ve gotta keep you all up to date, right?”

  “Investigating…? Hoove, I like working with you guys and all, but I’m a victim here,” I snap, rising to my feet.

  “Sit down, Caz.”

  His tone is firm, but much like the looks he was giving me back in the cell, it isn’t unsympathetic. So I comply, albeit with an added grumpy sneer and an exaggerated crossing of my arms. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

  A weariness crosses the Captain’s face. He sighs and says, “Remember the little joyride you took last month?”

  “When I delivered the proven criminal to you, prevented a potential incident that would have caused mass panic, and saved you all a load of work, you mean?”

  “Now, don’t think it ain’t appreciated, Caz, but here’s the thing. My bosses have been breathing down my neck about you ever since that mess with the Eddie Redwood case. As soon as they found out, and don’t ask me how they did, that you tore through the city, not to mention the gunfight and collateral damage along the way, they started pushing for me to bring you in and revoke your investigation licence. I’ve been arguing with them, making excuses, but I’ve gotta be honest with ya here, I was running out of ideas. When you got dragged in with those marks on your neck, and the other little thing I’ll show you in a minute, it gave me an out. Whether you like it or not, you’ve got two choices at this point. Go along with what I’
m gonna tell you, or head back to the cells and start your journey along the career change path. I don’t want to be doing this, Caz, but I’ll like it even less if you pick the latter.”

  “Diu. You can’t be serious.”

  “Do I look like I’m joking?” he asks, and I can see the anger burning behind his eyes. It isn’t aimed at me, even though I’ve put myself—and in turn, him—in this position, though, that much is clear.

  I groan and rub my eyes, then grump, “I guess I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

  Hoove lets out a sigh of relief, and states, simply, “Thank fuck for that.” He picks up his phone and dials a couple of digits. “Get everyone in here. We’re good to go.”

  WITHIN SECONDS, THE room is a lot fuller. In a way, it’s almost a relief to see Corporal Devereux and Lieutenant Hanson walk in, even if Hanson’s playful ruffling of my hair sets off a momentary headache.

  I don’t recognise the other newcomer, though. He’s got an almost arrogant air to him, like a boxer who’s turning up the showmanship in his stance to play to the crowd. Judging by the rubber-tipped plugs running down his shaven head, he’s part of the New Hopeland PD’s Tech Shifter Division. “Cassandra Tam,” he says, his voice dripping with a gruff, but recognisably Irish lilt. “I didn’t get to introduce m’self the last time you were helping us out.”

  The man shuts his mouth and, obviously used to this, Hoove carries out the introduction. “This is Donal O’Brien, current Marshal of the TS Division. He’s a hybrid wolf, if you were wondering. Given the circumstances, I’m sure you can understand why we’re making use of Donal’s skill set.”

  Donal O’Brien, I repeat to myself, being careful to maintain my poker face. The emphasis on us was for my benefit. Does that mean this is related to the Kings? Or Fuerza? Well, isn’t that just great. “A pleasure,” I reply.

  “If you hadn’t guessed,” Captain Hoover continues, “Caz has agreed to help us out. There’s a lot she doesn’t know yet…”

  “Like the plan,” Hanson cuts in. “You know, seeing as the windows are intact and you don’t have a black eye and all.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant Hanson. Nothing builds trust quite like creating a feeling of dread, does it?”

  “I certainly think so,” she smirks.

  Hoove gives her a dissatisfied snort and pulls open a drawer on his side of the desk. He retrieves a small, plastic bag and passes it to me. “What would you say this is?”

  I twist the bag a few times, studying its contents. “Looks like a small vial of some sort. It’s broken, obviously. Given what we’ve been discussing, I’m gonna guess that the red stains are blood.”

  “Your blood to be precise,” Donal says. “You’ve helped blow the case right open.”

  “Explain.”

  “The attacker was interrupted,” Corporal Devereux says. “We got an anonymous call confirming that someone had been attacked in an alley and they were unconscious. By the time I got there, the caller was gone, and you were…not in a good way. The vial was lying right next to you. We checked, and it was a match for you.”

  “Before we picked you up,” Hanson adds, “all we knew for sure was the attacker was implanting trackers in their victims. This gave us the tip-off that they were taking blood.”

  My hand goes to the bump under my skin, and I frown. “Trackers?”

  Hanson raises her eyebrows at her Captain and asks, “Seriously? You hadn’t told her?”

  “Yeah, seriously?” I echo. “You hadn’t told me?”

  “We were getting to it,” Hoove responds, undeterred. “See, we managed to give one of them a look-over on another victim. They give out a clear signal; it’s definitely an identification of some sort, but it isn’t sent anywhere other than out. Most likely answer is that it can be picked up by the attacker if they come near one. Whether that’s to avoid duplicate attacks or to make them easier, we don’t know.”

  “Removal’s easy enough,” Hanson says, tilting her head to show me a small scar. “Local anaesthetic, slice, done.”

  I note Hanson’s attack in the file marked “question later” and ask, “And you’re gonna get it out of me too, right?”

  “Eventually,” Donal laughs, and I reel on him.

  “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” I turn back to my temporary boss and repeat, “You’re gonna get it out of me. Right?”

  Captain Hoover sniffs and reaches into what I’m now dubbing his “drawer of increasingly inconvenient wonders” and pulls out a small wad of papers. He pushes them towards me so that I can shuffle through them. “Based on a combination of known timings and the medical checks Doctor Sanderson has been carrying out, the actual attacks don’t last long. The lighting makes it difficult to catch anything close to a clear photo of the attacker too. The second to last sheet is the best we’ve got.”

  “A dark blur,” I huff.

  “Pretty much. We zoomed in on the hands, though. Have a look at the second photo and tell me what you see.”

  I study the photo for a few seconds, then chuck it back on the table and throw my hands out in defeat. “A glove. Something’s reflecting off it. Or a small section of it. What about it?”

  “The size of the reflection,” Corporal Devereaux confirms, “is consistent with a single vial, like the one we recovered from where you were attacked.”

  “And how exactly do you know that?”

  “We recreated it,” he replies. “Don’t worry, we’ll show you how later if you want to see. The main thing is it does mean that, for whatever reason, the attacker is only stealing a small amount of blood from each victim.”

  A few puzzle pieces start to fall in place. I haven’t got the full picture yet, but I can see enough to know what’s coming. “Even if we’re working on the idea that the attacks are opportunistic in nature…it doesn’t matter if the tracker is there to avoid double attacks or make them more likely. If the attacker is only taking small samples, the fact they failed with me means they’ll likely try again.” I turn back to Hoove and give him an incredulous look. “You want to use me as bait!”

  Hoove stares at me for a moment, thinks better of trying to wrap it up in fancy words, and replies, “That’s about the size of it.”

  “Oh, come on! Is that why you put me in a cell? So you can still go with the plan, even if I didn’t agree to it?”

  “No, that was my fault,” Hanson says. “The attack affects different people in different ways. Nausea and fear are common, as is the passing out. When you come to, though, it starts to get a bit mixed up. We’ve had continued blurred vision, near catatonia… I may have been a little, uhm, aggressive. We figured a safe environment would be good regardless of how you reacted, but the idea of using the cell mostly came up because people were worried you’d react how I did. Sorry about that.”

  My head drops, and I rub my eyes. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Believe it, Caz. Right now, if we want to prevent more attacks, you’re the best shot we have.”

  I take a deep breath to centre myself. “Okay,” I sigh. “Okay. But I need to know everything. Starting with anything you’ve figured out about how this person carries out the attacks.”

  “Devereaux,” Hoove says with a nod. “Take Caz and show her what we’re working with. O’Brien, go check how the modifications to your face are going. And, Hanson?”

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “You’re with me. Since your mouth has been running near non-stop today, you can do the paperwork to make Caz an official part of this investigation.”

  “Paperwork? Oh, joy,” she laughs.

  “Dismissed.”

  WE ALL FILE out of Captain Hoover’s office, with the exception of Lieutenant Hanson and the Captain himself. Donal gives me a firm pat on the back that causes me to stumble more than I would have liked. “Aftereffects are a bitch. Catch ya later,” he says and heads off towards the elevator down to the TS storage and repair room under the station.

  Corporal Devereaux n
ods up a hallway and I follow obediently. He slows to match my pace and says quietly, “Don’t discuss anything out here. Wait until we’re in the war room.”

  I remain silent, which Devereaux takes as an agreement, and we keep moving towards the back of the police station. The layout of the place has always interested me. New buildings have popped up in New Hopeland, usually in empty spaces that were allocated for future developments, but much of the original architecture remains. The early buildings fit into two categories. The most common can broadly be described as generic but modern-at-the-time areas set aside for incoming businesses and residences. The other ones, like this station, were specially designed for a specific purpose. What it means in this case is when you enter the building, you can see the entrance to the main offices at the back of the public area, raised slightly but set in the centre. On either side sits a corridor.

  If you’re facing towards the offices, the left wall of the left-hand corridor is lined with cells. There’s also a clear cut-off wall at the end. On the right-hand corridor, which is where we’re heading, the right wall is lined with a couple of recreational areas until about halfway down. Then come the general meeting rooms, used primarily for daily rundowns, interviews, and non-priority cases, and a small number of dedicated war rooms set aside for larger operations. Where things get interesting for me is that, once you hit the end of the right-hand corridor, there’s a left turn, taking you behind the office area. Here, you’ll find nothing but a ramp heading down into the lower levels of the station.