“Since that door has been closed to us, there’s not much we can do about it,” Regent said. “At this point, we’ll have to accept that we’ve lost the records.”
Wanna bet! Not only would Jess double-check what Sinclair had said, because no way was she taking anything he said at face value, but she’d also make sure he was the subject of a deep personal background check—she’d put Sampson on the task. If anyone could dig up impossible information, it was him.
She considered her options while the men chatted about small matters. Typical of her brother, Regent wanted to smooth over everyone’s ruffled nerves.
“Are you a goat farmer?” Regent asked, changing the subject.
Sinclair glanced at Morana in an almost conspiratorial way, then said, “Oui.”
“Do you sell the milk?” Regent asked, oblivious to the undertones of conspiracy.
Longina’s gaze shifted to the floor. “No. We basically raise them as pets. Besides, no sense wasting good farm land.”
“Oh, I see,” Regent said, frowning. Obviously, he realized he was being played. Nobody kept that many goats as pets.
“I figured you butchered and cured your own meat?” Britt jumped into the conversation. “I noticed the smoke house out back.” He didn’t believe Longina, either.
“My goodness, no!” Longina sat straighter in his chair. “It’s merely a workshop, with a stove to keep me warm while I work. I dabble at a little wood carving.”
The conversation went nowhere after that, and they prepared to leave. An hour before sunrise, Morana dropped them at the Louvre before jumping back into the old car and driving off. Jess could hear it rattling down the road miles away.
They’d learned nothing of any use tonight except that there was something odd about Sinclair’s reaction to the questions about the goats. He was keeping more from them than just information about Morana’s adoption.
“WELL!” BRITT SAID, beginning the walk back to Regent’s place. “That was a very interesting encounter. Other than the fact that you were born in Rome, I’d bet everything the man said was an outright lie.”
“Why do you think that, Britt?” Regent asked.
Jess cringed. Regent had never been gullible in his life, but when it came to Morana, he seemed to have very thick blinders on.
“Longina might be able to spin a tale, but he hasn’t learned to stop his body from giving away clues that he’s lying,” Britt said.
“Maybe it wasn’t that he purposely lied, but that he wanted to protect Morana?” Regent said.
“Protect her from what?” Jess asked. “We’re not exactly an execution team.”
“Funny you’d say that,” Regent said. “Because actually, we are, for all intents and purposes. And it did appear that Longina knew a lot about us without being told. Maybe he fears for Morana’s life, especially if he knows we kill vampires?”
Britt sighed. “You’re right, Regent. He might think we’re a danger to her.”
“I’d feel the same way if I found out he killed vampires, Jess,” Regent said. “I wouldn’t care if you were related or not. I’d still worry.”
Jess nodded. She’d thought Regent had been so caught up with finding Morana and meeting her father that he hadn’t been paying attention. She should have known better.
“True,” Britt said.
“I’m still going to ask Sampson to do a background check on Monsieur Longina. I want to find out what he did when he lived in Rome. I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t tell us what his job had been.”
“Probably wise, my dear,” Regent said in a disturbed tone. “Besides, he should know better than to make you curious.”
Jess nodded but narrowed her gaze.
Chapter Six
WHEN BRITT’S CELL phone buzzed, he lifted his head, squinting through one eye to see sunlight seeping through the slit in his blackout curtains. It wasn’t yet time to get up. He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. 6:00 p.m. Jess wouldn’t be up for a couple of hours yet.
He grabbed the phone. “Yes?” he said, noting Veronique’s number. “What’s up?” His shoulders tightened—Veronique didn’t call him to chat; she only phoned when she needed his services.
She sighed heavily at the other end. “Sorry, if I woke you.”
She knew full well he kept Jess’s hours for the most part, though he didn’t need much sleep these days.
“But . . . we’ve had another murder,” she said.
“In the daytime?” He jerked up in bed and ran a hand through his messy hair.
“It most likely happened last night, but we didn’t find the body until today. Actually, we didn’t find the body at all. Our victim was found by a city worker doing repairs in the tunnels. And since this victim was found deeper in the tunnel system than any of the others, we think the murderer is attempting to hide his victims now.”
Britt shifted up onto one elbow and stared at the wrinkled sheets on his bed. “That means there might be others you haven’t found yet.”
She mumbled what sounded like a curse word in French then said, “We haven’t been searching that deep in the tunnels because we assumed he left victims where they could be found. We thought that was his MO, his calling card,” Veronique said. “I’m organizing a search team right now, in case there are more. Unfortunately, there are more than three hundred miles of tunnels down there. We’ll never be able to search everywhere.”
“What about your missing persons list? Can we use that to identify any victims who fit the serial killer’s preferred victim type?”
Another sigh erupted at the other end of the phone. “Do you know how many people go missing in this city every week?”
“Probably close to the same number that go missing in New York,” he said.
“Yes, and half of those could’ve moved to another country or disappeared on purpose.”
“Okay, what can I do?” Britt asked.
“Have you come up with anything more about this killer’s possible identity?” she asked.
He considered the profile that he’d built in his mind. “The victims were all blond, all single and around the same age, so I’m guessing the perp has an issue with someone in his life of that general description. He slits their arms open and leaves them palms up, maybe in homage to him? Maybe he makes them beg for their lives before he kills them? He might get off on that.”
“So you think it’s a male?”
“Percentage wise, most serial killers are males, so I’m speaking to the odds. There’s something else I haven’t had a chance to tell you, Veronique. Jess and I think the killer is a vampire. I know you’ve already considered this and discounted it, but the thing is, we might have an idea who that vampire is.”
“Who?” Veronique asked sharply.
“It’s just a guess. We have no proof yet.”
“Oh no, I hope you’re wrong! I don’t want to hear that the killer is really a vampire. The olde guard vampires won’t take kindly to this. They don’t want the cops involved in their society. That’s where the Pact comes in and makes the issue even stickier. As long as vampires promise to maintain a certain control in society as laid down by the law, we stay out of their way.”
“I’d sure like to see that doctrine,” Britt said.
Veronique paused again. “Well . . . you can’t.”
“How’d I know you were going to say that?”
“I know I asked for your help in this situation, but you can’t get too deep into vampire business. One wrong move, and the whole Pact could go up in smoke and fireball into a war against humans.”
“That’s the last thing we’d want, Captain,” Britt said in a stiff voice. “However, we do have specific skills that might come in handy.”
“Yet you won’t tell me what those skills are.”
“You witnessed what we were capable of when we wiped out the demon uprising. Was that not enough for you?”
He thought he heard her teeth grinding.
“It should be, if
I weren’t a cop. But Brittain, you can’t blame me for wanting to know how you did it. I have heard talk about you having some special talent when it comes to hunting vampires, and talk about your skill in eradicating vampires in New York has become fairly well-known in Paris. But there’s still something missing. . . . I want to know more.”
He grinned. “That right?”
“Never mind that for now. Can you meet me near the tunnels in ten minutes?” she said.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He got out of bed, shut off the phone and headed for the bathroom.
EVEN THOUGH THEY met outside the entrance to LaCave, Veronique led him away from that location, across two streets, and down an alley toward an abandoned building. “Where are we going? I thought we were going to the catacombs?”
“We are. Our latest victim was found in a different tunnel. There are many entrances, as I’m sure you’re aware. Follow me. We’re almost there.”
They entered the derelict building that looked as if it might have once been a bus station. Large steps led underground into an old part of the Paris Metro.
“An old subway tunnel?”
“Yes. Even though the tunnels were boarded up decades ago, cataphiles have created new entrances over the years.” At that, they turned a sharp corner and found a tunnel blocked with bricks and hosting an old wooden door on hinges in the center.
Britt considered the doggedness of people who’d carved out that brick in order to build a new entrance. “Doesn’t anyone come around and reseal these doors?”
“Why bother? As quickly as an entrance is secured, another will pop up somewhere else. We have better things to spend taxpayer dollars on,” she said.
Veronique opened the illegal steel door that had probably belonged to a business at one point, then turned on a bright flashlight before aiming it down the tunnel. A rat scurried off the instant the beam hit it.
Britt pushed through the biggest spider web he’d ever seen, one that made his scalp tingle and the back of his neck stiffen.
The French captain forged through the insects’ webs ahead. It didn’t even seem to bother her—and with hair like hers, it should.
They walked for at least two miles before she took a sharp turn in the tunnel.
Britt fingered his cell phone to make sure it was still there. He’d never been so glad to own a device with a built-in GPS, but didn’t want to consider there might not be a signal down here. Veronique, on the other hand, seemed to know her way around these tunnels without a GPS. Within minutes, they spotted the red glow of two cigarettes ahead.
She spoke to her officers quickly in French then flashed her light on the corpse covered by a tarp nearby.
The two cops continued smoking and speaking in low tones. They looked less than comfortable guarding a corpse so deep in the tunnel system.
She pulled back the tarp and showed Britt the gruesome sight. “Another blonde. Same slashes on her arms, hands palms up, and neck sliced open.”
“Has the coroner determined if the other victims’ necks were slashed to hide a certain type of bite?” Britt asked, still considering the vampire angle.
Veronique nodded. “You can speak freely,” she said. “These officers are on my team.”
Britt nodded to them and held out a hand. “Bonjour, I’m John Brittain,” he said.
“Claude Montagne,” one officer said, shaking his hand. “Benoit Marcelle,” the other one responded. They didn’t say anything else, and Britt wondered if it was because they didn’t speak English.
He turned back. Veronique was already scanning the body with her flashlight and checking the ground around the victim.
“Has your forensic unit been here yet?” He figured they must have been, since she was currently contaminating the crime scene.
“Yes. They left two hours ago. Normally, they would have removed the body, but I wanted you to see the scene first. It’s important that you’re able to get inside this killer’s head.”
“May I?” Britt asked, picking up a spare police-issue flashlight near the body.
Veronique nodded. “Absolutely.”
“It’s obvious this is the same guy, given the similarities to the other victims. Not much blood on scene,” he said. “Looks like the victim was killed here, since there’s no evidence of a blood trail.” Not to mention there were two sets of footprints leading to this spot, but no sign of anyone being dragged and dropped.
“I agree,” she said.
“This one is different from the others,” he said, continuing his stream of consciousness. “How did he lure this woman so far into the tunnels in order to kill her?”
“I don’t know. We must have disrupted his killing pattern by staking out so many of the tunnels near LaCave. It looks like we’ve forced him to move deeper into the catacombs.” She looked tired beyond words. “You said you had an idea which vampire is doing this. Tell me who it is.”
“At this point, I’m just guessing. I don’t want to name names until I know for sure.”
“Don’t waste too much time before you tell me, or another young woman will lose her life.”
“I’d like to see the records of the previous women, if possible,” Britt said.
“Certainly, we can make that happen,” Veronique said. “Do you think you’ve noticed something that might give us a clue?”
He exhaled. “No, but I’m not ready to give up yet.”
She nodded her understanding. Her flashlight’s bright beam landed on the cavern walls. The skulls and bones buried in the walls seemed to mock them.
He shuddered. He hated it down here even more than he did the tunnel near LaCave.
THERE WAS NO sign of Britt when Jess rose. In the kitchen, the message light was flashing on the phone, and she figured it was from him. She pressed the button.
“Hi doll,” the recording said. “I’m working at the police station, going over victims’ files, if you want to join me when you wake. I’ll be here at any rate. Bye.” The message clicked off.
She’d catch up with him, but first she wanted to check in with Regent, to see if he’d found anything in that musty old book he’d discovered at the Papal Palace in Avignon. Luckily, Regent’s friend and landlord, Gaston Breau, was more than an art restorer—he also had a degree in ancient history, specializing in languages. According to Regent, he hadn’t recognized the writing in the book, but it had piqued his interest. He intended to help them as much as he could. She could only hope his training would be just what they needed.
When she arrived at Regent’s apartment, the lights were off. Once again, he wasn’t home.
She chewed on her lip momentarily then turned and made her way to the precinct. Britt and Veronique sat at a table poring through a mountain of thick files in a back room. “Oh boy, looks like fun,” she said.
“Glad you’re here, babe,” Britt said. Without lifting his head, he shoved a folder at her. “Can you go through this one to see if there’s anything that might connect the victims?”
“Okay.” She sat at the desk and opened the folder. Before she started reading, she looked at the wall facing them where they’d put the murder board. Each victim’s photo had been pinned to it in chronological order. “Wait a minute. Has another victim been found?”
Veronique cleared her throat. “Yes, and we’re no further ahead. We can’t put surveillance cameras in more than three hundred miles of tunnels. Even if we could afford it, it would be impossible to achieve. Half the tunnels aren’t marked. Once, a man got lost down there and died. His body wasn’t found for years, a fact that does not bode well for our victims.”
“Whoever is doing this must know the tunnels very well,” Jess added.
“Especially since the latest victim was found very deep in another section of the city,” Veronique said.
“Unfortunately, I think the killer must have moved deeper into the tunnels because the area around LaCave has such an active police presence now,” Britt added. “We’ve cramped his
style.”
“I thought you didn’t want to scare him away?” Jess said.
“We didn’t. But we had to do something, or there’d have been an uproar by the citizens. They expect to be protected,” Veronique said. “At least they need the semblance of being protected until we find this bastard.”
Jess started reading details of the victims killed since she and Britt had arrived in Paris. One had tattoos, the others didn’t. They were all blond. “Were the earlier victims blond, too?” Jess asked.
“Yes, I’ve requested those files from our database. They’ll be here tomorrow.”
“They were all blond?” Britt said slowly, as if something had suddenly occurred to him. Both women looked at him hopefully.
“Does that tell you something?” Veronique asked.
“No, but there’s something about these victims that is bugging me. Something I can’t quite put a finger on,” he said, slapping his folder closed and cursing under his breath.
“I think we’ve done enough of this for tonight,” Veronique said, picking up her coffee cup as if to take a drink, then deciding against it. She put it back on the table. “Let’s go for a real drink. Maybe we can come up with something once we’re relaxed.”
“Okay,” Britt said. “Jess, you okay with that?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I dunno. We usually don’t go to places like that since you can’t drink—” He looked irritated at himself suddenly. Normally he tried not to make her feel like a damned vampire. Too late.
“Don’t worry, I’m not thirsty anyway,” she said, forcing a grin.
“Do you remember Vlad’s bar on the other side of the city? We can go there, so you can order a drink, too,” Veronique said.
Jess frowned. “How is it you’re okay with a bar that serves blood?”
“Well, technically it’s not allowed, but the Health Department turns a blind eye to it as long as they only serve vampires.”
Jess bit her lip against asking where the blood came from. No way would she get into that with Veronique tonight.
When they arrived at the bar at three a.m., music drifted over the isolated side street with broken streetlights and vermin rustling in the garbage bins.
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