by E. A. Copen
Espinoza frowned. “You’re not one of those suicide cults, are you?”
“God alone determines the time and place we will leave our bodies. Suicide is a perversion of God’s will. So, no. We are not.”
“So, what?” Espinoza pressed. “How does one decide they’re one of these chosen?”
“They are called by God.”
“And if they decide to be un-called? Can they be un-chosen?”
Hector frowned.
“Like this Mara girl,” Espinoza continued. “By all accounts, she was messed up. But you were trying to save her, right? The feds want to call it kidnapping, but let me tell you, you probably helped more than you hurt. This kid—” He opened the file folder and took out a picture of Mara. “—she was homeless. She had nobody. Just because she’s a runaway or whatever doesn’t mean you ought to turn her out. She was chosen. It was your job to help her, right? I get all of that. You’re doing good work, better than most mainstream churches.”
He pulled another page from the file, this one with Gideon Reed’s picture on it. “But the feds think you know something about this guy. He’s hurting people. One of the fed’s friends is in the hospital right now, and this guy is on the loose. He took a bullet to the chest and just kept on going. They want to know what he is, but they don’t want to admit they don’t know. Now, I don’t know why they think you know something, but they do. Do us all a favor. Give me something, anything, that I can use to get the feds off my back, Hector. I don’t like them any more than you do.”
“I don’t know what I can give you that I haven’t already.”
“Access,” Espinoza said with a definitive nod. “Let someone into the compound so we can put the feds’ fears at ease. That’s all they really want, Hector. This fire, it was probably an accident, or it’s unrelated. Either way, if you give us access to check things out, we can clear you from any wrongdoing. Everybody wins. And I promise nobody will hurt any of your people. Not you, not Tamara, not Warren…”
At the mention of Warren’s name, something flashed through Hector’s eyes. It was the wrong thing to say. “I have nothing else to say to you. I’ve done nothing wrong here, and I’d appreciate it if you would let me pass the time I must wait in silence.”
“Just one more question, Hector. Your people, are they all human? I don’t see any fangs. Didn’t see any last night, either. No vampires allowed in the Tribulation Adventists?”
Hector sneered. “Any creature that subsists by stealing life from another is an evil creature. Vampires are welcome among us, but only if they prove they can deny their baser instincts. So far, not one has proven that. We are a peaceful organization of non-violent believers. Creatures that prey on the flesh and blood of innocents have no place among us.”
“Right, right. And what about women? Do you let them lead? You practice equality in your organization, Hector?”
“Women must be subservient to men, just as beasts are to all humans. Those are God’s words, not mine. When the world began to place the rights of the lesser above those of God-fearing men, that is when we chose to exclude ourselves from the world. So, no, although I assure you everyone, male or female, who is part of our temple understands and obeys this. I cannot ask someone on the outside, such as you, to understand.”
Espinoza stole a quick glance at the window we stood behind before gathering the papers and exiting the room. He came to stand with me in the viewing room.
“You knew in advance their position on vampires and women,” I said with a frown.
“Well, yeah. Says right on their website.” He shuffled the folder under his other arm and pulled out his cell, showing me the webpage. “But the point isn’t that it’s a ‘no vamps allowed’ club. The point is how he said it. Did you hear it in his voice? It’s personal. Humans only. That’s something, isn’t it?”
When it comes to interrogation, the goal is to find the truth. And Hector had lied. I couldn’t prove it yet, but make him repeat his story enough times, and hopefully he’d slip up somewhere. Suspects are more likely to make a mistake when emotions run high. Making him mad, getting him talking about something he was passionate about—neither of those had worked. The one thing Hector had reacted to was the idea of a woman challenging his position as a leader. Given how much Hector seemed to like to be in control, putting him in a room with someone else, a woman like me who might back him into a corner, I might be able to shake him if I got a little more aggressive. I could use his sexism against him. It was time to see if we could crack him under the pressure.
“I’m going to give him another try,” I announced and passed Espinoza.
“Can I assume you are finished validating my registration?” Hector asked, crossing his arms as I re-entered the room. “Otherwise, I have nothing else to say to you or anyone else with a badge until I’ve been read my rights.”
I crossed the room and pulled out the chair, bumping the table as I did. One of the two cups of coffee still sitting there tipped over and landed on its side. Steaming light-brown liquid splashed all over the table and into the lawyer’s briefcase. The lawyer gave a yelp and jumped up. He grabbed at the pile of napkins Espinoza had left on the corner of the table and spread them over it in a panic.
I restrained a smile. Served him right. “My bad.”
“Do you have any idea what…” He continued mumbling as he flipped open the briefcase, but it was incomprehensible. The papers inside were soaked in coffee. “Every last page, darn it. How am I supposed to work with these?” He pulled out the sopping pages and shook them at me.
“Whatever paperwork you need, you’ll be able to print it upstairs, free of charge,” I said.
The lawyer exchanged glances with Hector. “If they decide to hold you, I’ll need some of this paperwork.”
Hector pressed his lips together and glared at me. I had taken a huge gamble with that move, spilling the coffee. Hector was probably onto the tactic, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Since I hadn’t yet pulled his paperwork and verified his status, I could still arrest him. Even if I couldn’t make the charges stick, it would buy me time. But Hector didn’t want to have to go through that process. That was the thing with bad guys. They always think they’re going to get away with it.
Hector nodded and the lawyer stepped toward the door, grabbing more napkins along the way. “I’ll be back soon. No more questioning until I’m back. And don’t talk, Hector. My client’s invoking his right to remain silent.”
As the lawyer reached the door, I gave Espinoza a motion with my head through the mirror, telling him to go play interference. Anything he could do to stall the lawyer would help. I hoped he caught my meaning.
Meanwhile, I stood and followed the lawyer to the door. As soon as he was gone, I clicked the lock on the door and gave the handle a gentle pull. It came off in my hands. I pitched it at the camera in the corner. Hector twitched as the doorknob smashed into the camera. I’d have to pay for that and probably get an earful from Tindall, but it was worth it if Hector finally talked.
“Are you supposed to be intimidating?” Hector asked, his tone even.
“I am intimidating. It’s why I am good at my job, Timothy.”
Hector’s whole face twitched when I addressed him by his old name.
I placed my hands on the table and spread my fingers as if I were about to play the keys on a piano. “Now, tell me what you know about Gideon Reed. What’s he got to do with you? I have an eyewitness who puts you at the scene, fleeing when he showed up.”
“I have rights—”
I reached over the table and grabbed him by the shirt. “You don’t get it, do you? You still think I’m in here as a cop. Gideon Reed is a friend, and if you fucked him up, I swear to God I will do the same to you.”
A smile spread over Hector’s face, the smile of a madman. He chuckled and then laughed until I let him go. “Your witness is useless,” Hector spat. “He made sure of that when he showed back up, trespassing on my propert
y. No jury will buy that. It’s clear he’s only saying that because he’s stalking poor Tamara Speilman.”
“You son of a—”
“As for Gideon Reed,” Hector interrupted, “you have no evidence tying him to me, and no hope of obtaining it. Especially not once BSI secured the scene of that unfortunate ambulance accident.”
I flexed my fingers, then pulled them into a fist. He knows. Abe knows. Everybody but me seems to know something. Is BSI protecting this asshole for some reason? Why do I feel like I’m getting the runaround?
Keep it together, I thought, shaking my head. Hector had already turned the tables and gotten control back over the interrogation, revealing that he did have more information than me. Hector held all the cards, and I had nothing to negotiate with.
I leaned over the table. “When I find out what you and your people are up to, Hector, you’re going to regret stringing me along like this. I promise you.”
“If you find out.”
I glanced up at the broken camera hanging from the wall by two wires and pushed off the table. “Next time, that’ll be your head. Remember what I said about making threats.”
I pulled the door open, hooking one finger in the hole the doorknob had left and giving it a firm jerk. It wasn’t difficult, especially considering how angry I was. Two days into the investigation, and I had no evidence, no leads, nothing but shaky testimony from an unreliable witness. I needed something to break this case wide open, and Hector’s testimony wasn’t going to do that.
I hope Ed has more luck with that hard drive than I had in the interrogation room, I thought and met Espinoza in the viewing room.
He frowned. “No dice?”
I shook my head. “He won’t crack. Would you mind giving me a ride home?”
Espinoza grinned. “Just take my car, Judah. We’ll trade back tomorrow.”
Chapter Fourteen
I drove back to Paint Rock and pulled into my driveway. Not the driveway to Sal’s trailer, but the house next door. I’d called ahead to let Sal know I wouldn’t be over until later. There was too much work to do, and I needed quiet to think. I pulled out my laptop, poured myself a drink, and got right to it.
I typed Timothy Dekker into the search bar of the BSI database. The picture in the file that came up matched Hector’s, and Hector Demetrius was listed under known aliases. Damn. Couldn’t hold him on that. He’d registered his change of address and change of name, even dotted every I and crossed every T on his marriage and breeding application. Hector Demetrius was as squeaky-clean as clean could come. At least until his file history ended abruptly. There was nothing documenting Hector’s existence under either name prior to a date in May three years ago.
I know this date, I thought, and went searching through the old case files I kept on my computer. It took another twenty minutes to find it again and confirm that, yes, I had seen that date on another case before. It was the same day Andre LeDuc blew up Doctor Han’s lab and stole all that genetic research.
It could be coincidence that Han’s genetics lab got blown up the same day Timothy Dekker suddenly existed. Maybe. If I believed in coincidences.
It didn’t prove anything, so I moved on.
There was a section on the BSI paperwork for a personal narrative. Normally, everyone gave a detailed history and testament when they completed their compliance paperwork. Only in rare instances could the registrant waive that requirement, and BSI was required to document why that part hadn’t been filled out. The code used on Hector’s paperwork was one I hadn’t seen before.
I clicked on the coded reason in Hector’s history and testament box. The database jumped over to a new page that demanded log in credentials from someone with a clearance level C or higher. I blinked at the screen. BSI field agents had clearance up to level Q, their supervisors up to level P. Secret Service agents were only cleared up to level K, and one of them had the unhappy job of collecting presidential turds to keep them out of the hands of terrorists. The point is, the more access you had to the president and his cabinet, the higher your clearance level. The directors of BSI, the FBI and the NSA only went as high as J. There was no clearance level C.
My phone rang, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I quickly closed all the windows and disconnected from the internet just in case before glancing at the number. I recognized it as Ed’s. “Holy shit, Ed. You scared the crap out of me just now.”
“Maybe you should be scared,” he answered, his tone serious. “Where are you?”
“Home. Why? Any luck with that hard drive?”
“It’s heavily encrypted. Lots of files here to crack. Looks like mostly video, audio, and photos. I’ve been working on it all day.” The phone creaked as he shifted it. “Look, I really don’t want to do this over the phone. Would you mind meeting?”
“Sure, I can drive back over to your house.”
“No,” Ed snapped suddenly. “I mean, how about out in front of the clinic?”
“The clinic?” That was a strange place to meet. It was out of the way for both of us and oddly out in the open. Maybe that was why he’d picked it. He was being paranoid and wanted to make sure we’d be somewhere cameras were likely to pick us up. I rolled my eyes. “Sure, Ed. Tomorrow morning.”
“No, it has to be right now.”
I rubbed my forehead. “Ed, I’m working. I have a case to crack.”
“Five minutes from now in front of the clinic,” he said quickly. “Don’t be late.”
Ed hung up.
I stared at the blank screen on my phone a minute, frowning. That wasn’t like Ed at all. If he said it couldn’t wait, I believed him. His words from earlier flashed through my head. Maybe he’d gotten himself into trouble with that hard drive.
“Dammit, Ed,” I growled, rising to grab my keys. “I told him not to plug that in anywhere that BSI could trace it.”
The clinic looked abandoned when I pulled up in front of it. There was no sign of Ed anywhere. I checked the clock. I’d made it there in four minutes, plenty of time to catch Ed. Maybe he was the one who was running late.
I parked the car, running the passenger side tires up onto the sidewalk, and switched off the headlights. The sound of my door closing echoed through the empty street, followed by my footsteps. Above, a streetlamp buzzed. Gnats circled in the light, making the shadows dance. I stepped up onto the sidewalk and turned a full circle. “Ed,” I called, “are you here?”
“Keep your voice down,” Ed hissed. I turned to face the front of the clinic and watched as Ed stepped out of the shadows. “You want to wake the whole town up or just this block?”
“Is this about the hard drive?”
“Not exactly,” he answered. His eyes scanned the street from north to south, darting back and forth like he was expecting to be attacked.
“Why are we here then? You know, you could have just had me meet you at your place.”
“If he were just meeting you, maybe.” Another figure shifted in the shadows. Light flashed in two circles as he reached up to adjust his glasses. A wobbling mass of hair helped me identify the figure as Doc Ramis. “Did you come alone?”
I glanced around. “What do you think?”
A set of keys jingled as Doc pulled them from the pocket of his white coat and inserted one of them into the door. “If anyone asks, you’re both here because you forgot something.” He threw open the door and held it.
I exchanged a glance with Ed. “You want to tell me what this is all about, Doc?”
“Once we’re inside. Please.”
I followed Ed and Doc into the dark clinic. Doc passed the front desk without stopping, the glow of the emergency exit sign casting a watery red tinge on everything. The hallway was lined on either side with numbered double doors. A long time ago, the building used to be a movie theater. When Paint Rock was converted into a reservation, they gutted the seats from each of the three screens. Doc didn’t use them for exam rooms, instead retrofitting them as sterile operating rooms, an
autopsy theater, and housing for his six zombies when they weren’t on the road. We stopped in front of the third theater, the one he used for dissections and autopsies.
Here, Doc spun around with his hands still resting on the double doors. “Before I show you, I have to make sure you both understand that what you see inside can’t get out. You can’t tell anyone I showed you or even that we spoke.”
I lifted my chin and gestured to the door. “What’s in there?”
“Something no one is supposed to see,” Doc answered. “I’m only showing you because… Well, when somebody with a gun tells me not to do something, normally I wouldn’t do that. I’m a doctor. Do harm to none is my motto, and if keeping quiet saves lives, that’s what I’m inclined to do. But this…some secrets don’t save lives. They cost them.”
Doc’s statement created more questions than answers, questions I pondered as he turned to remove a heavy chain and lock from the door. The chain fell away loudly and Doc pushed the door open, charging through. Ed and I followed.
Because the room was an old theater, the floor sloped gently downward before evening out in the front. The front was where the two tables waited. Our footsteps carried all the way down and bounced off the floor before being eaten by the curtains running along the walls. As we came closer, I saw that each of the two tables was occupied by a body. Doc had tossed a white cloth over each body, but I could vaguely make out the outlines of a face, nose, and feet. A rolling table with all manner of hacking and cutting medical tools sat between the tables. Doc walked up to the rolling table and pulled out a cardboard box of gloves, offering them to each of us.
Ed gulped. “I think I’ll pass.”
I took two and put them on. “Who’re the stiffs?”
“Not who,” Doc said, snapping on a pair of gloves. He went to stand by one of the tables. “What. Now, what you’re about to see will probably shock you. I need to remind you that you can’t tell anyone what you see here tonight. Your life probably depends on it. All of our lives.”