Dark Changeling Part 13

Half an hour later, creeping along I-95, she reviewed her speculations about the murderer. She'd told Roger the gist of everything her informant had been able to give her on such quick notice. The killings in Baltimore, however, spanned only a short time. Where had the criminal been before that? She doubted the man's homicidal urges had erupted out of nowhere less than a month ago.

Possible, sure, but unlikely.

At the University library Britt intended to skim newspapers from major cities over the past year. The only way a killer this flamboyant could avoid capture would be by changing his loca-tion frequently. She hoped to find a geographic pattern.

Jolted out of her reverie by a pickup truck jumping in front of her, she gritted her teeth and pumped the brakes. One of the few drawbacks of living in a small city like Annapolis was the lack of a major university. The Naval Academy and St. John's College didn't subscribe to the wide selection of newspapers she needed to consult. She took a bite of yogurt and wiped her forehead with her napkin. To make the drive worse, the bug's transmission had taken to emitting an ominous squeal. Maybe Roger had a valid point about her buying a new car.

Entering the cool library was a relief. Britt quickly disposed of the past few days' papers and resorted to the microfilm room to plough through back issues. Soon her eyes ached from focusing on the small screen. If libraries no longer had s.p.a.ce to store most periodicals in hard copy, why couldn't they invent a more comfortable way of reading the stuff?

In a few minutes, though, she forgot her discomfort when she stumbled across a suggestive murder report from Albu-querque. With an indrawn hiss of excitement, she scribbled the date, place, nature of the wounds, and the victim's vital statistics. The discovery energized her to keep searching. The task was made more difficult by having to hunt through the entire first sec-tion of each paper.

In most American cities, alas, brutal murders weren't uncommon enough to hit the front page.

After a couple of hours, in which she covered New York, Los Angeles, Las Vegas (bingo!), and D. C. (another hit), among other locations, she leaned back in the chair, rubbing her eyes. A fast scan of the BostonGlobe , and she'd call it a night. Soon enough the library would throw her out anyway; it must be near closing time.

Now, why did I leave this one for last? My partner would chortle over that revealing quirk.

It took her only a couple of minutes to find the most recent of the Boston deaths, about the same time Roger had moved to Annapolis. A teenage boy, slaughtered in the Public Garden. Did that fit? All the other cases she'd noted had involved female vic- tims. Britt scrolled back a week. Her drooping eyelids snapped wide open.

"Serial Murder Suspect Escapes-One Officer Dead, One Wounded."

In sizzling haste she devoured the account of the fight in which a lone man, caught off guard in his apartment, had broken the neck of one policeman, both arms and five ribs of another. The last sentence of the article pulled her up short. She reread it three times before it sank in. "A psychiatric consultant a.s.sisting the investigation, Roger Darvell, M.D., was questioned about the crime's 'vampire' aspects and refused comment."

He would, wouldn't he!And then, after the numbness of sheer surprise wore off:That snake in the gra.s.s! He's holding out on me!

But why? What possible reason could Roger have for not volunteering the fact that he'd worked with similar crimes so recently?

Maybe he was guarding information he'd received from a patient in confidence. Offhand, Britt couldn't think of any other motive.

If he weren't so heart-stoppingly s.e.xy, I'd probably strangle him,she thought while inserting a dime to print out the relevant page from theGlobe. True, most woman, at a casual glance, might not attach the word "s.e.xy" to Roger. Britt, though, felt a quiver of warmth somewhere below the waist at the memory of how those gray eyes looked at her when he thought she didn't notice.None of that! He still deserves a slow and painful death for keeping me out of this!

Should she tell him her findings right away? Packing her notes into her briefcase, Britt decided to wait a few days for further developments.Give him plenty of rope to hang himself!

TUESDAY NIGHT Roger got another call from Sandor. Despite having heard the outlaw's voice only once, he recognized it at the first word. "Thanks for the treat Sat.u.r.day night, Darvell."

Roger fought the impulse to hang up instantly. The longer Sandor talked, the more likely he'd let some useful remark slip. "What do you want now?"

The voice oozed with counterfeit friendliness. "Why, Doctor, I want to meet you, of course."

"I can't imagine any advantage in that." Roger considered and shelved the idea of setting up a rendezvous with police in ambush. If Sandor shared Sylvia's psychic talent, he would sense the threat and retreat before they had any chance of capturing him-either that, or strike out in murderous rage, as he had in Boston. If I do try to trap him, it has to be some way that won't endanger innocent people."I simply want you out of this area."

"Not a chance. I like it here, and I figured we could hunt together." The mockingly cheerful tone infuriated Roger. "I could use you for an ally, once you learn a few things. I wouldn't mind having a cousin to guard my rear."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Wrong answer, Darvell." Sandor's voice hardened. "You don't like your prey dropping dead the minute you turn your back? Well, better get used to it-unless you join me. Put a personal ad in the local paper when you're ready. I'll be waiting. And, by the way, I'll have a surprise for you tonight." He hung up.

Roger let out the breath he'd been holding. Stretching out both hands, he watched them tremble with suppressed anger.This mustn't go on! He glanced at the dark window. On the nights Roger didn't take human prey, would Sandor abstain or simply find a victim of his own? Probably the latter, for if Sandor's habits were like Sylvia's, he couldn't go two or three weeks without human blood, as Roger did. Nevertheless, Roger knew that every time he dared to satisfy his craving, he would blame himself for causing another death.

The phone jangled at Roger's elbow. s.n.a.t.c.hing it up, he snarled, "What now?"

A bewildered male voice said, "Dr. Darvell?"

"I apologize, I expected someone else. How can I help you?"

"This is Detective Lieutenant Hayes of the Annapolis Police Department. Dr. Loren suggested I call you."

"Oh?" Roger's chest tightened with renewed apprehension. He doubted this call concerned some unrelated matter. Britt was determined to get embroiled in the murder investigation.

"She's a.s.sisting us with a psychological profile of the suspect in these recent serial killings, and she requested that we bring you on board. Would you be willing to help us out?"

"Certainly." Much as Roger loathed the idea, he couldn't allow Britt to run rampant through the investigation without keeping an eye on her. Why was the detective calling him at home to make this request, though?

"Fine." Hayes cleared his throat. "Doctor, I hate to spring this on you, but the reason I called is that another body has just turned up. I invited Dr. Loren to get a look at the victimin situ , and I thought you might want to do the same."

Good G.o.d, no!"Yes, that might be helpful." If Britt would be there, Roger knew he couldn't stay away. "It's at the Navy stadium, west parking lot." Hayes added dryly, "Just follow the flas.h.i.+ng red lights."

Chapter 10

AS PREDICTED, Roger had no trouble finding the crime site. The dome lights of three patrol cars and an ambulance splashed garish color over the stadium parking lot. The moment he stepped out of his car, the sickening smell of clotted blood hit him.

Breathing shallowly through his mouth, he waited for Lieutenant Hayes to break away from the knot of officers huddled around the lump of flesh next to the tall chain link fence surrounding the stadium.

A slender man with a bushy brown mustache and a weak chin, Hayes walked over to introduce himself. "Dr. Darvell? Thanks for getting here so fast. The victim is a black female, age around thirty, unidentified. There's no blood on the pavement under her, so the M.E. thinks she was killed elsewhere and brought here."

"How long ago?"

"Probably dead no more than half an hour." Hayes shook his head in disgust. "Freshest we've found so far." He lit a cigarette.

Roger edged away, upwind.

His eyes drifted toward the corpse, outlined in chalk, being photographed by a pet.i.te policewoman with a cap of short gray curls like steel wool. At her elbow, Britt was talking to a nondescript middle-aged man in civilian clothes. Roger wrenched his gaze back to the detective. "How did her body happen to be discovered so soon?"

"Some kid in a sports car taking a short cut through the lot. We recorded his statement and sent him home." Hayes cleared his throat, apparently his standard preamble to a difficult remark. "I guess you might as well have a look."

With a nod of greeting to Britt, Roger approached the body. The woman, barefoot, wore the remains of a robe and nightgown.

Good Lord, Sandor must have seized her in her own front yard-or her own house! Through the shreds of the gown, Roger glimpsed lacerations on both b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The hole in her throat exposed the larynx and esophagus.

Roger knelt down for a closer examination. The photographer began, "Don't touch-"

"I know," he said. Blood spotted the woman's ripped night-gown and the bosom of the robe. The collar of the robe, how-ever, was dry and unstained.Didn't waste a drop from the throat wound, did he? Roger's stomach lurched at the thought.

He felt Britt next to him. Standing up, he gladly turned toward her, away from the thing on the ground.

"Roger, this is Dr. Rizzo, from the Medical Examiner's office," she said, indicating the man she'd been conversing with.

Rizzo, dressed in gray slacks and a green polo s.h.i.+rt, his gray-streaked black hair combed forward over a bald patch, shook hands with Roger. "Evening, Doctor. These crimes are like nothing I've seen in this area before-thank G.o.d."

"One expects such things mainly in large cities," Roger said. "And with good reason, I'd think. He can't keep this up for long in a place like Annapolis without getting caught."

"We hope." Rizzo thoughtfully smoothed his hair. "Your a.s.sociate has been telling me about similar cases, elsewhere, that she tracked down in newspaper files."

"She did?" Roger gave Britt a sharp glance. Her face re-vealed nothing.

"Yesterday," she said. "I'll tell you all about it later." She turned to Rizzo. "Tell him about the fractures."

"Like the Baltimore murders?" Roger said. "And-and the previous two in Annapolis?"

"From superficial examination, I'd say both this victim's arms are fractured," said Rizzo, "and possibly the left leg, as well. Of course, I won't be able to give you any specifics, such as whether the injuries were inflicted before or after death, until the autopsy."

Britt said, "Dr. Rizzo is going to send us a copy, along with copies of the post mortems on the other two victims." To Roger's relief, she started walking away from the fence; he and Rizzo trailed along. "He's also going to check into getting us the reports from the Baltimore murders."

"We need all the help we can get," said Rizzo. "The systematic application of forensic psychology is still pretty new, as you know, but I personally put a lot of faith in it."

Roger wondered if Rizzo always lectured at length on the obvious, or only in stressful circ.u.mstances.

"I think I've seen enough," said Britt. "How about you, Roger?"

More than enough!

After Rizzo gave them a longwinded farewell and returned to his work, Roger walked Britt to her car, just outside the circle of reddish light. Not for the first time, he noted how poorly illuminated the stadium lot was. "I don't feel one bit like sleeping right now," she said, unlocking the VW. "How about coming over for a couple of hours to talk about all this?"

Don't tempt me!In his present state of turmoil, Roger didn't trust himself alone with Britt. He needed a long, strenuous walk in the night air, followed by a cold shower and a gla.s.s of milk. "Not now," he said. "Give me time to sort it out. Besides, we have insufficient data to work with. We'll get together after we've read the M.E.'s reports."

He sensed Britt's reluctance to suspend the discussion. Was he only imagining that she observed him with even keener curiosity than usual? After watching her get into her car and drive away, he rejoined Lieutenant Hayes.If I don't mention the Boston cases to him , Roger thought,it'll come up later, and he'llwonder why I didn't volunteer the information.

"Lieutenant, there's something you should know," he began. "I consulted with the Boston Police Department in a very similar series of crimes...." He summarized his involvement, then mentioned Sandor's escape and gave Hayes the name of Lieutenant O'Toole as a contact.

Glad to have that revelation over with, Roger strolled to the far edge of the lot, bordered by Farragut, a residential street lined with quietly expensive old houses. He still felt too agitated to drive. He wondered if his nervousness were solely due to the call from Sandor and the sight of the murdered woman.Well, what else could it be? Turning paranoid on top of everything else, are we?

Roger sniffed the humid air, thankful that the breeze blew toward, not from, the stadium. His skin p.r.i.c.kled as if ants crawled on it.

He felt-watched. The same feeling he'd had the night Sandor had attacked Alice. He turned his head, surveying the unlit parking lot.

There-a flash of red. Somehow Roger knew he hadn't glimpsed a cigarette tip or a pa.s.sing car's taillights. Glowing crimson eyes-like Sylvia's.

Sandor?It would be typical of the killer to gloat over the carnage almost within view of his pursuers.

Without another second for thought, Roger burst into a run. He charged across the parking lot to the corner where he'd seen that red glint, out of sight of the police contingent on the other side of the stadium. A living aura s.h.i.+mmered into focus.

The man stood his ground like an effigy carved of stone. Roger lunged at him. His fingers, curled like talons, reached for the man's neck.

The other warded him off with contemptuous ease. An instant later, Roger lay flat on his back on the strip of gra.s.s beside the street.

The wind was knocked out of him, and the pain of being slammed against the ground reverberated through his bones. In a spasm of rage he clawed at his opponent's throat. The other man pinned his arms to the ground. Roger stared up into silver eyes whose centers glowed red. That observation, combined with the cool skin temperature and the strength that held him immobilized, left no doubt.

My G.o.d, Sylvia was telling the truth! There are more of them!Until this moment, despite the weight of evidence, at gut level he hadn't believed her claims.

And this-this vampire did not match her description of the renegade.

Roger forcibly slowed his breathing. "You must be Volnar."

The other released him and stood up. "Yes, Roger, I am Anton Volnar."

Roger got to his feet, his ears still ringing from the shock. "h.e.l.l of a way to introduce yourself."

"I wanted to observe you from a distance first-and you did attack me." Volnar displayed no anger. In fact, probing for the vampire's surface emotions, Roger touched blankness.

"Well, I don't intend to apologize. However, I'm glad to meet you." He surveyed Volnar-slightly taller than Roger's own six foot four, with black hair, iron-gray at the temples, curling back from a domed forehead, and an aquiline profile. Except for being clean- shaven, he closely resembled Dracula as described by Stoker, even to the eyebrows growing together. "But d.a.m.ned if I'll call you 'Lord Volnar,' like Sylvia."

Volnar said with a thin smile, "Call me 'Dr. Volnar,' if you wish. I have a perfectly legitimate medical degree, even if slightly out of date."

They started walking toward the dark concrete bulk of the stadium. "Out of date?"

"Earned in Paris, mid-nineteenth century."

Two months ago, Roger would have scoffed at that offhand remark. Coming from this creature, it sounded like plain fact. An incautious movement made him wince from his bruises. Volnar noticed.

"I won't apologize either. But you needn't put up with the discomfort. Don't you know how to shut off pain?" Without waiting for an answer, he grasped Roger by the shoulders, ignoring Roger's instinctive recoil. "Turn your attention inward-trace the affected nerves-yes, like that."

The glow of Volnar's eyes made Roger's head swim.He's hypnotizing me! Roger forced himself to look away, and the night refocused around him. He sensed Volnar had permitted that moment of resistance; Roger's own strength couldn't have severed the link. The soreness, he noticed, had disappeared. To think he'd worked that operation on his patients many times, for symptoms such as headaches, and never thought of applying it to himself.

"Good enough for a first attempt," said Volnar. "We have much to discuss, but this isn't the place. I'm staying at a hotel on West Street, a block from downtown. Follow me there, and we'll talk." Without waiting for a reply, he got into a rental car parked nearby and started the motor.

Arrogant devil,Roger grumbled to himself.If Sylvia's hero-wors.h.i.+p is typical, he probably gets ample encouragement.

Roger was prepared to put up with a lot for straight answers. He started his own car and followed, as ordered. He found a s.p.a.ce on the street a block away from the hotel, while Volnar pulled into the parking garage. As Roger got out of his car, he noticed a fresh breeze. A cold front was moving in, with a promise of autumn temperatures and rain to break the humidity.

When they met in the lobby, the vampire led the way to a second-floor room, where he paused to listen at the door before unlocking it. He projected no awareness of danger; the act seemed to be a routine precaution.

Without bothering to switch on a light, Volnar directed Roger to one of two chairs flanking the table near the window. The room was a double, with suitcases and a briefcase on the extra bed. From a suitcase Volnar produced a bottle of Cour-voisier.

Roger watched guardedly, wondering if, forewarned, he would find that strength quite so irresistible. Volnar said in a tone of quiet amus.e.m.e.nt, "Don't try. It would be a waste of energy, as well as the time we should spend answering your questions." His eyes raking Roger up and down, he announced, "You need a drink." Roger accepted the brandy, incongruously served in a stan-dard motel toothbrush gla.s.s, with an ungracious mutter of thanks.

"That should take the edge off," said Volnar, "and render you capable of rational conversation."