Vampire - Deep Midnight Part 39

"I nearly married a police officer-as you know. I would never play tricks on law enforcement officers," she told him angrily. "I know that you would not."

"Then-"

"I'm sorry. You hit your head, Miss Riley. I've put through a call to your hotel, but your cousin and his wife seem to be out."

She needed help. Mental help. That's what he was trying to tell her.

"Whereas Carnevale is healthy fun for most people, perhaps it has not been the wisest time for you to visit," Manetti suggested softly.

She stared at him intently, but her mind was racing. I don't trust my cousin at all anymore, sad but true. You doubt my every word. And now, the man who has made me feel secure has proven to be . . .

What?

"I saw Ragnor Wulfsson after I saw the body. Find him and bring him in; then you'll have corroboration of what I'm telling you."

"Fine. We'll watch for the man. Now, there is little else you can do here. I think you should go to the hospital, since we cannot reach your relatives-"

"No," she murmured. "I'm fine. No knot on my head. I'm sure I imagined my fell." She looked at him coldly. "I'll go back to my hotel, and stay in my room for a while." She was certain of what she had seen, and of what had happened. And that she was personally in danger here. "Please don't trouble yourselves too much, but if you are able to get hold of my cousin and his wife, please ... please tell them that I'll meet them at Harry's between ten and eleven. That's usually a good time to get in without a reservation."

"Miss Riley, I'm sorry to say this, but I think it might be in your best interest to cut your visit to Venice short, and go home."

"Thank you. Maybe you're right," she told him. "I'll spend my time at the hotel looking into what arrangements can be made in the next few days."

"We'll see you to the hotel," Manetti said.

"I can walk Jordan back-" Raphael offered.

"We'll see her back," Manetti said firmly.

"That is kind of you, Officer Manetti," she said. "Especially since we must surely stop by the station first."

Manetti frowned. "The station?"

"I want to file a report I mean, just in case any of this proves to be real in the future, surely you'll want what happened tonight in your records."

"Of course, of course," Manetti murmured.

"Raphael, I'd appreciate very much if you'd come as well." She stared at Manetti. She wanted her words recorded as she said them-she trusted Raphael to see that her account of what happened went down correctly on paper.

A police launch took them to the station. She sat with an unknown officer at a desk, ignoring his looks when his eyes fell upon her skeptically as he typed the words Raphael translated for her. Manetti looked on. As she was nearing the end of her story, there was a commotion at the front of the station. Manetti excused himself. Jordan finished, Raphael read the paper, nodded at her gravely, and she signed the typed police report.

"Let's go," she murmured to Raphael.

He nodded, but as they started to slip out the entry, they saw that Manetti was in deep conversation with a young woman who was very upset and insistent; Manetti was trying to calm her.

"What's going on?" Jordan asked.

"The woman ... she is the sister of the gondolier who died. She is angry with Manetti, who is telling her what the autopsy report said-that her brother's body was mangled by the sea and sharks and other creatures, but that it still appeared he died from a blow to the head-slamming into the stonework of a low bridge. She says that he did not, that he was murdered."

"She's right-he was murdered," Jordan murmured.

Raphael stared at her.

"I know that she's right." Jordan sighed. "Doesn't Manetti think it's a little bit suspicious? The man finds a severed head-and all of a sudden he meets a grisly death himself?"

Raphael watched her for a moment, then whispered, "I don't think it will help right now if you bring that up."

Maybe, maybe not. Jordan couldn't help herself. She walked up to the two, apologizing to the woman in Italian, then telling Manetti. "Here I go again, insulting you. Listen to her!

What kind of an a.s.s are you? Look into Sal's death, do some investigating!"

Before Manetti could reply-and she began to fear that his reply might be an arrest and a one-way ticket to an Italian inst.i.tution for the insane-she swung around, grabbed Raphael's arm, and left the station.

"I'll stay with you until we can find Cindy or Jared-" he told her, but she shook her head firmly. "I'll be okay, Raphael, honestly. In fact, I need to be alone. And you-I want you to take care of yourself. Manetti thinks I'm crazy, but something very bad is going on here. Please, Raphael stay close to other people. And wear a cross. You've been friendly with me, and I may have put you in danger."

"Jordan-"

"Sal D'Onofrio gave me a ride back to the hotel from the area of that church before he died," Jordan told him. "Please, please, Raphael, just take care of yourself."

"And what are you going to do?"

"Please don't worry. I'm going back to the hotel. I'll be locked in-"

"You said that you would go to Harry's-"

"Later, that's hours from now, and I'll walk by the front, across the main path, and there will be many people around me all the time."

He walked with her back to the hotel, kissed her on both cheeks. She promised to see him the next day; it was a lie, but she would call the shop when she could and a.s.sure him that she was fine.

When he left her, she hurried up to her room and moved as swiftly as she could. She didn't intend to be caught there.

Ragnor had an uncanny habit of appearing when she did.

First, she went on the Internet and found that she could still get out of Venice that night. She could get a flight to Paris that would connect her directly to New Orleans. If she hurried. If she could get out of the hotel and get a water taxi to the airport quickly enough.

She paused suddenly, feeling as though a breeze had picked up in the room, when there could be no breeze. She looked around the room, an uneasy feeling seeping deep into her bones. She jumped up and searched the sitting area, then burst into the bathroom, her heart pounding. The door was still locked. She returned to her laptop, desperate to move quickly.

She booked the flight, praying that her credit card, overextended in her travels, wouldn't be rejected. She had grown overly anxious but took the time to E-mail the cop in New Orleans, telling him her flight arrangements and her time of arrival. She was going backwards, in time. If she made the nine o'clock flight out of Venice and connected with the overseas plane in Paris, her arrival time in New Orleans would be just after midnight.

She packed up her laptop, underwear, and an overnight bag, leaving the rest of her clothing and belongings in the room, carelessly shutting her bag. Terrified that some force was going to stop her, she was running as she left the room, and had to force herself to go back and lock the door.

She didn't check out, nor did she take a water taxi from the Danieli. She hurried to the hotel across Saint Mark's Square and took a taxi from there to the airport.

After presenting her pa.s.sport, she was the last person to run aboard the plane. She watched Venice disappear, feeling a strange sorrow as the plane rose in the night sky. She loved the city like few other places in the world.

But she would be back.

Gino Meroni walked into the second-floor ballroom of the palazzo.

He was alone in the room, dressed in the dottore costume. He liked to be known as the dottore. Oh, yes, he'd said. He liked to cure people of all their ills.

Gino was accustomed to the eeriness of costumes at Carnevale, and the strangeness of his employers, as well. He had shamed himself, he knew. But he had also done well in his efforts to make up for his errors, and he hadn't expected to be afraid tonight.

But he was.

A fire crackled in the great hearth. That was the only light in the room. The dottore sat in a huge wing chair by the fire, but he was a large man, and did not at all appear dwarfed by the chair; in fact, his power seemed enhanced by it. He was angry. Things tonight-things with which Gino had not been involved -had not gone well. He knew that the contessa was not even here, she had been wounded so badly. And the dottore .. .

He had escaped with little injury, but the contessa and others had taken a sad toll for his deliverance.

That night, Gino had done well at all his tasks.

Still, the light from the flames burning in the hearth seemed to dance upon the room in shades of blood red. The dottore sat so still, his knuckles white on the arms of the chair as he clutched them tightly. The room was very quiet It was an ominous silence. The dottore made Gino stand in that silence for a very long time, nervously s.h.i.+fting from foot to foot.

"Well?" the dottore said at last.

"I went as directed," he said. "I was able to clear our place, but I could do nothing about the woman for she wasn't alone." He didn't say that he had been clearing away the last of the refuse when the man had entered the church with the woman. He told the dottore instead that "The police came. Many of them. But it was all right. I saw to it that nothing was left behind."

"But the girl walked away with the police?"

"It doesn't matter. The police think that she's crazy." Gino then put a note of trial and exhaustion into his voice. "There was quite a mess you left behind; I was scarcely able to manage for your safety."

The dottore nodded gravely.

"So much would not have been necessary-if you had not been careless with your duties. There is still a wealth of trouble to be dealt with due to your inability to dispose of our refuse with efficiency."

He'd lost the head. That one head! He cleaned up so much for these people, and he'd lost one head . . .

"I work well for you," Gino said. "I ask no questions. I risk myself."

"You didn't bring the girl."

"I couldn't." Gino lifted his hands. "What is so special about this one girl? I can bring you dozens of girls."

"Miss Riley is my concern," the dottore said coldly. "You have failed me."

"I didn't create the problem at the church-"

"You have failed me."

"I defended you! The girl will still be available. You will have her eventually. Your game will just go on a little longer. And as to the other... I made one error. One mistake."

The dottore leaned forward. "There are no mistakes in my employ, Gino."

"The contessa said that-" Gino began, sweat breaking out on his flesh. Odd. He was sweating, yet felt cold inside, cold down to his shoes.

"The contessa does not matter in this anymore. You have failed me."

Since he'd been an adult, Gino had dealt in death and danger. Entering a world of crime, he had always known what the consequences could be.

He had always thought that he would know, and accept, when his time came.

The dread and fear he felt then were horrible. He was afraid that he would begin to shake, that he would lose control of his bowels, humiliate himself completely.

Perhaps the dottore was bluffing, warning him with such a threat.

There were no mistakes.

And the dottore didn't bluff.

"So, after all my service, you will . .. you will sate your bloodl.u.s.t on me," he said, and he tried to sound as if he would die with honor.

"Me? I would be sickened by you, Gino," the dottore said.

"Then ..."

"There are others who are hungry."

The dottore lifted his hand.

From the far corners and shadows of the room, Gino heard a scurrying sound.

Hisses ...

Laughter.

Whispers. He wasn't going to scream, he wasn't going to ...

The first pain seared into him. Horror began its crawl over him.

He began to choke on horror. And his own blood.

The crimson tongues of flame that had glowed over the room had been but a taste of what was to come. And as red death descended upon him, he lost all resolve.

His screams echoed with bloodcurdling agony throughout the palazzo ...

And into the night.

Though her first flight went like clockwork, Jordan was once again the last person to board the plane when she came running along the walkway to her gate at Orly.

This time, her late arrival was good; she wound up being placed in business cla.s.s with a comfortable seat and plenty of amenities. She was exhausted but tense when she sat and buckled on her seat belt. A gla.s.s of champagne seemed a good thing. Wine with dinner might help give her a few hours of sleep before she arrived in New Orleans. Dinner was good. She tried to watch a movie. The seat next to her was empty. Perfect.