Blood Will Tell (35 page)

“What are you talking about?” She could feel Dan's bewilderment, tinged with anxiety. “Brandy—you're not pregnant? You told me you were on the Pill."

“I'm not pregnant. But, much as I love you, you're not the kind of man I was ever attracted to before, Dan. It was a distraction. Church and I must have been getting too close to Callahan's drug connections. He made a pass at me himself, and I wasn't too polite in my refusal."

“That doesn't speak well for his influence."

“It didn't take him long to figure out that you were a better diversion."

She felt Dan's horror at the accusation as a physical pain. “Brandy, I love you!"

Tears burned behind Brandy's eyes as the clues fell into place. “Why kill Dr. Land on campus? Surely a Numen could lure his own vampire to him. Callahan risked ‘harvesting’ Land in the same building where you have your office. I was on duty. You knew Dr. Land; he knew you'd go to see what had happened. Maybe he influenced you to do so. God, he's efficient—but then, a Numen who lived for centuries would learn to be, wouldn't he?"

Dan sat staring at her. Brandy wanted to take away his horror—but how could she as piece after piece of the puzzle fell into place? “Dr. Land had obtained this knowledge he wasn't supposed to have. Callahan decided to ‘harvest’ him—according to that manuscript it would give him Land's knowledge. He'd know whether Land knew you were a vampire, and whether he had shared any of this with you."

“He hadn't,” said Dan. “I suspected Rett, but I have no idea whether he suspected me. He never said anything."

“Callahan saw a way to kill two—no, three—birds with one stone,” Brandy continued. “He harvested Land, brought you and me together, and took whatever Land had on disk—and the manuscript if it was in Land's office."

“But why kill Rett? Why not just take the manuscript and ‘program’ him to forget he'd ever seen it?"

“Maybe his time was up anyway,” Brandy suggested. “Maybe Callahan needed the recharging—it was over twenty years since the last mysterious aged corpse."

“That made the papers,” Dan added.

“True. But if the Numen really gains all the knowledge of a vampire he harvests, perhaps he killed Dr. Land to be able to read the manuscript for himself."

“If he didn't already know what was in it,” said Dan, “how did he become a Numen?"

“I don't have all the answers,” said Brandy. “They're in that manuscript—if it still exists."

“So you want to search Callahan's house."

“Yes. I suppose you can expect some kind of new instructions if he notices I'm on his trail."

“Brandy—” Dan began indignantly, but broke off to say flatly. “You really think—Callahan programmed me to distract you from your investigation?"

“I do. Look what he did to Church."

“To Church?"

“Dan, you were there when Jeff was injured. You heard the silent dog whistle. Sandy was lured within the sphere of influence, and directed down that dangerous drop so the children would follow. Someone heaved the boulder that crushed Jeff's leg—Callahan or one of his vampires. The children saw him—remember the Dracula monster?"

“Brandy, it's coincidence,” Dan said desperately.

“Coincidence that we were there, maybe, but no coincidence that one of Church's kids was badly injured. He couldn't think about anything else for weeks. Church was distracted, I was distracted—"

“No,” Dan protested again. “Judge Callahan can't be responsible for all that."

“Oh, no? He arranged financing so Harry could sell the TV station, freeing one of his most severe critics to leave town. My God, how this all fits together! Harry then proposed to Mom—maybe Callahan even influenced them to get together in the first place. I was tied up for a month with the wedding, and then—oh, God."

Brandy squeezed her eyes shut, but tears leaked anyway.

Dan, who had been afraid to touch her for the past few minutes, dared to take her in his arms. “Tell me."

“The day of Mom's wedding, my two main emotional supports were removed: Mom and Carrie."

“Leaving you ... dependent on me,” said Dan. “And—"

“What?” Brandy demanded at the stab of guilt she felt lance through him.

“I ... resisted taking you that night! So Carrie was not only murdered, but in a way that could have exposed me as a vampire if I hadn't obeyed the command at the next full moon.” His arms were tight about her, as if he feared she would flee from him. “Oh, Brandy, I'm so sorry, so sorry. How can you trust me? I can't trust myself."

She clung to his solid physical presence, but her mind was in turmoil. “I do trust you,” she said. “I love you. But I can't trust the Numen's influence. Still, we know you can resist.” She managed a teary smile. “Even if you didn't know you were under compulsion, you resisted the night of Mom's wedding, because it was wrong to base our relationship on influence. I trust in that, Dan, in your sense of honor."

“Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Besides,” she added, “I just realized that Callahan came on to me after you and I met. Maybe he couldn't influence me because I was already half in love with you."

He managed a sad smile as he replied. “I think I fell all the way in love with you the night we met."

“And Callahan started using you once he recognized the attraction. It's probably the same thing as letting a vampire create his own beliefs and memories: it would have been very hard work to make me fall for Callahan against my inclinations, but because I cared for you it was easy to manipulate me through you."

“But, what do we do about it?” asked Dan.

“We've got to set you free,” said Brandy.

“How?"

“Callahan expects you to keep me under control. Dan, you won't be insulted if I hide my birth control pills?"

“Why?” he asked in honest puzzlement.

“Because the most obvious way to distract me again would be to have you replace them with placebos."

“At least that would tell me I can father children,” he said wistfully.

“Would you remember the order, or carrying it out?"

“Perhaps—if something caused me to think about it."

“What do you mean?"

“Ever since I remembered coming to West Kentucky after Megan died, more memories have returned. It's slow—I recall as events remind me.” He stopped, reluctant.

“What don't you want to tell me?"

“That's what I get for falling in love with a detective,” he said, but the familiar joke fell flat. He steeled himself and began, “You said I'm not your type: you're more right than you know. I didn't avoid athletics in school because I was afraid of revealing my powers. I was lousy at sports. I wore thick glasses, and was the fastest kid in my class with a slide rule.

“A lot has come back about Megan. The memories of feeding from her were manufactured. The memories of loving her weren't. It was a sweet, comfortable, unimaginative kind of love.” Brandy felt his ineffable sadness. “To tell the truth, you're not my type either, Brandy. Any Brenda I would have gone out with would never be nicknamed Brandy!"

“At least I don't spell it with an ‘i.’”

Dan ignored the feeble humor. “You were a cheerleader, a Homecoming Queen. I was the acne-scarred captain of the chess team. I dated the girl with glasses, a big nose, and a National Merit scholarship."

“Does that describe Megan?” Brandy could not help asking.

“She was beautiful to me,” Dan replied.

“And it wasn't compulsion,” added Brandy, disentangling herself and standing up.

“Brandy—if I didn't love you, I'd have used influence. I know I was ordered to. Compelled to. I was supposed to get you off the police force."

“What?” She turned to face him.

Dan's eyes were unfocused, a frown furrowing his brow. “I was supposed to make you fall in love with me, marry me, and leave the force. I—couldn't."

“You hate my job."

“That's me,” he said, “not the compulsion.” Then his sad resignation lifted. “Brandy, you're right! I can and do fight the influence when it goes against my own beliefs!"

“But the Numen works with your natural inclinations,” said Brandy. “You're a romantic. You believe in love at first sight."

“I doubt love can be compelled. The important thing is that I'm capable of resisting. That means there's a chance I can break free altogether."

“We have to get that Numen manuscript,” said Brandy.

“Neither of us can read it."

“Your friend Dr. M is eager to translate it."

“Brandy—she'll want to publish it!"

“Isn't that exactly what we want?"

“For everybody to know the formula for creating and controlling vampires?” Dan asked in bewilderment.

“First of all,” said Brandy, “'everybody’ won't read a long and boring scholarly text. Those who do won't believe that the methodology will create vampires, any more than they believe that other alchemy texts really tell how to turn lead into gold."

“Except for—scholars who are vampires,” Dan realized. “They'll believe it."

“And,” added Brandy, “the truth may set them free."

Dan nodded. “We must get that manuscript."

“If Callahan has it, it'll be in his vault."

“A safe deposit box?"

“No—a safe room in the basement of his house. Church looked it up last year when he hoped to get a search warrant. He wanted to be sure it covered everything on the property, so evidence couldn't be denied on a technicality."

“How are you going to get into his vault?” Dan asked.

“There are only two ways: a search warrant—or breaking and entering."

* * * *

Brandy wanted a legal search of Judge Callahan's property with plenty of backup, too many police to influence, sheriff's deputies and state troopers. She wanted Judge Callahan in jail while she and Dan made and dispersed copies of the Numen manuscript. To do that, they had to get incontrovertible proof of Callahan's involvement in some crime—such as the car 108 murders.

There was no telling how many vampires there were under Callahan's influence. Brandy was certain that with the evidence of what he was in Dan and Brandy's hands, the judge would not hesitate to order their murder. How fast could he create temporary vampire hit men?

A little knowledge was a very dangerous thing! Seeing Dan almost afraid to touch her, unsure which thoughts were his own, Brandy had to break Callahan's influence. If she thought she could get away with it, she was almost tempted to get a shotgun and blow the man's head off.

Almost.

She could never commit cold-blooded murder—not even of a man as evil as she suspected L. J. Callahan to be.

She needed proof!

Brandy was in court the day of Doc Sanford's sentencing hearing. She hadn't seen the old man recently, and felt guilty about getting so caught up in her own concerns.

Sanford wore a new suit with white shirt and tie, and someone had taken him to a barber. He sat up straight on the bench as he waited his turn, his attorney at his side. The bloated look of too much beer and not enough food was gone from his features; she saw no signs of a hangover.

But when it was Sanford's turn, and he and his lawyer went forward to learn the old man's sentence, the sun coming in the large old-fashioned windows struck Doc Sanford directly in the face. He winced and squinted, sure sign that he was not in as good condition as he pretended. Nevertheless, he stood straighter than Brandy had ever seen him, facing his fate with military stoicism.

Brandy waited for the axe to fall. Even with the offense plea-bargained down to malicious mischief, the judge could break the old man's spirit with jail time, or his bank account with fines. There was a murmur of amazement throughout the courtroom, then, when Judge Callahan announced, “Thirty days, suspended, and the cost of repairing the damage you did."

Brandy felt her jaw drop, and saw the same thing happen to Sanford's attorney. Everyone who knew of the enmity between these two men was left flat-footed by the light sentence. And Doc Sanford said, “Thank you, Your Honor,” as if he were actually sincere.

Brandy would have liked to talk to Sanford, but she was a witness in the next case, and so could not leave the courthouse. If she could have, she should have been out on the streets—for Murphy's crime wave had not yet crested.

The streetwalkers didn't try the shopping center again, but new girls popped up on the court square, at gas stations, convenience stores, and motel lobbies. These were not vampires, but crack addicts, as were the thieves and burglars who had the city complaining about police inefficiency.

Church growled, “The stuff rots their brains. We've got to close that crack house!"

The pushers they caught were school kids, not adult suppliers. One of the children was Charlene Swenson, the girl who had fingered Rory Sanford. Brandy had to tell the girl's mother her daughter was found offering her classmates joints laced with rocks of crack.

Charlene was too smart to use; she was saving money to buy the Nintendo set her parents feared would interfere with her schoolwork. Darla Swenson listened to her daughter calmly explain her intentions, then turned to sob on Brandy's shoulder. “You told me to search my children's rooms, and I didn't do it. I trusted them. I thought they deserved their puh-puh-privacy!"

“Be thankful Charlene's not using,” said Brandy. “Talk her into giving up her supplier. Make a deal. She's a juvenile—once she's an adult her record will be sealed."

That perked Dr. Swenson up. “It will?"

“That's right. But Darla, you must get your family into counseling or you may lose Charlene long before then."

“I will,” the woman vowed. “We've always had a good relationship. I'm sure I can talk Charlene into cooperating with the police. After all, she did before."

But Charlene Swenson was a poor witness. She claimed she had been approached by a student whose family was moving to Albuquerque. The routine was established: after school each Thursday Charlene went to the bleachers at the athletic field. A high school kid would sit down next to her, and they would exchange drugs for money. It was a different kid each week, she said, but always with a plaid scarf wrapping his or her lower face against the cold.

“They come from behind me,” she added. “They told me not to look at them. One boy had a knife."