Red Tide: The Flavel House Horror / Vampires of the Morgue (The Ian McDermott, Ph.D., Paranormal Investigator Series Book 2) (5 page)

Officer Parker paused for a few seconds to collect his thoughts, then continued. “Ian, just to keep the record straight, I know some things about you. For instance, I already knew that years ago you were in Scotland chasing after that Loch Ness Monster or some such crap. Doing your, at that time … job. I’ve been informed that people who go around looking for things like Big Foot
and the Loch Ness Monster, and that … that
Moth Man
for that matter are sometimes referred to as cryptozoologists. Typically assumed to be pseudo-science. One that’s generally thought to attract mainly hoaxsters and crazies.

“You didn’t think we were gonna even consider entering into any type of cooperative arrangement with just anyone, did you? But I also know you’re different. The exception to the rule. For instance, I know that over the years, you’ve investigated Big Foot
throughout the Pacific Northwest, and in doing so have actually debunked a lot of hoaxes along the way. And you’re the guy who once got a lot of press and were famous for a time for catching some thought-to-be-extinct fish off, I believe …”

Ian interrupted, “Madagascar. We found it in the waters off of Madagascar.”

Officer Parker continued, “Yeah … right. Anyway, I know more about you than that. Like the terrible thing that happened to your wife and daughter. Very sorry for your loss, by the way.”

Ian didn’t reply or look in anyway surprised by all that Officer Parker knew about him. It was the police that he was dealing with, after all. He fully expected that his background would be checked into regardless of the recommendation from Sheriff Charlie Redtail.

Ian opened the file folder and started skimming some of its contents before he commented, “Well, this will help me get up to speed and maybe help with some direction.”

Officer Parker smiled slightly and nodded just as slightly in agreement. “Okay, Ian. Since I’ve been calling you by your first name, I want you to return the favor. My name’s Ned.” Officer Ned Parker put out his right hand. The two men shook hands.

“Ian, I’m not here to tell you how to conduct your business.” Officer Parker paused as if to collect his thoughts. Ian thought to himself how much he hated open-ended, trite, semi-reassuring platitudes.

Officer Parker continued, “It’s your business. I mean you investigate this thing any way you see fit, as long as it doesn’t break any of the laws that count. But my dime-store advice that’s worth about a plug nickel’s this. I’d start by coloring your hair dark. Black would be best. And maybe visit our Goodwill store downtown and pick up some clothes that don’t make you look like a stockbroker on his day off or anything that’d make you look like a used car salesman, especially for when you visit the club. Remember, it’s called The Morgue. Maybe for good reason. If you’ve got a laptop or smart phone, or a tablet, you can Google for the look of a Goth clubber easily enough.”

Ian replied, “I … Right now, I don’t have a computer, but I pretty much know the look you’re talking about. I’ll maybe go to an Internet café or a library and get online. I’ve been meaning to pick up another computer ever since mine completely crashed a while back. I just haven’t got around to it yet.”

Parker looked directly into Ian’s eyes. “Well anyway, I’ll bet that Chief Mooney referred to Salizzar and his club-goers as Satanists or some type of cult. From what I’ve been able to dig up on Salizzar and his club, the place is a nightclub for those underground Gothic types and for wanna-be vampire role players and generally fucked-up clubbers. You’ve no doubt heard of the types that hang out at those – usually in big cities – underground counterculture occult clubs. Club goers that cut a willing donor and drink small quantities of their blood to supposedly get some kind of physiological high. You know, all that master-slave sadomasochistic bullshit! Well, anyway, the very idea of it … ever since that article appeared just a couple days ago in the
Oregonian
– even just uttering the word vampire – and the chief goes nuts! He’s made it plenty clear that any officer he hears using the “V” word, after being fired, would be lucky to get a job working security for Wal-Mart. I suspect it was that article in the
Oregonian
that brought you to us in the first place.” Ian looked directly at Officer Parker as he half-grinned and gave a quarter nod, silently indicating that was a fact.

“So far, due to our office having some limited influence with our local paper, the
Daily Astorian
, they haven’t gone so far as to label these as anything so fantastic, but due to the number and the nature of the killings, I fear it’s just a matter of time.”

Ian understood why Chief Mooney did not want the press spinning and printing anything for the public to read that would even remotely draw a connection to any possible vampire-cult murderous activities. The spread of any such rumor, even if it had a ringing of truth behind it, could cause massive panic and even the possibility of an angry mob looking to exact revenge outside of the law on Salizzar and his people.

Ian silently mulled over the concept of the murders being connected in any way to Satanists. That notion had been around so long that it had become its own pop-cultural stereotype, over-sensationalized in film to the extent that the public thought of it as somewhat Charles Manson-y passe. But vampiric slayings? That was another thing altogether.

“Well, Ian, that’s about all I’ve got for now, except your Jeep … It stands out like a sore thumb. Be careful you’re not being followed, especially whenever you leave the club. This is a pretty good place to meet. There’s only one way up and one way down, and you can see everyone coming and going. So unless otherwise notified, let’s use this place to rendezvous as needed.” Officer Parker pointed to a file as he spoke. “Inside that file folder, you’ll see my personal cell phone number. I’ve got yours from the business card that you gave the chief. Oh, and Ian, Chief Mooney told me you pack a piece. A little pea-shooter. A small Beretta. Undercover work can of course be very dangerous, and that could prove handy. Just make damn sure it doesn’t get you into more trouble legal-wise than it’s worth.”

Ian shuddered ever so slightly as he silently reminisced on what he’d been forced to do with it back at Harmony Falls.
I never want to have to use “Ole Caretaker” again like that, silver bullets or otherwise.
Ian started to collect all of the material and put his hand on the inside car-door handle.

“Oh, one more thing.” Parker opened his glove box and retrieved a fat, white business-sized envelope and handed it to Ian. “This is some seed money. That club, what with the cost of getting in and drinks and such, won’t be cheap. Neither will picking up some new rags and whatever else that’ll help you look the part. Also, Ian, just ‘cause this guy Salizzar or one or more of his freak clubbers is our primary suspect, keep in mind it could be someone else entirely. Could be someone like maybe a religious nut-job who thinks he’s doing God’s work by getting rid of the trash in this town and is trying to make it look like Salizzar’s behind it all. I mean, the fit’s so obvious. Maybe too obvious! Sometimes I wonder if we’re being overzealous regarding concentrating so hard just on Salizzar. But rest assured we aren’t ruling out anyone who fits the profile, so to speak. We’re actively looking into all the angles. We’ve already had plenty of the typical phone-ins and drop-ins at the station by whackos claiming they’re our man or woman. Plus, tons of bullshit leads. None of them at all credible on any level, just the typical mental cases. But still, it’s been my experience that where there’s smoke, there’s usually fire. I’m pretty confident the smart money’s on Salizzar or one or more of his cronies. That or someone that frequents that club. There’s where we’re gonna solve this. All of the victims so far … they fit the assumable age demographic of clubbers. Most so far have been young, twenty-something women. A couple were runaways, prostitutes. All out-of-towners. Again, so far. The bodies have all been recovered within a mile of the club, usually so messed up we’ve had to rely on dental records to make positive identifications of the ones we could.”

Ian replied, “Thanks, uh … Ned. And yeah, I agree. Though one thing seems especially strange.”

Officer Parker interjected, “What’s that?”

Ian cleared his throat and continued. “Why this town? I mean apparently, up till now, he’s been a big city operator.”

Parker shrugged at that but then replied, “Maybe it’s ‘cause of our deep-water port, which would give immediate access to ocean-going vessels perfect for smuggling drugs or, more likely, body parts and organs. There’s that, and our small size, meaning limited police resources, yet our relatively close proximity to Portland and Seattle; it makes us a perfect distribution center for – and I say it again – drug trafficking and/or peddling human blood and organs on the black market. The club’s probably just a front. You know, like a fishing lure, bait for a trap. Or, a money laundry. Hell, likely both. We may be just a bit lacking in certain aspects of law enforcement, but our strength around here’s our near immediate access to the Coast Guard. And they’ve already been alerted to keep an extra eye on boats going to and from Salizzar’s place. They’re watching for scuba-divers that may attempt to rendezvous with ships dropping off or picking up cargo intentionally deposited into the river. The Coast Guard knows that Salizzar’s club is a place of high interest to us regarding potential smuggling or worse. Who knows? They might even be in the white slavery market. I wouldn’t rule it out, especially with his Eastern European connections. Anyway, we’ve had to invent every reason in the book to randomly pull over and check out various booze and food delivery trucks to the place. So far, we’ve been denied by the court to do any wire-tapping, but we’re making progress on that. I think we’re getting close. We’ve put undercover officers in the place a couple-few times, but male or female, I think they’re made before they even entered the club. Like I said, with the kind of money Salizzar’s been spreading around town, the walls of the station just might have ears.”

Ian knew that the police’s efforts and Officer Parker’s theories all had merit. They made perfectly good, logical sense as very real possibilities to consider.

Officer Parker suddenly seemed to run out of verbal fuel. Ian could tell that for the time being, there was nothing further to say. Ian looked directly into Parker’s eyes and slowly nodded, intent on letting him know that he understood the gravity and copious danger involved with proceeding with his private investigation of Salizzar and The Morgue nightclub. Ian maintained a good poker face, but the truth was he was starting to get an icy cold feeling in places other than his feet.

Without another word spoken by either man, Ian climbed out of Officer Parker’s car and started walking back to his Jeep. Ian heard Parker start his car. He turned around briefly and watched for a moment as Parker backed his car out of its parking spot, then turned and began driving off, exiting the parking lot in the only direction there was to go. Ian thought to himself,
One way up … one way down.

Scout had been waiting patiently for about twenty minutes. Ian reached into his denim work-style jacket pocket and retrieved the filled-to-obesity business-sized white envelope. Leaning up against the side of his Jeep, Ian looked with astonishment at the contents, all one hundred dollar bills. He then unlocked his Jeep, climbed into the driver’s seat, and began counting his cash as he spoke out loud to Scout. “Holy cow-pie. How much did Charlie tell these guys is my going rate? There must be … twenty-eight … twenty-nine … thirty. There’s three thousand bucks here. I tell ya boy, nowadays, it’s not so much what you know, it’s who you know. That, and whatever you’ve done lately. That’s what makes or breaks ya.” Ian looked upwards like he was talking to the heavens themselves and exclaimed, almost shouting, “THANK YOU, CHARLIE!”

CHAPTER 4

Once Bitten

Not five minutes had gone by since Officer Ned Parker’s return to the station. He was just leaving the chief’s office, having given Chief Mooney an update on his and Ian’s intended future black-op investigatory activities, when all at once a heavy-set upper-middle-aged black woman came bursting into the front door of the police station. She was in near hysterics as she stood wildly wide-eyed just inside the threshold of the foyer, desperately attempting to catch her breath.

The woman was soaked and soiled from head to foot. To even the most amateur eyes, she looked to be a battle-torn casualty of some small war.

She was dressed in a tattered, dark purple, white polka-dotted semi-muumuu and once white, seamless, diabetic-approved stockings. No shoes. Her hair was as rain-soaked and dirty as her clothing. She looked completely disheveled, like she’d been a front row spectator of a hurricane. The woman had thick tears and mascara tracks running from the corners of her eyes down her cheeks. It appeared to everyone in the room, officers and citizens alike, that the woman was desperately trying to speak but nothing was coming out. After a few of what appeared to be painful attempts to speak, she feverishly began swallowing, gulping, and gasping as if attempting to swallow something the size of a jaw-breaker. A female plainclothes officer rapidly approached the woman and tried to grab and steady her since the woman looked like she might be having a seizure or perhaps some sort of cardiac event. But the woman pushed the officer away with all her might as she made one more painful effort to speak. This time, she managed to muster up an audible voice that, after a few seconds, manifested itself as a blood-curdling scream. “MA! MA! MURDER!!!”

Having heard all of the commotion, Officer Ned Parker ran into the front room of the police station. He then ran over to the woman, who was barely being held upright by the female officer. Ned Parker blurted out, “Okay, okay. Officer … Maggie … I’ve got her too.” Ned wrapped his left arm around the large woman’s underarm and back. “Maggie, let’s get her over to that chair.” Ned gave a slight nod of his chin and pointed with his eyes over at the nearest interrogation desk and chairs.

The large woman was shaking profusely as she stumbled, barely managing with the two officers’ assistance to make it over to the chair. Once the officers had the woman seated, Ned nodded and winked at the female officer, indicating that, being the senior officer, he would take the lead. The female officer frowned but quickly acquiesced to Ned pulling rank on her.

Ned spoke slowly and clearly while looking directly into the woman’s blank-looking, blood-shot eyes. “Uh, ma’am, are you having any sort of medical emergency?”

After a few seconds of silence, the woman looked up at Ned, still trembling, as she began murmuring “Murder” over and over but just barely loud enough for him to hear.

Ned looked over at the female officer. “Maggie. This lady’s in some kind of traumatic shock. Go across the street and see if you can get that shrink. What’s ‘er name?”

Maggie replied, “You mean Doctor Tate? Doctor Selma Tate, I think’s her name.”

Ned fired back tersely, “Yeah, right. Good. Whatever. Get her over here if she’s in. Tell her we’ve got a bit of a situation. Tell her … Ah hell, tell her whatever it takes to get her ass over here as soon as possible! Got it? Now … Go!” Maggie turned and in a near jog headed towards the front door of the police station.

Ned spoke in a kind, calm voice to the large woman. “I’m gonna leave you but only for a few seconds. You’re safe here. Whatever’s happened to you, you’re safe now. I’m going to get you a blanket to help get you warmed up a bit. I’ll get you a cup of hot coffee too if you’d like?” The woman managed to nod her head beyond its trembling, indicating that she understood Ned and that she’d like some coffee. True to his word, Ned was back in moments with a blanket and a cup of steaming hot coffee.

“Here ya go.” Ned said as he wrapped the blanket around the nearly catatonically-in-shock woman. He then sat himself in a chair by the desk.

“Can you tell me your name?” Ned asked, speaking slowly and in a calm, soothing voice.

The lady, hands trembling badly, picked the cup of coffee up and with some difficulty managed to take a sip just before, to Ned’s surprise, she spoke. “S… Sally’s my … My name’s … Sally.”

After noticing for the first time that the woman had a large, marquise-cut solitaire diamond wedding ring on her finger Ned thought to himself,
Any mugger I’ve ever known would have snatched that ring, even if it meant whacking her finger off to get it.

Ned continued, “Ma’am. Sally. What is it that you keep saying?”

Sally started trembling more violently and either would not or simply could not answer.

“Okay. Um … all right. Sally, darlin,’ I know you’re having a hard time finding your words right now. Uh, how ‘bout you just nod or shake your head to answer my questions?”

That worked. Sally, though her entire body was shaking badly, managed to slowly nod.

“Sally, honey … Did you say, and I’m just guessing here, murder?” Ned asked softly. Sally nodded her head.

“Okay. All right, now we’re getting somewhere. Sally, did you … Were you forced to … Sweetheart, did you see someone hurt or have to hurt someone?” Sally didn’t respond. Ned paused to collect his thoughts, then continued his questioning.

“Sally, did you fear for your life and maybe had to hurt someone ‘cause they were hurting you or were about to hurt you? Or did you witness someone hurt someone else?”

Still, Sally said nothing. Her eyes were glazed over, and she had a blank, far away expression on her face.

Normally, it wasn’t in Ned’s makeup to infantilize anyone he questioned. But his instincts told him this would be the only approach right now that might eventually bear fruit. Ned felt sweet talk was the best approach given her present state of near catatonia. His experience told him if she were lying down right now, she’d probably be rocking back and forth in a near fetal-like position.

After a few minutes of silence, Sally began slowly but very apparently intentionally shaking her tremor-bobbing head as she said, “No-suhr. I didn’t kill nobody! But I seen … I seen …” Sally just couldn’t bring herself to finish telling Ned what she’d witnessed.

But Ned felt he was on the verge of a communication breakthrough. “Okay. Honey … Sally … did you witness something bad?”

All at once, Sally’s eyes opened wider than Ned had ever seen anyone’s open … as she screamed out, “YES-’EM … I SEEN THE DEVIL-MONSTER … DONE KILL MY MAN!”

Ned was startled by Sally suddenly opening up, but before he had a chance to ask Sally any more questions, he spotted Maggie and the doctor from next door. He watched appreciatively as the attractive doctor of psychiatry sashayed her way across the station in her two-piece, perfectly figure-fitting, gray flannel skirted suit and white designer silk blouse.

Ned, though semi-happily married, enjoyed watching the fine-looking doctor come and go from her office across the street whenever timing permitted. His department had successfully used her services a few times over the last couple of years, mostly when dealing with runaways. Ned daydreamed for a brief moment as the lady doctor and Maggie were less than ten feet away from him and closing fast,
She’s the perfecta-trifecta. Smart, beautiful, and blonde.

Maggie made a point of mentioning all of the hats Ned had worn in their small department since he pulled rank on her earlier as she introduced him. “Um, Selma ... I mean, Doctor Tate, this is Special Liaison Officer and acting Deputy Chief Lieutenant Ned Parker.”

Maggie continued, “And this is the woman that I spoke to you about.”

Ned interjected to assert himself. “Doctor Tate, very nice that you could come over. I’d like to introduce you to Sally.” Maggie lifted her eyebrows and nodded slightly as she flashed Ned a congratulatory smile that he’d gotten that much out of the woman. Maggie then turned and left Ned and the doctor.

Doctor Tate extended her right hand to Ned. “Ned. May I call you by your first name?”

Ned smiled as he replied, “Only if quid pro quo applies, Selma.” They both smiled and laughed.

Selma continued, “Ned, we met around nine months ago I believe. Your department asked me to review the physiological health of a teen runaway. I’ve done some other work for your department but directed through case-workers, not yourself.”

Ned spoke up. “That’s right. You’ve a good memory. You’ve got a great reputation with our department.”

After a long, extended handshake, Ned slowly retracted his right hand. “Good. Great! Uh, anyway, Doctor … I mean Selma. This here’s Sally. She’s … I mean I think maybe Sally here’s been through something awful, and she’d like to tell us all about it. But she’s having a tough time. Aren’t you, Sally …?”

Ned quickly retrieved another chair for Selma, who smiled graciously, then sat down facing Sally.

“Sally. That is your name, correct?” Selma asked point-blank in a calm, collected voice. Sally looked up from the ground at Selma. Without much hesitation, she sheepishly answered, “Yes ‘em.”

Selma smiled and glanced over at Ned, who was now also seated near the desk that they were all huddled around.

Once again, Selma fired off a direct question in a perfectly base-line voice. “Sally. Are you hurt?”

Sally answered, “No … nut very bad. Juz my neck got pecked at some.” Sally’s arms were wrapped around herself with her hands tucked under her armpits. She began rocking back and forth in her chair.

Selma continued, “Sally, I see you’re wearing a ring. Did your husband hurt you?”

That question seemed to bring Sally out of her near trancelike state before she answered, “No! No, ma’am. My man, he don’t hurt me. He don’t hurt nobody!”

To both Ned and Selma’s surprise, Sally stopped rocking back and forth. She took a series of deep breaths and let the air out of her lungs slowly each time. It was apparent to both Ned and Selma that Sally was desperately trying to will herself, at least momentarily, to a functioning level of lucidity.

Sally took in then let out one more long breath of air before beginning to speak as clearly as she could muster, “My … my … husband … Loren … Loren Robinson … He was my beautiful man … My man for over twenty-three years, and now he dead. He da only one a us works. Now he dun got killed. What am I ta do? God’n heaven, what I ta do now?” Sally paused and took three more deep breaths. Her lips were quivering as she began to speak once again. “We been vacationin’ here at da ocean. My man took me out fo’ a fine dinner.”

Selma glanced for a second over at Ned and gave him a subtle nod. She knew from experience that Sally was about to open up and tell her tale as best she could. Ned understood Selma’s signal. He grabbed a notepad and pen and was all ears.

Selma then directed her attention back on Sally, then spoke directly, “Sally, who killed your husband? Sally, who killed Loren?”

Sally’s eyes got wide as she blurted out, “Da Devil got ‘em. I know it sound crazy, Mister … Ma’am … But believe me, be’n country don’t mean be’n dumb! I know what I seen! Da Devil, he was like a man, but he ain’t no human man. Da Devil, he a monster. Maybe some kind a ALIEN! All I know fo’ sure is he done snatched up my big man and took ‘em up in the sky. Da Devil, him first try ta get me ‘cept my man, Loren, he a BIG powerful man! Him’s was a pofesh-nel football player way back-n da day. Owe he beat dat devil-monster back and good fo’ a bit. Not good’nuff fo’ long, ‘cause come find out he come back! No man can beat da Devil back too long ‘cause dat devil-monster he done got up from a terrible beat’n by my man … an he done snatched my Loren up. He done snatched my beautiful man up and tooks ‘em away!”

Ned couldn’t help himself but fire off a question of his own. “Sally. What – what do you mean by some devil, or monster snatched up Loren?”

Sally looked all around the room as if it were spinning, then she glanced over at Ned before looking down at the ground as she spoke.

“We orig’nally fum Acadiana, outside New Iberia … Loosiana. Tell, affa Katrina done wiped us out! Den me and my man, we move ta Portland, far from da hur-canes! We juz come here to da beach fo few days. We was down at da docks laz-night look’n fo good place ta eat real late. We was walk’n in da moonlight once stopped rain’n. Den … from nowhere dahre he be. Da Devil himself. Da Devil, he got eyes dat’s on fy-ehr. And him has da foulest breath! His teeth juz like da Bible say. Day were like dat of a dragon. Him had dragon’s teeth!”

Ned replied, “Dragon’s teeth? You mean like fangs?”

Sally replied, “Yes-suhr.”

Ned fired off another couple of questions. “Sally, have you been just walking around since last night? I mean, where’ve you been since then? It’s midmorning.”

Sally rolled her eyes around as she spoke. “Been sleep’n da car … Don’t know fo’ how long. Woke’d up juz fo’ sunrise cuz some damn bird I neva seen, but felt, had been peck’n at my neck mayhaps most all night! When I woke’d, I’z too sick ta drive. So’s I’z walked … I’z walked he-ahr. Wazza-convertible car. Dat devil-monster done tore dat rag-top clean off and done took my man! Done tore’d dat roof clean off! My man ne-ahr five hunded pounds! Devil Monster flew way with my man ... up in da air ... Devil flew way with my man like him weigh no mo din a baby. Da Devil, him looks like a giant man-bat ... and him can FLY! Him can fly. Him can ...”