Silent Kills (29 page)

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Authors: C.E. Lawrence

BOOK: Silent Kills
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CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
Elena Krieger entered the conference room the next morning lugging three large department-store shopping bags, which she placed on the floor next to the long oval table. Detective Quinlan hadn’t arrived yet, so besides her only Lee and Butts were in the room.
“What’s all that?” Butts said, sniffing the air as though the bags contained airborne pathogens.
Krieger crossed her arms and cocked her head to one side.
“What are you planning to wear to the ball?”
Butts frowned. “I thought I’d go in my glass slippers.” She rolled her eyes. “You can’t just go as
yourselves.
The whole point of undercover work is to
blend in
. We all have to look like steampunk characters, or it won’t work. He’ll take one look at us and slip away into the night.”
The detective slung his chunky body into the nearest chair. “If he even shows
up
,” he sighed.
Krieger heaved the shopping bags onto the conference table.
“What’ve you got for us?” asked Lee.
“I’ve been shopping.” She dug some clothes out of the bag and flung them to Butts. “These are for you. Your character is a blimp pilot.”
Butts stared at her. “A
blimp
pilot?”
“Yes. According to my research, airships are very steampunk. You need to choose a suitably exotic Victorian name, like Percival Bluebottom or something like that.” She cocked her head to one side. “Yes, I like that—Percival Bluebottom works for you.”
“You do look like a Percival,” Lee said.
Butts held up the costume between his thumb and forefinger, as though it were roadkill. “
Goggles
? You want me to wear
goggles
?”
“Half the people there will be wearing them,” Lee pointed out.
“Exactly,” said Elena. “The idea is to blend in.” She tossed him an old-fashioned leather aviator cap. “See if it fits.”
Scowling, Butts pulled the leather cap over his head. It fit snugly, covering what little was left of his hair. He looked like a demented monk.
“You can wear the goggles like this,” Krieger said, fixing them on top of the cap. “You don’t have to put them over your eyes.”
“That’s definitely an improvement,” Lee said.
“Now let’s try on your coat,” she said, holding it out for him.
“How did you know what size to get?” Butts asked as he slipped into the full-length beige coat, which was sort of a cross between a trench coat and a straitjacket, with multiple straps and hooks and brass buttons.
Ignoring the question, she fastened some of the straps around his bulging belly. “Very nice. You actually look quite fetching.”
Lee had to admit the outfit was flattering. Instead of rumpled and disreputable, Butts looked exotic and almost dashing.
“And for you I have a gentleman explorer costume,” she told Lee, producing a starched white shirt, green leather vest, and grey striped trousers. Instead of an aviator cap, she handed him a silk top hat. “Goggles are optional on this one, though I did pick you up a pair just in case. I also have some more buckles and brass to give it more of a steampunk look, but this is a good base.”
“What about you?” Butts asked. He was admiring himself in the corner mirror, unable to entirely hide his pleasure in what he saw.
“I am going as an Egyptologist,” she said.
“Can we see?” Lee asked.
“Let’s not waste time on that now. We need to talk about our plan. Where’s Sergeant Quinlan?”
The door opened as if in response to her question.
“Sorry I’m late,” Quinlan said, closing the door behind him. He was out of breath and sweating. “I got a call about a new case in Murray Hill, thought it might be related, so I stopped by to have a look. Some poor bastard found dead in a country-and-western music club.”
“The Cowgirl Ranch?” Lee asked.
Quinlan blinked at him. “You know the place?”
“I’ve been there once or twice. Who’s the vic?”
“Some poor schmo by the name of Travis Gilbert. He was a regular. The owner found him in her office Sunday morning.”
“What was the C.O.D.?” Krieger asked.
“Too early to tell. He was pretty badly cut up, though.”
“Yeah?” Butts said. “What happened?”
“Whoever killed him also cut off his di—” He stopped himself and cleared his throat. With a glance at Krieger, he continued. “The perp also disfigured his genitals.” “Shit,” said Butts.
“Antemortem or postmortem?” Krieger asked calmly.
“There wasn’t a lot of blood at the scene, so we’re hopin’ it was after.” He shook his head. “Poor schmuck.” He looked at Lee. “Whoever killed him wanted to make a statement, that’s for sure.”
“That’s a fair conclusion,” Lee agreed.
“Do you have any idea what killed him?” Butts asked.
“Not until after the
PM
. Paramedics found a needle mark in his arm, though.”
“Druggie, maybe?” Butts suggested.
Quinlan shook his head. “That’s the thing—it was the only needle mark on him. No other obvious signs of drug abuse. Guy didn’t look like a junkie, and no one we’ve interviewed so far ever saw him shooting up. We’re waiting for the tox screen. Meanwhile, look at this.” He produced a piece of paper wrapped in a plastic evidence bag.
The three of them peered through the bag. In neat lettering was written what appeared to be a single stanza of song lyrics.
“What does it say?” Butts asked.
Quinlan picked up a Magic Marker and wrote on the whiteboard.
 
When the moon is full, give the Devil his due
Where is science now, what cares the moon?
Beware the madness at midnight
For my revenge falls upon you soon
 
“Jeez,” said Butts. “Either this is a revenge killing or someone is playing the misdirection game.”
“That’s just what I was thinking,” Quinlan agreed.
“Any prints on it?” asked Lee.
“Nope. Whoever did this knew his way around a crime scene. Probably wore gloves. We’re still lookin’ for trace, but it’s a long shot, unless we can match something with someone already in the system.”
“I wonder if the killer wrote the lyrics himself or borrowed them?” Butts mused, but Krieger was already typing into the laptop computer they had set up in the far end of the room.
“Bingo,” she said triumphantly. “Those lyrics are from a song by the group Calibrated Instruments.” She looked up at the others, her eyes wide. “Oh, my God—it’s that steampunk band.”
Everyone in the room had the same thought.
Butts was the first to speak. “Oh, shit. We’re in deep with this one.”
Lee couldn’t agree more. Their vampire did more than just drain his victims of blood. And his victim profile had just taken off in a new direction.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
Davey looked down at the body of his Aunt Rosa. She looked so peaceful, laid out on the big canopy bed—the same one his sister died in. He folded his hands and said a little prayer over her, the way he had been taught in church—the old King James Version, of course, which was so lovely and poetic, unlike the crappy new “modernized” verses they spoke in church nowadays.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
 
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
He licked his lips as he said these words. He could feel his thirst for blood stirring within him.
My cup runneth over ...
He looked at his aunt. Her eyes were closed, her hands folded over her lap—the same pose he remembered his sister in when he saw her for the last time in the great white coffin, surrounded by flowers.... He could smell the gardenias now, with their overpowering, sickly scent. He shuddered. He hated gardenias.
He smoothed a stray wisp of hair on Rosa’s forehead and gazed at her face, so peaceful, almost as though she were sleeping. Of course, he had to close her eyes—they were wide open when she died. He didn’t know people could die with their eyes open, so it was unnerving to see her staring up at him. He felt bad for her. She was his beloved Aunt Rosa—but she had walked in on him. He had no choice but to kill her. It was too bad, really. He wished he could share his triumph with her, his dark dream of immortality. The moment the girl’s blood mingled with his, he could feel his body become invigorated, more alive, and—yes, eternal.
The look on poor Aunt Rosa’s face when she saw his laboratory was almost funny. Her eyes got so wide, like a cartoon character, and her hand shot up to her mouth. She gave a little gasp, and when he came at her with the needle in his hand, she squeaked just like a mouse. He had never heard anyone make that sound before, and he almost laughed, though he stopped himself, because that would be wrong. He didn’t want her to think he took her death lightly. Afterwards, he felt very solemn about it. He had crossed some kind of line, he knew, though he wasn’t sure what that meant for his future.
And so he carried her up to the bedroom he kept so pristine, just as it had been when Edwina was alive. He slept in his old bedroom down the hall, so this could be Rosa’s room from now on. Of course there was no question of treating her like the others. It would be a sacrilege to defile his dear aunt’s body, and besides, her blood was tainted, like everyone else in his family.
He gently removed her coat and pulled the crumpled bakery bag from its pocket. He loved the promise of white bakery bags with their soft wax finish and fragrant, mysterious contents. It was the promise of abundance and nourishment, the ineffable sweetness of childhood. He was in search of a darker fruit, though, his soul committed to a path of no return. And yet he never really believed he would be caught—people like him never did, he had read. Arrogant, they called him—well, so be it, he thought as he prepared the equipment. They hadn’t caught up with him yet—maybe his arrogance was justified.
He bent down and kissed her forehead, then tiptoed out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. She looked like she could use some rest. He would come in to check on her later.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
“Shit,” Butts said. “If this ain’t our perp, I’ll eat my—”
“I think we can do without
that
visual,” Krieger interrupted.
Butts frowned. “I was gonna say—”
“Whatever it was you were about to offer to consume, I’m fairly certain I’ve seen you eat worse things.” She looked at Lee. “Do you agree that this is the work of the so-called Van Cortlandt Vampire?”
“I think it’s very possible,” he said.
“Well, this time he got sloppy—he may have left DNA at the scene,” Quinlan said. “There’s some blood that might have come from the killer.”
Butts frowned. “That doesn’t do us much good unless he’s already in the system and we can get a match.”
“Or if we apprehend him,” said Krieger.
“Yeah, sure,” Butts agreed. “But it won’t help us find him.”
“So you really think it’s him?” Quinlan asked Lee. “He didn’t drain the guy’s blood. Plus, the vic is a man.”
“But the notes,” Lee said. “Same block handwriting, song lyrics from the same steampunk group.”
Krieger frowned. “Could it be a copycat?”
“Those details weren’t released to the public. What are the chances of two killers using the same signature?”
“Pretty slim,” Quinlan agreed. “And I know somethin’ about odds.”
“Really?” said Butts. “How so?”
“I worked undercover as a bookie as part of a mob sting. Wore a wire, tried to get somethin’ we could use in court.”
“Did you?” asked Krieger.
Quinlan shook his head. “Naw. Almost got killed once or twice by wise guys who thought I was holdin’ out on them. Worried every day I might get busted and end up floatin’ in the East River.”
“The Gowanus Canal,” said Krieger.
“What?”
“That’s where they dump the bodies—the Gowanus Canal.” She shrugged in response to his look. “I’ve done some undercover work myself.”
“Rough stuff,” Quinlan said. “I didn’t like it much.”
“Well, you won’t have to do it in this case,” Butts said. “We need someone outside the building to cover his escape route.”
Quinlan looked puzzled. “What are you talking about?”
Krieger smiled. “Oh, haven’t you heard? We’re going to a ball.”
They filled him in on Ruggles’s computer research, and the plan to attend the steampunk ball in Troy.
“You really think he’ll be there?” said Quinlan.
“If he’s not, I’ll—” Butts began, but Krieger interrupted him.
“Please don’t offer to consume anything else.”
“I was going to say I’ll feel damn stupid walkin’ around dressed as a blimp pilot. Come to think of it, I’ll feel damn stupid even if he
is
there.”
“Have you contacted the Troy cops?” asked Quinlan.
“Yeah,” Butts said. “They’re willing to post one patrol car outside the building, but say that’s all they can spare.”
“It’d be good to have at least one guy on foot outside,” Quinlan said. “Troy’s got a lot of alleys.”
“You know the city?” asked Lee.
“My cousin lives there. I know it well enough, and if someone wanted to disappear on foot, it’d be pretty easy.”
“That’s where you come in,” said Krieger.
“Why can’t I be that guy?” asked Butts. “Let Quinlan wear the damn costume.”
Krieger gazed at him with disdain. “Really, Detective? Are you seriously suggesting we leave you outside to pursue the suspect
on foot
?”
Butts scowled at her and turned away.
“Look,” Quinlan said. “If it makes you feel any better, I used to run track in school. I know I’ve lost a few steps, but I can still run.”
Krieger smirked and crossed her arms. “Case closed.”
If only
, Lee thought.

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