The Creeping Dead: A Zombie Novel (30 page)

* * *

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” said Mayor McDonald. “Someone killed Billy Blake?”

“That’s right,” said Holbrook, “and we’ve got two missing persons.”

“The clown and Sophia Russo.”

“That’s right.”

“The clown will pop up again once he’s sobered up, and I’m sure your officers will find Sophia Russo.”

“The thing is, the storm’s coming, and we’ve got to prepare for the possibility of flooding. I’d like to find Sophia Russo before the storm makes landfall.”

“So, what are you trying to say?” asked Mayor McDonald.

“I’m trying to say that we’re going to need all the resources we can use. I think we should cancel Circus Faire.”

Mayor McDonald chortled. “Cancel Circus Faire. Are you kidding? The Smuggler’s Bay Small Business Association will have my guts for garters if I authorize that, not to mention the Town Council.”

“Chris,” pleaded Holbrook, “I need every able body I’ve got.”

The Mayor waved a dismissive hand. “You can investigate Billy Blake’s murder afterwards. I think finding Sophia Russo should be the priority.”

“And what about the storm?”

“The various models say there’s only a five percent or less chance that the two storm fronts will merge. I’m not financially handicapping the boardwalk businesses for a snowball’s chance in hell. The economy is still in the toilet, and those small businesses need all the revenue they can get their hands on.”

“But, I’m going to need all hands on deck. Policing the parade is a task in itself.”

“Jim, all of the clowns who got plastered last night and raised hell are sobering up. With the storm coming, they’ll be scurrying out of the Bay like cockroaches by tonight.”

“What about storm preparation? We’ll need sandbags for the small businesses. We may need to evacuate.”

“Not likely, and if you do, you’ll worry about that tomorrow. Right now you need to find Sophia Russo.”

Holbrook shook his head. He wasn’t getting anywhere with the Mayor. “I’m going to have to use some overtime.”

“For what, Jim? It’s a small island. You’ll find her.”

“What about the State Police?”

“By the time they mobilize, trust me, you’ll already have found her. Use the auxiliary police. They’re volunteers.”

“So now you’re saying I can’t use overtime?”

“Jim, you’re panicking for nothing. This isn’t like you. You’re normally one cool customer.”

The back-handed compliment only stoked Holbrook’s already rising temper. “Chris, if we don’t find Sophia Russo before this storm hits, it’s going to be real bad press for the Bay. The Russo’s will file a lawsuit.”

The Mayor’s eyes widened. Now Holbrook was speaking his language. “So why are you wasting time here arguing with me? Get out there and find her. I hold you personally responsible.”

That was it. Holbrook really wanted to give McDonald a piece of his mind, but the jerk was right. There wasn’t time to waste.

“Now if you don’t mind,” said the Mayor, “I have to get ready for the parade. I know you’ll get the job done, Jim. You always do.”

Holbrook replaced his hat.

“One more thing, Jim.”

Holbrook waited.

Mayor McDonald sighed and sucked his teeth. “I’m sure you have an alibi for last night when Billy Blake was murdered.”

“Of course I do. I was at home with my wife. All night.”

The Mayor held up his hands defensively. “There’s no need to get sore about it, Jim. I have to ask, and you know damned well why.”

Holbrook shrugged. “Well, now that you mention it, my wife didn’t have eyes on me
all
night. She did fall asleep. I guess I could’ve snuck out and killed Billy Blake, but there’s only one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d have had to get on a long line that would’ve stretched down the boardwalk.”

McDonald frowned, disapproving of Holbrook’s poor taste in jokes, but he didn’t argue the point. Hell, he figured there weren’t many in Smuggler’s Bay who would’ve argued the point.

Holbrook nodded and stormed out of the Mayor’s office.
Arrogant son-of-a-bitch.
But there was no time for any of that. There was too much to do, and time was running out.

When Holbrook reached the station, he saw two ambulances out front, and the two clowns from the Ocean’s Gate Motel were being loaded into each. Joann stood by the front door with her plastic gloves still on.

Holbrook waved to her, and she waited for him.

“What the hell happened here?”

“The one clown went berserk and plunged a pen into the other clown’s leg. When Pike put him in a cell to cool off, he bit the end of his own tongue off and attacked Pike, who had to Taser him.”

“Is Pike okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. He’s cleaning the cell up. There’s blood everywhere, and…”

“Yeah? What?”

“The tongue’s still moving.” She turned to go inside, and Holbrook held the door for her. “That’s not the only thing,” she continued.

“Oh yeah?”

Joann walked side-by-side with Holbrook through the station. “The drunk in the next cell, as it turns out, knows something about what might’ve happened to Billy Blake last night.”

Holbrook led her to his office and held the door open for her. Joann entered and sat in front of his desk. Holbrook closed the door behind him, rounded his desk, and took a seat. “So what does this guy know?”

“He said he saw Billy get into it with a bunch of clowns, out-of-towners. Billy left the bar to cool off, and they followed him.”

There was a knock on the office door. It was Lawson. Holbrook waved him in. He slipped into the office and closed the door behind him.

“What is it?” Holbrook asked.

“I interviewed the bartender at the Jolly Roger who was on last night. She saw Billy with Johnny Wong shooting pool. Billy got into a dust-up with one of the clowns and stormed out. The clown rounded up a posse and they left the bar in a hurry.”

Holbrook regarded Lawson with a quizzical expression. “Why are you talking like a cowboy?”

Lawson looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Never mind. Continue.”

“I talked to Johnny, and his version matched. He said when he saw the clowns following Billy, he ran outside, but no one was there.”

“Interesting.”

“There’s something else,” said Lawson. “The bartender said Billy was having a beer or two with Marie Russo.”

“Marie Russo? That’s weird.”

“The bartender thought so, too. It gets even more interesting. They seemed to be having a friendly conversation, flirty even, when Marie excused herself to go to the restroom. Billy followed, and they were gone for a bit. Then, Marie stormed out in a huff.”

Holbrook shook his head. “He probably made a pass at her. I wouldn’t make much of it. I’m more interested in the posse of clowns.” Holbrook was playing with a pen, lost in thought. “More clowns. I’ve had it up to here with clowns. In any event, we have to put the Billy Blake murder investigation on hold.”

Joann pursed her lips. “How’d your meeting with the Mayor go?”

“He wants us to focus on finding Sophia Russo, and I agree. Joann, I need you to mobilize the auxiliary. They can help with crowd control at the parade and help with the search. Any word on the missing clown?”

“Not yet, Chief,” said Lawson.

Breslin knocked at the door. Holbrook saw her through the window and waved her in. “Great. More good news.”

“We got a call from Alice Krueger from the Ocean’s Gate.”

“Great,” huffed Holbrook. “Tell her she’ll have to wait to go after those clowns for the damages to her rooms.”

Breslin shook her head. “No, she said her son, Lenny, said he saw what happened last night.”

Holbrook dropped his pen on the desk. “You mean with our two clowns?”

“Yes, Chief.”

“Go check it out.”

“Jim,” said Joann, “I think I should be the one to go.”

Holbrook shook his head. “Negative. I need you to mobilize the auxiliary.”

Joann put her hand on Jim’s desk as if to impress the importance of her point. “Lenny Krueger is tough to understand, and he probably won’t open up to Anne. He’s got a little crush on me. I think I can get him to talk. Jim, if we want Sophia Russo found, we need every lead we can get.”

Holbrook considered this for a moment. “Good. You do that. Lawson, brief the auxiliary on our missing person situation, and get them out there canvassing the town.”

“Yes, Chief.” Lawson bolted out of the office with his instructions.

Joann smiled and left to head off to the Ocean’s Gate. Breslin stood there awaiting her instructions.

“Okay, Breslin. You’re going to be handing out sandbags on the boardwalk to homeowners and business owners. I’ll get cooking on evacuation protocol.”

“Got it, Chief.”

She left the office, and Holbrook picked up his phone. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Linda MacAteer curled up on her suede designer couch in her air conditioned condominium with a good cozy mystery when her phone rang. She looked above her spectacles at the phone in rebuke and waited for it to go to voicemail. When all was silent again, she continued to read her book.

Then her cell phone started ringing.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake. On a Saturday!” She reached out, picked it up, and answered the call. “What is it, Alan?”

“I-I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t do it.”

“Calm down, Alan,” she said in a severe tone, like a mother scolding a child. “Is everything okay?”

“No, everything’s not okay. I just can’t do this anymore. I’m resigning.”

“What do you mean you’re resigning? Alan, what’s wrong.”

“Everything’s wrong. What we’re doing on the dementia unit is wrong. We need to report this to the CDC.”

Annoyed at the openness with which Yost was speaking about this, MacAteer quickly checked the number he was calling from. She was relieved to see that he was in his office and not on the unit. “Alan, you wait right there. I’m coming. We’ll talk about this. If you’re uncomfortable, I’m sure we can work it out,” she lied.

There was a pause.

“Alan?”

“Yeah, I heard you. Hurry up. I’ll wait.”

“I’ll be over in fifteen minutes. I’m leaving now.”

“Okay. I’m in my office. I’ll wait.” He hung up the phone.

That pussy.
So there was a limit to Alan Yost’s moral flexibility. Apparently, the kickback he was receiving wasn’t enough.

MacAteer got up, tossing her book aside and losing her place in her haste. She grabbed her keys off her white marble landing pad by her front door and dashed out to her car. She looked up at the overcast sky and felt the electricity in the air.

A storm was brewing.

When she dashed through the front doors of the nursing home, she didn’t even acknowledge the security guard. She made a beeline for the elevator, got off on the sixth floor, and pounded on her Assistant Director of Nursing’s door.

When he answered the door, she pushed her way past him and into the office.

Yost slowly closed the door and turned to face his boss. “Linda, we have to talk.”

“This better be good, considering it’s Saturday, and I’m sick of being here. What is it?” she demanded.

Yost picked a piece of paper off of his desk and handed it to her.

She snatched it from his hands and quickly read it.

She threw the paper back at him. “I can’t accept this.”

“You have no choice.”

“What’s the problem? Everything’s going fine. It’s all under control.”

“No, it isn’t. People are getting hurt. This is a potential disaster—we’re talking possible epidemic here—not to mention Medicaid fraud.”

MacAteer’s eyes narrowed. “Why the sudden cold feet? Why now?”

“I just feel like we’re going to get caught at some point. The staff is going to notice something different. For crying out loud, we have almost an entire locked unit filled with residents with no vitals.”

“No one’s noticing anything, Alan. It’s all in your imagination. You’re getting paranoid.”

“Linda, we’re up for survey any week now.”

“Please. You know the State never looks too closely at the locked unit. They know they can’t interview severely demented residents. As long as the documentation is in order, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Yost looked down at his feet, as if in shame. “I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks.”

“Take a damned sleep aid. We’ve got plenty around here.”

“Mr. Russo called Renee.”

MacAteer’s lip curled up in a snarl. “What did he want? His mother’s not our problem anymore.”