| |
As they drove towards Seattle, Damian reached over and took Selina’s hand. “We will figure this out, Carina,” he said, “and then your girls will be able to come home.”
She looked over and smiled. “How did you know I was thinking about them?”
“I believe you are always thinking about them,” he replied. He looked over and smiled. “Well, almost always.”
Selina laughed. “You know me, so well,” she said, watching him drive. “Damian, who do you think this first murderer could be?”
Damian glanced over. “I was never sure a vampire committed the first crime,” he said, remembering the punctures on the girl’s neck. “My guess is that it’s someone who used your club as a convenient place to leave the body.” He thought for a moment, then added, “We need to find out more about Paulsen and why he has such an interest in your building.”
“I think that is a very good idea,” Selina replied. “And what about Jones, the dog walker? There must be more to his story, but that’s all I know about him.”
“Hopefully, the police will have more information on both of them,” Damian said as he glanced over, “and then we can put this murderer behind bars and concentrate on that week in bed.”
Selina smiled as she thought about what a wonderful way that would be to spend a week. Then, something occurred to her. “What club was the young woman leaving when she was attacked? The detectives said my club was not between that one and her hotel.”
“And you’re wondering what might be?” Damian asked, glancing over. “That’s a good place to start,” he agreed. “She left the Moonlight Club and was heading to the Alastair Hotel. If we can retrace her steps, maybe we can figure out where she was attacked and that might lead to who attacked her.”
“One thing I can’t make any sense of,” Selina said, tipping her head slightly, “is why the puncture marks? If a vampire did not attack her, then why make it look as if one had.” She stopped for a moment, adding, “Most people don’t believe vampires are real, so why try to frame one?”
Damian considered for a moment. “Your club caters to Steampunk and Goth, right?” he asked. “Do you have many vampire posers who come to your place?”
“Not really,” Selina replied, “but there are times during conventions, and especially Halloween, when we see a little more of that clientele.”
“But if it’s not a usual event, then why mimic the punctures?” Damian asked as much to himself as Selina. “It just doesn’t make sense unless...wait a minute!” he exclaimed. “What if the punctures were hiding something else?”
“I never considered that,” Selina replied. “So, we either have a second vampire or quite possibly, someone who is hiding the means of her murder.”
“Probably not her murder,” Damian said, “at least I don’t think so. She lost a lot of blood and I doubt it was from those punctures.”
“That’s true,” Selina agreed, remembering how pale the girl had looked.
“It could be she was attacked with something,” he said as they pulled onto the ferry, “which made a mark or marks on her neck that the killer wanted to cover up.”
As they walked into the police station, Damian squeezed her hand. “Everything will be fine,” he said. “All we have to do is stick to our story.”
“That the Swiss Surete took the suspect away last night,” Selina replied. “And in the process, I had to call and get my window repaired this morning.”
Damian glanced over. “Sorry about that,” he said, “but it seemed to be the best thing to do at the time.”
“It was exactly the right thing to do,” Selina agreed, brushing her hand against his. “You were amazing last night.” She looked over at him and smiled. “And I appreciate you stopping the rogue vampire, too.”
“Carina,” Damian said, “if you keep talking like that, we’ll have to go back to the car for an hour.”
“Only an hour?” Selina replied. “I don’t think that will give us enough time.”
Damian was about to respond when Detective Fuentes walked over. “Thank you for joining us,” Maria said. “I was hoping Interpol would make an appearance today.”
“As I said on the phone,” Damian began, “we didn’t have much choice when the Surete showed up.”
Maria turned as Nate walked up behind her. “We have a few questions that we’d like to ask you,” Nate said to Damian.
“Detective Wright,” Selina said glad for the distraction, “it is nice to see you both again.”
Maria glanced over at Selina. “Miss Bellerose,” she replied. “We appreciate your help in this matter,” Maria said, emphasizing the word your.
Damian looked at Nate. “Do you have any coffee? It’s been a long night.”
Selina found a sudden interest in the bulletin board as Nate tried to hide a smile. “Sure,” he replied. “Miss Bellerose, would you like a cup?”
“Yes,” Selina replied, “that would be very nice.” She turned to Maria. “I am sorry that we didn’t call you sooner,” she continued. “With all the confusion....”
Maria shook her head. “That’s quite all right,” she said. “We have a few questions if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” Selina replied.
Nate walked over and handed Selina the coffee. “Miss Bellerose, can you tell us why the Swiss Surete showed up at your house? And how they knew the killer would be there?”
“I have no idea,” Selina replied, looking over at Damian. “But then, they didn’t tell me anything. They only spoke to Mr. Salvadori.”
Damian nodded. “They saw the media coverage when the press ambushed us at the club. They took a chance that the killer might want to get to Miss Bellerose before she could leave the country.”
“A very convenient ambush,” Maria replied. “And what exactly happened to that trip to Europe?” she asked, looking at Damian and raising an eyebrow.
“There was no need for us to visit the other crime scenes,” Damian replied, smoothly, “after the Swiss Surete had taken our confessed killer with them.”
Maria looked over at Selina, then back at Damian. “Fine,” she replied. “Since the murderer confessed to all the other crimes, we’ll focus on the first victim.” She turned as Nate came back with some papers. “Here’s everything we have on the young woman, including some new information on a few of our persons of interest.”
Damian took the papers and sat down at one of the empty desks. “What did you find?” he asked, glancing up at Nate, then back to the papers.
“First of all, the owner of the blues club wasn’t entirely truthful with us. His full name is John Louis Williamson and he went by John L. in Jersey rather than Lou. He was a well-known trumpet player at one time, and he did disappear after getting involved with some shady characters.”
Damian nodded. “That fits most of what he told us, but why does the manager of Midnight Madness spend his time in a blues bar?”
Nate glanced over at Maria. “We ran a check on Dave Richards,” she said. “He became the club manager four years ago when he moved down from Vancouver B.C.” Maria paused, then added, “A few months later, there was a major cocaine bust at the club he used to manage.”
Damian looked up. “Now, that is interesting,” he said. “Have you had reports of cocaine going through his club here?”
“No,” Nate replied, “but there have been some issues with Special K. We can’t trace the ketamine back to his club, but one young woman died last year. Her friends admitted stopping by that club along with a few others.” He paused. “They visited Luna’s, too,” he added, looking over at Selina.
“I assure you, Detective,” Selina replied, “there are no drugs coming through my club.” She added, rather sharply, “I would not allow it.”
Maria looked over. “That sounds rather personal, Miss Bellerose. Have you had problems in the past?”
“Not with the club,” Selina answered, “but I have lost people I cared about to addiction. I would never want another person to go through that.”
“What else do you have on Richards?” Damian asked, turning the focus away from Selina. “Have you checked out his club or residence? That young woman was killed somewhere in the area.”
Nate glanced over at Damian. “We’d need a warrant for that,” he said,” which you know. We can’t get one just because the guy may or may not deal drugs out of his club.”
“What about Paulsen, the artist?” Selina asked, looking at Damian.
“Miss Bellerose told me he’s been to her club and seemed very interested in the building.” Damian glanced over at Maria. “I went by the blues club and heard him talking with Lou Williamson and Dave Richards about Miss Bellerose closing her club. They all seemed to be celebrating but Paulsen was upset, saying something about there wasn’t enough time to get rid of them all.”
“When was this?” Maria asked.
“Monday night,” Damian replied. “The other neighbor, Jones, was there, too. Paulsen left the bar and the others followed him.”
“I realize we are supposed to be cooperating with Interpol,” Maria said, “but it would be nice if that were a two-way street, Mr. Salvadori.”
Damian nodded. “Then, in the interest of that cooperation, have you found out anything about Paulsen or Jones?”
Nate glanced from Maria to Damian. “It’s in the paperwork,” Nate replied. “Charles Paulsen is an artist, who used to be considered one of the best in the downtown area until his drinking got the better of him. He hasn’t done much in the past few years.”
“What kind of art?” Damian asked.
“Paintings,” Maria said. “He’s had a few exhibits over the past ten years, but we’re still trying to get more information on his background. He seems to be able to afford a nice loft apartment with no visible means of income.” At Damian’s look, she added, “We’re still checking on it.”
Damian looked over at Selina. “And the other neighbor, Jones, what’s his background?”
“That’s more of a puzzle,” Nate replied. “We can’t seem to find anything on him that goes back more than five years. He lives in the same building as Paulsen and his name is Victor Jones.”
“Have you asked him about it?” Damian was finding Jones more interesting with this new information.
“He says that he came up from California, but didn’t offer much else,” Nate replied. He looked over at Maria. “We’re trying to get financial information on him, too.”
“So, we have four suspects who may or may not be involved in the murder, but they all seem to have questionable backgrounds.” Damian paused for a moment, then turned to Maria. “Is there any more information on those punctures? Something about them bothers me.”
Nate walked over to his desk and came back with a report. “Here’s what we have from the coroner,” he said. “No drugs in her system and no saliva in the wounds. He says that they were made post-mortem.”
“Why make them?” Damian asked. “I don’t think it had anything to do with her death as she was apparently killed by a blow to the back of the head. What if they were used to disguise the way she was attacked.”
Nate looked at Maria and nodded. “That makes sense,” he said. “But why two puncture marks?”
“Do you have a photo?” Damian asked.
Maria nodded. Handing Damian a file, she said, “The picture is on top.”
“I thought there was something odd about this,” Damian replied. “What’s the distance between those punctures?”
Nate reached over and flipped through some pages. “Looks like just over 4.5 centimeters or about 1.75 inches.”
“That’s it,” Damian said. “The punctures are too close together to be made by anyone pretending to be a vampire.” He looked over at Selina, adding, “They’re usually at least two inches apart.”
“Do you see a lot of this with Interpol?” Maria asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You’d be surprised,” Damian replied.
“There are a lot of disturbed people out there,” Nate commented. “Any idea what could make that kind of puncture?”
“I have one,” Maria said, walking over to the photo. “A stun gun or a taser but given that it’s on her neck I’d go with a stun gun.”
“They’re readily available and many people use them for protection,” Nate agreed.
“Even crowd control,” Damian added, thinking of Richards and his work at the club.
“But why leave the body behind my club?” Selina asked.
Nate looked over. “Probably hoping we’d think it was some freak...sorry, customer, who might want to attack a woman in your alley.”
“I think it was to buy time,” Maria said, looking down at the photo, “and the second murder might have altered his plans. It gave him more time to come up with an exit strategy.”
“You mean Paulsen,” Nate replied, walking back to his desk.
“What about Paulsen?” Damian demanded. “Has he left town?”
“No one has seen him in two days,” Maria replied. “Issue a warrant to have him picked up for questioning,” she said to Nate. “And then, call the coroner and ask if there was any indication the victim was shocked.”
“You might want to see if they tested her body for ketamine while you’re at it,” Damian suggested.
Maria nodded and Nate picked up the phone, starting with the warrant.
“What about Richards?” Damian asked.
“I’ll talk to Richards,” Maria said. “Why don’t you take Miss Bellerose back to her club and make sure no one bothers her,” she said glancing from Damian to Selina, “if you don’t mind spending a little more time together.”
Selina looked down at the ground and then over at Damian. Maria saw that she’d been right about that. “I’ll call you as soon as we have any new information.” She walked over to her desk, then stopped and turned around. “Thank you for your help today.”
As Damian and Selina got back to the Maserati, he took her hand and smiled. “What do you have planned for the next few hours?”
“I was going to do some paperwork and call the girls,” she replied, “but what did you have in mind?”
“I was thinking that we should stop by Paulsen’s apartment,” Damian replied, “to see if we can find any evidence that may help us solve this case.” He smiled. “But later...”
“Later, we can go back to the club,” Selina finished, smiling back.
“Then, you don’t mind helping me for an hour or two?” Damian replied, growing serious. “I’d like to get into his apartment and having you with me might make that easier.”
“Of course, I’ll help,” Selina replied.
“We’ll take a quick look around and if we find anything, then we’ll call the police,” Damian promised. “We’ll be back to your place before dark.”
“Maybe even order some takeout?” Selina asked, leaning back in the seat.
“Carina, that is an excellent idea,” Damian replied, reaching over and kissing her hand.
Paulsen’s apartment was in an old warehouse that had been converted into lofts. Expensive and industrial, these places were usually a combination of old brick, big windows and exposed heating ducts. Many had a bedroom or study area that overlooked the main living space.
“We looked at this building when we first decided to buy the club,” Selina said, glancing up. “Very expensive and one of the reasons I decided to convert the basement into a townhouse.”
“Wood floors by any chance?” Damian asked hopefully.
“Yes,” Selina replied. “Why do you ask?”
“Blood stains are almost impossible to eliminate when they’re between planks of wood,” Damian said. “We’ve caught more than one murderer that way.”
“Unless she was killed on a large rug,” Selina speculated thoughtfully. “But then, why not roll her up in it?”
Damian looked over. “You are actually quite good at this,” he said. “You may have a future in law enforcement.”
“Thank you, but no,” Selina replied, walking with him to the building.
Damian opened the door for her and followed her in. The lobby was not locked, but there was a security guard at the desk. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“I’m here to visit a friend,” Damian said, walking over. “I met him in Paris some years ago. He’s an artist like myself. Charles Paulsen.”
The guard shook his head. “Must have been more than a few years ago,” he replied. Then, realizing how that sounded, he added, “Mr. Paulsen hasn’t been on a long trip for at least five years.”
“It was about five and a half,” Damian agreed, “but he told me to look him up if I ever came to Seattle.”
“I see,” the guard said. “Well, you’re out of luck. Mr. Paulsen left a couple of days ago.”
“Do you know when he’s coming back?” Selina asked, smiling.
The guard smiled back. “Honestly, I don’t know. He only said to collect his mail and that he had something to take care of.” He paused, then added. “If you want to leave him a note, I can see that he gets it.”
Damian was looking at the mailboxes, so Selina walked over and took the paper and pen the guard offered. Smiling again, she asked, “Have you worked here long?”
“Oh, sure,” the guard replied, not paying any attention to Damian. “I’ve been here almost ten years.” He paused. “You know you look familiar,” the guard added, looking at her more closely.
“I’d like to drop this note off myself,” Damian said, walking over and taking the paper and pen. “No offense, but it’s important and I want to make sure he receives it.”
“I can’t let you go up there,” the guard began when a woman with three children, a small dog and a large collection of shopping bags came into the lobby. The guard reminded himself that she was a generous tipper. Looking from Selina to Damian, then back to the woman, the guard got up from the desk. “Mrs. Watkins let me help you with those,” he said. Turning to Damian, he added, “I’ll be right back.”
“Of course,” Damian replied, moving closer to Selina. “Apartment 3B, according to the box,” he whispered. “As soon as the guard gets into the elevator, let’s take the stairs.”
Selina nodded and followed Damian over as the elevator doors shut. “And when he gets back down and we’re gone?” she asked.
“He’ll probably assume that we got tired of waiting and left,” Damian replied.
When they reached the third floor, Damian checked the door to Paulsen’s apartment just in case there was any additional security. “I guess they think that guard is enough,” he said, shaking his head. He pulled a small wallet-sized case out of his pocket, unzipped it and took out a lockpick. “Give me one moment,” he said, looking back at Selina.
“I’ve never seen anyone do this except on television,” she replied. “Is it difficult?”
“Not once you get the hang of it,” Damian replied, slowly, “and there we are,” he said as the door opened. He walked into the apartment with Selina following him. Turning around, he closed the door and looked at the space.
“There’s not much furniture,” Selina observed. “It looks more like an artist loft than a living room, which I guess makes sense.”
“No blood stains that I can see,” Damian said. “I’m going to check the bedroom.”
Selina walked over to an easel covered with fabric. “It looks like he was working on something,” she noted. “I thought he wasn’t painting anymore.” As she removed the fabric, she gasped.
Damian walked out of the bedroom and came over. “What is it?”
“My building,” Selina replied quietly, “but not the way it looks today. See these little window boxes and the stone around the entrance?”
“Very nice,” Damian agreed. “When did it look like this?”
“I’m guessing many years ago,” Selina replied. “I wonder if he found an old photo or something.”
Damian walked over to the kitchen area and shook his head. “Nothing here and nothing in the bedroom or the bath. I don’t think anyone was murdered in this apartment. I would have sensed something by now.”
“Wolf sense?” Selina asked smiling.
“It comes in handy,” Damian agreed. Looking around, he added, “We might as well leave.”
Selina followed him over to the door and out into the hallway. As they started towards the stairs, the elevator opened, and Victor Jones stepped out with his Scottish terrier. “Hello,” he said, looking over at Selina, then at Damian. “Miss Bellerose, what are you doing here?”
“We were just looking for Mr. Paulsen,” she replied.
“I understand he’s an artist,” Damian said. “Any idea when he might be back?”
“He told me that he had to go out of town for a few days,” Jones replied. “We look out for each other. You know how it is...I water his plants, and he checks on my fish.” He looked down at the dog, adding, “Of course, I always take Fergus with me.”
“Then, he should be home soon?” Damian asked as Jones opened his door. “Maybe, I could leave you my number?” Damian added, writing it down on the paper the guard had given them. “You could have him call me when he gets back. I’d like to talk to him about a painting.”
“I expect him back by tomorrow, maybe even tonight,” Jones replied as Damian handed him the number. Looking down at the dog and then back at Damian, he added, “I really need to get Fergus inside. It’s time for his medicine.”
Damian nodded and Jones walked into his apartment. As he closed the door behind him, Damian turned to Selina, took her arm and began walking with her to the stairway. “We should go back to your club,” he said, quietly, “and call the police. I think they’ll find blood in that apartment.”
Selina’s eyes grew large as they headed down the stairs. “Do you want to call them now?” she asked as they walked past the empty desk and out onto the street.
“No, let’s go back to your club,” he said. “We’ll order that takeout and come up with a way to get the police to search his apartment...without telling them how I know there’s blood in there.”
“Takeout sounds like a great idea,” Selina agreed as they got into the car.
“I told you we have a problem,” Jones said into the phone. “It’s your fault that this happened. I expect you to help me fix it.” He slammed his fist on the desk. “I told you that I can smell a cop a mile away. We take care of this tonight.”
As he hung up the phone, Victor Jones realized he’d run out of time. His plans would have to change slightly, but he could still make this work. Once he dealt with those loose ends, there would be nothing left to tie him to the murder.