Chapter 13
I tried to shake off the hands gripping my shoulders. The voices changed, blended into one, deep and familiar. The words, however, were the same. “. . . it’s only a dream, Deirdre. Wake up, please.” I realized that these hands were warm, living flesh and the room was no longer dark. I opened my eyes hesitantly and squinted at the light. Mitch’s face came into view and I threw my arms around him. He returned my embrace and held me until I stopped trembling. When I calmed down, he held me out at arms’ length and stared into my eyes. “Well,” he said in a shaky voice, “that must have been one hell of a nightmare. Do you want to tell me about it?”
I shook my head. “In a bit, maybe. But not right now.” I ran my fingers through my hair and glanced at the curtained window. “What time is it?”
He smiled. “After six. You must have slept all day; I came in around four and tried to wake you, but you were practically comatose. I have to admit, it scared me a bit. You opened your eyes and looked straight at me. But you didn’t focus on me, or even acknowledge that anyone was here. You smiled, moaned and slowly closed your eyes again. It was pretty spooky. Do you always sleep so soundly?”
“Only when I am very tired. And it’s your fault.”
“Yeah, I remember.” He was grinning boisterously, his eyes sparkled and he seemed inordinately pleased with himself. I wondered what was so amusing, until I realized that I was naked and quickly pulled the covers up around me.
“Did you have a good day?” I asked as casually as possible.
“Not too bad,” he said slowly. “It was interesting at least. Some really strange things are happening these days.”
“Such as?”
“As if the murders weren’t bad enough, now we’ve had a break–in at the local blood bank. And of course, since I’m the ‘vampire’ cop, I got the job.”
I dropped my gaze, not wanting him to see the interest his words had caused. Breaking into a blood bank was a possibility that always intrigued me, although I had never tried it myself. It always seemed too risky; if you got caught you would have to explain why, and probably spend time in jail. Much easier to obtain it the way I always had. Still, it was one more indication of the other’s operations. Or perhaps there was more than one; how ironic it would be after searching for over a century to find a community living in the same city. But I didn’t actually believe that theory; although I sometimes longed for companionship of my own kind, I would never want to share my hunts or my territories.
“Deirdre, you’re not listening.”
“What? Oh, sorry, Mitch. I was just thinking how it might all fit in.”
“If you had been paying attention, you would know by now. As I was saying, we actually have a few suspects now, based mostly on the testimony of an eyewitness near the blood bank. You might be interested to know that you are acquainted with one of them.”
“Who?”
“I’m not sure I should divulge that information.”
“Jesus, Mitch, don’t give me the policeman line on it. I want to know. It might be that I could be threatened by him, also.”
“Actually, the department was afraid of just that. But I let them know that I would hold you in protective custody.”
“I guess that’s as good a name as any for what you’ve been doing,” I said dryly. “Now tell me who it is.”
“We’re not positive of course and I really shouldn’t tell you, but I don’t see that it can hurt. It’s Larry.”
“Larry?” It would explain why he was so curious about my past, it might even explain his obsession with me. But somehow I just couldn’t believe that he was a vampire.
“Yes, Larry Martin, the club doorman. You do remember him, don’t you?”
I shook my head.
“You don’t remember him?”
“Of course I do, Mitch. But he is not a vampire.” I was sorry as soon as the word was out of my mouth, Mitch did not believe in vampires.
He smiled but did not laugh. “Yeah, well, whatever he is, he’s associated with all three of them. He was the last person seen with Andrews, knew the hooker and was reported to have quarrelled with Mr. Leigh.”
“What about the other suspects?”
“I’m putting my money on Martin. He has a history of instability as long as my arm; he’s been in and out of institutions since he was fourteen. Based on what we’ve uncovered about him so far, he’s one sick dude.”
“Do you think I could,” I shifted uneasily and the blankets slipped away from me, “do you think I could speak with him?”
“If we had him in custody, sure.” He looked at me intently. “Look, Deirdre, I can’t concentrate on anything if you’re like that. Get dressed,” he jokingly ordered as I covered myself again, giving him a shy smile. “And come on out. I brought us some dinner.”
I dressed quickly and left the bedroom. Mitch had spread the dinner he brought on the bar. It was from a variety of fast food places. “I didn’t really know what you’d want, so I brought a lot.” He patted the barstool next to him. “Sit down and eat.”
I laughed a bit and crossed the room. I selected a roast beef sandwich; it at least had the dubious distinction of being slightly rare and I thought I could eat enough of it to satisfy him. I pulled the meat from the bun and began to eat.
“Too bad Gwen’s not here,” I said after the first mouthful. “She would love the assortment. You should see some of the junk she brings in . . .” At the thought of her I grew serious, fearful at the remembrance of my dream. The abrupt change was not lost on him.
“What’s the matter?”
“Oh God, Mitch, the dream,” I began disjointedly with a shiver. “She was in my dream. I didn’t see her, but I knew she was in danger.”
“You hinted at something like that the night of the show. Why would Gwen be in danger? What has she got to do with any of this?”
I ignored his comments and continued, thinking out loud. “She wouldn’t have gone with him. I warned her and she promised not to see him again. Even Max warned her. She should be safe.”
He looked at me sternly. “Who didn’t she go with?”
“Larry. She met him at the club last Sunday. I’m afraid she developed a crush on him. She was with him before the show, too. But he left after that, I’m sure of it.”
“How can you be so sure?” He, too, was growing concerned.
“Everyone said she left alone, even you said so. And Max said that Larry had gone, long before that.”
“But you warned her, you say, to stay away from him. Would she listen?” Suddenly, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “But you had no knowledge of him being a suspect until tonight. Why would you warn her away? What the hell is going on here?”
I looked at him in confusion for a minute and shook my head to clear it. Of course he had no idea of what had occurred between Larry and me, no comprehension of the truth that seemed to hold us all entangled. “He just seemed unstable to me and I did not want her to get hurt. She’d had a fight with her fiancé, you see, and she was on the rebound. I did not like the thought of her being with Larry. Neither did Max, he said . . .”
“Spare me the thoughts of the great Max,” Mitch snarled as he said the name. “Anyway, it can hardly matter. I seem to remember that Gwen lives clear across town and Larry was last seen in the area of your office. So their paths shouldn’t have crossed at all.”
“But she wasn’t going home, Mitch. She was going to stay at my place for the weekend.”
“Your place?” He smiled, not comprehending. “But we are at your place. And she’s not here, so she must be at home.”
Once again I had forgotten how little Mitch knew of my life. “She was staying at my apartment at the office.”
“You have an apartment in your office?” He stopped for a moment. “I didn’t know.” He gave me a suspicious look. “But then apparently there’s a lot I don’t know. We’d better get over there.”
We hesitated only a second, he to throw on his coat and I to put on my shoes. We rushed out of the hotel to his car, a regulation police–issue this time. “My car’s still in the shop,” he explained as he started the engine and turned on the siren. “I don’t like to drive marked cars ordinarily, but this one’ll help. Buckle up.”
We sped the two blocks and pulled up in front of the building just as an ambulance was leaving. One other police car was parked at the curb. Mitch pushed through the small crowd that had gathered around the doors and we entered. As we approached the two policemen inside, I noticed that they were the same two who had questioned me last week. They both nodded at me in embarrassed recognition; one of them addressed Mitch.
“Well, Greer, I might have known you would show up. How do you manage it?”
“Never mind,” he snarled at them. “What happened here? Is she okay?”
“She?” He shook his head. “We came on a call about the security guard. The guy coming on to the next shift found him slumped at his desk. Someone gave him a pretty rough knock on the head. He should be okay, though. What’s this about a woman?”
Mitch gave me a angry look. “I have reason to believe that Miss Griffin’s secretary is in the office. We’re concerned about her safety.”
The policeman shook his head again. “We checked all the floors and found nothing unusual; there were no signs anywhere of a break–in. We think it was an attempted robbery; but the guy got scared after hitting the guard and cleared out.”
Mitch nodded slowly. “Mind if I check it out?”
He smiled, “No, you will anyway. We were just about ready to leave. Want some help?”
Mitch considered this for a moment. “I might need the back–up,” he conceded. “It won’t take too long, I hope.”
The four of us rode the elevator in silence. I noticed the few curious glances they gave first to Mitch, and then to me, but chose to ignore them. My whole body was tensed in fear and I silently urged the elevator upward. When it arrived at the top floor, I hurried out and unlocked the door. The office looked exactly as it had when I had left; there were no signs of struggle or unusual activity. I led them back to my office and when I opened the door, I saw that everything here also looked normal.
Mitch turned to me. “Well,” he said curtly, “where’s this apartment you told me about?”
With a doubtful look at the other policemen, I went to my desk and found that the key was gone. Gwen, of course, would have taken it in with her. Silently, I walked to the back wall and pulled aside the draperies to expose the door. “There’s only one key,” I said shakily, “and Gwen has it now.” In what I thought was a futile gesture I turned the knob; to my surprise the door opened easily and we walked in.
Mitch glanced around, walking quickly over to one corner of the room and retrieved a multi-colored garment that was lying on the floor. “This is Gwen’s, isn’t it?” he asked, handing the dress to me.
I rubbed the material absently, “Yes, she was wearing it last night. Maybe she’s still sleeping.” As I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. The apartment was too empty, too silent, to be occupied. And suddenly the smell overwhelmed me, the smell of blood and death. “Gwen,” I called, my voice wavering in a hopeless attempt to deny the obvious. “Gwen, are you here? It’s Deirdre.” There was a note of hysteria in my voice.
Mitch walked over to me and gave my hand a quick squeeze. “She might not be here at all.” How could he say that, when the odor was overpowering. “Shall I check upstairs?”
I nodded, my hand over my mouth, and he walked up the staircase. There was a long silence, an audible gasp, then he called out. “She’s here.” But even before he spoke, before his pause, before his quietly whispered, “fucking maniac,” I knew what he had found.
I sat down on the couch, her dress crushed against my face and began to cry silently. Both of the policeman dashed up the stairs. A few seconds later one of them came back down and his face was yellow with shock. When he asked for the telephone, I gestured at the doorway. As he began to make his phone call, I rose slowly from the floor, and dropping Gwen’s dress back on to the floor, I mounted the stairs.
Mitch tried to stop me from entering the loft, putting his arm around me. “You probably shouldn’t see this,” he said and attempted to lead me back downstairs, but I broke away and pushed past him.
I expected to see Gwen, grey and drained, like the body of David Leigh. I had imagined her as I walked up the stairs, waxen and doll–like. What I saw rocked me back, causing even me to choke back the contents of my stomach.
The room was covered in blood, the ceiling, the floor, the bed, everywhere I looked. I could smell its sweetness, turning rancid now from exposure to the air. Where it had pooled, the blood had clotted over, thickened and crusty. I must have gasped or cried out, for Mitch came to me again and tried to move me away. I ignored him and walked to the bed. I stared for a moment at the uncomprehendable shape lying there, someone had pulled a sheet over it, and the center was peaked as if a tent. Danger, my mind whispered, danger, but my hand moved as if by its own volition to pull aside the sheet.
It was Gwen, her skin was heavy and solid, her small naked body pitiful, lying in the brown stain of her own blood. And emerging from her chest was a large wooden stake; her back was arched, actually raised an inch from the bed where the other end protruded. Her eyes were open and her hands tightly grasped that horrible implement of death, as if she tried to wrench it away in her last moment of life. “Dear, sweet Jesus.” I was glued to the spot; I could not take my eyes away from her.
This was something I had read about, something I had envisioned so many times. But it was worse than I had ever imagined, and it was wrong. The body should have been mine.
Pulling my gaze away from the stake, I reached over and gently stroked her tousled hair, closed her eyes and carefully pulled the sheet back over her. I looked into Mitch’s eyes. I could tell he shared my grief and horror, but I did not want his comfort.
“Get him,” I said, my voice stony and harsh, “you find the bastard that did this. And when you do, he’s mine, do you understand? He’s mine. I’ll tear him apart.”
Both Mitch and the other policeman looked at me in shock. “Deirdre?” Mitch softly approached and I permitted him to put his arm around me and lead me back down the stairs. “Do you want me to take you somewhere?” He helped me to the couch as if I would break in his arms. “Your hotel, maybe? Or my place? I’m afraid it’ll take some time to get this all taken care of.”
“No, thank you. I would like to wait if I may.” I wiped my hands over my face to remove my tears. “This was meant for me,” I said to myself. “It should not have been Gwen, it was meant for me. If I had known, I could have stopped this.” My voice sounded dead and emotionless.
“Deirdre,” he clasped me to him roughly, “don’t do this. Don’t blame yourself. It happened, there was nothing you, or anyone else, could have done to stop it. How could you know? You’re only human.” He tightened his grip on me and gave me one brief kiss before turning away.
“How I wish that were true, Mitch,” I said softly as he climbed the stairs.
The entire investigation took several hours. I sat motionless for some of the time, staring at the art on the walls. It gave me a point of focus other than the activity in the loft. But that focus was shattered when the morgue employees arrived to bundle Gwen up in a zippered plastic bag. I stood up and walked toward the kitchen. “I’ll just make some coffee now, if anyone wants it.” I spoke to no one in particular and no one answered, but the task enabled me to turn my back on the awkward package, that was once my friend, being carried down the stairs.
The smell of the coffee drew them to the kitchen, one by one. Disinterested and mechanical, I served them all. Mitch was the last to arrive. I fixed a cup and handed it to him. My hands were steady again and he gave me a sad smile. “You doing okay?” he asked.
“As well as can be expected, I suppose.” I tried and almost succeeded in returning his smile. “Will you be much longer?”
“No, not too much. But you can help with something, if you would.”
“You know I will do whatever I can, Mitch.”
“We need to fingerprint you; we’ll need to be able to tell your prints from the others we found up there. So we can get a positive ID.”
The thoughts of leaving a permanent trace of my existence with the police department made me shiver involuntarily. But I knew I could not refuse, nor did I want to. I needed to identify the murderer, not only for revenge but for my own personal safety. I knew what Gwen’s death meant. Somebody knew who and what I was. Somebody who was enjoying the game he was playing with me. Somebody who wanted more than my death. “Larry.” I whispered his name with loathing.
Mitch said nothing, but sat watching me, his cup of coffee grasped between his hands.
Finally, I nodded to him. “I will allow the fingerprinting, but you may find it to be a futile gesture.”
“You don’t think we’ll get him?”
“Oh, I am sure we will.” I laughed, low and threateningly and he inadvertently drew away from me. “We will find him. But after I’m done with him there won’t be enough left to identify.”
“Jesus, Deirdre. I know that this has been a shock to you, it would be for anyone. Even if you didn’t know her. But you can’t do anything about it. Let us do our job.”
I looked at him defiantly. He stood up and grabbed my arm, pulling me roughly to him. “I don’t want you involved. I know she was your friend, I can even imagine how you must be feeling. But you must stay out of this; he will be taken care of, I promise you.”
“Fine, Mitch. I’ll play by your rules, for now. But if he gets away, or gets released on some technicality, I will track him down and I will kill him.”
He stared at me in disbelief. “Deirdre, you’re in shock and slightly hysterical; later on you will feel differently. You can’t expect me to believe that you would be capable of . . .” His voice trailed off.
“You’d be surprised what I am capable of, Mitch.” His eyes held a mixture of doubt and confusion, suspicion and fear, as if I had changed in his eyes. I found the emotions he reflected discomforting and saddening. “But then again,” and I smiled when he relaxed at my softened voice, “maybe you know me better than I think. Let’s get this over with.”
When all of the prints had been taken, and all of the evidence examined and photographed, the policemen left. Mitch and I sat in an amiable silence at the kitchen table, finishing the rest of the coffee. He rubbed his hand over his eyes and combed his fingers through his hair. “Tired?” I queried gently.
“I feel like I haven’t had a good night’s sleep for months. I didn’t get much sleep last night, as you well know,” he said with a good–natured leer. I blushed slightly and lowered my eyes. “And I don’t think I’ll get much tonight.” He placed his hand over mine at the table. “Unfortunately, it won’t be for the same reason.”
“What else do you need to do tonight?”
“At the very least, I have to go to the station and file a few reports. We’ve got an APB out on Larry, but he may not turn up for a while. The lab guys will take care of the prints and the evidence. I hope that after the paperwork is done, I’ll be able to go home and get some sleep.”
“May I accompany you to the station?”
“That would be a good idea, since I’m supposed to have you under protective custody. Even if that weren’t the case, I won’t let you out of my sight until Martin is arrested.”
I shivered again, the picture of Gwen impaled was imprinted on my mind. “Make it soon, Mitch.”
He said nothing, just looked at me sadly.
“Can we go? I don’t want to stay here any longer than necessary. I may never stay here again.”
“I don’t blame you,” he agreed. “It is a shame, though. This place is very nice.” He walked into the living room and began to turn off the lights. As he passed the wall of pictures, he stopped and surveyed them. “These are wonderful. But I don’t recognize this one. I mean, I know it’s a Van Gogh, but I don’t believe I’ve ever seen this particular picture.”
“You probably haven’t, Mitch. I, well, it’s sort of a family heirloom. We acquired it at an estate auction, quite a bargain, I was told.”
“It’s the original?” he exclaimed in astonishment. “You have an original Van Gogh and have the nerve to tell me it was a bargain? It must be worth a small fortune.”
I shrugged. “It is, I’m sure. But the picture was bought during the Depression. Times were hard, people were anxious to recoup their losses, even if it meant selling something as precious as this.” I wanted to tell him how precious it really was, how I had risked my life in the daylight to acquire it. How when I looked at it, I felt almost human again.
I had fed for five straight days prior to the auction, trying to build up my strength for the ordeal. Fortunately the day was overcast and the estate shaded with large trees. I had sat under one of these trees, swathed in yards of material. The bidding had been almost as fierce as the ravaging of the sun’s rays. But I was determined to get it and get it I did. And though I lay in bed, burnt and shriveled for a week afterwards until my skin finally healed, I never doubted for a minute that it had been worth the cost.
“Deirdre.” I tore my gaze away from the painting to see his eyes warm with concern. “Let me get you out of here.”
I nodded and accepted his support. He reached for the light switch but took one final look at the wall. “It’s so beautiful,” he said as we left the room.
I couldn’t lock the door—the key had been taken away with Gwen’s effects; I merely adjusted the curtain to hide the entrance once again. As I did this, I realized that I would never return here, not to sleep, not even to work. Gwen’s death had cruelly severed any ties I had with this place. The office would be closed and the business sold. I could leave this portion of my life now with little regret.
As we slowly walked to the elevators, I studied Mitch’s profile in the near darkness. He had come to mean so much to me during the few days we had spent together. I could hardly visualize what my life would be like without him when I finally had to leave. For I would have to go, I knew, and as the elevator car began its downward journey, I sighed. He gave me a sad smile and put his arm around my shoulders, drawing me closer. I would miss Gwen desperately, though I truly believed she was in a better world. I would miss the daily grind of the fashion industry, the hectic deadlines and even the demanding clients, yet there were other ways I could fill my time. But as for leaving Mitch. . . . I sighed again as the doors opened and we went to the street to his car. Oh, God, I thought, leaving Mitch will be one of the hardest things I will ever do.