Текст книги "Blood Drive"

Автор книги: Jeanne Stein

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-Three

I call Marty back. She gives me directions to the lab. I carry the tooth away with me because I don’t want to take the time to write my mom a note explaining why I didn’t. I have what we need to get the DNA test run, and the results are all that matter.

The lab is located in a medical complex up on

4th Avenue

, Pill Hill. The University of California runs the hospital here, a busy one, and it takes me awhile to find a parking space and hoof it back to the lab. I fill out the requisite forms, turn over the brush and sock, and write a check for “expedited services.” I’m told I can return in forty-eight hours for the results.

Forty-eight hours. It’ll be a long two days.

Back in my car, I don’t realize how tense I am until I glance at my watch, see that it’s only noon, and heave a sigh of frustration. Frey won’t be available until three. I’m so antsy, my skin prickles. I’m not that far from the office, but after the less than satisfying conversation I had with David this morning, I’m not sure I want to go there. And if by some god-awful chance Gloria is with him, the urge to bite her– her-really bitethe living crap out of her-may be too strong to resist.

I slump into the seat. For the first time I wonder how I’m going to break the news of Carolyn’s death to Trish. As despicable as she was, Carolyn was Trish’s mother. And when I tell her, how will Trish react? Will she demand to see the body? Will she want to go with her grandparents?

More questions I have no way of answering, at least not yet.

Another glance at my watch confirms it’s now two minutes after twelve. If I was human, I could treat myself to lunch to kill time. Or go to the gym for a workout. Two things I reluctantly had to give up. The eating thing for obvious reasons. The workout thing because one time I forgot to check how much weight was on the bar and the expression on David’s face when I effortlessly bench-pressed the same three hundred pounds he had struggled with moments before is something I will never forget. I had to let the bar come crashing down and pretend it almost killed me.

I acted my way out of it that time. I doubt I’d be so lucky the next.

The one thing I can think of doing is driving downtown and arranging to have my new furniture delivered to the cottage. If the store can handle it, I might be able to move in by the end of the week. I can’t wait to be back in my own home. And maybe Trish would agree to move in with me while we sort out her future. It surprises me how much I’d like that.

I’m pulling out of the parking lot when I see them. The Blues Brothers from Frey’s apartment are sitting in a beige Fair lane across the street from the lab. They are looking right at me, though like cartoon characters, they turn their heads in unison when they catch me looking back at them. I let my gaze pass over them and ease into traffic. Not surprisingly, they pull out too, and fall into place about two car lengths behind.

I have a hard time concentrating on the road. When did they start following me? Did they pick me up at Frey’s? Or Carolyn’s? I was too preoccupied with getting beat up by Trish’s grandmother to notice. Damn. They followed me to my parent’s home. They must have. The image of Carolyn’s face flashes in my head. I have to get these guys before they decide to pay my folks a visit.

I slip my cell phone out of my purse and plug it into the hands-free system on the dash. As much as I hate doing it, there’s only one person who can help me. I dial Chief Williams’s private number. I got it from Avery a few months ago, and though I only used it once, I have no trouble remembering it. Photographic memory, another vampiric talent.

Williams’s greeting is curt. “Warren Williams here.”

“It’s Anna.”

A pause the length of a heartbeat. “This is a surprise. Are you ready to talk?”

“I’m ready to ask for a favor. Will that do for a start?”

This time there’s no hesitation. “What do you need?”

The car directly behind me has turned right, giving me a clear shot at the Blues Brother’s license plate. I read it off to Williams. “I need you to stop that car. I’m heading south on 6th approaching Ash. Do you have a patrol car in the area?”

“To do what?”

“Get some identification. Find out who they are.”

There’s the half-muffled sound of Williams barking an order. Then he’s back on the line. “Patrol car will intercept them in about two minutes, so talk fast. Does this have to do with Carolyn Delaney’s death? I read the report. You were on the scene.”

It didn’t take him long to get that report. I fill him in on what happened this morning-most of it anyway. I have to actually tell him, no mental telepathy. Thought transference doesn’t work through phone lines, electrical currents interfere. For once it seems that having to speak the words is a nuisance that takes much too long.

I purposely omit any reference to Trish and to Frey. I let him think I went directly to Carolyn’s to ask her more questions. The plus side of using the phone. No vampire lie detection.

Williams is suspiciously quiet when I finish. Finally, he says, “Anna, if you have evidence that these guys are implicated in Carolyn’s death, you need to tell me. We can pick them up right now.”

“Believe me, if I had evidence of that I would tell you,” I reply. And it’s the truth, if for no other reasons than to protect my parents. “If these guys were the ones who killed Carolyn, when the cop stops them, he’ll know. Carolyn lost a lot of blood. She was beaten and tortured which means blood spatter. No way could they have avoided getting blood on their skin or clothes.”

Williams barks a short laugh. “Then I’ve dispatched the right car,” he says.

I know immediately what he means. “There’s a vampire cop in that car?”

“Yep. So even if these guys wore raincoats and rubber boots, if they got a drop of blood on them anywhere, Patrolman Ortiz will pick up on it.”

A flash of strobe lights in the rear view mirror gets my attention. “Here we go,” I tell Williams. “The patrol car just pulled them over.”

“Do you want me to call you on your cell when I find out who these jokers are?” he counters.

I consider it. But there’s no place for me to pull over where I won’t be in plain sight. I don’t want them to guess I was the one who called the cops.

“No. Call me at the office. I’ll head over there now.”

Williams cuts the connection and I turn on Ash, then again at PCH, and drive to the office. David’s parking space is empty, which is a relief. He and Gloria are probably enjoying a no oner somewhere. At least they’ll be out of my hair.

By the time I unlock the door, the telephone is already ringing. I snatch it up.

“Anna?” It’s Williams.

“What did you find out?”

There’s a moment of dead air and then he says. “You’d better get your ass down here.”

I hate that tone. Especially from a big shit, old soul vampire who, in spite of having two hundred odd years on me, I actually bested once. You’d think he’d show more respect.

When I don’t answer right away, he blows an irritated breath into the receiver. “Did you hear me? Or are you being pissy because I didn’t say please?”

“Please would help.”

“Yeah, well bite me. Get down here. Now. Those guys following you? Guess what. They’re Feds.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Blues Brothers are Feds? “No way,” I tell Williams. “They can’t be.”

“Yeah? Tell them that. They’re on their way to my office as we speak. And they want to see you. I told them you’d be here, so get in that hot car of yours and come down. Now.”

He disconnects and I’m left listening to dead air. This doesn’t add up. If they are Feds, what were they doing at Frey’s? And why didn’t they identify themselves?

Shit.

Since I hadn’t had time to put my purse down or take off my jacket, I do an about face and head back to the car. SDPD Headquarters is on Broadway between 13th and 14th. Shouldn’t take me longer than fifteen minutes. For once, I’m actually hoping lunch hour traffic will slow me down. I need time to think.

As luck will have it, I hit every green light. There’s not a trolley or train crossing to halt my progress, and I find a parking space right in front of the big granite and blue steel building. Since it’s located across from City College, that’s no mean feat. I deposit the requisite coins in the meter and go inside. The reception area is utilitarian-blue plastic benches not designed for comfort, one cop behind the desk, a line of about ten people ahead of me. I shift restlessly from foot to foot, awaiting my turn with the receptionist. Williams left word that I was expected, and the desk sergeant gives me a code to use on the elevator. Part of building security. No one accesses anything except the reception area without a code of some kind or another.

The elevator whooshes up to the top floor. Another uniformed cop greets me in another reception area. Williams has left orders to usher me right in.

It’s the first time I’ve met Williams on his home turf. He’s seated at a big mahogany desk, a manila folder open in front of him. He doesn’t look up, and only acknowledges my presence by a wave of a hand toward one of three chairs across from him. He doesn’t use vampire wavelengths to project a single thought or emotion. His mind is a closed, black void. I make sure mine is, too.

I take a seat and glance around. His office is impressive-big, lots of windows, with a view over the Coronado Bay Bridge. There are bookcases full of memorabilia from past and present. Lots of cop stuff, like old badges and antique guns. Only another vampire would speculate if he has personally used this stuff in past generations as a lawman. For the first time I wonder if Williams has always been a cop.

I swing my gaze back to him. His bearing is different here, his attitude toward me colder and more professional. In his uniform, he cuts a striking figure. He’s tall, over six foot, lean. I expect he must have been the same age as me when he became a vampire, thirty or so, because his skin is smooth, his face unlined except for tiny laugh lines that radiate from the corners of his eyes. He once told me that to pass as a fifty-year-old human he has his dark hair professionally streaked with gray.

I run fingers through my own short-cropped hair. I suppose I’ll be doing the same thing before too long.

The way you piss people off, I doubt you’ll live long enough to have to worry about that.

His tone is dry. He has raised heavy lidded eyes to peer at me across the desk. You didn’t quite tell me everything about your adventures this morning, did you?

Ah. You’re talking to me. Good. I thought you’d called me here to impress me with your digs. Or the speed at which you shuffle papers. And, I must say, both are impressive.

Williams folds his hands and leans toward me. In about two minutes, we’re going to be joined by two special agents of the FBI. Any idea why they are interested in you?

I can honestly say, I do not.It’strue. If they are indeed Feds, I don’t have a clue. He looks at me so suspiciously that I can’t help myself. I mimic his action, folding my hands and bending towards him. What do you think they want with me?

Irritation radiates out from him like the burst of a solar flare. Damn it Anna. They told the patrol cop that you attacked them outside of Daniel Frey’s condo. Is that true?

I shrug. Maybe. But they were breaking into Daniel Frey’s house. What kind of special agent does that?

A better question is why were you there?

To ask about Trish.

Not exactly a lie. Williams is looking at me with such intensity it takes every bit of willpower to keep from squirming. And to keep him out of my head. It’s a relief when the opening of the office door interrupts us. I turn away from Williams to watch the two men approach the desk.

I was too preoccupied with keeping them away from Trish at the condo to get a good look at their faces. I have the chance now. Both have their eyes locked on me and neither is smiling. One is about five foot ten, one hundred seventy pounds, square bodied, square jawed. He sports a military buzz, his light brown hair almost invisible against his scalp. His suit fits well, though the tailoring isn’t quite good enough to hide the bulge of the gun snugged up under his armpit.

His partner is one or two inches taller, fifty pounds heavier. He’s the one who went to work on Frey’s door with the lock pick before I interrupted. He has dark hair and eyes, a boxer’s nose and thick lips. His suit jacket is open and his Glock sits on his hip.

Their suits are almost identical-black, lightweight. Both wear white shirts under their jackets, one with a thin, dark tie, the other, with a red patterned tie that is just this side of fashionable and maybe real silk.

Williams rises when they enter, crosses from behind his desk and holds out his hand. “I’m Warren Williams.”

The one with the nice tie returns the handshake. “Special Agent Tom Bradley.” He half turns toward his partner. “This is Eric Donovan.”

The men shake hands all around. No one acknowledges my presence. I’m about to stand up when the one with the good tie, Bradley, skewers me with a look that can only be described as scathing.

Is he trying to scare me?Iask Williams dryly.

Williams’s jaw tightens as he tries to ignore my intrusion into his head and concentrate on what Bradley is saying.

“This is Ms. Strong?” Bradley asks, glowering at me.

Williams nods and makes the introductions. “Anna Strong, Special Agents Donovan and Bradley.”

They don’t offer to shake hands and neither do I. Instead, they take seats, one on either side of me. Williams returns to his place behind the desk.

Donovan speaks next. “I think we met earlier today, Ms. Strong. At the home of Daniel Frey.”

I nod.

“What were you doing there?” he asks.

“I was there to see Mr. Frey. What were you two doing there? Besides trying to break in?”

“And later,” Bradley says, ignoring my questions. “We saw you at Carolyn Delaney’s apartment.”

“I knew Carolyn.”

“How did you know Carolyn?” It’s Donovan again.

My neck is getting tired from the constant swiveling. I look over at Williams. This tag team stuff is starting to wear thin.

Just answer the damn questions.Histone is a warning.

I direct my gaze to Donovan. “I told Detective Harris the story this morning. I’m sure Chief Williams will let you see the police report.”

“We have seen it,” Bradley interjects. “We want to hear the story again. From you.”

That does it. I don’t handle bullying very well and my patience is at an end. I push my chair back and stand up. Williams is shooting daggers at me and trying to interject himself into my head. I shut him out. Donovan and Bradley rise, too, and press closer as if to restrain me if I try to walk out.

“Am I under arrest?” I ask.

The two Feds shake their heads. That they are sorry to have to admit that is stamped on their faces.

“Then I’m going to leave. Unless, of course, you are willing to tell me what you were doing trying to break into Daniel Frey’s condo and why you’re following me.”

Donovan and Bradley exchange a look. I know they’re humans but I could swear they’re communicating with each other. Most likely they discussed how to handle various scenarios before getting to the station. It’s what David and I would have done.

In any case, they finally break their eye deadlock and Donovan says, “Please sit down, Ms. Strong. We’ll answer your questions.”

This time I push around him and take the seat to the far right. I’m not doing the ping-pong thing again.

They arrange themselves facing me and Bradley begins. “We are agents with a special unit that investigates sex crimes-in particular, sex crimes involving children. We are here because we believe there is a ring operating out of this area that uses children to make pornographic videos that they offer for sale over the Internet.”

“Kiddie porn,” Donovan interjects, as if maybe I’ve been living in a cave for the last fifty years.

I nod that I get it.

Donovan continues, “But we’ve seen a disturbing trend in the last few months. Children are not only abused in these videos, but they’re killed.”

My stomach lurches. “Why did you go to Daniel Frey’s? Do you think he is somehow involved?”

“We don’t know,” Bradley replies. “But his name came up in an earlier investigation, in Boston. Nothing was proven. No charges were filed. Now he lives here, in San Diego, and we’re hearing rumors again about these snuff films.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. If this is true, I turned Trish over to him. I delivered her to a monster. My concern is so overwhelming I forget to shelter my thoughts. Williams is in my head before I can prevent it.

He has Trish?

I don’t have to answer. The look on my face must say it all.

Go,hetells me. I’lltake care of the Feds.

I don’t wait to see how he does it. I don’t care. I bolt out the door.

Chapter Twenty-Five

My hands are shaking so badly that I barely get the keys into the ignition. Recriminations ring in my head. Why did I discount the rumors about Frey? The ones he so glibly denied? How could I have trusted a man I didn’t know with any girl’s life, let alone one who may be my niece? What the hell was I thinking?

By the time I pull into the parking lot at Valley Vista High, I’m in such a state, I know if I face Frey now, if he understands what I’m feeling, he’ll be bound to either attack or flee. Either way, I will have lost Trish. There was nothing in his projected vision to give me a hint where she is being held. I have to make him take me to her. Maybe there are other girls in danger. The only way to know for sure is to see for myself.

I force myself to sit in the car, hands on the wheel, not moving a muscle until I clear my mind. The dashboard clock reads 2:45. I concentrate on it, focus on the numerals, and listen for the click detectable only to a nonhuman ear as each minute ticks away. At 2:55, I draw a deep breath and hold my hands in front of my face. The trembling has stopped. My heart is no longer battering my ribs. The struggle now will be to neutralize my thoughts. I’ve done it before. But this time is different. I only had myself to protect when the showdown came with Avery. Now there’s another life, an innocent, and if Frey sees through my deception, she will be the one to pay the price.

A bell clangs in the schoolyard, and like horses from a starting gate, the students rush from their classrooms and head for the parking lot.

I wait another five minutes. Then I climb out of the car and make my way to Frey’s classroom.

He’s waiting for me at the door, his coat over his arm and his briefcase clutched at his side. His eyes narrow a little when he peers into my face. “Are you all right?”

I nod. “Had a rough day.”

“What happened?”

I gesture toward the car. “Can we talk on the way?”

He doesn’t seem to be reading anything other than my desire to get on the road. He nods and follows me as I retrace my steps to the car.

He hesitates at the gate to the parking lot. “Do you want to see your mother before we go?” he asks.

I already have my keys in my hand. I use the remote to unlock the doors. “No. I’ll talk to her later.”

He lets it go without comment and settles himself into the passenger seat. Just as I put the Jag in reverse and turn to check that there’s no one behind me, he lays his hand over mine on the gearshift.

His touch triggers an involuntary reaction. I jerk my hand away. Immediately, I regret the lack of control. He’s really looking at me now, an enigmatic specter of doubt hardening the lines around his mouth and eyes.

“You can’t keep it from me, Anna. You may as well not try.”

But it seems I can. I’m doing it. For the first time, I don’t feel powerless against him. But I also don’t know how long I can hold him off. I forge the thought carefully. It’s Carolyn.

Trish’s mother?

Yes. She was killed this morning.

That seems to distract him long enough for me to get us on the road. When he’s back in my head, his tone is thoughtful, concerned.

How will you tell Trish?

He doesn’t ask how it happened. He assumes it was an accident, I read that from his own projections. I don’t correct him, inquiring instead, Where're we going? You haven’t told me.

His reply is offhand, To Balboa Park.

Balboa Park? The idea spins around my head throwing off questions like sparks from a flare. The municipal park is a big place, but it’s a public place. Where would he be hiding Trish in the park? The only answer I come up with makes me grind my teeth in frustration and concern. It would be difficult to hide a child in the park, but not a body. There would be lots of places to hide a body.

Frey grabs my arm, and the unexpected contact makes me jump. I snap my head around to look at him. What?

He’s looking in the passenger side mirror. I think we’re being followed.

My eyes dart for the rear view mirror. If Williams let those Feds go to follow me-But it’s not the Ford Fair lane behind us. It’s a Volkswagen.

Frey starts to swivel around in his seat, but I grab his arm. Don’t. If someone is following us, it’s best we pretend not to know.

He rights himself in the seat. What are we going to do?

My eyes are on the car in the mirror. It looks familiar, though I can’t place it . What makes you think we’re being followed?

From the corner of my eye, I see Frey shrug. He answers out loud, his tone hesitant. “I noticed the car when we left school. There’s a guy driving. He followed us onto the freeway. If he were a student, he’d live in the area and would have gotten off already. We’re almost to

College Avenue

and he’s right behind us.”

“Doesn’t necessarily mean he’s following us.”

“Do you want to take that chance?”

No. “We’ll go to my office,” I say. “Can you get the license plate number? I can’t see it in my mirror.”

Frey squints as he tries to make it out. “No. Damn it. The plate’s too dirty. Maybe we should forget about going to see Trish today. Take me home. If he follows when we take the Friar’s Road exit, we’ll know for sure he’s after us.”

I stifle the urge to howl in annoyance. But then, reason takes over. Frey is right. And if I take him home, we can spend some quality time alone together.

The anxiety lifts and I nod at him. I’m on the 94 Freeway, and instead of heading downtown, when the junction with 15 North approaches, I take it. The Volkswagen does too. At the

Friars Road

exit, I don’t signal but cut across three lanes of traffic to a cacophony of horns and rude gestures.

The Volkswagen is right behind me.

Is this guy arrogant or just plain stupid?

And as soon as I ask myself that question, I remember where I’ve seen that car before.