Dave Zeltserman - Blood Crimes Book One

“Something happened recently in Kansas City that made me want to check it out,” he said.

“Which was?”

Hayes took out his handkerchief and wiped it along his neck and forehead. He felt shaky. Deep inside he knew this was a mistake letting her in on what he knew. As if his voice were coming from outside of himself, he heard himself tell her about the pattern of murders he had recognized, and about the latest murder in Kansas City. There was a cold silence on her end that she eventually broke by asking Hayes if he had mentioned his theory to anyone else.

“You mean the authorities?” he asked.

“I mean anyone.”

“No, of course not,” he said. “You’re paying me for my confidentiality. As long as you’re not asking me to break the law, I’m under no legal obligation to go to the police with any hunches I have.”

“You do realize this hunch of yours is ridiculous?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What you’ve so ingeniously discovered has been nothing more than a series of bizarre coincidences.”

“I realize that’s possible.”

“No, Donald,” she said confidently, her sing-songish lilt back, “it is most definitely only a coincidence. But still, it’s been a lucky one since it led you to Jim. And only four days ago he was in Kansas City?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He could hear a slight purr on her end as she considered that. Then, “Any ideas where Jim might’ve gone next?”

“None yet. But I have a few more leads to check out. From our previous sightings, he seems to be heading to the East Coast.”

“It does seem that way.” Some more soft purring, then, “Donald, keep me informed if you find anything.”

“I will.” He hesitated, and wiped his handkerchief along his face and neck. “Serena, there is something else. Jim is traveling with a young woman, probably in her early twenties. I have a sketch of her that I am confident is of a good likeness.”

A painful silence, then her voice crackling like a whip, she asked, “Why haven’t you mentioned this to me before?”

Her tone took Hayes by surprise. He found himself stammering, telling her he needed to confirm this first, but that he was now convinced of Jim’s traveling companion.

‘Is…Is she pretty?” Serena asked hesitantly, sounding a bit like a little girl.

“A matter of taste,” Hayes said.

“Would you say she’s pretty?”

“Not really my type,” Hayes lied.

“I see…Have you identified her?”

“No, not yet. I’ve sent her drawing to my old police partner in Brooklyn, and no matches to any missing persons reports.”

“Fax me her sketch as soon as you can,” she said; then impatiently, “Anything else?”

“I have an idea on how to flush them out,” he said. “I’d like to have my staff send her sketch to motels around the country. I have a good idea of the type they’ve been staying at, and we could target them offering a reward to anyone who spots her and contacts us. In a month we could have full coverage. It wouldn’t take long after that.”

“That is an excellent idea.” Her voice had softened back to its earlier sing-songish lilt. “I knew there was a reason I hired you other than simply your rugged good looks.”

Hayes found himself blushing. “There is a downside,” he said. “We could end up being flooded with false identifications. It could be expensive tracking them all down.”

“Expense isn’t an issue. It sounds well worth doing. Bravo, Donald, I am quite impressed.”

She must’ve put the phone down. He could hear her clapping on her end. Then the light tinkling of her laughter.

Hayes’ blush deepened. He also felt himself hardening between his legs. It was amazing the effect her voice could have on him-more powerful than a handful of Viagra. He was grateful more than ever that he had that tattooed and pierced freak of a waitress waiting for him.

“We could also get her sketch in newspapers across the country and offer a reward for information. It would be expensive, but we’d probably find her in a week or less-”

“No, Donald, your other idea sounds more than adequate. Newspapers would draw too much attention. But I am very pleased with your progress. Very much so. Please do continue to keep me informed.”

She hung up.

Hayes let loose with a loud exhalation, then shook his head smiling grimly to himself. He wished he had some idea where Jim and his girlfriend had gone off to next. More than ever he wanted to find the sonofabitch and be done with the case. He checked his watch and sighed heavily. It was nine-ten. Almost four hours before that waitress would be off duty. He got back in his car and drove the two miles to the murder site. Before leaving his car he took the safety off his 9 mm and slipped the sap under his belt so he’d have easy access to it. He walked back into the alley hoping to come across someone who might’ve seen something the night Devon Wilkerson was killed. He waited patiently without any luck until quarter to one, then headed off to his date.

Metcalf’s private lab was reminiscent of some nightmarish scene from the Island of Dr. Moreau, and like Moreau’s laboratory, was a place of pain and abomination. For Metcalf, the lab served dual purposes; it helped him gain insights into the effects of the virus, and it acted as a deterrent to the other vampires in the compound from thinking about challenging his authority. The test subjects were all infected with the vampire virus. Some were originally brought in as “cattle” and had the misfortune of being chosen for this capacity-which was a fate far worse than being milked until illness or anemia set in; others were members of the compound who needed to be made examples of. All of the test subjects had their arms and lower halves removed; which made them appear like grotesque doll-like creatures. Some were pinned to their tables by spikes through their shoulders, others were chained along the walls. All of them were in the midst of experiments that would’ve made even the infamous Joseph Mengelev cringe in horror.

Metcalf strolled casually around his lab examining his experiments. Those that were capable of screaming out fought hard to hold their tongues; they knew their situations, however horrific, could be made worse. Moans escaped from a few of them, whimpers from a few others, but most kept quiet. Metcalf stopped at a table where a test subject had reached six months without being fed. The subject had shriveled to the point of looking more like a prune than anything that could’ve ever been human. Its eyes appeared dead, its mouth gaping open. Metcalf pulled the spikes out from its shoulders and carried it to a scale. Only thirty-four pounds. Before the experiment was started, the subject had weighed more than double that. Metcalf brought it back to its table and pounded the spikes back where they’d been. Not even a whimper. Metcalf had doubts whether it was still alive. If it were dead it would be the first time that he witnessed a vampire dying due to starvation. Using an eyedropper, Metcalf squeezed a drop of human blood into the thing’s gaping mouth. A sucking sound came from it.

“Still alive, huh?” Metcalf noted.

He squeezed the remaining blood from the eyedropper into the gaping hole. The glaze over the vampire’s eyes faded and a flicker of life shone in them. Metcalf slowly fed it an ounce of blood, and as he did so, the vampire plumped out like a raisin that had been dropped in water. It stirred slightly, its tongue pushing out, then choking noises rattled from its throat as it pleaded for more blood. Metcalf continued to feed it blood until it was restored to its former condition. Four ounces of blood had brought the vampire fully back. The vampire lay with its chest heaving sucking in oxygen. Metcalf scribbled notes on a clipboard that hung on the edge of the table.