Dark Changeling Part 22

AFTER HE'D finished putting away the groceries he'd bought on the way home, Roger showered and dressed, then sat down in the living room with theWall Street Journal to wait for Britt. That diversion kept him occupied less than five minutes. Instead he got up and paced. Britt had promised to come over at six thirty, and he'd never known her to be unpunctual. Since that time was still half an hour away, he had no right to worry yet.

But he did worry, every second she was out of earshot. The fact last night's pleasure had temporarily wiped out of his mind haunted him: Sandor hadn't minded butchering one of his own kind to strike at Roger. Therefore he would doubtless be thrilled to destroy Britt for the same reason. He knew Britt's importance to Roger, and she had no way to protect herself.

Good G.o.d, why did I ever let her go home alone?By the time Britt rang the doorbell, Roger's fear for her had grown to an icy knot in his chest. He practically dragged her inside.

Slamming the bolts into place, he said, "Confound it, what took you so long?"

She looked puzzled by his harsh tone. Holding up her left wrist, she said, "My watch says six thirty. Is yours fast? Roger, what is the matter with you?"

"I should have followed you home; we shouldn't have separated."

A small frown appeared between her eyebrows. "I don't like the sound of that, but we don't have to discuss it standing in the foyer, do we? I'd like to put my things down somewhere." She carried her briefcase and an overnight bag in addition to her heavy shoulder purse. She had changed out of her tailored pantsuit into slacks and a Johns Hopkins T-shirt.

Roger carried the overnight case upstairs. Coming back down, he found Britt curled in a corner of the office couch, briefcase on her lap. "You're prepared to stay the night, I see," he said. A detached part of his mind registered amus.e.m.e.nt at his awkwardness, as if this situation weren't commonplace for a middle-aged bachelor in this liberated decade.

"Possibly the weekend," said Britt, "depending on how soon we get sick of each other. We both like our privacy."

"True. At the moment I'm more concerned that I won't want to let you go, not that I'll be eager to throw you out. Staying close to me for too long could be hazardous for you." He sat down on the other end of the couch, torn between the need to hold her and the fear of repelling her with his voracious demands.

"Horse hockey," said Britt cheerfully. "I plan on being here for you every weekend, and more often if you like."

"Of course I'd 'like.' That isn't the point. I'm used to abstaining for two or three weeks straight, and I get along perfectly well."

She greeted that claim with a ladylike snort. "Some snakes go without eating a year at a time, but I doubt they like it. Every weekend, colleague. I intend to take proper care of you, so you might as well resign yourself."

"Yes, Doctor." Maybe he'd learn to restrain himself in the face of her seductive willingness. Perhaps after the first few encounters, her mere presence in the room wouldn't make him lightheaded with desire. And perhaps the entire Delmarva Peninsula would slide into the Chesapeake Bay tomorrow morning.

"Last night," she said, "I got some idea of the strain you've been living with. Now I understand what you meant about having trouble working in hospitals. How did you ever get through your residency? The emergency room must have been sheer h.e.l.l for you."

He nodded. "It didn't stop when I became a psych resident, either. I got called down to the ER for consults several times a week."

She said with a half-smile, "Traumatic amnesia cases-attempted suicides-little old ladies who can't remember what year it is- paranoid street people punching out paramedics, spitting on interns, and bleeding all over the trauma room floor-oh, yeah,those psych consults."

"Yes, I imagine Johns Hopkins and Ma.s.s General aren't too different in that respect."

"What about your surgical rotation? That must have been even worse."

His lips twitched with amus.e.m.e.nt at the memory of an incident that had been far from funny at the time. "My first day in the OR, I pa.s.sed out."

Britt squeezed his hand. "Oh, boy. How long did it take you to live that down?"

"Actually, it worked to my advantage in the long run. I had a reputation for being too 'perfect,' enjoyed showing up the other residents on rounds. The only reason they tolerated my company was that I was always eager to take other people's night shifts. I overheard one of the nurses, later that day, saying maybe I was human after all."

She leaned against his shoulder. "I wish I'd been there."

He hugged her lightly, fighting the impulse to pull her into a closer embrace. "No, you don't. n.o.body liked me very much. h.e.l.l,I didn't like me. I was an arrogant, introverted, anxiety-ridden, self-absorbed workaholic."

"Not one bit the way you are now, huh?" she said, deadpan.

He stared at her blankly for a second, then laughed. "You can't have had too easy a time in training, yourself. Women weren't that common in our specialty back then."

Britt shrugged. "Sure, I put up with the usual garbage-anatomical specimens in my locker, groping from the male residents, snide comments from professors who thought I should get married instead of taking up a spot that really belonged to a man. It was all part of the standard 'be twice as good to be minimally accepted.' Thank Heaven things are changing."

"Did you consider getting married?" He wasn't sure whether he really wanted to know; the thought of another man touching her elevated his blood pressure instantly.

"I went with another resident during the last couple of years," she said. "We were never formally engaged, but it was understood.

Until he accepted an appointment in the midwest, without consulting me first, on the a.s.sumption I'd just drop all my plans and tag along after him." Britt shook her head. "That killed it. A month later, I couldn't believe I had ever considered spending my life with him."

"Shall I hunt him down and kill him for you?" Roger said. In response to her laughter, he added, "On second thought, the idiot did me a favor." Britt poked him lightly in the chest, a gesture that did nothing to steady his pulse. He put a few inches between them and resolutely shifted the conversation to a neutral topic. "Have you eaten? I stocked up on supplies for you."

"Yes, that's what I went home for, among other things. I've also taken my shower and so forth, so we can spend all evening, uninterrupted, on these reports." She tapped the briefcase. "Or until the lack of sleep knocks me out, anyway. Since med school I've lost the art of pulling all-nighters."

Roger didn't need to be told that she'd just bathed. Her natural fragrance, blood-tinged and combined with a hint of soap and powder, did unfortunate things to his concentration. Unable to resist the temptation, he moved over and put his arm around her shoulders again. "You look beautiful."

Britt made a tut-tut sound. "Now you're hallucinating, on top of everything else. In this baggy old shirt, with my hair all over the place? Come on!"

"I approve of your hairstyle," he said. "May I?" He drew her into his arms, burying his fingers in the silken ma.s.s of her hair, inhaling its clean scent. He soaked up her warmth like desert earth absorbing rain. For the moment he needed nothing more.

After several minutes she pulled back, her fingers laced behind his head, to meet his eyes. "Colleague, have you considered seeking treatment for this hair fetish of yours?"

He immediately removed his hands.

"Idiot, can't you tell when you're being teased?" With a tantalizing sc.r.a.pe of her nails along his cervical vertebrae, she let go of him.

"Most men are hair fetishists. But you can't use it to distract me from that rattlebrained remark you made when I walked in. What's this 'we shouldn't have separated' stuff?"

"Every minute you're alone, you are in danger." Again the weight of anxiety settled on Roger. "Sandor knows I-care for you.

Attacking you would be his next logical step."

"Are you saying you want to protect me?" He heard no tender grat.i.tude in her voice. Her eyes glinted dangerously. "Of course I do, d.a.m.n it! I put you at risk in the first place! Why do you think I was so determined to keep you away from this case?"

"If you think I'll stand for that, you're seriously out of touch with reality." She retreated to her end of the couch, lifting the briefcase onto her lap again. "I chose to get involved, and I bear my own risks."

Roger swallowed the protests that sprang to his lips. He should have known Britt would react this way, and a bigger fool than he was would recognize that pursuing the argument would just alienate her. "At least promise you won't take any more stupid chances?"

"Like following you last night?" She granted him an apologetic half-smile. "I won't do anything else without consulting you, if you'll promise the same. All for one and one for all." She offered her hand.

"Illogical-there are only two of us." Clasping her hand, he said, "I agree-no more secrets." He amended, "As far as I can live up to that without betraying other people's secrets."

"Great, we can go over the files on the case again-honestly, this time." Though her voice held no reproach, Roger flushed with shame. She flipped her briefcase open. "Got anything to show me?"

Digging a folder out of the file cabinet, Roger laid it on the broad cherrywood desk. "Reports on the Boston murders. Not that they'll tell you much you haven't already surmised."

Britt pulled up the chair from the computer table and spread out her materials. "And you can look over my notes on the local crimes, tell me how close my guesses came. Colleague, much as I hate to draw attention to my human imperfections, I can't read in this light." The curtains, as usual, were closed.

With an apology, Roger switched on the hanging lamp above the desk, to cast a cozy glow over the work s.p.a.ce.

Leaning on her elbow and opening the topmost of her files-the autopsy report on Sylvia, Roger noticed-Britt said, "You know, last night I actually managed to forget about all this."

"So did I." He couldn't keep the pain that stabbed through him out of his voice.

"If you start feeling guilty about that," said Britt, "I'll be strongly tempted to bonk you over the head with yourPhyscian's Desk Reference . How is self-flagellation going to help your friend?" Her bracing tone softened. "Are you ready to talk about her?"

"Yes." He struggled to blank out the image of Sylvia's mutilated body. For the first time he saw his eidetic memory as a curse rather than a gift.

"It's none of my business, but-were you lovers?"

"No, I don't think that relationship exists among vampires. They-wesatisfy our libidinal needs with human partners. Sylvia and I were-close-in Boston, and she blamed me, with perfect justice, for Sandor's persecution of her." Britt's silent invitation drew Roger out and made talking about Sylvia less difficult than he'd expected. "I made several disastrous choices. That's not neurotic guilt, it is simply a fact."

Britt's fingers rested lightly on his. "All right. Listen to the advice you'd give a patient-put it behind you and move on. Learning from your mistakes is one thing; wallowing in them is something else altogether. I don't understand about the rape. You said vampires don't normally indulge in genital s.e.xuality."

"They're incapable of it, except when the female is in estrus. Sylvia was."

"Interesting." Britt's nails tapped thoughtfully on the desk top. "Then maybe it wasn't rape."

"No, in that she probably didn't resist at the crucial moment. On the other hand, I'm absolutely sure she didn't consent." After a minute's reflection, he amended his answer. "In an ordinary rape, would you judge that the victim's o.r.g.a.s.mic response made it any less rape?"

Britt's mouth twisted in distaste. "Just the opposite! Why did he decapitate her? Homicidal frenzy? Revenge for trying to refuse him?"

"More than that," said Roger. "He wanted to make sure she was dead. Breaking her neck alone wouldn't have done it."

"Then the legends are true, to that extent?" Resting her chin on both hands, Britt gazed speculatively into the middle distance.

"What other methods of killing vampires work? How about the stake in the heart?"

Did she contemplate undertaking Sandor's destruction herself? No, even Britt wouldn't try that singlehandedly; the question had to be purely theoretical. "Only to the extent that a stake left in the body holds the wound open until irreversible damage occurs.

Otherwise the vampire's system could regenerate. Besides decapitation, the sure methods are total destruction, such as by fire or explosion, or, at least, destruction of all or most of the brain."

"I see." Britt fidgeted in the wooden chair and rubbed the back of her neck. "I can't tackle this without chemical a.s.sistance. Got any coffee?"

"Of course, you know I drink it myself."

"Then bring on the caffeine. Time to get to work."

Roger went to the kitchen to start the coffee. When he came back with a tray bearing the full pot and two mugs, he found Britt hunched over a map she'd spread out on the desk. The greater Washington area, including Baltimore, Annapolis, and northern Virginia. "What's that for, colleague?" He set the tray on the top corner of the desk, off the map.

Britt took a mug in her left hand and continued marking red X's on the map. "Not as much detail on streets as I'd like. I thought we might find a pattern by pinpointing the locations of the killings, with dates. So far it doesn't suggest a thing to me."

Sipping his hot coffee, Roger leaned over her shoulder. "It doesn't suggest much to me, either. They're cl.u.s.tered mainly in Anne Arundel County, which we already knew. What would you expect to notice that the police wouldn't?"

"Not me, you. I hope you can visualize your way into the killer's mind and make something out of this mess." She gestured at the random sprinkle of X's, each with a date jotted beside it.

"Where did you get that idea?" said Roger. "I don't think like a vampire. I was brought up as human and only found out about my mother's race the night before Sylvia died."

"You think more like a vampire than anybody else I know," said Britt, marking the final spot on her map.

"The trouble is, Sandor isn't even a typical vampire," Roger said. "He's a s.a.d.i.s.tic psychopath with an exhibitionist streak and faulty impulse control."

"And superhuman powers, Lord help us. Still, there are points you can verify. For one thing, you can confirm my doubts about these dates. Aren't there an awful lot of gaps?"

"I see what you're getting at," said Roger, sitting in his swivel chair. "From what I know of Sylvia and-others, full-blooded vampires can't go that long without human prey. These-" he tapped the stack of files-"can't be his only victims."

"Then what does he do between murders? Do you think he feeds without killing when things heat up too much?"

"Maybe." Thinking of Sylvia's habits, Roger said, "Self-indulgent as he is, I'm willing to bet he takes a victim at least every other night. If he could restrain himself, he could even kill them without drawing attention. As you noticed, the wound can be almost invisible." "Yes-and suppose he chooses victims who won't be missed that much?" An undercurrent of excitement bubbled in Britt's voice.

"Street people, other marginal types?"

"He'd have to choose carefully, to avoid people contaminated by drugs or disease."

"Still, he must be doing something like that," said Britt. "Roger, I'll have to backtrack through the newspaper files for incidents along those lines, less conspicuous unsolved deaths. Or maybe suggest that Lieutenant Hayes dig up post mortem reports of that type from Baltimore, Annapolis, and D.C., if I can think of a plausible way to bring it up without mentioning my nutty theory about vampires." She gave Roger a self-mocking grin.

"Your map does suggest one thing," he said. "It reminds us how mobile Sandor is. Whether he's using a stolen car or muscle- powered flight-"

"Would he do that in an inner city neighborhood?"

Roger shrugged. "You saw him. He seems to have some kind of invulnerability complex. However, I consider a car more likely. If so, a.s.suming he doesn't mind spending half the night on the move, we should extend our search over half of Maryland and northern Virginia, or possibly as far as Philadelphia and Richmond."

Britt's shoulders sagged. "You're right, darn it. Zeroing in on his lair doesn't look too hopeful."

"If he has a house or apartment, at least there's a hope of his making a slip that would get him noticed," said Roger. "But that isn't necessarily the case."

Folding the map, Britt said, "Explain that."

"He wouldn't mind foul weather and uncomfortable sleeping conditions as much as an ordinary man would. I suspect he rests in abandoned buildings, a different location every day." Hazardous as that practice sounded, Sandor's unkempt appearance bore out the supposition. "I wouldn't think of doing it myself-one would be totally exposed and unprotected in the daylight hours-but he seems to think he leads a charmed life."

"Then catching him helpless by day doesn't sound promising." Britt drained her coffee and poured another cup. "Let's read through these reports. Maybe inspiration will strike."

They spent the next hour going over the files, exchanging occasional comments. Britt's marginal jottings made it clear how close to the target her guesses had struck. Skimming her notes from big-city newspapers across the country, Roger wondered how he could ever have hoped to keep her ignorant.Thank G.o.d she's on my side!

At one point she asked, "What about that teenage boy in Boston, right after you left? Any connection?"

"One of Sylvia's-donors," he said. "Another revenge killing." He explained how Sandor had pursued Sylvia from city to city.

After a while Britt scooted over to the computer station to type in a chronology of the dates and a list of common factors from the various crimes, along with additional facts she'd picked up from Roger. "I don't know that I want this in writing," he said.

"Suppress your paranoia, colleague. Stored on disk under a file code n.o.body but us knows isn't exactly 'in writing.' I think better this way." Finished, she frowned at the screen. "Profile of a homicidal vampire," she said. "One more thing-we should watch the papers for reports of UFO sightings, similar weird phenomena."

"I don't get the connection."

"As you said, the other night in the Tawes Garden couldn't be the only time he's risked flying in a settled area. People must catch glimpses of him sometime."

"Yes. Not that we can alert the police to that clue." He poured a cup of coffee, found that it had cooled to lukewarm, and set it aside.

"That's the frustrating part," Britt agreed. She rubbed the back of her neck and stifled a yawn. "Did you tell Lieutenant Hayes about the Boston case?"