Blood Therapy (Kismet Knight, Ph.D., Vampire Psychologist) (37 page)

“Only the top of the blanket.”

He lifted the blanket, assessed the situation, and moved around the bed to me. “Agent Stevens said you discovered the corpse when you woke up this morning.” His not-quite-a-smile was cold. “Is that what happened?”

There was another knock on the door, and Officer Angelino went to answer it. “That’ll be the medical examiner and the forensics guys. I’ll get them started.”

Lieutenant Fitzgerald pointed at the furniture under the window. “Let’s move over there.”

Alan and I perched on the couch. The lieutenant took the chair in front of us.

Officer Angelino escorted several men into the room. “Lieutenant? I let the ME and the forensics techs in. The homicide guys are waiting in the hall, along with a couple of hotel managers.”

Fitzgerald locked his gaze on me. “So, Doctor Knight, Agent Stevens told me about your event in the hotel auditorium yesterday evening. He said the deceased, Jack Kent, burst in, made outrageous accusations, then attacked you on the stage. The police were called to the scene, and you filed charges, as did another woman who was allegedly hurt. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”
Doesn’t this guy ever have to blink?
I turned to Alan. “Could I have some water, please?”

Alan went to the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle, and handed it to me.

The men examining the body and surrounding areas went about their business silently. The only noise in the room was the click of the camera as the crime scene was photographed.

“Thank you.” I opened it and drank, shifting my eyes back to Lieutenant Fitzgerald, whose lizard stare was sucking all the moisture from my cells. It occurred to me that if he ever wanted to become a vampire, he already had the hypnosis down.

He waited until Alan resumed his seat, then continued, “What happened next?” He leaned back in the chair, looking deceptively harmless.

“Then Agent Stevens, a psychologist friend—Doctor Michael Parker—and I went to the little World War II restaurant downstairs for coffee.”

“Michael Parker, you say? The same Michael Parker who was with you when you gave a statement to the police yesterday in the auditorium? Do you know how I can reach him?” He pulled out a pad and pen, prepared to record my answer.

“He’s here for the American Psychologists’ Conference, so he’s a guest at the hotel.”

“This hotel?”

“Yes, of course.”

He tucked the pad and pen back into his inside pocket without shifting his eyes. “We’ve checked the hotel’s registration and there’s nobody here by the name of Michael Parker, nor has there been for the last few weeks. There isn’t a Parker with any first name. We also checked nearby hotels with the same result.” He leaned forward. “How do you explain that, Doctor Knight?”

“I can’t.” I looked at Alan.

“No way, Fitzgerald, he’s here somewhere.” Alan shook his head. “He must be using another name.”

The lieutenant barely spared Alan a glance before riveting his icy-blues back on me. “Are you aware of another name your friend might use, Doctor Knight, or why he’d do that?”

“No. I only met him on the plane coming to the conference. I don’t know a lot about him.”

“I see. So he wasn’t actually a friend, more of an acquaintance—would you say that’s accurate?”

“Yes.” I saw the corner of Alan’s mouth quirk up, and I knew he was weighing the consequences of letting Lieutenant Fitzgerald think Michael might have had something to do with the murder. As fun as that would be for Alan, he couldn’t pursue it, because neither one of us trusted Michael to keep his knowledge to himself under pressure. It would cause more trouble than it was worth.

The examiner stepped away from the bed. One of the techs pulled out a black body bag, and he and his partner quickly lifted Kent inside and zipped it up.

Lieutenant Fitzgerald paused for what felt like a full minute, unblinking. He was very good at using silence to intimidate. I wasn’t even able to pick up his intentions and emotions intuitively. All I sensed was the image of a blank wall. He had to be very well trained in protecting himself.

Maybe he just blinks too fast for me to see? If he didn’t blink, wouldn’t his eyeballs dry up?

“What, exactly, is the relationship between you and Agent Stevens, Doctor Knight?”

“We’re friends.” I drank more water.

“Friends? Have you known
him
longer than just since the plane ride to the conference?”

“Yes.” I figured I couldn’t get into any trouble if I kept my answers short.

“How long?”

“What’s this got to do with anything, Fitzgerald?” Alan asked. “You’re getting off-track here.”

The lieutenant ignored Alan. “How long, Doctor Knight?”

“We met last October.”

“Hmm. According to my research, you were involved in another murder case in Denver last October. Was Agent Stevens there to investigate you?”

Uh-oh. I don’t like where this is heading.

Another tech guided a collapsible gurney into the room, helped lift the body onto it, then wheeled it into the hallway.

“Fitzgerald, what the hell?” Alan straightened, his eyebrows contracted in the middle.

Lieutenant Fitzgerald held up his index finger and finally gave Alan his attention. “I just find it odd, Agent, that you are
friends
with a woman who was a suspect in an earlier homicide. But we’ll leave that line of inquiry for now.” He looked at me. “After you, Agent Stevens, and Doctor Parker had coffee in the restaurant downstairs, what happened next?”

“We came up here to my room to talk. Doctor Parker had some research interviews he wanted to show us.”

“You came to your room? All
three
of you?” His lips curved up into something that didn’t look anything like a smile.

I didn’t bite, although the visual of the ménage à trois he was suggesting might have been interesting if I could’ve stopped imagining Alan and Michael pounding each other bloody and rolling across the floor. “Yes. All three of us.”

“What kind of
research interviews
did you watch?”

“Fitzgerald? You’re definitely crossing a line now.” Alan stood.

“Okay, okay. Sit down, Agent.”

“No thanks.” Alan, still standing, fisted his hands on his hips. “Let’s just get this over and done with.”

Lieutenant Fitzgerald relaxed back in his chair and brought his intense stare back to me again. “All right. So, Doctor Knight, after the three of you watched the
research
videos, what did you do then?”

“Agent Stevens and Doctor Parker left, and I went to bed.”

“You went to bed? Did you let Jack Kent into your room before going to bed, or did he awaken you at some point?”

Alan rolled up on the balls of his feet, looking like a street brawler. I answered quickly. “To the best of my knowledge, Jack Kent was being held in the NYPD jail following his arrest. I went to bed alone and woke up with a dead body next to me. I have no idea how he got there.”

The lieutenant leaned forward, shaking his head. “Come now, Doctor—do you really expect me to believe the body simply appeared in your bed by magic? That someone managed to break into your room and deposit a large man right next to you without waking you? How do you explain that?”

He really was trying to pin the murder on me, and I wasn’t going to have it. “Lieutenant Fitzgerald, the only logical explanation, since Agent Stevens tells me the lack of blood around the body means Kent was killed elsewhere and brought here, is that I slept through whatever happened. Since the deceased was such a large man, it would make sense that more than one person transported him. Maybe they had a keycard to my room. I don’t know.”

“Is your keycard missing?”

I jumped up and walked to the entertainment center. My keycard was there, right where I’d left it when Alan and I returned to my room earlier. I held it up. “No. It’s here.”

“Did the hotel give you more than one card?”

“No—I only asked for one. Of course, it’s impossible to know if other copies were made.” I returned to my seat on the couch.

“Are you a particularly heavy sleeper, Doctor Knight? I’m having a hard time imagining this body was brought here in complete silence.”

“I’m not usually a heavy sleeper, Lieutenant, but after Kent interrupted my presentation and then the media arrived, I was running on adrenaline. When I was finally alone in my room, I wanted nothing more than to sleep. I took a shower, then crawled into bed. After tossing and turning for a while because my mind was spinning, I took a couple of the sleeping pills I use occasionally. They tend to knock me out.”

He rose, moved toward the nightstand, and picked up the pill bottle. “Are these the sleeping pills you’re talking about?” He shook the remaining pills into his hand then read the label. “The prescription says there should be twenty pills, but I only count twelve. Did you take eight pills last night?”

“No, of course not. The prescription’s dated last October. I’ve taken a few since then.”

“You had difficulty sleeping last October? During the murders? I’m sure you know, Doctor, that sometimes people with guilty consciences have trouble sleeping. Not that I’m implying anything about you, of course.”

“Fitzgerald, this is bullshit.” Alan moved to stand in front of the lieutenant. “You know she didn’t do anything, so why are you treating her like Public Enemy Number One?”

“I don’t have to answer any of your questions,
Agent
. This murder and the death of the psychologist in the hotel yesterday both took place on my turf, and the Feds have nothing to say about my investigation. I’ll conduct it any way I please, and right now your
friend
is the only one with a motive for the homicide.”

Alan stood straighter, stepping into his official persona. “On the contrary,
Lieutenant
, the psychologist murder here is part of an investigation that started in San Francisco. Since two states are involved, it definitely falls under the auspices of the FBI, so I’d say this is just as much my investigation as yours. As for Jack Kent, no one knows yet how he might be involved.”

“Lieutenant?” Angelino moved toward us. “Forensics is waiting for everyone to leave so they can continue their jobs. The hotel manager is here, ready to move Doctor Knight to another room.”

Alan and the lieutenant glared at each other for a few seconds. “All right.” Fitzgerald turned to me. “Leave everything in the room as it is. You can return after forensics are finished. In the meantime, go ahead and talk to the hotel manager and get your new room keycard. Then you’ll be coming downtown with me.”

“What?” Alan stepped in front of me. “You’ve already heard her statement. What’s the point of dragging her downtown?”

Fitzgerald’s lips curved into that unfriendly smile. “Well, as you said, I heard her statement, but nothing was written down. We’ll do that at headquarters. I suppose you’ll be joining us?”

“Damn right!”

Several miserable hours and what felt like endless police cross-examinations later, Alan accompanied me back to the hotel. We went to my old room, packed up my things, and called a porter to transport everything to the new room—an exact duplicate of the last one—which was on the same floor as Alan’s.

I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to jump on a plane to Denver and fly home. The conference was over as far as I was concerned. I sat on the edge of one of the beds in the new room and listened to Alan as he paced.

“I can’t believe they held you there so long without any charges. And that they kept us separated. I’m going to have a word with Fitzgerald’s captain. Not an FBI matter, my ass. We’ll see about
that
.”

The police
had
treated me like the main suspect, based only on circumstantial evidence. Specifically, the body in my room. I mean, how stupid would I have to be to kill someone, plant them in my own bed, then call the police? And after the long, grueling interrogation, they suddenly let me go. With no explanation. I hoped Alan could find out what had caused the quick change.

He finally stopped talking and crouched in front of me. “You look like hell.” He tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. “I think a nap is called for. Why don’t you come to my room and sleep while I do some paperwork?” He looked as tired as I felt. The whites of his blue-purple eyes were red, the shadows underneath darker and wider than usual, and the lines running from his nostrils to the corners of his lips were cut deeper than before. After all, he had been up most of the night.

“I think you’re right about sleeping, but I’ll just stay here. I don’t think I could even walk down the hall at this point.”

He rose and stepped toward the door. “Are you sure? I could have room service bring you something to eat. You must be starving.”

I wondered if he’d heard my stomach growl. “I am hungry, but I’ll get something when I wake up. Thanks, though.” I tried to smile. “If I had to be grilled by New York’s finest, I’m glad you were in the vicinity. No telling what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been there.”

As he reached the door, I saw a movement from the corner of my eye. A child—no more than five or six years old—ran toward me, holding a doll. She was dressed in a floor-length yellow nightgown and held her other arm out. “Momma?” As I watched, the bottom of her gown caught fire. “Help me, Momma!” she screamed as the flames engulfed her.

Shit! A talking child ghost. No way. I had no intention of watching her little body burn in the illusory flames. I preferred the woman in red and her crashing-through-the-window routine. And who knew what other spectral nightmares awaited in this room?

“Alan, wait! On second thought, I
will
go with you. Hold on.” I squinted, trying not to see anything that wasn’t directly in front of me, slipped on my shoes, and hurried to the door.

He gave me a surprised and confused look. “Er, okay.” He glanced at my face then scanned the room, no doubt guessing there was more going on than met the eye. “Let’s go.”

We shuffled down the hall like newly minted zombies. He opened his door, and I fell facedown onto one of the beds, and that’s the last thing I remembered for a while.