Blood Will Tell (26 page)

It gave her a sweet pang to look at Dan, to remember their intimacy, to look forward to more. There wasn't time this morning, but she smiled as she looked at her new—first—lover, watching him sleep.

Dan was not snoring, nor had she heard him during the night. She wouldn't mind; she recalled her father's snores echoing down the hall, and the terrible silence in the nights after he had died, sometimes broken by her mother's weeping when she thought her daughter safely asleep.

It was likely, Brandy realized, that Dan would leave her as her father had her mother. Even if his promises of long life came true for her, it would probably not be as long as his. He had lost one love, but had the courage to find another. As her mother had found Harry.

She didn't want to think of Dan with another woman.

Focus on the positive, she told herself, shivering her way into the bathroom, where her flannel pajamas hung on the linen closet door. She was glad Dan hadn't wakened, for her morning routine took forty-five minutes, and she had already dawdled some of that time away.

She turned on the coffee maker Dan had set up yesterday, then went into the living room and stuck her exercise tape into the VCR for a hard-driving fifteen minutes. When she went back upstairs for her shower, though, the bed was empty and the bathroom door was closed.

That was not the problem it would have been in either of their apartments; Brandy grabbed her robe and showered in the guest room bath. By the time she was finished, Dan was out of her bathroom, wearing one of those sexy black silk karate coats usually seen only in movies. He greeted her with a chaste kiss tasting of toothpaste, and a “Good morning. I smell coffee."

“Come join me for breakfast,” she suggested. “I have to warn you that I only allow five minutes for a bowl of cereal. I mustn't be late for work. I should have thought to set the clock earlier."

“It's all right,” he said. “We'll find a routine that works."

Outside, the snow sparkled. Murphy had gotten less than two inches; the storm was probably dumping a foot or more on Eastern Kentucky by now. Dan squinted against the brightness, human and scruffy in the morning light. He needed a shave, and his thick black hair, wet from the shower, curled waywardly. A man of his apparent age in most professions—except possibly rock star—would consider it too long.

Brandy didn't say anything. Dan had promised not to try to change her, and she owed him the same courtesy. Besides, she had fallen in love with him just as he was. She felt a pleasant pang as the phrase “fallen in love” crossed her mind, and Dan looked up with a confirming smile.

Brandy found the spare house key. “Thanks,” Dan said. “I'll move some more of my stuff over, and set up the computer. Shall I make dinner?"

“You'll spoil me."

“You can cook the days I work and you don't."

“You're a better cook than I am."

“Then we'll work out a different arrangement. Let's not try to decide everything today, okay?"

“Okay,” she agreed tentatively, testing the restraints of domesticity.

They inched a little tighter when Dan came into the bathroom while Brandy was putting on makeup, finding no mark on her throat. She had left the door open so they could talk. The master bath was big enough to allow both of them to use the large mirror, yet the intimacy of his placing a casual kiss on her upturned throat, then shaving while she put on blusher and struggled with her unstyled hair, was somehow greater than yesterday's indulgently shared shower.

Dan put on jeans and a Jackson Purchase State University sweatshirt, which made him look younger than the thirty-five years he claimed. Pulling on a worn leather jacket, he accompanied Brandy downstairs. “Why don't you invite Church in for a cup of coffee?"

“Uh ... I was going to break our news to him a little more gently,” she admitted.

“Brandy, my car's in your driveway, the tire tracks are filled with snow, and Church is a detective."

“Why do you always have to be right?” Brandy asked.

Church hugged Brandy, shook Dan's hand, and said, “I'm really happy for you. When are you getting married?"

“Probably next summer,” said Brandy.

Church frowned. “Why so long?” Then he paused, and asked very seriously, “Are we gonna lose you, Brandy?"

“No,” Dan and Brandy replied in unison, then looked at one another and smiled.

“Well, I see it's a mutual decision!” said Church. “And I'm very glad to hear it. Dan, I gotta warn you that a cop is not the easiest person in the world to live with. But you do anything to hurt this girl—"

“I won't,” Dan said. “It took too long to find her."

Brandy and Church drove through streets more deserted than usual, for even light snow kept many people from going out for donuts or the Sunday paper. At the station, Brandy stared at the bulletin board as she considered her dilemma.

She now knew the source of the mysterious smiles: the “influence” of a vampire. But for all the nonsense about Satanism in this area of the country, nobody, but nobody in Murphy would to accept the idea of vampire! Worse, the only way she could prove that vampires were real would be to expose Dan.

And since she had no idea who the murdering vampire was—except that it wasn't Dan Martin—any mention could tip off the real killer. She looked through the office door to where Church was working. He labored at the computer, adding, deleting, and rearranging his report into a masterpiece of rhetoric.

Church could be trusted with her secret, but only with Dan's permission. But even that would be on a need to know basis. It was best if Brandy could find and expose the killer vampire without involving Dan.

She sighed, thinking how naive Dan was to think Brandy was safe if the killer vampire thought her “in his power.” As long as she continued to work on this case, they were both in danger. She could fool him, she realized: let Dan think he was protecting her while she protected him. The only way either of them could be permanently safe was to find Carrie's murderer.

Her only choice was to investigate on her own, to look for pale people who wore sunglasses in the winter, who seemed younger and stronger than their age suggested, and who perhaps didn't leave fingerprints.

Three of the six murder victims were vampires. The police officers had been murdered to remove witnesses and confuse motives. Only Carrie's murder was inexplicable. Brandy felt no ill effects from Dan's taking as much blood as he needed. She had been left unmarked. If Carrie's throat had been slashed by a vampire, it was not to obliterate bite marks. It was a setup—but by a vampire to rid himself of a rival, or by a vampire hunter? On a hunch, Brandy went to the log called the Crank File.

All calls were considered serious until proven otherwise—even someone who thought he saw an alien park a UFO in his back yard might actually, as had happened last year, have seen a motorcyclist in helmet and leathers hiding his hog in thick bushes. The shining black and silver luggage box peeking through the foliage did look like the edge of a spacecraft. Actually, it was the getaway vehicle from a liquor store robbery in Paducah, and the “crank call” had allowed the Murphy police to apprehend the suspect and reclaim the stolen money.

Brandy found four calls concerning vampires. The most recent, three days ago, said, “People are being murdered! Why aren't the police doing anything? Free your mind from the vampire's spell. Beware the full moon!"

The next most recent was two days after Carrie's murder. “The vampire has killed again! Has he taken over the minds of the police? Stop him!” There was a call two days before Carrie's murder: “When the full moon rises on Saturday night, the vampire will strike. How many people does he have to suck the life from before you stop him?"

The earliest one said, “There is a vampire in Murphy. He gets into your mind, into your mind. He'll steal your life! Stop him from killing again!"

And that was it. Brandy searched further, but found nothing. The calls had all been made from a telephone booth on Main Street, between midnight and 2:00am on weekdays.

That public phone, Brandy couldn't help noticing, was the closest one to the morgue outside the hospital complex. Rory Sanford probably passed it walking to and from his job. The first call had come two days after he got out of prison.

They were obviously calls for help—but what kind of help? Knowing about Dan's “influence,” Brandy could almost believe the caller was fighting such hypnotic power. If the killer vampire knew about the calls, what better than to kill someone and plant the evidence on the caller?

Brandy now knew that Rory Sanford had not used that stupid fork to puncture Carrie's neck: Dan had bitten her. The fork was a red herring, planted to fit Doc Sanford's cannibal theory. She could feel the sneering sarcasm, framing his grandson according to the old man's wrong guess!

Rory was innocent of Carrie's murder, then, and probably the drug charges as well. But how could Brandy get him out of jail without implicating Dan?

The first thing to do was ask Rory Sanford if he had placed the calls. Brandy showed the transcripts to Church. “We should have checked this out earlier,” he said. “Shit, why didn't we check the Crank File for vampires the moment Doc Sanford turned up those puncture wounds? Good work, Kid. The location's right for Rory Sanford. Let's find out if he made the calls."

But their call to the Paducah jail was put on hold. Finally, instead of the jailer, a man identifying himself as Detective Sergeant Raymond Candless of the Paducah Police came on the line. “We got a mess on our hands,” he said. “I can't let you talk to Rory Sanford because he's dead."

“Dead!” exclaimed Brandy.

“Apparent suicide. He tore the edging off his mattress and used it to hang himself. Wasn't found till breakfast time. Listen, don't spread this around. We're tryin’ to locate his next of kin—that's his grandfather."

“Yes,” said Church, “Dr. Troy Sanford. If he's not at home, try the morgue. He's our coroner. You know how Saturday nights are."

“Okay, thanks. Say, you guys know him. Would you be willing—?” Candless broke off. “No. It's our fault. We'll tell him. But if you're his friends, maybe you can help him cope."

“Oh, God,” said Brandy, sitting down heavily. “Oh, poor Doc. Church—"

“There's nothing we can do,” her friend said. “He'll have a million questions. Let's hit the streets for a while, then go see Doc later, when we may be some help."

“A million questions we can't answer,” said Brandy, staring at the Crank File. “I'm certain Rory Sanford made these calls. You know how this will be taken: as an admission that he killed Carrie!"

“Wait for the full report. Maybe it wasn't suicide. But hell, who could get into that jail cell and murder him? The kid just couldn't take any more."

Soon they were rolling, needing fresh air. It was a glorious day, strong contrast to Brandy's gloomy thoughts. Children were building snowmen.

As if to clear the air of the latest depressing news, Church changed the subject to Brandy's marriage plans. “Is Dan planning to stay at Purchase State?"

“If they'll let him. He got his promotion to Associate Professor last year, so that makes it pretty hard to deny him tenure. He's already been approved at the departmental level, which he says is the hard part. Did you know you have to have a book published to get promotion and tenure?"

“I had no idea,” said Church. “Does he have one?"

“Yeah, something about networking in an academic environment. I don't think I'll ever keep up with that computer stuff, but I understand more than I used to."

“Good. You can help me search for more of those blackmail or bribery cases. I know I'm onto something. Maybe I can get enough evidence to convince the chief."

Brandy didn't answer immediately, wondering just how much help she could ask of Dan in an investigation of the judge. She couldn't directly lie to him. How far could she carry an interest in learning to use the computer?

“Earth to Brandy,” said Church. “You gonna be off there in cloud-cuckoo-land till the honeymoon's over?"

“Huh? No, I wasn't thinking about that. I was just wondering how much more Dan will be willing to show me. I don't think he'd help us break into Judge Callahan's computer files."

“He can do that?"

“I don't know—but if the judge leaves his computer on all the time, it might be possible. Dan said Callahan has a DSL line so he's on the Internet all the time."

“Good work, Kid,” said Church. “But you be careful. That's a helluva nice guy you've found yourself. Don't make him think you're using him."

Brandy smiled to herself, remembering why it would be impossible for Dan to misinterpret her feelings.

They got some coffee, then stopped at the city park, near where Carrie Wyman's body had been found a month ago. Church produced a portfolio, and drew out three more case folders. “I'm going through the closed files, picking out the names of supporters of Judge Callahan."

The first was a child abuse charge against one Darren Lyle. “I don't know him,” said Brandy.

“You know his dad,” said Church.

“Carson Lyle? Sweet-Pop Popcorn?"

Six years previously, Darren Lyle's wife had accused him of abusing their two small children and filed for divorce and custody. Lyle had been jailed, but the charges had been dismissed in Judge Callahan's court.

The police report showed only charges and denials, no hard evidence. “This isn't much to go on,” said Brandy.

“I found out the rest of the story,” Church explained. “Melba Lyle, Darren's wife, took the children and ran. He tracked her to a Wyoming motel, and beat her with a tire iron. The motel owner shot Lyle dead when he wouldn't stop. Melba died of head injuries."

“God,” Brandy murmured. “Those poor kids."

“They're back here in Murphy with their grandparents. And none of this made the local news."

Brandy frowned. “You'd think Carson Lyle would blame Judge Callahan for his son's death."

“Lyle prefers to blame his daughter-in-law. Judge Callahan made sure the Lyles got custody, and not Melba Lyle's sister, as she had in her will."

“What are the other cases?"