Death of an Immortal (8 page)

Chainsaw carvings of black bears surrounded the restaurant, and paw prints were stenciled onto the sidewalk. The entrance was enclosed within a gift shop selling kitschy plates and statues. It was dinnertime, and the place was packed.

Sylvie was talking to some friends near the front counter, still wearing her waitress smock. She saw Terrill and waved. She finished her conversation and went into the back, emerging seconds later as a civilian.

She nodded toward the inside of the restaurant and led him to a small table in the corner, near the swinging doors to the kitchen.

“You hungry?” she asked. “We make some pretty good hamburgers here.”

“No,” he said. He wanted to hand the check over as soon as possible. He wanted to get out of this High Desert land, with its bright sun and scant shade. He needed to get back to a city, where he could blend in, where his behavior wouldn’t be observed by the same people every day. The local butcher was already looking at him askance, and if he stayed much longer, he’d have to track down another source for raw meat.

Terrill handed over the check.

Sylvie didn’t look at it. She put it face down on the table and stared at him. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what? I’m just delivering an insurance settlement.”

“Why are you delivering it? I wouldn’t have even known about it until you wrote me a letter. If you’d put up enough roadblocks, I probably wouldn’t have even fought it. You could have sent it looking like junk mail and I would’ve thrown it away. Why didn’t you?”

“At Prestigious Insurance, we don’t do things that way.”

“That’s another thing. I spent half an hour on Google looking for a Prestigious Insurance and couldn’t find it.”

“We fly under the radar,” he said.

“No kidding. But why? Why would an insurance company not want to be known?”

Terrill took a drink of water, trying to cover up his consternation. Why the hell was she questioning her windfall?

The swinging doors opened and a waitress came out, trying to balance an overloaded tray. She didn’t quite make it out the door; one of the plates landed upside down, mashed potatoes squirting out onto Terrill’s shoes.

There was some sarcastic clapping, but Terrill rose and reassured the young waitress that it was all right, waving her away from wiping off his shoes.

“That was nice of you,” Sylvie said after the flustered waitress had left. “She’s new. You could’ve really wrecked her confidence if you’d made a scene.” She was looking at him with raw appraisal, and for the first time, she didn’t seem suspicious of him.

“Pick up the check,” he urged.

She put her hand on the check where it lay on the table. She hesitated, then flipped it over and looked down. “Holy shit!”

“Yes, your sister was quite generous.”

“I could live on this for ten years. Hell, I don’t need to go to school.”

“Yes, and then what? Besides, as I’ve said, the insurance is predicated on your continuing your education.”

“Well, Central Oregon Community College doesn’t cost all that much,” she said. “I’m not leaving Bend. I can’t leave my mom and dad right now. They need my help.”

“I understand they have a new four-year program here,” Terrill said.

“Yeah, if you want to be in the hospitality industry, or a chef, or something like that. Hard sciences are still over in the Valley.”

The restaurant was getting more crowded with the dinner rush, the swinging doors were opening more and more often, and the clanking of dishes and the shouts of cooks washing over their conversation was making it more and more difficult for them to hear each other.

Four guys wearing soiled baseball uniforms came in and sat at the next table over. They weren’t lowering their voices from the playing field level.

“There’s a nightclub next door,” Sylvie said. “It should be quieter over there this early in the evening.”

The other waitresses waved to her on her way out, and the desk clerk smiled brightly. It was obvious Sylvie was popular around here. They checked him out, too. A well-dressed guy in his thirties––an obvious catch. Then again, a girl like Sylvie probably had plenty of guys sniffing around.

#

The nightclub was mostly empty, it being too early for the nighttime crowd. They found a quiet table near the bar and ordered a couple of Deschutes Ales to pay for their table.

“You old enough?” Terrill asked belatedly.

Sylvie smiled brightly. “Turned twenty-one a month ago.”

After they had both taken a deep swig of their beers, Terrill cleared his throat. “You were saying that there weren’t any hard science programs here, but with enough money, the programs will come to you. Believe me, with your grades, no school will turn you down, especially if you pay full tuition.”

“How the hell do you know about my grades?”

“Well, I assumed. I’m right, aren’t I?”

Sylvie looked away. She had stuffed the check in her pocket, and it seemed to him that she didn’t even want to think about it.

“Why are you fighting this?” he asked softly.

Tears came to her eyes and she looked down. “Jamie died. It seems all wrong that I should benefit from that.”

“It’s not your fault,” Terrill said reassuringly. “You had nothing to do with it.”

“But I still feel guilty. Like I caused it, or something.”

“What you said last night at your house––she got unlucky, that’s all. She met the wrong guy. It could have happened here, or anywhere, believe me.”

“But she might not have been over there in Portland at all if it wasn’t for me.” Sylvie put her face into her hands and sobbed. “She wouldn’t have been doing… what she was doing.”

“Sylvie. Listen to me.” Terrill stared at her until she looked up and met his eyes. “Your sister was thinking of you, and you will honor her memory by taking this money and making something of your life.”

“I will?” She smiled sadly.

“Yes. You will. It’s what Jamie wanted.”

#

They drank their beers and ordered another round, and settled into a companionable conversation about schools. Sylvie seemed to know a lot about which colleges had the best programs, and Terrill encouraged her to look into them. She was easy to talk to, just as Jamie had been. But whereas Jamie had had a slightly defeated manner, Sylvie was still optimistic, still hopeful the world would come through for her.

They didn’t notice when the four baseball players from the restaurant came in, or when two of them walked over to their table.

“Sylvie? Is that you?” one of them said.

The two men stood over them with big grins.

“Yeah?” she said in a neutral voice.

“It’s Peter Saunders. I dated your sister in high school.”

“I remember you,” she said. She obviously didn’t like the guy, but was trying to be polite.

“Hey, I heard about what happened to Jamie. I’m sorry.”

Sylvie softened a little and her eyes grew moist. “Thank you, Peter.”

He sat down in the booth next to her, and she had to scrunch closer to the window to make room.

The other man loomed over Terrill. “Scoot over, man,” he said, and pushed his way onto the seat. Terrill gave way reluctantly. They both smelled of sweat, of healthy young male. Once, Terrill would have torn them to pieces for their rudeness, but now he stayed silent.

“Yeah, I was sorry she moved to Portland,” Peter said. “She was the best piece of ass in Bend.”

Sylvie stiffened. Peter looked over at Terrill challengingly, as if to ask, “What are you going to do about it?” Terrill stared back, but still didn’t say anything. It wasn’t the reaction Peter was looking for. He seemed a little disconcerted.

The guy next to Terrill spoke up. “She never would put out for me.”

“No?” Peter said. “Well, you are one ugly son of a bitch.”

“Not even on the second date.”

“Well, I heard she was selling herself over in Portland. Once those bastards over there hollowed her out, maybe you could’ve afforded her.”

“Come on, you guys,” Sylvie said. “Get out of here.” She didn’t sound as much angry as sad.

“Why? Jim here was wondering if you put out for free. Or do you cost money too?”

“That’s enough,” Terrill said. The tone in his voice froze both men. They stared at each other, as if challenging each other to say something. Peter looked Terrill up and down and seemed to decide he wasn’t much of a threat. Both men were huge, steroid-inflated jocks. Terrill was as tall as they were, but nowhere near as muscled.

“I like your duds, man,” Peter said. “Obviously, you can afford her. Jamie always was a skank, ever since middle school. Sylvie probably costs more, being that she’s so much fresher.”

“Stand up,” Terrill said.

The two jocks looked at each other, grinning. They were about to get what they came for. No doubt they didn’t expect Terrill to put up much of fight. They stood up and waited for him.

He took his time, wondering what he was going to do. If he fought these two men, he doubted he would be able to control himself. Any other time, any other place, he would have taken the chance. But not here, not in front of Jamie’s little sister.

He tried to stare them down, and they backed away a step in response. If there had just been one of them, it probably would’ve been over. But each of them was egging the other one on.

Peter took a swing at him, which he easily evaded. But Jim came in low, from the other side, and Terrill was slammed against the edge of the table. The air went out of his lungs and he collapsed to the floor.

Both men started kicking him, and he put his hands over his head to protect it. He wasn’t afraid. Under the cover of his hands, he was trying to minimize the damage, taking notice of what part of his body was being struck. He hoped that was enough to satisfy the young men’s bloodlust.

He fought the urge to tear them apart. His fangs started to extend, but he kept his face down. He thought he heard a gasp from Sylvie but didn’t dare look at her. A kick to his neck left him gasping for breath, and his fangs and claws retracted. That had never happened before in the face of danger. He wondered about it as he continued to take the blows without resistance.

It’s the girl,
he thought. He didn’t want to turn into a monster in front of her. He didn’t want her to know that he was her sister’s murderer. He wanted desperately to look like a good man to her.

The guys were beginning to tire. It wasn’t any fun if their prey wasn’t going to fight back.

But Peter wasn’t satisfied. He picked Terrill up and slammed his head down on his knee.

That was the last thing Terrill remembered.

Chapter 13

Captain Anderson wasn’t happy with the interruption of his weekly bowling night, but agreed to give Judge Parrish a call. An hour later, Carlan had a search warrant in hand.

He drove by himself to the Badlands Motel and watched the suspect’s room for an hour, until it became obvious that no one was home. He considered calling for backup. Without another officer as a witness, whatever evidence he found would be in doubt, possibly not even allowed in a court case. Then again, he didn’t plan to ever let it get that far. He’d already decided to take this suspect down by himself. A little “resistance” and maybe the problem could be taken care of here and now. It was always easier to explain after the fact, especially if there weren’t any witnesses who might second-guess his actions.

I probably should wait until the suspect returns
, Carlan thought, but he was nervous. Parrish had signed the warrant with great reluctance.

“This is the flimsiest excuse I’ve ever seen for a search,” the old judge had said. “A traffic ticket a block away from the scene of a crime is hardly evidence, or we’d all be guilty. Still, I trust Captain Anderson’s instincts on these kinds of cases, and if he thinks there is something here, then I’ll go along.”

“Thank you, your honor,” Carlan had said.

“But I warn you, you’d better find better evidence than this if you intend to arrest this man,” Parrish had said.

“Yes, sir. That’s why we need the warrant.”

If the suspect showed and refused to answer questions, Carlan might never have a chance to confront him. He decided to go ahead with the search. Better to find something incriminating now.

He entered the motel lobby and flashed the warrant. He asked the young clerk, who looked barely out of high school, for the key. The clerk didn’t volunteer to go open the door, just handed him the key.

“I’m not surprised you’re here,” the clerk said, swallowing nervously. “The guy is spooky. He’s gone every night, gets back just before dawn, and then stays in his room all day.”

“So?”

“Hey, this ain’t the Ritz. Hell, he doesn’t even turn on the TV!”

“Good to know,” Carlan said.

He had no doubt he’d find something, or at least that he’d be able to concoct a story based on something he found. There was always guilty stuff hanging around; it was just how you interpreted it. Anything sharp? It could be a weapon. Porn? Evidence of a dirty mind. Bounced checks? A dishonest character. Alcohol? An out-of-control drunk.

The evidence might be flimsy, but it would be more than he had now. He didn’t need much––just enough to justify more digging, and more digging always exposed more guilty secrets.

#

An hour later, Carlan had found nothing. The guy was a ghost. There was nothing personal at all in his room. He had a single change of clothing. The clerk had said he wouldn’t allow maid service, but the room was spotless. The bed was made. Who the hell made their own motel bed? Who took out their own motel trash?

The more Carlan thought about it, the more suspicious it seemed. But it was hardly the kind of thing he could use for an arrest.

“What’s your evidence?” Parrish would ask in that dry tone of his.

“That’s just it, your honor. The guy is spotless––it’s suspicious, I tell you!”

In desperation, Carlan searched the suitcase one last time, and then he found it.

The chain was curled up in one of the side pockets. He recognized it right away. The last time he’d seen it, it had been tight against Jamie’s neck as he pulled on it, choking her, screaming at her.