Hunger (22 page)

Read Hunger Online

Authors: Karen E. Taylor

BOOK: Hunger
8.84Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“For saving your life? Gee, lady, it's all part of my job.”
“No, not that. Well, for that too. But mostly, thank you for loving me.”
“Oh, that. No problem. Now let's get you out of here and cleaned up. I can take your statement later.”
“Don't you have to stay here?”
“Yeah, I guess I do.”
I reached up and kissed him again. “Put me in a cab, you can finish up here and then meet me back at my hotel.”
I saw the doubt enter his eyes and he shook his head. “I don't know, Deirdre.”
“The person you were protecting me from is there.” And I pointed to Larry's body, trying to control my shudder. “I don't think he is likely to follow me, do you?”
“No, but . . .”
“And I would really like to get away from this place, not just the cellar, but the whole club. I'll wait for you at the hotel. Don't be too long.”
He put his arm around my shoulder and helped me up the stairs. Only about half of the clientele remained after the fire scare. They milled around uncertainly, but when the band resumed playing they went back to the bar or their tables. Max was nowhere in sight. On the way to the door, we passed a coat rack and Mitch removed the closest coat wrapping it around my blood-spattered clothes.
The doorman signalled the cab and when it came, Mitch helped me in. “Are you sure you'll be okay?”
“I'll be fine. I need a shower, some rest and a chance to think.” I reached into my purse and handed him my hotel key. “Let yourself in again.”
As the cab drove away, I waved, but he had turned away and was walking back into the building. I watched the set of his shoulders, the determined stride and smiled to myself.
At the hotel, I got an extra key from Frank and went to my room. Shuddering at the clammy, sticky feel of the partially dried blood, I stripped off my clothes and noticed the two small holes in the right sleeve. Although I had been shot, the bullet had passed clear through. In front of the bathroom mirror, I probed the wound, tenderly at first and then with more firmness. It was clean, with no bone chips or debris; it should heal cleanly and quickly. My white skin had a rosy glow, due to the thin coating of Larry's blood and mine. I shivered when I thought how close I had come to dying and how it would have been of my own doing, as surely as if I had held the stake and raised the mallet. Had it not been for Mitch, I would have been as dead as Gwen was. But with one possible exception. Would it have been my body lying in blood on the cellar floor, the one in which I lived, the one to which Mitch had made love? Or would it have been a skeletal wreck, as all the unnatural years accumulated in minutes? Or perhaps only a small pile of dust and ash?
I shuddered again as I stepped into the shower, allowing the hot water to wash away the unclean taint of blood that covered my body. Through my folly, I had at least learned one thing; that my life was still precious to me and the next time I decided to risk it by confronting a madman, I had better come prepared with more than my ego and body to protect me.
Mitch was not long in arriving, but even so, I was ready and waiting for him. Knowing that he would have questions for me, questions that I could only in part answer truthfully, I had rehearsed my answers, my responses, as I prepared for his entrance. And of course, I realized as I applied the make–up to my pale complexion, there would be his anger to deal with, the anger that he had not expressed at the club from the sheer relief of finding me alive. But he'd had plenty of time to think since then, to wonder why I had done the things I did. He would be furious that I had attempted the meeting alone, that I had told Max, and not him, of my intentions. So I dressed in self-defense; the red silk of the caftan rustled when I walked, calling me back to more elegant days, making me, I thought, more vulnerable. But no woman of those times could have felt comfortable in such a dress, the silk was thin and, since I wore nothing underneath, it clung to my body, accenting my breasts, outlining all my curves.
I admired the result in my mirror when I heard the key turn in the lock. I hoped that my appearance would keep him sufficiently distracted; that way he might not notice that my answers were less than satisfactory. I hated the thought of deceiving him, seducing him away from his job, but I had no alternative. He must never be allowed find out the truth.
“Deirdre,” he called. I was right, the anger had set in. His voice was full of it, cold and uncompromising again, like the first night we met. But what had passed between us, I hoped, would keep us together, if only for a while.
“Hello, Mitch.” I came out of the bedroom and went to him. “You're earlier than I expected.”
He shrugged. “There was less to do than you might think. And since you were the one involved, most of the work revolves around you. Do you feel up to answering a few questions?”
I nodded. “There's not much to tell, really. Larry called, earlier that evening, and said he wanted to meet me.” I sat down on the couch and smoothed the red fabric over my legs. “I, I guess it was stupid of me, but I thought I could get him to turn himself in. I never really thought he would try to hurt me, and I thought he might listen to me.”
“Why didn't you tell me? Max knew about it, I suppose that's why he set off the fire alarm. And we were together the whole evening, you and I, and you gave no indication of your plans. Did you think I wouldn't help you? You knew what he was capable of, you saw what he did to Gwen, why on earth wouldn't you tell me, take me along?”
The lie I had practiced came easily to my lips. “He said,” and I allowed a tremor to creep into my voice, “he said that if I didn't meet him alone, that he would start killing everyone who knew me. I did not want to risk it, I have so few friends, and he knew about us. You might have been next.”
“Damn,” he ran his fingers through his hair and looked at me. “And for some strange reason, you thought you could control the situation better than I could? Jesus, Deirdre, that makes no sense at all.”
“I never said it made sense. I'm just telling you what happened.”
“What did he say to you? Did you talk or did he just jump out at you, brandishing his stake?”
I winced at his sarcasm. “We talked for a bit; he said that Gwen didn't matter. I was angry when I heard that, I couldn't help it. I swore at him. Then he turned on me; I didn't expect him to. And suddenly you were there and he was dead. That's all.”
“And how long were you there? I seem to remember you disappeared right after the fire alarm went off. I didn't make it downstairs until about twenty minutes later.”
“I waited around for him. Then when the siren went off, I thought I would just leave, come and get you. But it was too late, he was already there.”
“So your conversation took about five or ten minutes?”
“I suppose so. Jesus, Mitch, I was frightened and I didn't have a stopwatch with me.”
He gave me a rather grim smile that did nothing to break the tension between us. “When I got to the top of the stairs, I heard him say something about how he didn't want to listen to you. How it must work, it has to work. What was he talking about?”
I lowered my eyes. “You heard that? Well, your guess is as good as mine. He was crazy, deranged. That much should be obvious.”
“Deirdre.” His tone of voice was harsh; he leaned forward on his seat as if he could catch the words I wouldn't say, pull the information from my mind.
“Mitch?”
“You know,” he said in a hesitant way, “I would not have expected you to be a hostile witness on this. You're holding back on me, I can tell. Why?”
“Damn it, Mitch. Don't you understand what I went through with Larry? I was almost killed, staked down like some exotic insect. And you expect me to give you a blow by blow description of everything that happened. How am I to answer for the ravings of a madman? Obviously, if I knew what motivated him, I probably would not have been there in the first place.”
“Damn straight.”
“All right, it was stupid to meet him. We both know that. But I was doing what I thought was the right thing. And I will be damned if I will let myself be put on trial for it. It's over now, Mitch. I'm alive, and you have Gwen's murderer. It seems to me that everyone should be happy about this; you and I and the whole damn department.”
“Okay, okay.” He smiled at me, a real smile this time, one that lit up his eyes. “I didn't mean to be so rough on you, but every time I think of how you set yourself up for this, how if I had just been one minute later . . . I don't like the thoughts of your being dead.”
“Trust me, I don't like it much either.”
“No, I guess not.” He stood up, reached for my hands and pulled me into a brief embrace. “I've got to get back now,” he said regretfully. “There's a lot of paperwork involved in closing this one out. I suspect, given Larry's background and penchant for vampire lore, that we'll pin them all on him. We suspected him anyway in the original three and even though Gwen's murder doesn't match up, it's all in the same vein.”
I groaned slightly at his unintended pun. He held me out and smiled at me again.
“Sorry, it's not really a joking matter. But we still have one situation to explain before we're done.”
“That being?”
He looked into my eyes and held my hands. “There were fresh bite marks on Larry's neck, similar to the others but with a smaller span. But don't you worry about it, Deirdre, I'm sure there's an answer somewhere. I'll call you tomorrow. Good night.”
He kissed me on the forehead and slammed the door behind him.
Chapter 17
K
nowing that I would get no sleep after Mitch's last remark, I dressed and went to the office. There was work to do; not just the preparation for filling the orders from the show, but also something that I dreaded, packing up Gwen's personal items and returning them to her family. It was my responsibility, one that I could not shirk.
After I checked in with the guard, I bought a newspaper and rode the elevator alone. For once, the darkness of the rooms frightened me and I turned on all the lights as I made my way to my office. I pulled the curtains aside, and opened the door to my apartment. The room smelled heavily of disinfectant with only a slight undertone of blood. Taking a deep breath, I slowly walked up the spiral staircase to my loft bedroom. I was glad I had accepted Mitch's advice and his recommendation of a cleaning service. The sheets had been stripped away and were gone, the walls and ceiling had been sponged off, but the mattress and carpet, although damp from their cleaning, still showed the faint brown stains from Gwen's blood. I shuddered and went back down the stairs, making a mental note to get them replaced before I sold the business.
At my desk, I made a list of prospective buyers for Griffin Designs; all the thrill I had in this business dissolved with the death of Gwen. I could not continue, did not need to continue. The money I had made in the past ten years, along with that netted from the sale, would be tucked away into some bank account with a different name for my use later on. I would be well provided for and could devote my time to the tracking of the other vampire in this city; I did not believe that Larry was responsible for Andrews and the others. Let the police postulate on how the murders were done, with their theories of syringes and pumps—I knew the truth of it. And I would find him.
But I would have to be quick. I knew that now; Mitch was too discerning and our relationship could never continue. He was sharp and intelligent, and sooner or later the proof would overwhelm his disbelief. Already he was raising questions that he should never have thought to ask. Thank God he had more sense than to believe the superstitions of his Romanian ancestors, otherwise the next time the stake was at my heart, he would be wielding the mallet, not shooting the one who was.
I laughed humorlessly; how ironic, I thought, that Mitch should be the one with the roots in the old country; I was merely a Kansas pioneer with bad luck.
Getting up from my desk with a sigh, I went down the hall and got two boxes from the storage closet, then stopped off and started a pot of coffee.
Gwen's presence was still very much alive at her desk. As I packed, I almost expected her to come bouncing down the hall, berating me for interfering with her possessions; I felt like an intruder here, more of the ghost than she would be. Oddly enough, I did not believe in ghosts; I had seen too many die in my lifetimes, none had ever returned to speak to me or to punish and torture me. They were dead and I hoped in a better place, one that perhaps I would never attain.
There was something belittling about the two packed cartons that represented Gwen's work here. I moved them to one side, planning on delivering them later tonight at the funeral home. Gently, I pushed in her chair and whispered a goodbye.
After splashing my face with cold water in the bathroom, I filled my mug with coffee and went back into my office and closed the door. I read the paper, noting the time and place of Gwen's viewing, then continued to make notes on the work I had ahead of me. When I glanced at the clock I realized that it was only a little after three. None of the calls could be made until tomorrow morning. I was not hungry, but restless, and dawn was still four hours away. In the outer office, I pulled aside the drapes and looked out on the city. Spreading my arms, I leaned against the glass, my cheek on the window pane. The surface was cold and I could hear the slight howl of the wind. Here and there people walked, cars drove by and the sky was dark, with a small crescent moon just beginning to show. I walked out of the office, leaving the lights blazing and the doors unlocked, heedless to everything but the beckoning streets, the beckoning night.
That night I remember as being my last in that city. Perhaps it was just the last time I felt I belonged there. That night was for closing the doors of the corridor of my waking world. And I walked all the streets that for ten years I had considered my territory.
The Ballroom of Romance was dark when I passed; I envisioned Max at his desk, deep within the club, reviewing his books, totalling the receipts of tonight. I wondered if he was angry or amused at this evening's events. I was tempted to ring the night bell but thought better of it and moved on.
Around the corner, there was a small coffee shop. It was open all night and the lights were bright. Few people were inside, but outside three women lingered, looking cold and lonely in their short skirts and high heels. One of them was a friend of Linda's, I had met her once and the three of us had sat in the diner over coffee and cigarettes. She recognized me and waved, but I shook my head, turned around and headed back the other way.
As I passed the office again, I looked up. Where I had left the curtains parted a thin slot of light shone. I should go up and turn them off, I thought, but continued my walk. Not pausing at the hotel, nor acknowledging Frank's wave, I quickened my pace. Before I realized it, I was outside Mitch's apartment building. I stood in the shadows and looked up to his windows. They were dark, was he sleeping or just not home? I longed to climb the stairs and open the door, to curl up into his arms and remain there until dawn. Further up the street was the alley where I had fed on the runaway, the alley where I had surprised the man called Sammy, and the pool hall to which Mitch, Chris and I had gone. I looked at my watch, it was still early, just a little after four. What the hell, I thought, I could use a drink.
Some inner sense warned me before I pushed open the door. I peered through the window and saw Mitch—there was no mistaking his profile and the way he sat in his chair. He was at the table we had occupied that night, and was talking earnestly to someone who looked familiar. I moved away, but not before the man looked up and recognized my face as I recognized his. Sammy stood and pointed, but I was gone before Mitch could turn around. I pulled off my shoes and ran silently, through the alleys and side streets, not slowing until I was back at the office. Outside the doors, I glanced up and down the street and saw no one. I put my shoes back on, and calmly entered the lobby. The guard looked up and smiled at me.
“It's only you, Miss Griffin. Back so soon?”
“Yes, I'm afraid so. It's getting too cold to walk.”
“You shouldn't be out by yourself anyway. As you well know, there's some strange goings-on around here.” He hummed slightly to himself and then went on. “I read in the paper that they got the scum that killed Gwen. A real shame, that was, she was a sweet girl. I was off that night; I hate to think of it. Maybe if I'd been here that guy couldn't have got in.”
“You mustn't blame yourself.” I reached over and patted his hand, wishing I could take that advice myself.
He grasped my hand. “Thank you, Miss Griffin. You get upstairs now and get warm. Your hand is as cold as ice.”
I smiled at him and moved away.
“Take care, now,” he called as the elevator doors closed.
The pre-dawn hours dragged and when the staff finally arrived, their shocked expressions and reddened eyes told me that the news of Gwen's death had made the rounds and taken its toll. At ten, overly conscious of the empty desk outside my office and the dismal pall that hung over everyone, I sent them all home with pay for the next two days. Switching all but my private phone line to the answering service, I called my attorney and outlined the plans I had to sell Griffin Designs. He had tried to talk me out of it, as I knew he would.
“But, Deirdre, think of all the money you'll be losing. You built the company up from nothing and now that you are showing a good profit, you want out?”
“That's right, I want it sold. Quick and dirty. Can you handle it?”
“Well, sure we can handle it. But don't you think you should think about it? It's a pretty big step for you.”
“I have thought about it. All I want is enough to live comfortably for the next ten years. And the provisional two-month stay for the employees with the new owner. Is that unreasonable?”
“No, it's a steal. I can think of several people right now who would jump at the chance. Even for much more than you're asking.”
I laughed. Of course the higher we sold for, the bigger his percentage would be. “Get what you can for it, Fred. I'm fed up with the business; I just want out.”
“Okay, you're the boss.” He hesitated and I knew what he was going to say. “Deirdre, I was sorry to hear about Gwen. The whole thing was pretty horrible, huh?”
“Yes.” My answer was curt, to forestall any discussion of the event, but I suddenly remembered that he and Gwen had dated for a while, before Nick came into the picture, and softened my response. “But they tell me, for what it's worth, that it was probably quick; that after the initial blow, she would have died instantly.”
“Even so, it was horrible.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I guess you'll be going to the funeral home. If I don't make it, please give my condolences to her mother.”
“I will, thank you. Give me a call tomorrow and let me know how everything is going on the sale.”
I hung up the phone and checked to see that everyone had gone home, then locked the front door and turned out the lights.
Going back to the loft, or even the apartment was out of the question, so I curled up on the couch in my office, closed my eyes and slept.
 
The cab driver spoke very little English, and although he had no trouble finding the funeral home, he could not understand that I wanted him to wait. After repeated attempts to collect his fare, and my attempts to get him to stay, I finally gave in and paid him. Unceremoniously, he dumped the two cartons and me on the steps of the building. “Damn,” I swore, watching as he drove away, “now how the hell am I going to get home?”
“Don't worry about it.”
I turned around and jumped when I saw Mitch walking out of the door. “What the hell are you doing here?” I was shook up enough—funeral homes upset me terribly—and I didn't really want him around, looking over my shoulder, asking questions, especially after seeing him last night at the pool hall. It didn't take much imagination to recreate the story Sammy must have told him.
He gave me a suspicious glance. “Sorry, I thought you might want some company. I knew you would be here tonight, being as this is the only night viewing.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” He walked past me and picked up the cartons. “Do these go inside?”
“Yes, thank you.” I followed him up the steps and in the door. He put the boxes down in the corner, next to the sign that announced the names of the dead. There were four others, in addition to Gwen DeAngelis. Seeing her name there was a shock, it was so final and seemed so matter of fact. I must have stared at that sign for a long time because finally I became conscious of Mitch's hand on my arm. I shuddered slightly and looked up at him. “I am sorry,” I said in a hushed voice. “I hate these places.”
“Most people do.” His voice was harsh and I lowered my eyes. “Look,” he said in a softer voice, but tightened his grip on my arm, “I've already been in and made my condolences. If you'd like to go alone, I'll understand and wait outside.”
“That would be nice, Mitch, but you needn't wait.”
“I'll wait,” he said.
“But I may be a long time,” I explained hoping he would just leave. “It could be hours. In fact I'll probably stay until closing.”
“Take as much time as you like. I'll wait. We need to talk.”
I looked up at his face again. It held no expression, not anger or distrust or even love and his eyes were cold. His words echoed in the empty hall like a death knell and I knew then that there was no avoiding our confrontation.

Other books

The White Guns (1989) by Reeman, Douglas
Daisy by Josi S. Kilpack
The Dead of Sanguine Night by Travis Simmons
Spellstorm by Ed Greenwood
Solar Express by L. E. Modesitt, Jr.
Diana by Laura Marie Henion
In the Orient by Art Collins