Night Realm (19 page)

There was one thing Dr Shultz had confirmed, though. He was certain that Mr Matthews’ head had not been severed with any sort of instrument, sharp or not. The poor man’s
skull had been violently ripped from his body. Literally. Who would have the strength to achieve that? Maybe it wasn’t a man? Possibly an animal? No, there were no animals around the area that could perform such a monumental task.

But neither could a human being, he reminded himself.

As he waited for a traffic light to turn green, Marks cranked up the car’s air conditioning. It was a hot, humid day with a forecast for thunderstorms either late this afternoon or this evening. He loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. That felt better. Maybe he’d move further south, to a cooler climate.

Last night, for the first time in over a month, he’d made love to his wife. It was a strange experience
, not like what he’d expected after such a long stretch of abstinence. It hadn’t felt like making love at all. Even the purely physical side of it was largely unsatisfying. It had felt awkward, but not like when two people first get together and are trying to lose their inhibitions. It was the opposite of that. He wasn’t sure how his wife felt about it, but to Marks it had almost seemed like he was doing something wrong by having sex with his wife. It was a bizarre feeling.

He’d realized then the state of their marriage was way worse than he’d thought it was. Now he was certain a divorce was imminent. They were too far gone. Thankfully they’d never had children to further complicate things.

Marks ran a hand over his bald head and planted his foot when the lights changed. The Ford lurched forward and he sped all the way back to headquarters.

In the lunch room he made a strong coffee, which would do nothing to help calm his nerves. And he
was
edgy. He loved his wife, but he was no longer
in love
with her and he knew she felt the same way he did. It was a shame, but it happens in the world every day. People just have to settle their affairs and move on with their lives. As difficult as that might sometimes be.

Adding to his frustrations was a lack o
f solid leads in the two murder cases. There was nothing tying the two victims together to confirm, or even suggest, that they were committed by the same killer. But Detective Marks had strong instincts, and his gut was telling him it was the same guy. If his superior asked him for proof of that assumption he wouldn’t be able to provide it, but he knew it was true. The task now was to find this guy and prove, beyond doubt, that he’d killed both Amanda Simms and Toby Matthews.

And to catch him before he killed again.

That was currently his greatest fear. If he was right, then he had a serial killer on his hands.

Marks was sitting there staring into his coffee when the telephone rang. He awoke from his stupor and snatched it out of its cradle.

“Detective Marks,” he said into the receiver.

“Good
morning, Detective.” Marks recognized the bright tone and knew who it was even before he introduced himself. “It’s Dr Jenkins here from QHSS. I have some new information for you.”

Marks sat upright, suddenly very alert. “Okay. What have you found out?”

“We have some results regarding the mystery virus, and we’ve managed to obtain a DNA profile on the killer.”

“I’m listening.” Marks felt his heart
race.

There was hesitation on the other end of the line.

“Is it possible for you to come visit me at my Brisbane office? I’d really prefer to go through these results with you in person. Maybe together we can make some sense of them. Because, quite frankly, Detective, in my twenty five years in the industry, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

*  *  *

The very first thing Ryan did that morning was bank Selena’s expenses cheque. He even paid a hefty fee for an express clearance on it. He would have the funds in twenty-four hours and really couldn’t make much headway on Selena’s assignment until then.

On a visit to the post office he sorted his phone and electricity bills and his credit card bill. The car registration could wait a few more days.

He went to the
Coffee Club
in Cavill Mall and ordered a cappuccino, which he took to an outside table by the low-rise barricades that were plastered with
Coffee Club
advertising. After spooning the chocolate-coated froth off the top, Ryan took a sheet of paper from his back pocket and spread it out on the table, smoothing the creases out of it with his palms. He took another sip of coffee and read.

Doctor Marlon Becker, age forty five. Emigrated from Germany ten years ago. Renowned biochemist, pathologist and hematologist. Also a part-time lecturer at Sheldon University in Brisbane. Works at the Research Institute for Blood Disorders in Brisbane, Sydney and Melbourne. Single with no children.

There was no residential address, contact phone number or email address included, but they wouldn’t be very hard to dig up.

It wasn’t much to go on
, though.

Ryan sat back with his coffee in hand and gazed absently about the mall. What was Selena’s interest in this scientist and his work? And why did she get so defensive with him last night? His mind lingered back to the two cheques he was yet to receive. If he got her what she wanted - whatever that was - and honored their confidentiality agreement, then there was a further two hundred grand coming his way. He still couldn’t believe how much she was willing to pay him for this gig. Whatever the good doctor was up to, it was obviously of extreme importance to Selena Thorne.

They had parted ways soon after Selena had presented him with the expenses cheque and told him what his assignment was. Things had started off with a bit of chemistry, but that had all vanished quickly as soon as they’d got down to business. Hell, he didn’t even know if she was married or not, or whether she had a partner. He’d never confided his romantic status - or lack of it - to her either. Maybe he had the attraction thing all wrong. For her it may just be purely business and nothing more. Some people flirt just to get what that want. But it was more than flirting. There was something there, some vibe between them that wasn’t deliberate on either side.

Anyway, he told himself, he had to forget about that now and focus on the job at hand. Harboring romantic thoughts about her like a delusional adolescent male wouldn’t achieve anything. Get the job done, get her what she wants, collect those two juicy cheques, then see what happens.
Maybe they could go on a real date or something? Dinner, drinks, a movie. Something normal. Get to know her without any business involved.

He recalled that gloved hand slowly and
somewhat seductively sliding up and down the tall glass of water. In body language terms that could mean something. Another thought entered his head then and pushed the previous one out. She never did drink any of that water. Maybe she just wasn’t thirsty and only had it there out of politeness so he felt like he wasn’t drinking alone? Who knows? And what was with those gloves all the time?

There was something intangible about Selena Thorne that was very unusual, and he had a feeling he would soon discover what that was.

*  *  *

Marks drove to Brisbane that afternoon. The drive from the Gold Coast took less than an hour. Once again he had the air conditioning cranked full blast. Storm clouds were accumulating on the western horizon, congregating around the tops of the mountains and preparing for an onslaught.

He turned off the Pacific Motorway into Kessels Road and drove into Coopers Plains on Brisbane’s south side. A few minutes later he pulled into the parking area of QHSS headquarters. He straightened his tie and jacket when he got out of the car, striving to look respectable despite the uncomfortable weather. Marks headed into the building, told Reception he had an appointment with Dr Jenkins and was asked to take a seat until he was called. Before he did he poured some chilled water from a dispensing machine into a small plastic cup. He gulped that down and immediately poured another. Just as he selected a magazine to mindlessly leaf through, the receptionist told him to go on through the Jenkins’ office.

Marks dumped his empty cup into a waste basket and walked down a wide corridor. Jenkins’ office was second on the left. He paused outside the closed door, knocked twice, then entered.

Dr Jenkins was seated behind a large desk covered with computer monitors. The walls were adorned with certificates, diplomas and awards of all kinds. The ducted air conditioning hummed quietly and the room was pleasantly cool.

Smiling,
Jenkins rose from his chair and shook the detective’s hand with a firm grasp. The doctor was a few years older than Marks, maybe mid-thirties. He had a full head of blond hair that was spiked up with product on the top, giving him the appearance of a thirty-something adolescent. The man looked for all money like Dexter Holland from The Offspring; a band Marks had been a fan of in his youth. He was wearing a white shirt over a trim frame, and a red and navy tie that was fastened with a perfect knot; something Marks wasn’t very adept at himself. Both men took a seat and Detective Marks waited for Jenkins to fill him in on what he’d found out. He switched on his trusty voice recorder.

“Would you like a coffee?” the doctor offered, obviously procrastinating for some reason.

Marks shook his head. He checked his watch, wanting to get business dealt with and be back on the Coast before the storms hit. He didn’t fancy driving in the midst of a thunderstorm and he didn’t want to wait around for them to pass, either.

“I’m not sure how to put to you the results of our research,” Jenkins said eventually after staring at a sheet of paper for an eternity.

“Just lay it out on the table,” Marks said.

Jenkins nodded and adjusted his already-perfect tie. “Okay.”
He leaned forward, elbows on the desktop. Marks, meanwhile, was busy stroking his goatee. “Have you ever heard of a disease called Porphyric Hemophilia?”

“No. Should I have? Obviously it’s quite rare, as you said in our phone conversation last Friday.”

“It is, and it’s very unusual. We don’t have much information on it, I’m afraid.”

“Doctor? I don’t mean to be rude,” Marks interjected, “but it seems like your hedging here. Just get to the point and we’ll work it out from there.”

“Okay,” Jenkins said with a firm nod. “My team managed to track down a scientist who has encountered this virus, disease - whatever you want to label it - before during his time in Europe. His name’s Doctor Becker and he’s a very gifted hematologist, currently working in Melbourne on a research project.”

“So he’s a blood doctor.” Marks was familiar with the term.

“That’s right, among other talents.”

“So what is this disease you mentioned? What does it do?” Marks wanted to know.

“That’s the tricky part. Even Doctor Becker was rather reluctant to elaborate after admitting he had seen it before in Germany. Which is where he’s originally from, by the way.”

Jenkins paused again to study the sheet of paper in front of him.

“Doctor?” Marks prodded.

With a resigned sigh, Jenkins said, “Dr Becker refers to it as a vampire disease.”

Detective Marks nearly choked on his own tongue. “What the...? A fucking vampire! Is that what you’re telling me here?” Marks shook his head in total disbelief.

Jenkins held up his hands defensively. “I’m just telling you what he told my team. I’m not for one second suggesting we have a vampire out there committing murder and sucking the blood from its victims. They’re a myth.”

Or are they? Marks wondered, thinking about the lesions on the throat of Amanda Simms, the lack of blood present in the body with no apparent reason for its absence. Surely the legend couldn’t be real. He posed a question to Jenkins.

“Was this D
octor Becker stating he’d had dealings with actual vampires in Europe, or just stating he’d seen the disease before?”

“He never said he’d encountered vampires, no. What Becker explained in his report to me was that people who suffer
Porphyric Hemophilia have an extreme deficiency in their red blood cell count and therefore need a direct way, or source, of fulfilling that inadequacy.”

“By sucking another person’s blood?” Marks couldn’t believe two sane, professional adults were sitting here having this absurd conversation.

“Or animal blood,” Jenkins said. “This is not to suggest that people with the condition are the walking dead with superhuman strength and abilities like we see in the movies. They could just be normal people with a genuine medical condition that is so rare virtually no one on the planet has any solid experience with it.”

“No one except D
octor Becker.” Marks played with his goatee some more, thinking. “I’m going to need some time to mull that over, Doctor, so let’s move on to the DNA profile you have on my suspect. You said you’d never seen anything like it before.”

Jenkins nodded. “That’s right.” Again he went into hesitation mode.

“Come on, Doc,” Marks urged.

“I won’t get all technical on you here, Detective, but to suffice to say the DNA profile we created on your suspect isn’t entirely consistent with that of a human being.”