The Vampires' Last Lover (Dying of the Dark Vampires Book 1) (43 page)

“Now, then,” Peter began, ignoring Jack’s chuckle. “On the night of May fourth, you found Dr. Oscar Mensch, Professor of Archaeology at the University of Alabama, lying unconscious in his living room. Is that accurate?”

Accurate? Yes. A good description? No. It should be Dr. Oscar Mensch, internationally renowned scholar and expert in the study of ancient civilizations. And boy what a bleeder, Agent, sir. Yes sirree, every surface in the living room was splattered with the man’s corpuscles.

“Pretty much,” Jack replied.

“What exactly did you do when you found him?” asked Peter, eyeing Jack as if somehow aware of the random thoughts. “Oh, and also, why were you visiting Dr. Mensch’s residence?”

“I needed to talk to him about an upcoming expedition to the Andes in South America,” Jack explained, a little uncomfortable under the agent’s penetrating gaze. “Jeremy, my brother, is working on his Master’s Degree in ancient studies, and he wanted me to join him and a group of other grad students on their summer internship. Dr. Mensch and Dr. Sutherland were sponsoring the trip. Dr. Mensch was like a second father to us… I’ll be graduating in a week, so it wasn’t like anything in my immediate future would prevent me from going.”

Peter jotted down a few notes onto the back page of his journal. The agent raised his head and nodded when done.

“I just wanted to reference the trip you mentioned,” he said. “Dr. Mensch was your brother’s academic advisor. Is that how you met him?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I also took two undergraduate courses he taught, and guess I grew closer to him.”

“Ah-huh.” Peter turned the journal over, opening it to a marked page near the front. “You’re graduating with a major in journalism, is that correct? Or, is it baseball?” He cracked a smile.

Jack smiled a little. “I wish it was baseball. But I’ve got a knack for writing, I believe, and should do all right with that as a career.”

“I see you were a two time all-SEC selection during your sophomore and junior years,
and
, an all-American honorable selection during your junior year as well. I played a little ball myself back in high school.”

“Really?” Jack was surprised. Peter didn’t seem like the baseball type, a little too primped. “What position did you play?”

“Centerfield,” he replied, releasing a low sigh. He smiled, a bit sheepish. “I started all three years, though I never achieved the awards and accolades you did. Always wanted to be a star pitcher like you… ”

His voice trailed off, eyes turning a shade lighter as he looked past Jack.

“Well, you seem to have ended up okay,” offered Jack, eager to get back on track. “I guess we can’t all be Roger Clemens.”

“Yeah, I guess not,” Peter agreed, chuckling. “So, what happened this year?”

“Tendonitis in the elbow of my throwing arm,” said Jack. He grimaced, the pain emotional. The chronic ailment had cut short his playing career and eliminated any chance of achieving his dream of reaching the pros.

“Ah, I understand. That’s too bad.” Peter seemed genuinely disappointed. “Well, who knows, maybe you’ll become a successful journalist one day.”

“That’d definitely be nice.”

Though unsure where the line of questions headed, Jack appreciated Peter’s approach compared to Frank Reynolds or Steve Iverson. At least it didn’t hurt.

Peter paused to sip his coffee, and continued.

“Let’s revisit the night you found Dr. Mensch, Jack. According to the report, the front door was slightly ajar, and when the professor didn’t respond to your knock or calls, you went inside. That’s when you found him lying on the floor in the middle of his living room. Correct so far?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t try to move him?”

“No. But I did check his pulse. I mean, I thought he was dead. Blood was everywhere, and his face covered with it. I couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not, and once I felt a slight pulse on his wrist, I immediately called for an ambulance.”

“That’s consistent with the evidence. Your shoes tracked blood from the living room to the phone in the kitchen. Other than the front door ajar and the ransacked living room, did you notice anything unusual or out of place?”

The main floor in disarray, it was hard to tell if things were where they should’ve been. Jack remembered the creepy feeling of being watched, when he was standing on the front porch. Inside the house, he felt someone’s presence. Perhaps hiding upstairs? Hard to say, but by the time the police and paramedics showed up he forgot about it. He hadn’t thought about it again until he visited the professor in the hospital four days later.

“No. Well, maybe.”

Peter raised his eyebrows motioning for Jack to continue.

“It’s nothing I can prove, but I’m pretty sure somebody was in the house when I arrived. I should’ve mentioned it to the cops, but it slipped my mind.”

“I see.” Peter frowned slightly. “You’re probably unaware the upstairs rooms were in much worse shape.”

“No, I wasn’t aware of that.”
Definitely
not, thought Jack, irritated.

“Okay. Let’s move on to the eighth of May, the night Dr. Mensch died. Did you visit him in the hospital before his death?”

“I tried, the morning following his attack. But the nurses on duty told me I couldn’t see him, because he was still unconscious. They said I could be there quite a while before he might wake. Dr. Sutherland was there and told me to go on home. I guess he could tell I hadn’t slept much. Said he’d call me when Dr. Mensch regained consciousness.”

Jack paused to drink. Peter used the opportunity to flip through a few pages while he sipped the coffee.

“A nurse named Annette Rison stated you came to see Dr. Mensch around seven o’clock the evening of the eighth. Tell me what happened from the time you got there until you left.”

“Dr. Mensch regained consciousness and I really looked forward to seeing him,” said Jack. “He was pretty weak with most of his head covered in bandages. But he was glad to see me, even if he couldn’t talk much. Most of my time was spent sitting in a chair next to the bed. I stayed there for half an hour or so, and then left.”

“According to the report, Nurse Rison stated you did leave around seven thirty-five p.m. What did you discuss?”

“Nothing much. He felt too weak to have real conversation. But, he did say I’d be welcome to join the trip planned for the summer.”

Jack winced as he reminisced.

“Are you sure? Nurse Rison stated Dr. Mensch handed something to you as she came into his room.”

Peter studied Jack, as if he’d just caught Jack in a lie.

“I honestly don’t recall that,” said Jack, somewhat nervous under Peter’s scrutiny. “If anything, it could’ve been a cup or something. I remember helping him take a drink at least once. That’s the last time I ever saw him, alive or dead. I couldn’t bring myself to go to the funeral home.”

“All right,” said Peter, thoughtfully. “As you know, Dr. Mensch was strangled shortly after you left. The coroner’s report placed his death around eight o’clock that evening. Oh, what the hell.”

He closed the journal and laid it on the table.

“So, are we done?” Jack asked, hopeful. “I told you there wasn’t much to tell.”

Peter laughed quietly. “On the contrary, we’ve just begun. True, we’re done in regard to Dr. Mensch, at least for now. Remember, I’ve got other questions.”

“Man, I’ve told you everything I know! There’s nothing more I can give you! Go ahead and check whatever recordings y’all made since last night if you don’t believe me.”

He pointed to the surveillance cameras defiantly.

“Are you sure about that?”

Peter reached over and opened the attaché case. He pulled out a large envelope and a pair of old, tattered books. He set the books on the table and opened the envelope. He carefully removed the envelope’s contents and placed them in front of Jack.

“Recognize this?”

Jack couldn’t mask his astonishment. A pair of color photographs rested on the table. Both of the same object, a footprint, which most folks would guess as reptilian. Nothing extraordinary, unless one noticed the John Deere tractor. The tractor and the footprint next to it were roughly the same size.

Accompanying the photographs was an item he figured drew more curiosity. A reptilian scale, roughly the size of a standard football, sat beside the pictures. It refracted light in a rainbow array of colors. Dismayed, no one could deny the footprint and scale were related.

“
Where’d you get this??”
he demanded, his voice a whisper.

“From you,” said Peter, somewhat smugly. “Actually, this came to the FBI from Sheriff Joseph McCracken. He sent it to his nephew, Agent Marvin Depew. You identified these items for Sheriff McCracken nearly eight years ago.”

Jack stiffened.

“They accompanied a report sent to Agent Depew by Sheriff McCracken, confirmed by Carl Peterson, the local Fire Chief in Carlsdale, Alabama. You told them, and I quote, ‘a giant lizard that looked like a mix between a dragon and a
‘tyrannosaurus rex’
chased you through the woods behind your home.’ You further stated the enormous creature was a ‘fire breather’ and estimated to be around seventy feet in length. According to the report, the creature caused a fire that engulfed the woods, but mysteriously never spread to your property.”

He waited for Jack’s confirmation.

“Well, Jack? Is this what you truly encountered, or were these two gentlemen full of it?”

Jack remained silent. Sheriff McCracken and Carl Peterson died within a month of the incident. He still felt responsible for their deaths.

Carl was reported missing in early August that year, less than two weeks following the July event. His bloated remains were recovered from an abandoned rock quarry just outside Mobile, Alabama a week later. The case had been closed quickly, with the coroner’s office down in Mobile quietly stating the fireman committed suicide by swallowing the double barrel of a shotgun. Many unanswered questions remained surrounding his death, largely due to the rumors of an extra shotgun casing found a few feet from his body, lying near the splattered remnants of Carl’s brain matter and skull fragments.

Sheriff McCracken, along with a rookie deputy named Charlie Adams were found murdered in the dilapidated frame of an old barn. The unknown killer, or killers, left the nude bodies in an obscene position, piano wire wound tightly around their necks and bullet holes through their heads.

The sheriff’s briefcase contained incriminating papers and a small vial of pure cocaine, conveniently discovered outside. Enough to satisfy the ABI agents, they wasted little time destroying Sheriff McCracken’s squeaky-clean reputation as a law enforcement officer. According to the report, the sheriff lured poor Charlie to the barn for sex. An unidentified enemy, likely a miffed drug dealer, happened upon the two men and murdered them execution-style.

Jack had never believed either report.

“Could my answer get me killed like Sheriff McCracken?”

Surprised, Peter looked up from the journal. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

Jack eyed him evenly. “I know y’all killed them both.”

“Do you mean me personally, or the agency I work for? I can assure you that we had nothing to do with their deaths.” Peter stood and leaned over the table, glaring. “I’m sorry that either man is gone, and partially from a selfish standpoint. I would’ve
loved
to talk to them, and not just you.”

In disgust he turned away, moving over to the wall nearest his chair. He seemed to be carefully considering the cinderblocks. He returned to the table, holding Jack’s gaze as he sat down.

“There’s so much to learn from you, and I believe
we
can help each other,” he said softly. “I have information that may prove useful to you, as well, Jack. I can help you tie some loose ends together of your own. But before I’ll do that, you’ll need to answer my questions. They aren’t many, but I need the truth, I need your complete
honesty
.”

Jack pondered the pros and cons of cooperating, reflecting upon the sorrow and torment he’d endured the past eight years. “I’ll give it a try,” he said.

“I’m certain you’ll be glad you did.” Peter’s expression relieved, he leaned back in his chair. “Now, back to my earlier question. Is this a piece of a seventy-foot dinosaur that rampaged through the woods behind your place, and are these actual photographs of its footprint?”

He picked up the scale and photographs and moved them even closer to Jack, who motioned it wasn’t necessary.

“Yeah, they are.”

“And this thing actually breathed fire, like the mythical dragons we read about as kids?”

Peter appeared tentative, as if the question sounded absurd. And yet, the excitement on his face told Jack the man wanted to believe the existence of such a being.

“Yes. It could fly, too.”

Peter picked up the scale, giggling as it he could envision its appearance. “No shit. So it had wings, then?”

“Yes. But they hardly seemed big enough to support its body. It was covered in scales like the one in your hand, with horns on its head, and a pair of fan-like appendages on either side of its neck.”

Opening up put him at ease a little. Increasingly unconcerned with who observed them, he searched for clues as to whether or not Peter believed him.

“It must’ve been pretty harrowing to face something like that,” observed Peter, admiring the scale. “I would’ve probably pissed my pants. It chased you through the woods until you reached Ben Johnson’s farm. Are we still on the same page so far?”

“Well, sort of,” Jack replied, sitting up. “I lost track of the thing when I made it out of the woods. Sheriff McCracken was the one who said it’d eventually made it out of the woods and gone over to the Johnson’s place. I guess it tracked mine and Banjo’s scent.”

“The pet goat?”

“Yeah. One of Grandpa’s most prized possessions. He taught Banjo more tricks than any dog he owned.”

Peter nodded, reading a page in the journal.

“It states the dragon, or whatever it was, suddenly disappeared without a trace. Do you find that statement as hard to believe as the very existence of the creature?”