The_Amazing_Mr._Howard (12 page)

“Nope.”

“All right. Call me if Mr. Howard comes up with something after pawing through this new collection of Stephanie’s things.”

He walked to the door and paused. “In the cases Mr. Howard worked in Maryland, the victims were all young women, most of them prostitutes or students. By the time he supplied investigators with enough information to locate their bodies, they’d decomposed into skeletons, and the M.E. couldn’t determine the cause of death. Is it just me or do you find it odd that the murders in Maryland and the ones Mr. Howard has assisted with here are so similar?” He smiled at the stone-faced detective. “Oh well, I guess I’m being too skeptical. Call when you have something.”

Willard closed the door, pleased for having put Killgood in his place.

Mr. Howard removed the cork from the small glass vile and poured the blood inside into a glass containing Romane Conti. After mixing the contents, he walked into the family room and sank into a leather recliner. As he sipped the drink, savoring the burst of energy provided by Stephanie’s blood, he listened to Handel’s
Giulio Cesare
and imagined himself in the palace of Pharaoh, entangled in the arms of Cleopatra. Theirs would be a love affair beyond all others—including her time with Mark Antony. The sun would rise and fall at their command, in harmonized rhythm to the movement of their bodies. And the moon would take them in its embrace and rock them to sleep.

His introspection turned to Sophie. He remembered the first time they made love on a soft bed of grass in a mountain meadow. She considered him with wide, searching eyes as they joined in body and spirit, the ancient song of Eve passing from her lips to rise above the wind that stirred the spring gentian and delicate meadow clary. What he wouldn’t give to be with her now. If Lenhard hadn’t turned him, and he died during the plague as intended, would he be with Sophie in Heaven? Or would his murderous past damn him to Satan’s lair? To be with Sophie for eternity was a dream that had haunted him for over three hundred years.

A bell chimed to announce a visitor outside the gate. He strolled to the intercom near the front door and pushed the button to speak. “How may I help you?”

“Mr. Howard, it’s Chandler. Can I come up to the house?”

A quick inspection of the room confirmed he’d left nothing incriminating lying about. “I will buzz you in.”

He pressed another button that unlocked the gate and waited near the door for the detective. A minute passed and the sound of gravel crunching under car tires grew louder until coming to a stop near the front door. A door slammed. Shoes scraped over the sidewalk. He opened the door before Killgood could ring the bell. The detective pulled back with a startled look on his face. “I’m sorry to show up unannounced.”

“I am sure you have a good reason for coming. What have you brought me?”

Killgood held a cardboard box. “More of Stephanie Coldstone’s things.”

“Ah, so Detective Willard came through after all. He is most surprising, yes?”

Killgood motioned with his chin. “Where do you want this?”

“Please, set the box anywhere.” He waited for Killgood to put down the box. “You appear exhausted, my friend. Would you care for a drink?”

“Water.”

“No wine?” he asked, walking toward the kitchen.

“Not this time.” Killgood strolled into the family room and sat on the couch. He stared at the cabinet holding Mr. Howard’s collection of antique swords and daggers. “You own some unique weapons.”

“Thank you. Most are from India, thirteenth through seventeenth centuries.”

“What good is a weapon if you don’t know how to use it?”

He filled a glass with ice water and brought it to the detective who took it with a nod. “Ah, but I do know how to use them. So,” he said returning to his chair, “how is your investigation coming along? Did you tell Willard about my last vision?”

Killgood sipped his water. “He wasn’t impressed.”

“Oh?”

“Willard believes it would be a waste of time to investigate Stephanie’s father. I agree.”

He was surprised and dismayed to hear Killgood agreed with Willard, having counted on his latest false clue to delay the investigation by a week or more. Still, Willard had nothing to go on without a body, and they wouldn’t find Stephanie until he was ready to reveal her location. “Perhaps Willard is right not to pursue that line of inquiry. He must know what kind of people the Coldstones are by now.”

Killgood stared into space. He wrung his hands on his lap. Mr. Howard felt certain he was distracted by the trouble with Reann’s boyfriend and wondered if he and Susan had made a decision regarding his offer to let Reann and her daughter stay with him. An offer he now regretted. When Killgood looked back at him, his stare was harsh and judgmental, as if they were sitting in an interrogation room. “We’ve never really talked about the cases you worked on in Maryland.”

He took a sip of his drink and smiled. “Has Willard been checking up on me? Did he talk with the FBI? He should speak with a profiler named Bob Janssen. I spent many hours with Mr. Janssen as he tried to find evidence to discredit my work.”

“I believe he’s already spoken to the profilers.”

“And he has told you what they talked about, yes? Tell me, Chandler, what is troubling you?”

Killgood put down his glass and cleared his throat. “According to Willard, the cases in Maryland are similar to the ones you’ve helped with here.”

“Yes, in all the cases a murder was involved, what else?”

“All of the victims were young women. The majority of them prostitutes.”

“You don’t need me to tell you prostitutes are often the victims of violent crime. I believe most if not all of Gary Ridgway’s victims were prostitutes.”

“Each body you’ve helped recover was found in a state of advanced decomposition.”

“Yes, but—”

“Except one,” Killgood continued.

The memory of digging her grave under a full moon came to him. The dark water of the Monocacy River bubbled against the bank as it pushed to the sea. She had light red hair the color of a good zinfandel and freckles under her eyes. Yes, she was beautiful, as were all the others. “Her name was Cynthia Rhodes. As I recall, her body washed up in a flood or something.”

“That’s right. The water uncovered her before you could lead investigators to her grave. She’s the only one they recovered evidence from.”

“Ah, yes, I remember, she died from strangulation, which I believe is the preferred method of killing for sexual deviants.”

“According to the autopsy she hadn’t been raped.”

“Did Willard tell you that?”

“I reviewed the case file.”

His apprehension grew stronger by the second. It was one thing to have Willard investigating his past and quite another to have a man he considered his friend doing it. “It is true I was not able to help the authorities in Maryland locate the victims’ bodies until they had rotted to bones. I have no control over my visions. Do you not believe I wanted to find them sooner?”

“And you never furnished information that led to an arrest.”

“Yes, that is also true, but I did provide leads on possible suspects. The fact they were cleared in the investigation does not mean they were innocent.”

Killgood looked away. He chewed his bottom lip as he appeared to think. “I’ve never questioned your ability in the past and I see no reason to do so now. Some cops would never believe you can do the things you do. They have too much pride to admit that someone without investigative training can solve their cases, but pride can be a loaded gun to the temple. I’ve always trusted you to help me in the past and you’ve never let me down. I see no reason to stop trusting you now, Willard be damned.”

Mr. Howard fought off a smile. “Willard is under tremendous stress, I can see that. I do my best to help him, but as I’ve often said, there are no guarantees. Perhaps, I will come up with something after examining the things you have brought me. When do you need them returned?”

“No rush, just call when you’re finished with them.” His chin sank toward his chest. “I talked to Susan about your offer to let Reann and Gail stay with you.”

“And she said no.”

Killgood raised his head. “Susan thinks Reann would be safer in the nest.”

“Ah, yes, she is a good mother bird.”

“Ryan’s a temperamental SOB. I don’t trust him not to try something at our house… and then there’s the problem with…” His gaze returned to his lap.

Mr. Howard took a drink. He swished the blood-tainted cocktail around his mouth, savoring the pungent flavor, before he swallowed. “You fear that he will do something with Gail?”

“He insists on visitation, which infuriates me. All he does is take her to the sports bar for cheeseburgers and to watch football.”

“It is not cheeseburgers and football keeping you up at night.”

“You’re right. He’s a shiftless character with nothing to hold him here. I’m afraid he’s going to run off with Gail. He’s already threatened Reann a half-dozen times.” His right hand curled into a fist. “I can’t let that happen. We’d never find her.”

Mr. Howard pressed into the soft leather of his chair and massaged his brow. Killgood was right. If Ryan took off with Gail, they’d never see her again.

“When is the next time he has visitation?”

“Thursday evening.”

“The day after tomorrow—that is not a long time. What is your plan?”

“Plan?”

“To stop him.”

Killgood chuckled softly. “You obviously don’t know how the courts work in this country. I can’t legally stop Ryan from taking Gail unless he’s already done something.”

He wanted to tell him what he really thought, that this was the kind of situation best handled outside the courts, but remained silent.

Killgood stood. “I should be going. About those earlier questions.”

“No worries. It is your job to ask questions.”

“I don’t want you to think that—”

“No need to explain, my friend,” Mr. Howard, said, pushing out of his chair. He walked to the detective and patted him on the shoulder. “A young girl may be in danger here. We must do all we can to save her, yes? Now go on home and do what you can for Reann.”

“Thanks for being so understanding.”

He stood at the front door and watched Killgood’s car disappear in a cloud of dust. When he drove out of the gate, Mr. Howard went back inside the house. He returned to the family room and took a drink, Stephanie’s blood refreshing to his palate.

“A young girl may be in danger here,” he said aloud while gazing out the window at the city lights below. “We must do all we can to save her.”

The muscles in Mr. Howard back tightened from sitting inside the hot car for hours, but what choice did he have? The long surveillance outside Jackson’s Discount Tires put him in a bad temper. Bundled in a long coat, gloves, and hat to protect him from the sun, he sweated profusely, his throat screaming for a drink. Ryan loafed around the shop. He spent the majority of his time on the side of the building where he smoked cigarettes. A tall, blond woman showed up and they disappeared into the woods behind the shop. When they emerged from the trees, she was wiping something white from her lips. The more he observed Ryan, the more he hated him. He was a piece of human excrement, fresh from the asshole of the world. With Reann, he was a cockroach that had climbed the stem of a lily.

Five o’clock. Rush hour traffic stacked up behind him on College Avenue. Horns blared, brakes squealed, engines roared as suicidal drivers weaved between lanes, and still he waited and watched. It went against his better judgment to take such a chance, but circumstances dictated action.

Ryan strolled out to his rusting pickup truck a few minutes after the store closed, gray coveralls smeared in grease, cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth. When he arrived at a parked Corvette convertible with the top down, he paused, quickly surveyed the scene, and tossed the burning cigarette inside with a laugh. Mr. Howard gnashed his teeth.

He followed Ryan to his house, an older one-story near the university, and was surprised to discover it neat and tidy. He’d been expecting a yard choked with weeds, the rusting hulk of a car sitting on cinder blocks. Ryan parked in the driveway on the side of the house and went inside. Mr. Howard settled in his seat and waited for darkness.

When the sun vanished behind the distant Rockies, he exited his car and strolled to the front door. He hoped Ryan lived alone, but was prepared to deal with whatever obstacles appeared. Ryan answered the door after several knocks, wearing a pair of faded jeans and no shirt. A tattoo of a zombie gnawing on a severed arm covered his chest. He held a can of beer in one hand. “Yeah,” he said.

“Do you remember me?”

Ryan leaned forward to consider him through narrowed eyes. “Aren’t you the freak who was at the Killgood’s house?”

Mr. Howard suppressed a response as he simmered on the word
freak
. “Are you not the scumbag who abuses women and children?”

Ryan pulled back, nostrils flared. “Get out of my house.”

“I’m not in your house.” Mr. Howard took a step inside the doorway. “Now I am. Care to tell me again?”

“You fucker.” Ryan heaved the beer can, which smashed into Mr. Howard’s forehead over his left eye. Cold beer splashed over his hair.

Mr. Howard staggered. Pain radiated across his skull. He touched the spot where the can hit him and stared at his red fingertips. “You’ve cut me.”

“You’re dead, motherfucker.”

“Yes, I know.”

Ryan whirled about and ran into a back room. He returned after a few seconds, holding a revolver. “I’m going to bury you in the backyard and shit on your grave.”

“I should think not.”

Fire spit from the end of the barrel as the gun went off with a boom. A bullet ripped into the right side of his chest. Mr. Howard stayed on his feet. His chest stung as if filled with a hive of angry bees. He glanced down at the hole in his shirt and shook his head. “Look what you have done. I paid several hundred dollars for this shirt.”