Dark Hunger (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order) (24 page)

She dialed.

A woman answered.

“This is Rave Lafelle,” Rave said. “Does that name ring a bell with you?”

A pause.

A long pause.

“How did you get my number?”

“A friend,” Rave said.

“This is a breach of security,” the woman said.

“Well, I just need to know a few things—”

The line went dead.

Rave looked at London and said, “She won’t talk. In fact, she sounded really nervous just hearing my voice.”

London nodded and said, “Good.”

She didn’t need to say more.

Rave understood that “Good” meant that Wheeler was following the security protocol that Parker had set up; namely, that Wheeler was only to communicate with Parker—whose voice she recognized—so that the slayers couldn’t trick her into giving them information.

“Okay,” London said. “So if she isn’t giving information out, then the slayers must be doing their own genealogical work. That’s the only reason they would kill Kennedy Pinehurst; if they thought she was a vampire.”

Rave frowned.

“The poor thing,” she said. “Killed the way she was, and not having a clue why.”

London grunted.

“She had a clue before she died, you can bet your bottom dollar on that,” she said. “I’m sure they tried to get the names of other vampires from her before they slit her throat.”

Rave pictured the poor woman.

Hung upside down by her ankles.

Naked.

With cuffs on her wrists and her arms stretched down and tied to the floor. Then being pumped for information from slayers.

SHE LOOKED AT LONDON and said, “I wonder why they slit her throat instead of pounding a stake in her heart.”

“Easy,” London said. “They know we’re mortal; they know they don’t need wooden stakes to kill us. And what good would it do them to have a bunch of wooden-stake cases popping up across the country? The MO is too unique, meaning that the cases would get connected. Too many detectives would get involved; they’d share files and information; they’d be a lot smarter in a group than they would be separately.”

“But now they’re using stakes,” Rave said.

“True.”

“Why the change?”

“My guess?”

“Right.”

“My guess is that they’re getting bolder,” London said. “They’re trying to terrify us. The stakes are a way of saying that all vampires will die.”

All vampires will die.

Rave had been in good spirits for the last couple of days.

Excited about her career.

Excited about Parker.

Excited about Twist.

But the words all vampires will die slammed her back to reality.

SUDDENLY LONDON’S PHONE RANG and Parker’s voice came through. “I just got a call from Suzanne Wheeler in Montreal,” he said. “The incoming call came from Rave’s phone. Did you and Rave just call her?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To see if she talks to anyone besides you.”

“She doesn’t,” Parker said. “You know that’s the security policy.”

Yes.

She did.

“You scared her to death,” Parker said.

“Sorry.”

He exhaled.

“Let me call her and tell her the call was legit,” he said. “The poor woman is absolutely terrified.” A pause, then, “Why in the hell would you think she would talk to anyone besides me?”

“We were curious.”

“Why?”

“We just wondered if she was feeding information to the slayers,” London said.

“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “She wouldn’t do that in a million years.”

Chapter Eighty-Six

Day Eight—April 19

Tuesday Morning

______________

MID-MORNING, CHIEF F. F. TANKER walked into homicide with the Rocky Mountain News in his hand and told Teffinger, “Why don’t you come down to my office for a minute?”

Teffinger grabbed his half-filled coffee cup.

And followed the man.

He sensed trouble.

So much so that he didn’t swing by the pot to top off. As soon as they got behind closed doors, Tanker held the paper up and said, “Did you read this yet?”

No.

He hadn’t.

Tanker opened the paper to page four and pointed. Teffinger read two articles, one about him and one about Geneva Vellone. Then he looked at the chief and said, “I have a solution.”

Tanker slumped into his chair and said, “Go on.”

“I can’t get you into trouble,” Teffinger said. “I don’t care about me, but I’m not going to let you go down. I’m going to the press and tell them in no uncertain terms that you had nothing to do with any of this. You never gave me authority to investigate Jena Vellone; you never covered anything up; you never knew a thing about what I was doing in San Francisco, period, end of story.”

“That’ll make you a rogue,” Tanker said.

Teffinger shrugged.

“I’ll say I took a vacation day yesterday,” he said. “I was off duty, taking an extended weekend. That actually sort of makes sense because my girlfriend, London Fontelle, was with me. In fact, to make it formal, I’m giving you my notice now that I was officially on vacation yesterday. I’ll fill out the paperwork as soon as I get back to my desk. Also, I’ll emphasize that my trip to San Francisco wasn’t funded by the department.”

“Can you back that up?”

Teffinger nodded.

“Luckily, I used my own credit cards for everything. I’ll never submit a reimbursement request,” he said. “I’ll emphasize that Jena Vellone is a longstanding friend of mine, since high school in fact, which is common knowledge anyway. Is it so wrong for one friend to worry about another? Anyway, with any luck, that will at least keep you out of it, and maybe get this thing positioned to die.”

Tanker frowned.

“They’re going to press for a formal investigation,” he said. “I can feel it. Then the question will be whether you should be suspended pending that investigation; and maybe me too, for that matter.”

Teffinger stood up.

And raked his fingers through his hair.

“We can’t let that happen,” he said. “If I lose my resources here, Jena Vellone is dead.”

The chief nodded.

“I don’t care what happens to me afterwards,” Teffinger added. “I don’t care if I lose my job or pension or anything else. But right now I can’t afford to be jacked around. Jena’s counting on me and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let her down.”

Tanker studied Teffinger.

“She’s been gone a long time, you know.”

“I know,” Teffinger said. “I just can’t let myself picture her dead.”

“Then find her,” Tanker said.

They shook hands.

And Teffinger left.

HE FILLED OUT THE VACATION PAPERWORK as soon as he got back to his desk, made a copy for himself and handed in the original. Sydney didn’t come over, but kept him in the corner of her eye, obviously wondering if he was okay. Teffinger got a fresh cup of coffee and took a seat in front of her desk.

“The chief’s going to paint his office,” he said. “He wanted my opinion on colors.”

She chuckled.

“What’d you tell him?”

“I suggested a light blue, to match his eyes.”

“His eyes are brown,” she said.

“Oops. Do you feel like taking a drive?”

She did.

And grabbed her jacket to prove it.

Chapter Eighty-Seven

Day Eight—April 19

Tuesday Afternoon

______________

BECAUSE SHE WAS A RADIO PERSONALITY, Geneva Vellone had a massive web presence. In just thirty minutes at the keyboard, Tripp was able to locate dozens of photos of the woman plus more information than he would ever need. It turned out that she lived on a 5-acre horse property off Morrison Road in unincorporated Jefferson County.

Nice.

Tripp parked the Impala a half-mile south, in a scooped out shoulder that looked like it was used for parking to access a trail that snaked into open space.

He raised the hood, as if he had engine problems.

Then he walked towards the woman’s house.

The temperature was nice, about seventy, but clouds rolled in from the mountains and hinted of rain tonight. He wore jeans, New Balance tennis shoes, and a dark-blue T-shirt. The woman’s driveway was asphalt and long. Tripp headed up it and approached the house; to all intents and purposes, just one more poor slob who needed a jug of water to fill a leaky radiator.

He looked back over his shoulder as he came up on the house.

No one was behind him.

There wasn’t a sign of life in any direction.

He didn’t see any exterior surveillance cameras.

The asphalt ended at the side of the house. From there, the drive turned to gravel and continued for another hundred feet or so where it ended at a small wooden barn.

Next to the house, on the asphalt, sat a red Viper.

Good.

That meant the woman was home.

No other cars were there, meaning she was alone, unless of course she brought someone with her. Tripp heard no sounds from the house. He was close enough now that he’d hear music if it was playing.

He paused at the bottom of the front steps.

Deciding whether to knock or not.

His instincts told him not to.

So he walked around the side of the house to the back. There he found a redwood deck that came off a living room. The sliding glass door was open but the screen was shut. He tiptoed across the wood, stopped at the screen and listened.

At first he didn’t hear anything.

Then he did.

Faint, but definitely the sound of a shower.

Upstairs.

He slid the screen door open.

Stepped inside.

And then silently pushed it shut.

A brown cat trotted over and stared at him.

Chapter Eighty-Eight

Day Eight—April 19

Tuesday Afternoon

______________

RAVE had been more than relieved to get out of Cameron Leigh’s house without being caught. So when London said, “We need to go back,” Rave’s heart raced.

“Why?”

“Because we left too early.”

“What do you mean?”

“There has to be more information there,” London said. “We need to find it so I can feed it to Nick. The key to Jena Vellone’s disappearance is somewhere in Cameron Leigh’s house. The problem is that Nick thinks he found everything he needs after finding that calendar, so he’s not inclined to go back. We need to go back, do a complete search, and then if we find something I’ll find a way to feed it to Nick.”

Rave swallowed.

Then looked at London and said, “You’re nuts.”

London grabbed Rave’s hand and pulled her towards the car.

“Come on, we’re wasting time.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, they were at Cameron Leigh’s back door again, putting on latex gloves. Unfortunately, they had locked the door behind them when they left earlier. London almost broke the glass with her elbow before pausing. “Let’s check the bedroom window first.”

They did.

And miraculously found it unlocked.

Rave boosted London in.

Ten seconds later the back door opened and London said, “Come on.”

As soon as Rave stepped inside, her phone rang and Tim Pepper’s voice came through. “I have the session lined up,” he said. “Can you be down at the club in an hour?”

She could come.

But she might be running a little behind.

“Wait for me if I’m late,” she said.

THEY DECIDED TO FINISH searching through the rest of the books before heading to the bedroom or the basement.

Good thing, too.

Another large hardcover held a stash of eight or ten newspaper articles from the Seattle Times, printed off the web, very similar to the ones about Kennedy Pinehurst, except they pertained to someone named Destiny Moon.

“I’ll be damned,” London said.

“Destiny Moon,” Rave said.

For some reason the name rang a bell.

“Weird name,” London said. “It just goes to show; don’t let your parents be hippies.”

According to the articles, Destiny Moon was the lead singer in a female rock group from Seattle called La Femme.

La Femme.

“I’ve heard of this group,” Rave said.

“You have?”

Rave nodded.

“Where?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

Destiny Moon, apparently, never made it home after a Saturday night gig. Her body was found two weeks later in an abandoned warehouse in a “messy condition.”

They wrote down the dates of the articles.

And put the originals back in the book.

Then London said, “Let’s keep looking.”

Rave must have had a strange look on her face because London asked, “Are you okay?”

Rave looked London in the eyes.

“I just remembered where I heard about this group,” Rave said. “My manager, Tim Pepper, mentioned them once.”

“In what context?”

Rave searched her memory.

“I don’t recall,” she said.

“Did he manage them or something?”

Rave concentrated.

But came up empty.

“I just can’t remember,” she said.

“I have to feed this to Teffinger somehow,” London said. “What I need to do is get him back here for some reason. Then I’ll wander over here, nonchalantly start pulling books, and accidentally stumble across it.”

“How are you going to get him back?”

“I don’t know yet,” London said. “Right now, let’s see what else we can find.”

Chapter Eighty-Nine

Day Eight—April 19

Tuesday Afternoon

______________

WHEN TEFFINGER SWUNG into Geneva Vellone’s driveway, he was relieved to see the red Viper parked next to the house. That meant she was home and that he hadn’t wasted the trip. He topped off a disposable cup with coffee from the thermos, stepped out, and knocked on the front door.

No one answered.

He knocked again.

And sipped coffee.

No one answered.

He headed around to the back, found the sliding glass door open, and stepped inside. The sound of a shower came from upstairs.

“Anyone home?” he shouted.