Dark Hunger (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order) (28 page)

“Right.”

“Did we get a recording of the man who reported the location, when he called in?”

Sydney shook her head.

“No,” she said. “It didn’t go to 911. It came to the main number.”

Teffinger looked at the clouds.

“Of course.”

Chapter 102

Day Eight—April 19

Tuesday Evening

______________

TUESDAY EVENING, JAKE VANDEVENTER FLEW through choppy skies towards Denver. He sat in first class, drinking a Bud Light and thinking about his wife, Sophia.

Rest her soul.

The soul of the only woman he would ever love.

When she disappeared, eighteen months ago, they were living in Nice, France. Jake was semi-retired, running the diamond mines through people he trusted. Sophia had turned herself into a philanthropist—rich, powerful and well known throughout southern France.

She didn’t have an enemy in the world.

On a Wednesday morning, she hopped on her red scooter to buy a loaf of fresh bread, just like she did every morning. This time, however, she never returned. They found her two weeks later, in an old abandoned boathouse, hanging by her feet, naked, with her throat slit.

The police investigated.

Hard.

Under tremendous pressure from both VanDeventer and the public.

They learned a few things.

Two men had been seen in the vicinity of the boathouse during the time in question. One of the men looked like Indiana Jones, from the movies. They got no description of the other man.

That’s all they learned.

The investigation slowed.

And then stopped.

That’s when VanDeventer decided that he had to get things done on his own.

HE LEARNED OF A SIMILAR CASE involving a man named Matthew Abbott, an American businessman who looked like a tattooed skinhead when he wasn’t wearing a suit. Abbott’s sister, Melissa, had been killed in the same manner as VanDeventer’s wife, Sophia.

VanDeventer didn’t tell the French police about the Abbott case.

Or the American police.

Instead, he showed up unannounced on Abbott’s doorstep.

They talked.

And formed an alliance.

An alliance of justice.

An alliance of revenge.

Abbott knew a man named Trent Tripp; a large man; a capable man; a man who could be trusted; a man who might be willing to join their cause if the price was right. They met with Tripp, liked him, and made an arrangement.

Tripp took the lead in the hunt.

And found out that their two targets—Indiana Jones and the other man—were part of a group of people who believed they were bloodline descendents of vampires.

The three of them met to assess the situation.

It was their collective opinion that their two targets, and possibly other “vampires” from this group, were killing people throughout the world, most likely to drink their blood.

Over time, through the incredible digging and persistence of Trent Tripp, they uncovered more victims of the vampires.

—Kennedy Pinehurst, a radio personality from Chicago.

—Samantha Stevens, a New York socialite.

—Tristan Knox, a Los Angeles model.

—Destiny Moon, the lead singer of a female rock group called Le Femme, out of Seattle.

A pattern emerged.

The targets were always women of stature, fame, fortune or money—important women, strong women, the kinds of women who got their names and faces on billboards, TVs and radios. In each case, the woman was kept alive for a number of days, probably so that her blood could be sucked or drained over a period of time.

VANDEVENTER, ABBOTT AND TRIPP MET to refine their goals. It wasn’t their plan to randomly kill or slay anyone or everyone who might be a member of the vampire group. In fact, they only knew of two persons who were conclusively involved, namely their two target men.

Their goal was to find out the identity of these two men.

And kill them.

If they discovered other vampires along the way who were implicated in the slaying of women, then the three of them would meet and discuss what to do before proceeding. That situation, however, had not materialized to date.

VANDEVENTER ACTUALLY THOUGHT HE SAW one of the two targets once—the one who looked like Indiana Jones—in San Francisco. He followed the man north of the city and saw that he slowed near an ocean estate. VanDeventer did the same, to see what the man had been looking at. He spotted surveillance cameras at the gate. Later that day he discovered that the house belonged to Barbara Rocker, the daughter of a wealthy man from San Francisco.

VanDeventer realized that she was a likely target.

And that the surveillance cameras had probably picked him up.

So he made an appointment with a realtor named Jim Hansen who had a couple of houses listed for sale on that same road. That way, if Barbara Rocker did in fact disappear, and if her surveillance cameras recorded VanDeventer’s car in the vicinity, then VanDeventer would at least have an excuse for being in the area.

Twice.

Good thing, too.

Barbara Rocker did in fact turn out to be another victim.

VanDeventer got questioned by some incredibly stupid detective by the name of Mark Yorke. During that interrogation, VanDeventer asked his own questions, to see if he could find something out to help his own cause

But the detective knew nothing.

Unfortunately, VanDeventer never got a license plate number for Indiana Jones’ car.

The trail died.

THEN THEY CAUGHT A BREAK. Trent Tripp did some work to figure out who was tapping into ancient documents that might lead to information about vampires and their bloodline descendents.

The name of a woman named Suzanne Wheeler came up.

A woman from Montreal, Canada.

Tripp flew there, broke into her place and snooped around.

Unfortunately, the woman came home unexpectedly.

Tripp scurried out the back door.

He didn’t know if she spotted him or not.

When he told VanDeventer and Abbott that he was pretty sure that Wheeler was the genealogist working for the vampires, they gave him authority to break in a second time and extract anything that would tell them who their two targets were.

Tripp broke in again.

He found three files.

Diamanda.

Cameron Leigh.

And Rave Lafelle.

VANDEVENTER DISPATCHED TRIPP TO PARIS. Tripp’s assignment was to see if he could get the names of the two target men from the Paris vampire, Diamanda. The theory was that each vampire knew who the other ones were. Unfortunately, Tripp got attacked by the vampire and her bodyguard and ended up with no choice but to defend himself. He was able to grab the vampire’s laptop before he escaped, and brought it back to the U.S. VanDeventer cracked it, but found no information of relevance inside.

Meanwhile, Abbott went to Denver, to see what information he could get out of one or both of the other vampires.

He disappeared.

One of the vampires, Cameron Leigh, turned up dead with a wooden stake through her chest. In his heart, VanDeventer knew that Abbott didn’t do it.

Abbott wasn’t that kind of man.

When Abbott disappeared, VanDeventer and Tripp flew to Denver to find out what had happened, and to get whatever information they could from Rave Lafelle.

So far however, she had been a tough nut to crack.

She set up a trap for Trent Tripp when VanDeventer had to return to Johannesburg. One of the two targets, namely the Indiana Jones man, even came to Denver to help her.

But that little plan backfired on her.

She ended up shooting Indiana Jones.

Trent Tripp then dumped the man’s body by the railroad tracks, and pounded a stake in his heart to send a message. At that point, they knew his name—Forrest Jones. VanDeventer wired a nice bonus to Tripp’s bank as a showing of appreciation for getting one of the two targets.

That left one to go.

VanDeventer then flew to Ohio and broke into Forrest Jones’ house to see if he could get information as to the identity of the second target. Unfortunately, VanDeventer got interrupted by a female detective and had to punch her in the nose. That resulted in the police believing that he was associated with Forrest Jones’ murder, which in turn resulted in his composite sketch being broadcast all over the Denver news.

And a warrant for his arrest.

NOW TRIPP WAS IN TROUBLE. VanDeventer would meet him at the parking lot at 20th and Broadway at nine tonight and get him out of Denver.

He leaned back in the seat and drained the last of the Bud Light from the can. His name wasn’t Jake VanDeventer today; it was Ronald Ringer, thanks to the handiwork of Lefty. He wore an expensive suit, a red silk tie and leather wingtips. His hair was black now, and matched glasses that were fitted with non-corrective lenses. Even his friends wouldn’t recognize him.

He closed his eyes.

And pulled up an image of Sophia.

Smiling.

Happy.

Getting on her red scooter.

Waving over her shoulder as she headed down the cobblestone driveway.

“We’re half done,” he whispered.

Chapter 103

Day Eight—April 19

Tuesday Evening

______________

RAVE WAS CLEANING BLOOD off the carpet in her bedroom when her cell phone beeped, indicating she had a voice message.

She retrieved it.

“This message is for Rave Lafelle,” a woman’s voice said. “This is Suzanne Wheeler from Montreal, Canada. You called me earlier. My conscience has been bothering me and I can’t stay quiet any longer. Someone broke into my house a while back. I saw a man running out the back. I told Parker about it. He thought it was probably a slayer, looking for information on vampires. He said they’d probably be back and told me to leave three files where they could find them. One on Cameron Leigh, one on a French model named Diamanda, and one on you. The first two were legitimate files. They were work that I was actually doing. I didn’t have a file on you, however. To my knowledge, you have no vampire ancestry. Parker told me to make up a file with your name on it. I asked him why. He said he was going to use you as bait to draw the slayers in. I did it. I shouldn’t have, I admit that. I’m done with Parker and all this mess. I’m glad you’re still alive and can only pray that you stay that way. Please forgive me if you can.”

Rave called London into the room.

And handed the phone to her.

“Listen to this message,” she said.

Chapter 104

Day Eight—April 19

Tuesday Evening

______________

TEFFINGER WAS AT HEADQUARTERS, frantic, pacing, wired on caffeine, when London called. Before she could say anything, he said, “London, please don’t think I’m rude, but I don’t have a spare minute to my life right now.”

“I’m downstairs in the lobby,” she said. “Come down and see me.”

“London—”

“Just do it!” she said.

“I really don’t have time—”

“It’s about the case.”

“Jena Vellone?”

“Yes,” she said. “And Geneva Vellone, too. Come alone.”

Come alone?

What the hell did that mean?

Teffinger bounded down the stairwell, two steps at a time. He spotted London in the lobby and she pulled him outside where they could talk in private. Rain fell out of a twilight sky. The streetlights would kick on in fifteen minutes.

London had been crying.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

She grabbed his hands.

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

“I love you too,” she said. “I’m going to tell you something but you have to promise never to use it against me or Rave Lafelle.”

He studied her.

She was serious.

“Okay,” he said.

“You promise?”

“I do.”

“I’ll tell you the whole story later,” she said. “But here’s what you need to know right now. Trent Tripp is the one who took Geneva Vellone. And Forrest Jones is the one who took Jena Vellone.”

The words were so unexpected that Teffinger laughed. Forrest Jones was the man they found by the railroad tracks with a wooden stake in his heart.

“How could you possibly know that?”

“I’ll tell you everything later,” she said. “But trust me; those two things are absolutely true.”

Teffinger looked for lies.

And found none.

“Forrest Jones has been dead for days,” he said.

“I know.”

He turned and said over his shoulder, “I’ll talk to you later.”

“I just found out,” she shouted. “Don’t hate me.”

He stopped.

And looked back.

“Are you absolutely sure about this? Before I make a fool out of myself—”

“I’m absolutely positive. Trust me.”

TEFFINGER RAN UP THE STAIRS TWO AT A TIME. He must have looked like an out-of-breath maniac when he ran into the room because ten pairs of eyes focused on him and didn’t look away. He spotted Katie Baxter and said, “Trent Tripp is the one who took Geneva Vellone this afternoon.”

She looked dumbfounded.

“How do you know that?”

“I just do,” he said. “Follow the route of his cell phone this afternoon. Search every abandoned building within fifty yards of where he was.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

He looked around the room. “I want everyone in here to help her,” he said. “No one goes off duty until we find her. I don’t care if we work for two days straight.” Back to Baxter, “Concentrate on his locations an hour or so after I left Geneva’s place—I left at 1:30, so see where he was about 2:30. Wherever he took her, he probably took her straight there.”

He pointed to Sydney and said, “I need you to come with me.”

THEY SQUEALED TO THE 6TH AVENUE FREEWAY and headed west. Teffinger brought the 4Runner up to eighty and said, “Forrest Jones is the one who took Jena Vellone.”

“Forrest Jones? You mean the dead guy by the railroad tracks?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you say that?”