Shadow of Death, page 29
It opened on cue.
And Della Hamilton walked into the room, wearing a pantsuit today, her long sweep of hair tied in a knot at the nape of her neck.
Very pro. When taking down the Midnight Slasher, she had made herself appear to be all casual and cute—and naive.
Today, the woman was all professional.
“Della, thanks. And Mason, you, too,” Jackson Crow said. “First, we’d like you both to accept this venture. As I’ve explained, I hope you’ll still be working with me. We have Angela—my wife and one of our first Krewe members along with a few others—and an amazing team of techs and experts in our offices to help with anything at any time. We really have a great team to deal with any evidence no matter how small. They’re brilliant with video and so much more. So, here we are. We want you willing to begin this new venture, ready to accept it, and move forward. If you’re hesitant, that’s all right. We want you, for many reasons—”
Mason was surprised to discover he was slightly amused.
“You’ve been stalking me?” he asked.
“Not stalking!” Adam Harrison protested. “Heaven forbid!” Grinning, he glanced at Jackson.
“Of course,” Jackson continued, amused as well, “we’ve done our homework. If you don’t choose to accept this assignment, we’d still appreciate you accepting a transfer to the Krewe.”
“I’d thought about requesting an interview with you,” Mason admitted.
“Why didn’t you?” Jackson asked.
“I guess I got used to working alone.”
“And yet, you can’t imagine the amazing abilities and teamwork that exists among our people,” Jackson said. “Okay, to be blunt—no recorders in here—we know you have the ability to speak with the dead. We are a small percentage of a small percentage of the world population,” he added quietly. “You’ve never worked with anyone who was just like you.”
“No, I haven’t,” Mason admitted.
He was silent for a minute. He turned to look at the woman who would be his partner for the enterprise, curious as to her reaction.
She was looking at Jackson, nodding. “I’ve been reading about the killer they’re calling the Vampire. He needs to be stopped—especially if he’s gaining followers.”
“We don’t know that,” Jackson told her. “Nor can we be certain he started this in the United States—”
“Our killer last night wasn’t the Vampire killer on the move across the pond,” Mason said. “He was slashing throats—not drinking blood.”
“Right,” Jackson said. “And he may not have known the Vampire, or wanted to emulate him.”
“But...he did talk about getting it right,” Della said.
“Most probably not associated, but...the man you brought down was William Temple of Slidell. We’ve investigated his background and the profilers had it just right on him. He was bullied through school. He asked a girlfriend to marry him and she turned him down and took off—he drank heavily at several of the bars along Bourbon Street. He worked for one of the bayou tour companies until he was fired for unwanted attention toward female tourists—and calling them filthy names when they spurned his advances. He was evicted from his apartment off Esplanade.”
“A killer, but hardly a brilliant one.” Della nodded. “And again, nothing compared to the man leaving bodies in pristine condition and beauty, just devoid of blood.”
“The display of the victims has become important now. One of our Krewe members, also a medical examiner, believes the victims discovered in the Florida Everglades and the Blue Ridge in Virginia might have been this killer’s beginnings for murder—practice victims, one might say. They were also exsanguinated. While the throats on the victims were slit, because of other markings, Kat believes he was perfecting his ability to pierce blood vessels perfectly—and draw blood from the neck, leaving marks that could appear to be those left by vampire fangs. Right now we just know he’s on a cross-country killing spree in Europe, either on his own or with an accomplice. Interpol is on it—officers from three countries are now on it. But I’ve been asked from on high to help, so...”
“I’m in,” Della said. “Of course, you knew I would be.”
“Thank you, Della,” Jackson said. He stared at Mason. “Special Agent Carter?”
“I... Wow. I—I admit to being intrigued. Why us?” he asked curiously.
“Well, the obvious, of course. Della had been assigned to my office already when this came up. And, yes, we have watched your work.”
“Someone else knows your record for finding resolutions to cases. Remember, I told you voices on high in the government wanted this, and they were adamant you were the man for the job, Mason,” Adam Harrison told him. “But you’re hesitating.”
Mason shrugged and grimaced. “No, not really. Maybe I’m afraid of failure. This is important to many people, naturally, and I am hoping I am capable to stop—”
“You may be afraid. We’re not,” Jackson told him. He leaned forward. “Should you choose to accept this assignment—not mission, assignment,” he added dryly, “you’ll be leaving this evening.”
Mason lifted his hands. “I’ve been chasing the Midnight Slasher for months now. I guess I thought I’d be getting a few weeks of vacation.”
“You get this Vampire,” Jackson said, “And I’ll see to it you get a month’s vacation after, if you wish.”
“I...” Mason lifted his hands again. “Honestly, it’s not that I need or expect so much time off, I just...”
“You may refuse,” Jackson assured him. “This isn’t for everyone.”
“But should you?”
He turned to see Della Hamilton had spoken quietly and was staring at him, again, as if she read something in him, as if she knew more than he did about himself.
“I...”
He didn’t know what it was about the way she was looking at him. Challenging him? Or seeing something in him he really wasn’t sure of himself.
He looked from her to Adam Harrison and then to Jackson Crow.
“So,” he said with resolve, “we’re leaving tonight. I take it we’ll be briefed—”
“Every file from every country will be sent to your inboxes immediately. Along with connections here in the home office for any help you need, and bios on the members of European law enforcement you’ll be involved with. We will be planning a larger team, of course, but this came up suddenly. And they need our help. Also, one of the officials in Norway has a suspicion the Vampire might well be an American.”
“American?” Mason said, surprised. “I understand there were similar killings here that might have been this killer’s start up. But now, the display of the killings has apparently stretched from country to county. Maybe he’s gotten it all right where he wants it to be, but these killings have been in Europe—”
“I think, in the killer’s mind, the killings have been perfected in Europe,” Jackson said. “I believe the killer’s practices were here in America. I have been involved in this for a long time, and I consider it an educated theory. You’ll find everything you need will be sent to you, every piece of information or even supposition that we have. I’ve done all the reading on this and, trust me, there’s plenty of reading material for a long flight.”
Mason nodded.
“All right. So, tonight. When and how do we leave?”
“Private jet, Krewe jet,” Adam told him. The older man shrugged. “I’ve been lucky in life. The plane is my gift to special agents who are...special.”
“I’m packed and ready,” Della said. She looked at Mason.
“I’ve been living out of a suitcase here in New Orleans. I’ll get my things from the hotel.”
“We’ll meet up at Louis Armstrong International,” Della said, rising. She nodded to Jackson and Adam. “I know we’ll have cooperation, and I truly hope we’ll do the Bureau proud.”
“I know you will,” Jackson said.
* * *
It took Mason less than fifteen minutes to collect his belongings from the hotel. The drive to the airport where he returned his rental car took another forty-five. He met up with Della Hamilton at the coffee bar in the terminal.
“You’re here,” she said.
“Of course, I’m here. I said I would be.”
“But you don’t seem pleased with the assignment.”
“Oh, you’re wrong,” he said. “I’m just enthralled.”
“You’re just enthralled,” Della murmured. “Strange choice of words.”
“I was obviously being sarcastic,” Mason told her dryly.
“I didn’t miss your tone,” she assured him. “It’s just that we’re headed for Norway. The word enthralled comes from thrall—which is what the Norse called the human beings they enslaved. People tend to think the Vikings were after gold and jewels—and they were, but they were also slave traders. They needed slaves to build their ships and sew their sails and work the land when it was workable, but they also found great wealth in the slave trade.” She paused, shaking her head. “Humanity hasn’t changed. Of course, it wasn’t just the Vikings. The Romans were big on enslaving conquered people, and so on throughout history. And still, though we try to stop it, there are still some places today that enslave others. Anyway, the conquerors could be cruel. Some of the sagas that were written in Iceland in the fourteenth century portray the invaders as great heroes—and the thralls as dull and stupid creatures who needed owners since they were fit for little more than slavery. They’ve found iron collars and chains in archaeological digs, proof of man’s treatment of man, or in slavery, more of woman. But anyway, being enthralled means you’re basically enslaved by someone or something.”
“Woah!” Mason said. “Woah, so, I’m traveling with a walking encyclopedia! But, hmm, you are hard on those people. Are you sure you should be going to Norway?”
She shook her head impatiently. “I hardly blame anyone today for the Viking age. It ended a long, long time ago. We call the Dark Ages the Dark Ages because that’s what they were—dark. Torture chambers abounded! Oh, and I love Norway and the Norwegian people. My maternal grandparents were born there.”
“Ah, that’s why they’re sending you,” he said. “You know the terrain?”
“Hopefully, they’re sending me because I’m a competent agent, capable of rolling with whatever comes up. And yes, I know some of the terrain, of course. We traveled fairly frequently when I was a kid.”
“Rich kid?”
She shook her head. “My parents just knew how to make travel with the family into both a fun and profitable event. My mother was an artist and my father was a great marketer—he found buyers for her work all over in ad campaigns and the like. So yes, I know and love Norway.”
“And the Bureau?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I was majoring in criminology when an old friend suggested I use everything I have to get bad guys. I went into the academy straight from college.”
“A dead friend?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, a dead friend. You?”
“College, the military, more college, the academy. Oh, and on the enthralled—maybe I said it just right. I get the feeling you’re something like me.”
“Oh, I doubt that! And why—”
“Because work became your life at some point. Basically, we’re slaves to it.”
Della shook her head. “Not true. Or I don’t see it that way. I’m still dedicated. I believe in what we’re doing, and the fact we can get help sometimes from those who are gone—that not everyone can—is amazing. Don’t you believe in what we’re doing?”
Mason hesitated. “Yes, of course. Okay, honestly? I just... I don’t want to kill anymore. Maybe what I thought I needed was a breather. Not that I would have preferred to have been killed myself, I mean...” He paused. He barely knew Della Hamilton, and he wasn’t really ready to pour his heart out to her. But...
“Seeing so much death,” he continued, “I’ve gained a marked appreciation for life. I have never killed in any circumstance in which I wasn’t being shot at myself or in a situation in which it was necessary to protect another—an innocent, someone stunned and terrified to suddenly find themselves the target of a killer, or in the middle of a crime, war, or violence. But I wish I was better at...negotiating! Getting people to surrender. I... No matter what, it still takes something out of you when you take a human life.”
“Yes, I agree,” she said, “and everyone hopes to bring a suspect in alive because our job is to uphold the law while judges and juries do the rest. I understand how you feel. I was told you were a good guy. You are. No one wants to kill, Mason. But sometimes, negotiation doesn’t work, and we must care about the victim first. Negotiation is great, but when there is no choice... Well. And honestly, I guess you haven’t had much chance to read about this Vampire yet, but... Mason, he’s a truly terrifying figure. And if he has others joining his ranks... Mason, you do know there are groups of people across the world, I believe—I know of a few in the States—who call themselves vampires, right? Some just meet and drink one another’s blood. Some say they are spiritual vampires, and claim it’s in a good way—they can gain kindness from others and all that. But...if this guy really thinks he’s a vampire, we may be looking at worse things to come. At one time, people believed in blood-sucking vampires—diseases that destroyed the blood caused that kind of theory. In the 1800s, even in the United States, people dug up their loved ones to stake them through the heart or burn their hearts, afraid they were coming back to drink their blood when in truth, the disease was just spreading. But—”
“I don’t think this killer believes he’s a vampire, though if he is seeking followers, he’ll want to convince them he is a supernatural creature. I believe he’ll be like the guy we just got—probably handsome or charming enough to lure victims. Somewhere in his twenties or thirties. Thirties, I think, old enough to have gotten clever enough to clean up a crime scene and have the finances to pull off what he’s doing. He’ll be making sure he gets a lot of press all over Europe. He wants the fame or the infamy.”
“You spent time with profilers?”
“I did,” he said. “And we all know a profile can be wrong—but most of the time, it turns out to be right on. Let’s hope we have good help once we get there.”
“We will. And we have tons and tons of time to study all the files on the plane. Mason, we can make this work. And I know you’re a loner. This is the first time you’ve worked with a partner and a team in a long time. But I swear, I’ve got your back.”
He nodded. “I’ve uh... I’m sorry if I’m...difficult. You’re right. I’ve been on my own for a few years now. And—I swear—I’ve got your back, too.”
She smiled. “Hey, I’ve gotten to see you do that already. And I’m so sorry. I heard. I heard your last partner was killed in the line of duty,” she said.
He nodded, looking away, and not sure why he didn’t want to look at her.
Yes, Stan Kier had been killed. Mason had been nearby when it happened, and seeing Stan, he had felt a burning fury. Perhaps there had been no choice, but the searing sensation of anger and hatred he’d felt when he brought down the killer had been horrible.
There were things an agent had to do. Times when he had to kill.
But the amount of hatred he’d felt then...
It had scared the hell out of him.
It was just something he didn’t want to ever feel again. Though he had to admit, it didn’t come close to the pain of seeing Stan die. Stan had been a great guy, a family man, a friend.
He started, feeling her hand on his knee. He looked her way. In truth, he knew nothing about her.
“Like I said. Not to worry. I’ve seen you in action,” she said.
“Yeah, thanks. And I’m sorry. I’m not sure if I ever said anything to you after the events in the bayou. You were amazing. For what you did in that cabin. That was...”
“Unorthodox?” she asked, wincing.
“I was going to say it was very brave. Coming in unarmed.”
“I had a little Beretta hidden in my waistband,” she said. “I also read up on you and I knew you were a crack shot. The SWAT director there was getting edgy. And while you are such a good shot and you’d have been fine without me, I figured a little help couldn’t hurt. It can be hard to get a guaranteed clean shot. I had talked to Melissa’s parents and... We just couldn’t let him take out another victim.”
“Well, then, thanks. You threw me. I had heard things about the Krewe of Hunters, but I didn’t know you were with them—”
“Newbie,” she reminded him. “Not quite a year. The Krewe was formed over a decade ago. In New Orleans, as a matter of fact. There were originally just six, and now we have dozens of agents, and it’s good—we’re all always out, all over the country.”
“So you were down in this area with the Krewe before?”
“Right before I joined the Krewe I was on assignment as a field agent down here. In fact, it was almost right after the case I was on here that I had my interview—and found out they were real. I promise you, it’s like...sanity in the insane world we’ve chosen to work in.”
“And I think I still doubted in my way—since we’re taught by our parents and families not to let other people think we’re crazy—that what I’d heard could be real, that the Bureau really had a unit in truth that was composed of...”
“Weird people like us?” she asked, grinning.
He nodded.
“As I told you, I’m still fairly new to the Krewe. Well, not that new, almost a year. I went to the academy, started in the field, and then my supervisor told me I had an interview with a special unit,” she told him. “I believe sometimes, the head players at the Krewe know from our records or cases... Well, they have it themselves so they recognize it in others. They seek people from other law enforcement agencies as well. I believe Adam Harrison and Jackson Crow are pretty amazing at studying situations.” She paused, smiling. “It’s a wonderful place to be, with others like us, and they just have that talent for determining who the weird people are. And instead of hiding and feeling weird, we get to see that it is amazing, this ability we have, because it’s like so many things with DNA, just a fraction of a fraction of the population has it, so...”
