Читать книгу A Small Degree of Hope - Lyndi Alexander - Страница 8

Chapter 3

Suddenly light-headed, Kylie realized she’d been holding her breath. She leaned closer, speaking quietly, “You know me and what I’m investigating and you want to interfere with me?” She jerked her wrist. He released her, leaving behind a red mark.

“Interfere? Not at all.” He stood behind the table, his muscles taut as if he’d jump over it to chase her if she left. “Please sit down. You are attracting attention.”

“Me?” People at neighboring tables displayed a sudden interest in their conversation, if one could call it that. “Right.” Annoyed, she took the seat he indicated. “Whatever you’re trying to pull, fri—” She poked her finger at him. “Look, this isn’t a game. You’d better have useful information.”

She studied him, his eyes still fascinating her. No one had eyes that color. Except that dead body.

“What do you need to help you find the one responsible for these deaths?” he asked.

What in the hells did he mean? What do you need… As if he were some sort of fairy godfather? He’d just drop it in her lap and move on?

“You said you had information for me. Let’s hear it.”

At the next table, three city officers adjusted their chairs, intent upon her private conversation. She didn’t intend to share credit for her investigation with bumbling local yokels. “Come on,” she said. “We’ll talk outside.”

She jumped out of her chair in a flash, her hands close to her body so he couldn’t grab her again. He followed her to the street, walking past the bums and hangers-on without a word. Now what?

She’d put herself into a corner. She wouldn’t conduct an interview on the sidewalk in that kind of neighborhood. Muraco contained two fairly rough districts where crime lords conducted business just out of the sight of local governments.

The thought of sitting, trapped, in her car with a yellow-eyed stranger made her insides crawl. “Do you have a vehicle? You could follow me to my office.”

“No.” He stood with her in the middle of the street as cars passed going both directions. “It is dangerous to remain in the crosswalk.”

“Right.” She growled. Ten miles to the Cendiary. He could never walk there in a reasonable time. Her car provided the best alternative. She needed to learn what he knew. Something about him rang true.

When traffic cleared, she hurried across to the vehicle. He moved exactly when she moved, ending up near the back fender as Kylie stopped at the driver’s door, key in hand. She eyed him. “I’m armed.”

He nodded. “You have an X35 Glock in your belt holster, pepper spray in your jacket pocket and a stiletto in your right boot.”

A rock settled in her gut and she froze. “What—I—how can you see that?”

He glanced across the street at some young thugs. “Perhaps we should enter your vehicle. It appears less hazardous.”

She followed his gaze and sighed. “I swear by the gods that I’ll take you out if you try anything.” Although, since he had several inches and a good twenty-five pounds of muscle on her, she’d be hard-pressed to carry out her threat in that enclosed space.

“Understood.” He walked to the passenger side of her car and waited for her to open the door. He let her get in first, which satisfied her because she could watch every move he made folding himself into her compact vehicle. Nothing suspicious came to light.

Once they’d both settled in, she put the key in the ignition, locked the doors and pulled her jacket loose so she’d have access to her firearm. “Tell me how you identified what weapons I carry.”

He shrugged, his shoulders stretching the black nylon jacket he wore. “Not important.”

“It is to me, friend.”

“Again, you call me ‘friend.’ This pleases me.” He smiled, and a warm light entered his eyes.

Was this man mentally defective? Or did he just not understand Galactic Standard? If Standard wasn’t his first language, did that make him alien? “I don’t mean ‘friend’ like that. The weapons? Now?”

“They are apparent to me. I cannot explain it any other way. I also sense your heart beats ninety times per minute, your skin temperature is one degree below normal and your system has not yet processed the toxins you have just ingested.”

Now that creeped her right out. She wanted to demand proof, discover his secret, but she wasn’t sure how long she’d have to talk with him. Better to skip to the important stuff. “You said you could tell me about the dead women. How are you acquainted with them?”

He cocked his head again, studying her. “Surely you are aware the announcements have been made regularly on your news channels.”

She hit the steering wheel with her left fist. “Of course I am, you idiot. I want to know why you have information the media doesn’t.” As his gaze flickered away from hers, she wondered if her perp sat only eight inches away.

“Because I do.”

Jaco would have slammed this guy’s head on the table by now. Pity she didn’t have a table handy. “Well, good for you.” She counted to ten, wishing she had X-ray vision, or ESP, or whatever the hell this guy had that let him see into her.

And less to drink, apparently, because she still felt a little fuzzy. Not wise when dealing with a perp.

“All right. Let’s try another way. Tell me about the changes made to the women.”

Although the lizard-nature of the changes had been made public, no details had been released.

Let’s see how Mr. Smart Guy handles this.

Staring out the windshield, he took a deep breath then answered in a monotone. “The females change from their cell structure up. The skin will first mottle, then become rough and dry and finally develop a certain kind of texture, not unlike scales. Once the cell structure differentiates, other parts of the body begin to change. Reproductive organs alter last.”

As he spoke, Kylie fought to keep her face impassive, but her mind reeled. He described exactly what they’d seen. Exactly. She nodded, just enough to encourage him, and reached for her pad. “Do you mind if I take notes?”

“No.” He watched her hands.

Yeah, I bet you’re jumpy now, pal, aren’t you?

Where had she left her handcuffs? Maybe in her bedroom at home. Pretty sure there wasn’t a set in the car. Damnation.

“How does that change take place, exactly? You said at the cellular level. But what mechanism? Blood-borne? A hormone?”

“A retrovirus.”

Dr. Astrid had been right. She took one calm, forced breath, her heart racing. Bet he knew that, too. He certainly appeared jumpier. Back off a little. She scanned the street outside. No one seemed interested in their conversation. “Did you tell me your name?”

He studied her, a sparkle of curiosity in his eyes. “I did not.”

“Right. So what’s your name?”

“Griff.”

“Griff.” She nodded and wrote that down. “Griff what?”

“Griff.”

Did this fool think she wanted to play games? “I got that. What’s your surname?”

“Sur-name?” he asked. “What is that?”

Her insanity theory gained ground. The easier to catch you up, my dear. “A second name. A family name.”

“I have no ‘family.’ Only my brothers.”

She groaned. “Okay, your brothers are family, right? What’s their last name?”

“None of them are last. We are all equal.”

“Moving on,” she growled. The pleasurable effects of the mind-altering substances started to wear away. The windows closed, the air seemed stale and filled with his musky, sharp scent. “Address? Do you live with your brothers?”

A sad expression crossed his face. “Not at all. I have been cast out.”

Good, good. One more piece of the twisted psycho puzzle. Her serial murderer perp belonged to the majority race. Check. A younger man, judging by the smoothness of his face. Check. Isolated from his family, perhaps because of their discovery of his acts. Check.

The checklist faltered on the issue of brains. Serial murderer tended to have above average intelligence. Although in discussing the physical changes, he’d sounded well informed. Maybe his language skills just weren’t up to par, like a non-native speaker.

Most psychopaths presented as suave, too, and assured of their own superiority. She eyed the man sitting next to her, folded up into the small front seat of her vehicle. Not so much. Huh.

A ray of moonlight shone in, illuminating his strong fingers. She dwelt on their possibilities then returned to her interrogation. “So where do you live?”

“I move from place to place.”

“No home?”

He shook his head. A drifter could do a lot more damage, certainly, but without somewhere to take the vics to alter them, his crimes became much harder. Unless it could take place on the street.

“This transformation you described, how long does it take, usually?”

“A complete transformation? Perhaps seven days. Ten. But none have succeeded. Not yet.”

She squeezed her trembling fingers on the pen to keep from losing her grip. If that wasn’t a confession, she didn’t know what it was.

The perp needed a home or at least a workshop to wait ten days for the horrific mutation to take place. “Let me ask you, Griff, in the event we wanted to talk with you again, how would we find you?”

“I would find you.”

Yeah, that’s just what she wanted. Griff stalking her.

Thrilling to the possibility she might have just broken this case, she said, “Griff, I’ve got a better idea. You’re more knowledgeable about this than anyone I’ve talked to. I need to stop by the office to pick up a file to read before bed.” She started the car smoothly. “We’ll stop down there, so you can share your information about these poor women.”

She reached for the gearshift. The passenger door flew open, and he fled. Her reflexes kicked into delayed action. By the time she jumped out onto the pavement, gun in hand, he’d vanished.

She checked the nearest doorways, but saw nowhere he could hide. He hadn’t had enough time to reach the next corner. She yelled at the guys across the street. “Which direction did he go?”

Mistake. More catcalls filled the air. One guy kept shouting, “He just disappeared, man. He just disappeared.”

Fabulous. She debated going back to the office. Did she really want to admit she’d blown the pop? It would remain just as blown the next morning. That would give her time to tend the headache beginning to bloom in her temples, and maybe even get some sleep. Maybe.

Damn it.

She’d tried hard not to spook him. Quickly, she ran over what she’d said. Nothing threatening, to the average innocent person. Yeah, that was the key, wasn’t it?

He hadn’t bolted until she’d become excited about snagging him. Had he really read her lifesigns? The thought made her shudder. Did he get off, listening to his victims’ heartbeats as they spiked, terrified of what he did to them? What a sicko.

Waiting for morning would give him a whole shift circle to disappear. If they had any chance of catching him, they’d better toss out the net tonight.

Sprechan’s bloody birthday. So not where she’d intended to be by this time today.

She got back in her car and drove to the Cendiary. Granted, she could have tapped into the local police net, but her ego directed her to her own people first. Best of all, it was night shift. No one would be there to view her ignominious failure. Her key card let her in the gate of the mostly-empty garage then the security guard passed her through to the elevator. All the way to the fifth floor, she mentally reviewed what she’d say in her report. At least she wouldn’t have to explain it to her team this time of night. A little of her humiliation could be saved until morning.

But the elevator door opened onto a scene blazing with bright lights and six men at work. Unsure, she approached slowly. “What’s going on?”

Sloan Vincent looked up from the documents laid on the table in front of him. “Jaco got a bug up his ass that we’d missed something in the statistical layout, so we’re on until we get it reviewed.” He scoffed, eyeing his empty cup. “Guess you missed the cut because you did the slice and dice.”

“Eh.” She plopped into the chair at her borrowed desk. The electronics they brought themselves, because no one short of the Governor’s office owned better equipment than they did. She waited for her computer to power up.

Come on, brain. Function.

When the computer accepted her password, her input screen opened and she began typing. With any luck, she’d spill enough words on the page she could edit them into something comprehensible.

BOLO: Possible suspect in Case ALBA-25 made contact with agent Sanderson after dayturn two at…

Crap. Did she really have to admit she’d run straight to the bar? As a grown-up, it was perfectly legal for her to drink off-duty. She’d deserved it.

She sighed.

…at Hawthorn’s, Updike Way. The suspect approached this agent and indicated he had information about the case. Upon questioning, the suspect shared detailed information revealing awareness of methodology and scientific particulars in the physical transformations we’d observed but hadn’t shared with the media or public.

Griff’s warning about preventing further damage to females—not women—could be sociopathic distancing, a dehumanization of his victims. Perhaps that made it easier to conduct his gruesome experiments.

An icicle slid down her spine. She shivered. The fact this bastard understood how long it took to convert a woman to a full reptile sickened her.

None have succeeded. Not yet.

And what in all the lower hells did that mean? Besides, he apparently intended to keep trying. Perhaps eight vics was only the beginning, and they simply hadn’t found the others yet.

Suspect gave his name only as “Griff.” No surname or other identifying data. Suspect claims to be homeless, and that his family has “cast him out.”

Suspect approximately two meters tall, muscular build, thick shoulders. Long forearms. Black hair, light skinned, no remarkable tattoos or other skin markings. Age indeterminate; estimated at thirty. Eye color of note, a striking yellow similar to that of some of the altered victims.

“Sanderson, front and center!” Jaco’s booming voice echoed inside her tender head.

She hit enter to save her work before she stood. “What do you want?”

Chest puffed out, he marched across the room. “Do I understand that you received new information in our case from some unknown guy at a bar, and you didn’t bring him in for interrogation?”

“I-I, um…”

He came close to scan the screen behind her. “So it’s true. You have a suspect. Or had. What happened? How’d he get away from you? Kramist said the guy practically had you in his lap.”

The rough edge in his voice might have emerged due to his aggravation over losing a suspect. It sounded more like a streak of sharp jealousy.

“Kramist couldn’t find his head if it disappeared up his own ass. But yes. He had an inordinate amount of information about what’s happening to our vics. I’m going to test his theories at the morgue in the morning. I came back to enter a BOLO. Just in case someone comes across him. He knew too much not to be involved.”

“And where is he?”

“He jumped out of my car before I could finish interrogating him.”

His face went to red. “In your car?”

“Right, sir. Because Kramist and the rest had eyes and ears on everything. As you apparently heard. I wanted a private place to talk. He refused to come here, so I took the chance to question him in private.” She stood straighter, glad her boots had heels. “Our discussion provided valuable insights, sir. We’ll get him again. I’m sure of it.”

Inside her head, his words echoed, I’ll find you. If he’d tracked her down once, he’d locate her again. These serial murderers liked to pad their egos. He’d relish an opportunity to brag.

Jaco looked like he wanted to burst, then scowled at the screen. “Well, get it out! He’s probably halfway to Haidar already.”

“Yes, sir.” She didn’t mind his tone so much. He always used it with everyone. The one that said, don’t ignore the short man in front of you, because he’s a real lion in his own mind. She sat down again and reviewed what she’d written, added her name, contact information, the Cendiary’s address and sent it out.

Jaco stared at her, then growled at the world in general and tossed a stapled batch of papers at the staring men with their jaws hanging open. “Get to work! I want out of this subdivision by the end of the week.” He stomped back to his cubby.

Pax Loring watched Kylie with wide eyes. “Really? You had the perp, with you, in your car? Man, he could have eaten your ears off.”

“Pax, I had my gun. I just didn’t want to let him get away without telling me what he knew.”

The other men scoffed at Pax and gave her a few jabs about losing him, but she wasn’t disheartened. Plenty of time to play the hero once they caught him.

And she would catch the bastard.