Jabril Page 21

  Once inside, she surveyed the small house in the glow of LEDs from various electronic devices—two bedrooms and a small living room, with wooden floors and not a single throw rug to soften the effect, not even a door mat. Cyn started across the front room, chuckling at the wreckage of the door Liz had left behind. She stopped laughing when she saw the mess inside the bedroom. Someone had torn it apart. Sheets and blankets had been ripped off the bed and thrown around the small room. The mattress, box spring and pillows had been savagely slashed with something sharp, and stuffing littered the floor. Tiny bits of it still floated through the air, backlit by a shaft of street light coming through a window now bare of the broken miniblind lying crookedly on the floor below. The lamp Liz had used to bludgeon the door was bent around the doorframe, its cheap metal split at the seam.

  So Todd Ryder had a temper. Cyn scanned the trashed room quickly, but didn't expect to find anything here. Far more interesting was the main bedroom down the hall, which was perfectly neat and tidy. The bed was made, the pillows sitting one on top of the other, precisely aligned, the cases crisp and tucked in. No unsightly flapping linen for Todd. She did a quick open and look of each drawer, raising an eyebrow at the large, partially used box of condoms in the bedside drawer. Girlfriend or not, Todd apparently had plans. In the closet, shirts were grouped according to style, short-sleeved polo for summer, long-sleeved rugby for cooler weather. Several pairs of khakis were hanging, pressed and starched, still in the plastic bags from the laundry. Shoes were placed in neat pairs, side by side on the floor.

  The tiny bathroom had even less to tell her. Todd Ryder was apparently the picture of good health. There wasn't even a bottle of aspirin to share space with his shaving cream and razor, and his aftershave was a scent too much like perfume for Cyn's taste.

  Back in the living room, Cyn rubbed her hands together in glee at the sight of Ryder's desk and computer. A car door slammed outside and she froze, heart hammering, but the smooth purr of an engine moved away down the street. She went quickly over to the desk, reminded that her time was short. She sat and powered up the computer while going through the drawers one by one. There was a neat file for bills due and paid which she flipped through quickly, finding little of interest other than a bill for a storage unit in Culver City. She noted the location and locker number automatically, but kept searching. A separate blue folder was filled with paycheck stubs that told her Todd Ryder worked for a meat packing plant. Now that was interesting. A man who spent his nights butchering sides of beef wouldn't balk at a little, or even a lot, of blood. A final file contained flyers on the games Ryder ran for the street kids, a list of names and phone numbers—coaches, maybe?—a schedule of games, and some blank consent forms. Probably not much call for the latter, most of these kids didn't have anyone who cared enough to worry about consent.

  By the time she was finished with the drawers, the computer had completed its startup. A quick check had her shaking her head. Tidy Todd didn't practice safe computing. Good for her, not so good for Todd. He knew enough not to store his e-mail password, which was disappointing, but not enough to install even a rudimentary sweep program. Cyn almost cackled as she began prying into a history of Todd's computer use. He visited a lot of message boards dedicated to the discussion of vampires. Many of the sites were the kind Ian Hartzler would have frequented, boards populated by groupies who wanted to be vamps, and others who claimed to already have been brought over. Other sites were darker, conspiracy-oriented and filled with dire warnings of a vampire takeover, claiming everyone from the president down to the local tax collector was either in thrall to the vampires or a vampire himself. Cyn made note of the web addresses, using her cell phone to leave a voice mail for herself with the information and adding the storage company info for good measure.

  Even more interesting, she discovered Todd had done several searches in the last few days, looking for stories on the dead girls, and specifically for deaths involving vampires. There had been little publicity about the murders and none at all about Santillo's pet theory. Raphael's arrest hadn't even made the news. It was partly because they'd taken him to the para facility which hardly anyone knew about, but also because the murders simply weren't news. Besides, Raphael lived well below the radar; it wasn't like his arrest would have made headlines anyway. Of course, working with street kids, Ryder might have heard about the murders, but why the vampire angle? Again, interesting, but not convincing.

  Cyn continued her search of the computer, but learned nothing new. There was some accounting software and a few games, but it seemed Ryder used his computer primarily for Internet access. If he was keeping the diary of a serial killer somewhere, it wasn't on this computer. She shut the system down and pushed away from the desk, careful to tuck the chair under the way she'd found it.

  The kitchen was next, more wood flooring with pretty blue and white tiled countertops and pine cabinets. The cupboards held an unremarkable assortment of food; underneath the sink were the usual cleaning supplies. The refrigerator was virtually empty, with a six pack of beer missing one bottle, and a quart of half and half. Pots and pans appeared virtually unused. Even the coffeemaker had been cleaned, the glass pot sitting upside down on a wooden rack to one side of the gleaming sink. Ryder would have made someone a great housewife. Or maybe that was the reason he was still single in his forties. He'd never met a woman who could match him in the housewife department. Unfortunately, being a neat freak was hardly a crime. The ambient light shifted as she stood in the doorway doing a final sweep. The street lights had switched off outside; time to go.

  Safely in her truck and perversely disappointed that she'd found nothing really suspicious, Cyn watched as an older BMW sedan drove by and pulled into the driveway. Todd Ryder was younger than she expected from Liz's description. Probably closer to thirty-five than forty, five-foot-ten or so, with light brown hair and the slightly pudgy body of a former athlete gone soft. Probably played high school or even college sports. His chin, never strong, was made weaker by the softening effect of that extra weight. He was wearing one of his many pairs of neatly pressed khaki slacks, along with a blue and red rugby shirt. The shirt was about a size too large, which was probably an attempt to cover the extra fifteen pounds around his middle. He climbed out of the car and paused to buff a thumb over the door's trim, shaking his head in disgust before going on down the driveway and into the house. BMW's were good, solid cars, Cyn thought, remembering the kid in the alley who'd heard the killer's car. Definitely not full of rattles and shit.

  She waited a few more minutes before driving home, cruising north along Pacific Coast Highway at freeway speeds and feeling sorry for the people stuck in the morning's southbound rush hour. She thought about what she knew. The only victim the cops had any information on was Patti Hammel, who happened to be Todd Ryder's old girlfriend and who, despite being the first victim, didn't fit the profile. Convenient that she didn't have any family or friends. No one to claim the body, no one to file a report except her old boyfriend Todd who hadn't so much as whispered a concern. Todd who was maybe wound a little too tight, and whose temper was violent when it blew. And then there was the witness who had fingered Raphael as the killer and who maybe hated vampires enough to make the whole thing up. She flipped her phone open and called Eckhoff's cell phone.

  "Dammit, Leighton, do you know what time it is?"

  "The city never sleeps, old man. Be nice to me; I'm about to do you a favor."

  "You can start with a fucking apology for your last message."

  "Who's your witness on the serial case? The one fingering a vampire as the killer?"

  "You woke me up for this? It's not my damn case. Besides, I told you—"

  "Yeah, yeah. But you checked into it when I asked about it earlier. I know you. So don't tell me. I'll tell you. His name's Todd Ryder."

  "How ... What the fuck, Leighton. Who the hell—"

  "And what a coincidence ... Do you know the name of Patti Hammel's old boyfriend?
” she asked with false enthusiasm. There was dead silence, followed by vicious swearing and the sound of movement from Eckhoff's end. Cyn smiled. “Gets around, doesn't he?"

  "Where did you get this?” Eckhoff said in a low voice. “Not even Santillo would have overlooked something that obvious."

  "You have to look for something to overlook it, Dean. Santillo heard what he wanted to hear. You want my info or not?"

  "Shit. Yes, dammit. And don't even tell me where you got it."

  "Okay,” she said cheerfully, then passed on every detail she'd discovered, from her nameless lost-boy witness to Todd Ryder's vampire obsession, his nice car and his rental unit. “I've got the specifics on the web sites and his rental unit in my voice mail. I'll forward it on to you when we hang up, and I only want one thing in return for all of my effort on behalf of the LAPD."

  "Yeah? What's that?” he asked sourly.

  "Jeez, Dean. I think I'm owed something here!"

  "Fine, fine. What?"

  "I want to know why he did it. I want ten minutes in a room with him after the arrest."

  Eckhoff was silent. “Just you, right, not—"

  Cyn laughed. “I'm not going to kill your suspect, Eckhoff. Ten minutes, that's all I ask. Off the record, of course."

  Eckhoff sighed deeply. “Why're you doing this, Cyn? You could cause some trouble here, if you wanted. Santillo and his friends hurt your boy, why not hurt them back?"

  "Because, contrary to what all of you seem to think, I still believe in the law, boss. And all I really want is to stop this asshole before he kills someone else."

  "I'm getting all teary eyed here, grasshopper."

  "And that's my cue to hang up. Remember your promise."

  Chapter Forty

  Houston, Texas

  Jabril stepped out of his shower, toweling off quickly before donning the silken robe left hanging behind the door. He wrapped it around himself, enjoying the touch of it against his bare skin. No point in getting dressed. Not yet. He was trying out a new slave tonight—someone to replace his old favorite. She was proving more difficult to replace than he would have expected, which only told him it was past time he'd gotten rid of her. It was never good to become attached to a blood slave. They existed to serve him, nothing more.

  He strolled back into the bedroom, admiring the new furniture. His staff had been admirably quick in refitting this room; he was quite pleased.

  A knock sounded at the door. “Just in time,” he murmured. “Come,” he called out.

  "My lord.” Asim slipped inside the room in his usual sneaky way. The vampire never fully opened a door and walked through, but rather opened it just enough that he could slide through the gap.

  Jabril frowned. “I wasn't expecting you, Asim."

  "No, my lord, but I've news of Elizabeth that I thought you would want to hear."

  Jabril felt a rush of avaricious pleasure. “She has been found then. She is secured?"

  "Found, yes, my lord. Windle does not yet have her in custody, although he expects that to happen very soon."

  "If he knows where she is, then what is the delay?"

  "He has been following her trail closely for several days, my lord, and tracked her to a private home where she was staying. Unfortunately, she has now moved herself to some sort of home for runaways. There are several people staying in the house, and he has seen the Leighton woman come and go more than once."

  Jabril swore viciously. “She cannot be allowed—"

  "No, my lord,” Asim dared to interrupt. “Windle has set a watch on the house and is quite confident he will have Elizabeth in his custody within days, if not hours."

  Jabril studied his lieutenant, considering whether this news deserved punishment. Any competent investigator would have had the girl in custody already. Of course, he'd been forced to rely on human agents. He could push Raphael only so far, and sending vampire agents in to take the girl would cross a boundary he wasn't prepared to violate. Not yet.

  A lighter knock sounded on the door and Asim stepped aside to permit it to open. A young woman stood there—naked, her long, black hair hanging to the curve of her shapely ass. Her skin was a lovely golden brown, and the pointed nipples on her small, high breasts were already pebbled with fear. Jabril blinked lazily and held out his hand.

  "Very well, Asim,” he said absently, pulling the girl closer and wrapping his fist in that abundance of silky hair. He jerked her head to one side, baring her neck. His fangs split his gums hungrily. “Keep me informed,” he managed to say, before slicing his fangs into the soft skin of her neck, feeling the vibration of her screams echoing in his very bones.

  He was vaguely aware of Asim backing out and closing the door as he drank deeply of the girl's blood, feeling it run warm and fresh down his throat. He growled with pleasure as his cock hardened, eager for a taste of its own. He lifted his head, picked her up and threw her on the bed, her soft cries of pain only making him harder. Yes, it had definitely been time for a change.

  Chapter Forty-one

  Los Angeles, California

  The para facility was dark and quiet the night after Todd Ryder's arrest. It felt empty, a sharp contrast to the night Raphael had been brought in and the halls had been packed wall-to-wall with blue. Cyn strode quietly down the linoleum-covered hallway, making an effort to keep her boots from clacking, somehow unwilling to disturb the silence. Behind her, Duncan might as well have been a ghost for all the noise he made. If he hadn't come with her, she wouldn't have known he was there.

  A door opened and Eckhoff stepped into the light. His gaze flashed from her to Duncan and he frowned. “Cyn.” He opened the door fully and she saw his Lieutenant standing inside, with Santillo glowering behind him.

  "Lieutenant Garzon,” she acknowledged. She ignored Santillo.

  "Leighton,” Garzon said. “We appreciate your help on this.” Santillo flashed his lieutenant a furious look.

  "I'm always happy to help the department, sir,” Cyn replied honestly. She stepped aside slightly and indicated Duncan. “This is Lord Raphael's Chief of Security, Duncan—” She realized she had no idea what Duncan's last name was, but he stepped easily into the breach.

  "Duncan Milford,” he said, his Southern accent once again making a blatant appearance. He reached out to shake hands and the lieutenant responded automatically, offering his hand in return. Eckhoff followed suit. For a minute, she thought Duncan was actually going to shake hands with Santillo as well, but he settled for a friendly nod in the detective's direction, which must have been an effort.

  Cyn didn't know if it was the Southern accent or Duncan's human good looks, but everyone relaxed after that. It took all her self-control not to laugh out loud. Of course, one of the reasons it was Duncan standing there next to her and not someone else was precisely because he looked so very human.

  "So what is it you'd like from us?” Garzon asked Duncan.

  "Well, sir, it's a matter of security,” Duncan drawled. “You understand. The suspect...” The way he said it invited all of them to join him in substituting the word “killer.” There was no doubt in this room as to Ryder's guilt. “The suspect tried to frame my boss on some pretty serious charges and I can't figure out why. We don't know him; he's in none of our files. So I figured, since Ms. Leighton here was helpful in tracking this guy down, you might let us have a word with him, figure out what his beef is with Lord Raphael. We like to keep an eye on this sort of thing."

  Cyn wanted to barf at the good ol’ boy act, but it seemed to work. The Lieutenant was nodding before Duncan had even finished speaking. “Of course. Shouldn't be a problem. Leighton here knows the rules on interrogations, and you must have some experience yourself, Mr. Milford?"

  "Duncan, sir. Just Duncan. And yes, I do. I did my time on the job."

  Nearly two hundred years ago, Cyn wanted to add. Duncan glanced at her sidelong, as if he knew what she was thinking.

  "Well, good, then,” the Lieutenant was saying. “We'll be movi
ng him out of here before too long. He belongs downtown, but we wanted to keep this little visit low profile. So, let's get to it. Ten minutes, right, Leighton?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Good enough. Eckhoff—"

  "How'd you know?” Santillo demanded, his glare making it clear he was talking to her.

  Cyn looked at him, her eyebrows raised in question.

  "How'd you connect Ryder?"

  Cyn stared at him evenly, deciding whether to answer his question. What the hell. “The case paralleled one of my own,” she said. “A teenage runaway from Texas. I talked to a lot of kids trying to find her and they all wanted to talk about the killer. Everything they said led back to Ryder. He worked with the street kids, had a habit of taking in a girl from time to time, he even had a job that would give him the knowledge to drain the bodies the way the killer did.

  "But it was Lucia Shinn who ID'd him as Hammel's boyfriend. She's been trying to talk to you guys for weeks about this and no one would listen."

  Santillo flushed an angry red, but he didn't say anything else. Eckhoff cleared his throat and made a move toward the door. “Let's get this done, Leighton."

  * * * *

  Eckhoff led them down the hall and past the cell where Raphael had been held. “Through here,” he said opening an unmarked door. “Standard set up, one way glass. We're equipped to record, but—"

  "That won't be necessary,” Cyn said quickly.

  "Not this time,” Eckhoff agreed. “You want me in there with you?"

  "Duncan will be with me.” Eckhoff opened his mouth to protest, but Cyn raised a hand. “He won't say anything, but I want Ryder to see him. A little intimidation never hurt, Dean, and if Ryder killed those girls—"

  "He killed them all right. That storage unit turned out to be one of those RV places. Most rent a big parking space, but our boy had a full garage, complete with running water and a sink in case he wanted to wash down the old Winnebago. He'd created a personal abattoir in there."