The Gathering, page 11
“It still seems like a hell of a coincidence.”
“It does. But it also explains a lot of the inconsistencies. The jacket, the timings, the tattoo. I’m also willing to bet if we dig into that phone, we’ll find deleted versions of the video they didn’t use.”
Nicholls rubbed at his mustache. “You think the boys came up with this on their own?”
“That I don’t know.”
“If you’re right, we have no physical description of Marcus’s attacker and no real time of death.”
“No, sir.”
Nicholls sighed heavily. “Well, let’s see what Stephen has to say for himself.”
* * *
—
Stephen Garrett’s house was a large, double-story wooden property. Next door was a storeroom and a large work shed. A polished but aging truck sat outside along with a trail bike and a snowmobile that looked like it was being refurbished. Smoke puffed from a metal chimney on the roof and melted into the lightening sky.
Nicholls pulled up outside the property and they climbed out of the car. Almost as if he had been waiting for his cue, a tall, good-looking man with long sandy hair tied back in a ponytail emerged from the store. He wore a battered flying jacket, jeans, hiking boots and a wide smile.
“Hey, Pete. How’s it going?”
“Hey, Dan. Not so bad.” Nicholls strode forward and the pair shook hands.
Pete, not Chief or sir, Barbara noted. But then it was a small town. People knew people. Hell, most people were related to people.
She saw Dan’s eyes fall on her. The smile faltered a little around the edges.
“This is Detective Barbara Atkins,” Nicholls introduced.
Dan nodded. “The vampyr detective.”
“That’s me.” Barbara held out a hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
Dan hesitated only momentarily before shaking it, but the hesitation was there.
“Likewise.”
“We wondered if Stephen was around?” Nicholls asked, keeping his tone casual.
Dan’s eyes flicked between them. “He’s up in his room. Why? Didn’t he give you a statement?”
“That he did,” Nicholls said. “But Detective Atkins here would just like to go over a few things with him herself.”
Barbara forced a smile. “My job is to dot the i’s and cross the t’s, sir.”
Dan nodded. “Okay. Follow me.”
He led them into a large open-plan living area. It was bright and homey. Big, comfortable sofas, a widescreen TV, bean bags and a Shaker-style kitchen.
“Jess is just out visiting a friend,” Dan said. “She won’t be too happy to find you here, so if you can keep it brief. She’ll be back in about half an hour.”
“Not a problem,” Nicholls said.
“We’ll do our best, sir,” Barbara said. “You have a lovely home, by the way.”
Dan nodded again. “Thanks. I’ll get Stephen.”
Barbara and Nicholls stood awkwardly in the living room. Barbara looked around. Family pictures decorated the walls. A sturdy cross hung over the fireplace. She walked over and looked at the photos. A large black-and-white wedding photo of Dan and (she presumed) Jess. They made a handsome couple. Both tall and rangy. Jess had long, curly blonde hair and enviable cheekbones. Most of the other pictures were of Stephen. A Disney-perfect kid who had grown up into a sturdy teenager with athletic good looks. Nothing out of the ordinary. A wholesome American family. For some reason, that immediately made her suspicious.
The stairs creaked and she turned. Dan walked down, a teenage boy slouching behind him. Stephen. He wore a sweatshirt and baggy jeans, blond hair tousled. Barbara felt her skin prickle with instant dislike. Still, she attempted a small smile.
“Hi, Stephen.”
Stephen glanced at Barbara but addressed himself to Nicholls. “Dad said you wanted to talk to me again.”
“That’s right. This is Detective Atkins.”
“I told the chief what happened.”
“I know you did,” Barbara replied. “But there’s a few points I need to clarify.”
“Best to do what they say,” Dan said.
Stephen gave a heavy sigh and threw himself down in a leather armchair.
Barbara and Nicholls lowered themselves on to the sofa, Dan perched on a higher occasional chair. Stephen slouched further into the armchair, radiating sullen teenage “don’t care” attitude. It was a little odd, Barbara thought. He had just lost a friend. He was off school on compassionate leave. Yet he didn’t seem upset, or grief-stricken. Just put out.
On the other hand, people reacted to death in different ways. Especially sudden, violent death. It wasn’t something you could ever prepare for. She wasn’t going to hold his behavior against him. Not right now, anyway.
“So,” she said. “I’ve read your statement, Stephen, but I’d just like you to talk me through that night again.”
“Seriously?”
She smiled. “Seriously.”
Another sigh. “We agreed to meet up at the cabin like normal.”
Barbara nodded. “What time?”
“Around sevenish.”
“And when you got to the cabin what did you do?”
“Drank beer, smoked a few joints.”
“That all?”
“Yeah.”
“You left at nine?”
He wasn’t about to be caught out. “No, earlier. It was around nine when Marcus realized he’d left his phone, and we were halfway home by then.”
“And when Marcus left, you and Jacob walked back home?”
“Yeah.”
“How long did that take?”
A shrug. “For me, about fifteen, twenty minutes. Jacob had to walk farther.”
“And your parents said you were back home by 10 p.m.?”
“That’s right,” Dan said.
Barbara nodded. “So, what were you doing?”
“What?”
“Well, if you left Marcus at 9 p.m. and it took you twenty minutes to walk home, you should have been back by nine thirty at the latest. But your dad here says you got back around ten, so what were you doing?”
“I dunno,” Stephen said now. “Maybe we waited for Marcus for a bit. Maybe he left later. I mean, I’m not sure about the exact times.”
“Why are you asking all this?” Dan interrupted, sounding annoyed now. “The boys didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No one is saying they did,” Nicholls said calmly. “But Detective Atkins has to ask, okay?”
“Not really,” Dan muttered.
“How do you feel about the Colony, Stephen?” Barbara asked.
“They’re fucking animals.”
“You don’t like them?”
He snorted. “I don’t like evil, undead things walking around. It’s sick, man.”
“Ever think about joining any anti-vampyr groups?”
“No.”
“Ever give a Helsing salute?”
It was a wild guess, but she saw him flinch.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
Sure, she thought.
“What about Marcus and Jacob? They feel the same?”
“They didn’t exactly love them.”
“You know Marcus had a Helsing tattoo?”
“No.” Immediate and defensive.
“You got any tattoos, Stephen?”
“No.”
“Cos sometimes kids get them together.”
“I’m scared of needles.”
Dan interrupted: “I don’t see what this has to do with anything. Kids get tattoos all the time.”
“Marcus was fifteen, sir.”
“That’s right. And now he’s dead. Killed by a vampyr.”
“Why don’t we go back to the night Marcus died?” Barbara said, not wanting to lose momentum. “Marcus was wearing a jacket?”
“Yeah.” Stephen nodded. “It was new.”
“And I bet it was cold that night.”
“Well, yeah. It’s always fuck—” He caught himself. “It’s always cold here.”
“Okay. But in the video, Marcus isn’t wearing his jacket. In fact, you can see it hung up on the wall.”
Stephen swallowed. The first tell, she thought.
“Any idea why that would be?” Barbara pressed. “Because it seems a little odd, if Marcus was surprised and attacked by a vampyr, that he would have time to take his jacket off and hang it up?”
“Maybe he took it off first?”
“You just said it was freezing.”
Stephen remained silent. Dan was frowning.
“Here’s what I think happened,” Barbara continued. “I think Marcus knew he would be lying on the floor, and he took his jacket off so he wouldn’t get it dirty. But why?”
“I don’t know,” Stephen said, but he sounded rattled.
“I think you do,” Barbara said. “You see, I think the whole thing was faked. I think you went to the cabin specifically to make that video. To make it look like Marcus was attacked but escaped. And then use it to incite a cull.”
Stephen’s lip curled. He leaned forward. “Prove it.”
And then a voice from behind them growled: “What the hell is going on here?”
Barbara turned. A woman stood in the doorway. Lean, even in a thick jacket and jeans. Her curly blonde hair was yanked back into an untidy ponytail and her face was cut through with angry lines.
Dan stood. “They were just going—”
Nicholls got to his feet. “Good to see you again, Jess.”
The woman folded her arms. “Can’t say likewise.”
Nicholls gestured to Barbara. “This is—”
“I know who she is, and I told you, I got nothing to say to her. Stephen has been through enough. He doesn’t need you harassing him.”
Nicholls held out his hands in a placatory gesture. “We’re just here to make sure all the facts—”
Jess barked out a hollow laugh. “The facts? The facts are this—a kid is dead, killed by a vampyr. Just like before. Just like in Ohio last year. Just like in Texas the year before that. And it will keep on happening until we deal with them once and for all.” She paused and shook her head. “But why am I wasting my breath?” She scowled at Barbara. “She’s not here to help us. She’s here to find excuses not to authorize a cull. Don’t think we don’t know it.”
“That’s not true, ma’am,” Barbara said. “I want to see the perpetrator of this crime brought to justice as much as you do.”
Jess took a step toward Barbara. “You don’t get it, do you? It doesn’t matter which one of them did it. They’re all the same. We need to wipe them from the face of the earth.”
Barbara kept her voice pleasant. “Well, whether you like it or not, colonies are protected under the law and an unauthorized cull will land you in jail.”
“What I would like is for you to leave.”
Nicholls nodded at Dan, who was sitting in his seat, looking uncomfortable. “Thank you for your time, and Stephen’s too.”
Stephen smirked at them from the armchair. “See ya.”
Barbara rose. “By the way, Stephen, we’ve sent Marcus’s phone to Tech. Be interesting to see what they pull from the deleted files.” She paused. “I’m guessing you didn’t get the video right on the first attempt.”
The smirk dropped like a stone. Barbara walked to the door with Nicholls. She turned to Jess. “Could I use your bathroom before I go?”
Jess raised an eyebrow. “This the part where you use that as an excuse to sneak around our house upstairs?”
“No, ma’am. I’ve just got a bladder like a sieve.”
“Well, in that case, plenty of woods on the way back into town. Watch out for things that bite.” She moved to close the door on them.
“Wait!” Stephen suddenly stood up.
Gotcha, Barbara thought.
He glared at them resentfully. “It wasn’t our idea, okay? The Doc said he’d pay us five hundred dollars each to set the Colony up.”
19
Nicholls guided the truck carefully along the road. Snow was piled at the side, and it was icy in places but the 4x4 held its grip.
“There are only a couple of houses out this way,” he said. “The Bell house is up there.” He gestured to a narrow track that disappeared into forest. “Doc Dalton lives at the far end of the road, near the lake.”
As they rounded a bend, a property drew into view on their left. Large, chic and modern. Single-story, with sliding glass doors, a wide deck and views out over the water.
“Nice,” Barbara said.
“Yeah, the Doc did well for himself here,” Nicholls said, with only a trace of bitterness.
Barbara hadn’t seen where Nicholls lived, but she imagined that his salary didn’t stretch to much, even in Deadhart.
“He built it himself?” Barbara asked as they climbed out of the truck.
“I think some developer did that for him. He used to live in town, close to Main Street. Rents that house out now to Kurt Mowlam.”
Barbara nodded, staring back at the house. “I guess being a doctor pays well.”
“I heard he had an inheritance. At least, that’s what he said.”
“You don’t believe him.”
Nicholls sighed. “Don’t get me wrong, Dalton is a good doctor. Everyone in town will tell you so. Rita always says how he goes the extra mile for her mom. Whereas some would just brush you off, he’s real thorough, checks everything, takes blood, the whole lot.”
“I sense a ‘but’?”
“He’s an odd one. It’s kind of vague how he ended up here, and he’s always seemed a little flashy to me.”
“I guess if being flashy was a crime, Dolly Parton would be a criminal.”
“True.”
“Of course, inciting a cull”—she looked at him—“that’s a different matter.”
They walked up the wooden steps at the side of the deck. Lights glowed within the open-plan living space. Barbara could see comfortable modern sofas, arty-looking lamps, a sleek modern kitchen. All very European. And also, somehow out of place here in Deadhart, which was determinedly Alaskan. She could imagine how such a place might be viewed as “flashy.” Still, Barbara imagined the Doc could live with that. As they reached the deck, she could see that the glass doors were open, just a little.
“People tend to leave their doors open here?” she asked Nicholls.
He frowned. “Not in winter.”
She reached out a hand and pulled the handle. The door slid wider.
“Hello? Dr. Dalton?”
Cautiously, she stepped inside. Nicholls followed, hand on his gun.
They stared around the room. A large log stove at the far end still glowed with the remnants of a fire, but the chill from the open door was palpable. Near the stove, a pile of folders had been stacked on a small table next to an armchair. Barbara walked over. The files had names and addresses on the front. She picked one up and flicked through it. Medical files.
“Looks like the Doc was just doing some work,” Nicholls remarked.
Seemed so, Barbara thought. But where was he now?
“Hello,” she called again. “Dr. Dalton?”
Still no reply. And no other sounds. No doors opening or closing. No footsteps, or music or television. Not even a shower or a toilet flushing. She didn’t like it. You got a sense for these things after a time. You knew when empty was just empty, someone having stepped out of a room or about to return. And you knew when empty was full of foreboding.
“Let’s check the rest of the house,” she said.
They moved through the living area into a wide hallway. More doors led off it on both sides. Barbara pushed one to her left. A modern, sleek bathroom. Nicholls tried a door on their right. A master bedroom. They proceeded along the corridor. A guest bedroom, and the final door. Nicholls pushed it open.
Barbara’s heart sank.
“Shit!” Nicholls muttered.
Doc Dalton didn’t look so flashy now.
He hung from a light fitting in the middle of the home office. A chair lay on its side near his dangling feet, only a few inches from the ground. But that was all it took, Barbara thought. It wasn’t pretty. It didn’t smell too great either.
Nicholls looked like he was thinking the same.
“Shit,” he said again, in a wearier tone.
“Yeah,” Barbara said. Exactly. They both walked further into the room.
“Guess we should try to cut him down,” Nicholls said.
They could, Barbara thought, but it would be pointless. Dalton’s face was already mottled dark red. He was beyond resuscitation. She touched his hand. Stone cold. He’d probably been hanging here for several hours.
“We should take some pictures first,” she said. “And then we’d better get on the phone to the coroner in Anchorage.”
Nicholls nodded. “Okay.”
Barbara took her phone out. “Any sign of a note?”
Nicholls walked around to the desk. It was bare apart from a new MacBook Air, which Barbara found odd. Most home offices were messy. Papers left out; pens scattered. Maybe the doctor was a neat freak, but it still felt wrong somehow.
“No note that I can see,” Nicholls said.
“Anything on the laptop?”
Nicholls opened it and tapped the trackpad. “Nope, and it needs a password.”
Of course. And this was not the movies, where an inspired guess or insane intuition would gain them access.
Barbara circled, taking photos. Dr. Dalton was dressed in jeans, a shirt and shiny loafers. Dressed for work. But if he hanged himself last night or in the early hours, she would have expected him to be wearing night clothes or at least loungewear. And why had the door been ajar…
Her thoughts were interrupted by a thud from the bedroom next door. She glanced at Nicholls and they both sprinted for the hallway.
