The Gathering, page 17
“He’s dead.”
“What?”
“We think it’s suicide,” Barbara said. “But we can’t rule anything out at this stage.”
“Where were you the night before last, Mr. Bell?” Tucker asked.
He shifted uneasily. “Here, watching TV.”
“And last night?”
“Up at the Lame Horse. It’s a bar on—”
“I know where it is,” Tucker said curtly.
“And where were you the night Marcus Anderson was murdered?” Barbara pressed.
Nathan seemed to start a little. “Why d’you want to know that?”
“Just answer the question, please.”
“I guess I was probably at the Lame Horse again.”
“You don’t sound sure.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I was.” He looked at Barbara. “You can call ’em and check.”
She glanced at Tucker, who gave a small incline of his head. “We’ll do that, sir.”
“Is that it?” he asked.
“Not entirely,” Tucker said. “We’d like to talk to you about Todd.”
“Todd?” Another hard drag on the cigarette. “Why do you want to talk about Todd?”
Barbara noticed how he answered a question with a question. Stalling, buying time.
“Well, sir,” she said. “It was the last Colony killing in Deadhart, and it could be relevant.”
“Thought you caught the vampyr that done it?” He aimed the question at Tucker.
Barbara saw Tucker flinch a little. “I thought that too,” he said.
Nathan reached forward and stubbed out his cigarette. “I told you everything I could before. It was a long time ago.”
Tucker looked at him. “I guess this must feel like history repeating?”
“What d’you mean?”
“I mean, you were friends with Todd, and he was killed. You come back. Your son is friends with Marcus and now Marcus is dead.”
Nathan glared at him. “You accusing me of something?”
Tucker shook his head. “Just making an observation.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you should be observing that those bloodsuckers are back, and another kid is dead. Maybe they’re looking for revenge?”
“As I said,” Barbara cut in, “we’re examining all angles at the moment.”
Nathan snorted. “Well, you can go ‘examine’ elsewhere. I’ve nothing more to say to you.”
Barbara glanced at Tucker. They couldn’t do any more. They had nothing but supposition and guesswork.
“If that’s what you want, sir.” Barbara stood and nodded at Tucker to do the same. He clambered out of the chair with some difficulty.
“If you change your mind, Mr. Bell…”
“I won’t.”
“Okay then. We’ll see ourselves out.”
“Yeah. You let yourselves in, right?”
They walked out of the front door and back into the freezing air. It was actually a relief after the stale, smoky atmosphere in the house.
Barbara coughed and patted her chest. “One of those homes where you want to wipe your boots when you leave.” She glanced at Tucker. “You got Nathan’s hackles up.”
Tucker looked thoughtful. “He’s lying about something.”
“You said he was never a suspect.”
“Doesn’t mean I was never suspicious.”
They both looked back at the house. A curtain twitched in the living room then dropped closed again.
“Nathan didn’t used to smoke,” Tucker said.
“He was fifteen. Maybe he took it up later.”
“Maybe, but something doesn’t feel right.”
Barbara nodded. “Agreed. But we can’t arrest folk because things don’t feel right.”
She wished she could. The idea of Jacob living here with a dad like Nathan gnawed at her gut. A little too close to home.
“I’m curious about those tattoos,” she said.
“Ex-offenders often have knuckle tattoos,” Tucker said. “Maybe Nathan spent some time in jail?”
“Well, we can check on that.” Barbara pulled a dirty shot glass out of her pocket.
Tucker frowned. “Where d’you get that?”
“Picked it up in the kitchen. Must have forgotten to put it down. I’ll bag it and we can check Nathan’s prints. See what comes up.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re not all by the book, Detective Atkins.”
She smiled. “Sometimes, I read between the lines.”
They walked over to the truck. The windscreen was coated in snow. Tucker started to wipe it off with his coat sleeves.
“You know the truck has a heated windscreen?” Barbara said.
He stared at her in wonder and dusted the snow off his jacket. “Man, modern tech.”
Barbara pulled open the driver’s door, then paused. A slight, dark-clothed figure walked along the track toward them. Jacob.
She raised a hand. “Hi.”
He frowned. “What are you doing here?”
“Just having a little chat with your dad.”
“Why?” His voice rose in panic. “I’ve told you everything.”
“It’s okay,” Tucker said. “We’re not here to get you in trouble.”
Jacob’s eyes flicked to the big man.
“This is Deputy Tucker,” Barbara introduced. “He’s helping out.”
Jacob swallowed. “Right.”
“You walk all the way from Stephen’s house?” Barbara asked.
“Yeah, I didn’t want to cause his mom any more hassle.”
“You stay there a lot?”
He shrugged and shuffled his boots in the snow. The boy seemed more on edge than ever this morning.
“Is everything okay?” Barbara asked more softly.
He looked at her. “What d’you mean?”
“I mean, if there are problems at home, there are people you can talk to.”
She saw Jacob’s eyes shift, from her to the house. She turned. Nathan Bell had appeared in the doorway. He stood there, watching them and smoking.
“I need to go,” Jacob said, and started to walk away.
“Jacob—”
“I’m fine, okay. Just leave us alone.”
He put his head down and hurried toward the house. Barbara watched him run up the steps and disappear inside. Nathan shut the door behind them.
“Dammit.” She climbed into the truck.
“Nervous kid,” Tucker said.
“Yeah.”
“What d’you want to do?”
There was nothing she could do. And that was the problem.
“Okay,” she said, trying to get her mind back to the job at hand. “Let’s head on up to the Doc’s. See if we can find anything else up there.”
She started the engine and gave the Bell house a final look.
History repeating.
She sighed. She sure as hell hoped not.
30
Athelinda hurried across the settlement. Snow fell heavily around her. The main street was deserted. Most of the Colony were inside at this time of day, sleeping. The place she was visiting was on the outskirts of the settlement. Here, the buildings straggled out. Most of this area had fallen into dereliction, sliding down the mountainside toward the river. A small stream cut through. Only a couple of lopsided houses and one other, bigger building remained.
It was here they took those like Merilyn. Larger than some of the other dwellings, it offered space and privacy. It also meant that the rest of the Colony didn’t have to confront what was happening inside. An old sign, half faded, still read: Hospital.
Athelinda reached the door and, with a heavy heart, raised a fist and knocked three times. After a moment, the door eased open. A young red-haired woman peered out. Henny. She was a nurse here in the Colony. Not formally qualified, of course. That avenue was closed to her, as any form of employment or education was to all Colony members. But Henny had a passion for biology and medicine, and she had taught herself through stolen and donated medical textbooks.
The Colony was allowed to claim basic medical supplies—antibiotics, painkillers—so long as they registered each year with a medical facility nearby. That was how Athelinda had made contact with Dalton. The doctor had been useful in more ways than one. Henny did the best she could with the rudimentary tools they had available, but it was blood—human blood—that had kept Merilyn from deteriorating for so long.
“Miss Athelinda.” Henny bobbed her head. “Thank you for coming.”
“Can I come in?”
“Of course.” Henny held the door open wider and Athelinda stepped inside.
“How is she?” Athelinda asked. A pointless question. She would not be here if things were well.
Henny’s lip trembled and she shook her head. “Not good, miss. That’s why I called for you.”
Athelinda nodded. “Let me see.”
Henny led her through the main ward. A hole in the ceiling let in small flurries of snow. A couple of candles set on tables provided a vague, flickering illumination. Beds still ran down either side of the ward, the mattresses moldy and waterlogged. Abandoned medical trollies had been pushed to one side. They reached a door on the right. A private room. Henny nodded and Athelinda pushed the door open.
The stench hit her first. Ripe, rich and sickening. The smell of rot and decay. It felt stuffy and warm, despite the fact that a window was open and the temperatures outside had dipped below freezing. The room was febrile with putridity.
Merilyn lay on the bed, plastic sheeting beneath her to soak up the bodily fluids that seeped from her loose and cracked skin. In places it had broken down completely, revealing the blackening flesh beneath. Her scalp had shifted on her skull, giving the impression of a badly fitting wig, and her eyes had gone, just deflated yellow sacs. Merilyn had been this way for almost five years.
And there was the irony. The unspeakable horror that even the elders of the Colony rarely spoke of. A fate they tried to keep from the youngsters for as long as possible.
There is no such thing as immortality. Death visited us all eventually. The only difference was when he came and how long he lingered.
When you lived for centuries, you died for decades.
Athelinda sat down on a chair beside the rotting woman. She wasn’t sure if Merilyn could hear her, or if the woman was aware of anything other than her own agony, but Athelinda gently held her wet, disintegrating hand.
While the lives of humans seemed frustratingly short, there was something to be said for brevity when it came to death. Yet, as fleeting as human lives were, still they held power over the colonies.
Athelinda remembered an older vampyr once saying to her: The tree has lived here for two hundred years. The man only a few decades. But the man has an axe. And the tree cannot run.
And now man had more than axes. They had powerful, automatic crossbows, they had UV guns that could flay the skin from a vampyr in one burst. They had armies and tanks and helicopters. Technology that had been denied to the colonies.
Of course, vampyrs had genetic traits that gave them an advantage over humans. Strength, speed, less fragility of the body. They could attack the town in the dead of night and kill many. But, despite her threats to Tucker, Athelinda knew it would by a pyrrhic victory. An attack would only result in retribution. The Colony would be hunted down, obliterated.
“But I promised you justice, Merilyn,” she said. “I won’t renege on that promise.”
Not tonight, dear Athelinda. Tonight is for mercy and release.
Athelinda sighed and stroked the putrefying flesh of Merilyn’s arm. She was not that old by vampyr standards. Barely five centuries. But grief had sucked the life from her. First her husband, killed by hunters when her children were still young. Her daughter-in-law had died during childbirth. Then her sons and her only grandson. Murdered by Beau Grainger and his cronies. Human scum. And still he denied Merilyn her kin. She would never see them all returned to her now. It was too late. But Athelinda could offer her some small solace.
“I brought him to you, Merilyn. I couldn’t bring the others, but I have your grandson.”
She reached into the sack and placed Aaron’s head on the pillow beside Merilyn, so she could hear him. Then she picked up Merilyn’s hand and laid it upon his skull. Athelinda watched as her fingers gently traced the shape of his face. Together, at last.
Athelinda stood and walked to a medical table by the wall. Rusted surgical instruments lay on top. On the shelf beneath, other older instruments: a sharp wooden stake and a mallet. Athelinda picked them up.
It was strictly forbidden for a vampyr to kill another vampyr. To do so would see a vampyr branded and ostracized from their colony. That was why no one spoke of what took place here. Leadership came with its own heavy burdens.
Athelinda placed the tip of the stake above Merilyn’s chest.
“Forgive me, old friend.”
She raised the mallet and drove the stake deep into Merilyn’s heart. The woman’s chest gave with a sickening squelch. Blood and bodily fluids spurted hotly into Athelinda’s face. Merilyn bucked once, briefly, and then released a final, foul breath. Her body settled, seeming to somehow deflate as the life flickered out.
She was gone.
Athelinda took a moment. Her throat swelled with grief and tears burned behind her eyes. She composed herself and walked from the room. Henny waited outside. A good girl. A good nurse. And discreet.
“Is it done?” she asked.
“It is.” Athelinda handed her the bloodied stake. “Put this on the pyre with her body. We’ll light it at sunset. Let it be known.”
“And what shall I tell the Colony?”
Athelinda wiped some of the blood from her face. “Tell them she died quietly in her sleep. Like the others.”
She walked briskly back through the hospital and pushed open the door, eager for the fresh bite of the winter air. Outside, she paused. A figure stood in the street, wrapped in furs, blond hair blowing in the wind. Michael.
Athelinda stared at her son. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I followed you.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to see…Merilyn is dead, isn’t she?”
She hesitated and then nodded. “Yes. We’ll light the pyre at sunset.”
“She never saw justice for her kin.”
Athelinda’s eyes flashed. “Don’t fucking lecture me, Michael. Not when you fraternize with the very humans you’d have me kill. Or is your plan to fuck them all to death?”
He glared at her. “Why did we come back here, if not for revenge?”
“Because this is our home. We belong here.”
He shook his head. “This will be our grave if we don’t do something.” He paused. “Some of the Colony want to take matters into their own hands. They won’t wait much longer.”
Athelinda clenched her fists. “Fucking idiots. They think I’m waiting because I’m afraid?”
“Why else?”
She walked up to him. She was barely half his height, but she still saw him flinch. “A storm is coming. It will cut off the town. No help. No reinforcements. They’ll be on their own. Scared, angry, vulnerable.”
“That’s when you plan to attack them.”
“No…that’s when I want them to attack us.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
She began to walk around him, circling. “Colonies are protected, Michael. By their own human laws. If we attack the town, we sign our own death warrant. But if they come for us, here…well, we have no choice but to defend ourselves. It’s our right. Morally and legally.”
She stopped and watched her son’s face as the realization sank in. But then he frowned. “What if they don’t attack? What if they’re too weak?”
Athelinda smiled. “Sometimes, the best way to make a wolf hungry…is to feed it.”
31
Tucker stood on the wooden decking of Dalton’s house. The still lake offered a dark, inverted image of trees and sky. In the distance, the mountains rose jaggedly, white tips disappearing into clouds. The snow had eased momentarily, but the wind still cut like a million icy knives.
“Guess blood money can buy you a mighty nice view.”
Barbara nodded. “Although it helps if you’re alive to enjoy it.”
She turned, unlocked the patio doors and slid one open. The living room looked the same as when she had left it, as far as she could tell. They stepped inside. Tucker started to move forward, and Barbara put out a hand to stop him.
“What?” he asked.
She fished in her bag and pulled out latex gloves. She handed Tucker a pair.
“Right now, we’re our own CSI.”
He frowned. “CSI?”
“Forensics.”
“Sorry, a bit rusty.”
“S’okay.” She hoped. Barbara needed help with the case, not an added liability.
Tucker snapped on the gloves. They were too small, but they just about did the job. “So, this is how you found it?” he asked, looking around.
“Yessir. Although when we first arrived, that stove was still warm.”
The files were still stacked on the table next to the chair. Tucker walked over and picked one up. “Patient files?”
“Yeah. I thought he must have been reading them,” Barbara said.
But why stop partway through and kill himself? Now, in context, it seemed a little odd. She walked toward the stove and grabbed a poker. She crouched down, opened the door and prodded at the crumbly black wood. And then she saw it. A flash of something silver. She reached in and picked it up, blowing black ash off her fingers. A staple. She regarded it thoughtfully. “I don’t think he was reading the files.” She glanced back at Tucker. “I think he was burning them.”
