Murder in Vein (2010) (9 page)

Madison wasn't buying it. "I don't need to know about any
more vampires. I'll just stay here until I can go home."

"That's not possible either," Mike told her. "With what's going
on, there's no way for you to avoid meeting more of them."

"But-," Madison began, pointing her left index finger close
to his face.

Mike interrupted her by grabbing her hand and roughly turning it over, palm up.

"Ow," Madison let out in surprise. She tried to pull her hand
away, but Mike held onto it with an iron grip. He stared at her
palm. With his other hand, he traced her lifeline-the line that
curved across her palm, separating the thumb from the rest of
the hand like a peninsula. He twisted her hand back and forth to
get a better look in the sunlight. Finally, he let go.

Madison pulled her freed hand close to her chest and rubbed
it. Taking a couple steps back from Mike, she grew quiet. "That's
really weird."

"What? Taking your hand?" He shrugged. "Thought I saw
something, a cut or bruise. Sorry." He looked down at the ground.
"We should go inside." He started for the back door.

"No, what's weird is that I had a dream last night about that.
Someone was checking out my left palm, tracing it like you did,
but they were much nicer about it."

Mike Notchey stopped in his tracks and turned back to her.
"Might have been Dodie," he suggested while keeping an eagle
eye on Madison's bruised face. "She might have been making sure
you were all right."

She shook her head. "No. It was a man. A black man, I think,
or someone very dark." Madison's voice lost its hard edge.

Mike held his breath.

"He stroked my palm and was very gentle," Madison continued. "It was actually quite awesome." Her voice held a tone of
wonder, like a small child on Christmas morning. "Yet terrifying
at the same time." She shivered, as if shaking off a spell. "Isn't that
weird?"

"Just an odd dream," Mike told her. "Not surprising, with
what you've been through." He jerked his head toward the door.
"Let's take another look at those photos."

There was a deeper urgency in his voice that Madison, still
on the edge of her dream, didn't notice. She shook herself again
to bring her thoughts to the present and faced Notchey with the
will of a stubborn child.

"I'm tired of looking at those old photos," she told him. "I
told you everything I know. I want to go home as soon as possible. I may not have a posh life, but it's mine. Those people mean
nothing to me."

With the speed of a striking snake, Mike Notchey grabbed
Madison's hand again, but this time he didn't look at it or stroke
it. He headed for the back door, pulling her behind him like a
reluctant canine at the end of a leash. She growled in protest, but he ignored her. Once inside, he dumped her back in her seat at
the table.

"Look again, Madison," he ordered. "This is very important.
A matter of life or death for some folks, maybe even for another
girl."

When Madison didn't answer, Mike picked up a large brown
envelope that he'd brought with him. It had held the photos that
were now scattered on the table. Without a word, he reached
inside and took out more photos. One by one, he slapped three
photos of young women on the table in front of her. They were
enlarged snapshots showing the women, two brunettes and
a redhead, smiling for the camera. All were lovely and around
Madison's age.

"Recognize these women?"

Madison casually looked over the photos and shook her head
in a slow, bored manner.

Mike reached inside the envelope again and pulled out more
photos. He slapped them on the table in the same manner.
"Maybe you'll recognize them now."

Madison's eyes widened in horror and her mouth went dry
as dust. In front of her were a half-dozen photos of dead women.
In half the photos, the women's necks had been slit in a wide,
curved gash, like a second mouth laughing into the camera while
the face above it stared in horror. The other photos showed their
torsos, each with deep, short cuts covering the naked white skin.
In spite of the cuts and slashing, there was little blood.

Madison fought to keep her breakfast down. She turned away
from the photos, a hand over her mouth. Mike came behind her
and grabbed her head, forcing her to look at them. She closed her
eyes, but it was too late. The vision of the carnage had already been burned into her brain. Pushing Mike aside with all the
strength she could muster, she ran to the sink and retched several
times. Finished, she clung to the counter, afraid she would collapse if she let go. Tears ran down her hot face, soaking the bandage on the one side and stinging her cuts. Strands of damp hair
clung to her cheeks and forehead. She didn't turn around but
looked out the window, focusing on the playful ripples a gentle
wind was making across the pool.

"What do you want from me," she finally squeaked out in a
nearly inaudible voice.

"Cooperation, Madison. Any one of these three women
could have been you. Doug said Bobby Piper was hovering over
your neck when he saw you. That's why Doug attacked him. He
thought you were going to wind up like this."

For a few minutes, Madison and Mike were silent. The detective waited. Madison tried to digest, then erase, the horrible photos. She ran water in the sink to clean up her vomit. Stripping off
the bulky bandage, she splashed some of the water on her face.
After taking a deep breath, she turned to face Mike, willing herself not to look down at the photos of the dead women.

"I'll cooperate," she told him in a small, compliant voice. "But
take those pictures away."

He studied her injuries a long moment in silence, then gathered up the photos of the women and stuffed them back into the
envelope. Madison returned to her seat, weak and broken, and
waited for the next level of hell.

"These people, Madison," Mike said, pointing again to the
people in the photos spread on the table, "are all involved in local
vampire cults. They're not vampires, but they believe in them,
worship them, even want to be them."

Madison once again examined the photos. She swallowed
and said, "I can tell you right now, most of these folks have never
been in Auntie Em's-at least not looking like that or when I've
been around. We don't get goth types in the diner."

Mike vibrated with frustration. "Why didn't you say that
earlier?"

Ignoring him, Madison pulled out the only three photos of
people not dressed in the goth style-two men and a woman.
"These people don't look like they're into vampires. They look
normal."

"See, that's the thing, Madison," Mike explained, his voice
straining in its attempt to be civil. "Not all goth types are into
vampires. And you don't have to be part of the goth culture to be
involved in vampirism. With the near-hysterical interest in vampires now-with all the movies, books, and TV shows-those
who worship the undead easily go unnoticed. There are nightclubs, social groups, even religious orders now centered around
vampires. Some of it is very well organized."

Mike took a seat at the table, trying on patience as if it were
a too-small shirt. "Practicing vampirism, in our day, can involve
anything from mind control to absorbing other people's energy
to the drinking of human blood. It has nothing to do with real
vampires like Doug and Dodie, who are actually immortal. And
very few real vampires want anything to do with these wannabes."

Madison was horrified all over again. "People like you and me
drink human blood? Isn't that dangerous, with diseases like AIDS
and HIV and hepatitis?"

"Extremely dangerous, Madison."

"But what about Doug and Dodie? Aren't they worried about
disease?"

"They're immortal," he repeated. "Blood-borne diseases won't
harm them" Mike offered a small smile at Madison's concern
for the Dedhams. "The people in these photos are all leaders of
various vampire cults here in Southern California. We think it's
someone from one of these cults who is kidnapping and killing
these women." He tapped the envelope, now resting on the table,
for emphasis. Madison leaned back as if the photos might reach
out and touch her, leaving behind prints of blood.

"Someone," Mike continued, "who probably practices mind
control over his or her followers. As I told you last night, we're
pretty sure Piper and the creep in custody didn't do this on their
own. They weren't smart enough. Someone else is calling the
shots, and it might be one of these characters." He indicated the
photos spread between them.

A mind-numbing chill went through Madison as she looked
down at the photographs again. Suddenly, being in the house of
real vampires didn't seem that scary.

adison watched Dodie sip a beverage from a tall, colorful
mug. Something didn't seem right. Madison took a drink
from her own mug. It was a heavenly mix of coffee, chocolate, and spices.

"I thought you guys couldn't eat regular food," Madison
observed.

Dodie delicately touched a burgandy-colored napkin to her
lips. "We can't. This isn't the same thing you're having."

The girly stuff Dodie had planned for the two of them had
been a visit to a salon that was open very late. Dodie had her
hair cut and colored, along with a manicure and pedicure. She'd
treated Madison to the same, minus the color. At first Madison
demurred, but she finally caved. She'd been cutting her own hair
with kitchen shears and couldn't remember the last time she'd
had her nails professionally done. She'd nearly cooed herself
into a pampered puddle during the pedicure and almost, but
not quite, forgotten about the horrific photos Mike Notchey had
shown her. Whenever the visions of those mangled bodies reared their ugly and evil heads in Madison's mind, she worked hard
to push them aside. If not, she feared she would go mad. After,
Dodie had taken her to a restaurant a few doors down from the
salon. The restaurant didn't have a sign, nor was it accessible
from the street. They'd entered through a bright red door that
faced an alley.

A part of Madison didn't want to know what was in Dodie's
mug, but another part of her had to know. "Is it ... you know?"
she asked.

"Human," Dodie completed. "Yes, it is. While all the blood at
the house is animal, human blood is best for us."

When Dodie saw Madison's face turn the color of campfire
ash, she quickly added, "Don't worry, no one died so I could
drink this. In fact, it's rare that anyone would die from a vampire
drinking their blood. It's not like we need to drain a body dry to
be satiated." She added a small chuckle, accompanied by a small
shake of her head. "The movies have really done us a great disservice over the years." Her face took on a serious flicker. "I'm not
saying a vampire has never torn a human asunder in bloodlust,
but that was more in days gone by, not the present. Today, most
of us live quite peacefully among the living, totally undetected."

Torn asunder. The words vibrated in Madison's head like a
tuning fork. The women in the photos had been torn asunder in
bloodlust, and Mike Notchey was sure it had not been done by
a vampire. Madison watched as the seemingly sweet and warm
Dodie Dedham raised the mug to her lips and sipped, looking
like a grandmother enjoying a spot of tea after shopping. But the
mug held in Dodie's elderly hands did not contain tea. It held
human blood-the same blood that coursed through Madison's
own veins.

Dodie looked at Madison, her wise eyes reading conflict in
the girl's facial expressions and demeanor. Catching Madison's
attention, she indicated the restaurant in which they sat. It was
a large room with a small bar at the far end and two dozen
tablecloth-covered tables with chairs, half of which were occupied. The decor was modern and sleek. It had no windows but
was well lit. One wall was painted black and covered with interesting and bright paintings. The other walls were painted a pale
silvery gray and also held artwork.