Tales of the Otherworld (44 page)

“No, thank you.”

As I pushed open the door, Cassandra passed Paige to get up beside me.

“
What
is the St. Cloud proposal, Lucas?” she demanded.

“I have no idea. But I suspect we’ll find out soon.”

“You!” Geddes roared the moment we stepped inside. He gripped the bars of his cell, glaring at me like a Rikers Island lifer. “You double-crossing—”

“I double-crossed no one,” I said calmly. “I’d hoped you’d be able to outrun them—”

“Bullshit! You’re not some pesky council do-gooder. You’re a Cortez. Benicio Cortez’s heir, no less, they tell me.”

“I’m a Cortez, yes. And Benicio’s son. But as for his heir…I fear that’s a misunderstanding between my father and myself. I can assure you that I do not work for any Cabal—”

“Bullshit. You’re a Cabal brat—”

Cassandra cut in. “And
that
is the reason you are here, Spencer. Incarcerated, but relatively safe, and speaking to council representatives instead of a Cabal interrogator. The only way you’re getting out of that cell with your head attached to your shoulders is if Lucas and Paige solve this crime before the Cabals invent evidence against you.”

“I didn’t—”

“Before you disavow the crime, consider that if you did leave that body there, you might want to admit it and be turned over to the council for a reprimand. Better that than to deny it and see what other charges the Cabals can bring against you.”

“I didn’t—”

“Perhaps it was simply an error in timing or judgment. In making
your annual kill, you were surprised before you could dispose of the body.”

Geddes crossed the cell and sat on the cot. He rubbed his hands over his face as if taking a moment to rein in his temper. “No. My rebirth date is in January and this year I took a homeless person in Seattle, as I have since I emigrated.”

“How long have you been a vampire?”

“Almost fifty years.”

Her brows arched. “Young, then. Perhaps this was a feeding accident. You took too much. It happens, particularly with new vampires—”

“I’m not
that
new. I know how to feed.”

“Another sort of feeding accident, then. He had an affliction, anemia or—”

“I only hunt in Seattle. I’ve never even been to …”

“Middleton,” I said.

“Wherever.”

Cassandra walked along the front of the cell, her hand sliding across the bars. “Then perhaps not a mistake at all. You didn’t want to speak to us earlier. You didn’t want to run when Lucas warned you. Could that have been more than common stubbornness?”

“What are you driving at, woman? Suicide by Cabal?”

She pursed her lips. “I hadn’t considered that.”

“Well, don’t. I’d find a sharp wire and decapitate myself before I’d let a Cabal do the job for me.”

“Given this some thought, I see,” she said.

He met her gaze. “Haven’t we all?”

“No,” she murmured. “However, what I was thinking was perhaps that in killing this man you were hoping to force the Cabals to react. To bring to a boil what has been simmering for two years now.”

Geddes barked a laugh. “Offer myself up to the Cabals to force their hand on behalf of the vampire community? You want political statements, you’ve got the wrong guy.”

“That,” I said, “I suspect is true. As for whether the Cabals will realize it is another matter.”

It was almost dawn by the time we returned upstairs. Cassandra had stayed behind with Geddes, hoping he might be more forthcoming in the company of his own race. I doubted it, but appreciated the effort. Cassandra had clearly resolved to put her full efforts into acting as Geddes’s council advocate. I knew this pleased Paige.

As for Hector, he was already at the airport, awaiting my father’s jet so he could return to Miami. We learned of his leave-taking only upon inquiring. The official reason for his departure was that in light of our father’s imminent arrival here, Hector was needed to head operations in Miami.

We left the Cabal office before my father arrived. Had we stayed to demand an explanation about the offices, I suspected neither Paige nor I would later be in any mood to concentrate on an investigation.

When Cassandra finished with Geddes, she would return to our house to see Savannah off to school. Then she would meet with my father later to discuss Spencer Geddes. They’d worked together before, negotiating an uneasy truce between the Cabals and the vampires after the Edward and Natasha case. I had few qualms about leaving them together. They were evenly matched, and would, I was certain, come to an agreement regarding Geddes’s incarceration with a minimum of bloodshed.

An hour after we left, Paige roused herself from a nap, stretching in the passenger seat.

“Pull over at the next off-ramp,” she said through a yawn. “I’ll drive for a while.”

“No need. I wouldn’t sleep anyway.”

I felt her gaze on me and turned to see her twisted sideways, her cheek against the seat as she watched me.

“You okay?” She shook her head. “I know you’re not, but …”

“I’m just trying not to think about it until I have the time to get a proper explanation.”

“A good idea. Let’s go back to where we left off then. Theorizing—about the case, that is. Before Billy Arnell, this creature wasn’t really causing any grief. Well, I’m sure those dead animals would object, but you know what I mean. Those who lost livestock gained back value-plus in publicity and temporary fame. Who was first hit again?”

“The organic sheep farmers.”

“Probably not the sort to kill an animal to promote their business. Maybe one of the others then.”

“Striking first at sheep farmers to deflect initial scrutiny?”

“Right. We have preteens in one family. Plus the teenager who claims he saw his cat attacked. That’s where I’d look.”

I nodded. “Teenagers take the greatest interest in supernatural phenomena, and are most likely to undertake such acts to gain attention and shock adults.”

“And prove their theory that all grown-ups are gullible fools. So we’ll start with young people attached to the case.”

We stopped at a diner just off the Middleton exit and dallied over breakfast. We had time; we couldn’t begin our investigation so early in the day.

While we lingered over coffee, my father called. I’d left a message at the Portland office, explaining that we’d returned to the investigation, but he still seemed put out that we hadn’t stayed until he’d arrived. Barring unforeseen problems, we’d be home for the night, and could speak with him then. In the meantime, he’d have Cassandra to keep him busy.

Ten minutes later I received a second call, one that suggested we might be back in Portland sooner than I thought.

“That was my contact at the
Middleton Herald
,” I said as I hung up.

“A break in the case?”

“Better. They’ve arrested a suspect and called a press conference for nine.”

I used my press pass to gain entrance to the conference. When Paige accompanied me into the room, no one tried to stop her.

The conference began promptly at nine with the police announcing the capture of the culprits believed responsible for the chupacabra attacks. It was a quartet of teenage boys, including the neighbor of the organic sheep farmers and the son of Billy Arnell.

“They have been charged and have confessed to the livestock attacks,” announced the detective—a woman named MacLeod. “As for the
murder of William Arnell, we are continuing our investigation, but expect to lay those charges soon.”

“Against the boys?” someone asked.

“They remain our primary suspects.”

The detective steered questions back to the chupacabra attacks. Though she remained evasive on motive, a picture emerged from the pointed questions of the reporters and the detective’s responses.

Four teenage boys, all friends, bored and restless as the school year dragged on toward the tantalizing freedom of summer. One completes a school project on modern monster legends and shares it with his friends. They fantasize about how much fun it would be to stage an outbreak in Middleton.

Fantasy soon turned to challenge. Could they pull it off? They decided on the chupacabra. The first target? The neighbors who’d been involved in a groundwater dispute with one boy’s father. Sheep weren’t goats—the chupacabra’s favorite prey—but they were close enough.

“But about Billy …” said a young woman from the
Middleton Herald.
“Peter Arnell, one of the suspects, lived with his mother, and Billy had a history of child support payment defaults there. Is that the assumed motivation for Billy’s death? A son striking out on behalf of his mother?”

“Peter Arnell has not been charged with his father’s murder,” the detective reiterated.

Her denial didn’t matter. Throughout the room, reporters were madly scratching down the young journalist’s words. With the possibility of patricide, this case had taken a turn as exciting as the chupacabra claims.

“I don’t buy it,” Paige said as we took a booth in the coffee shop. “Sure, I’d like to believe no son would murder his father, but I’m not that naïve. If Peter lived with his mom and was constantly hearing what an SOB his dad was—and that every new pair of Nikes he couldn’t buy was because his father wouldn’t pay up—he might consider murder to collect child support back pay through the estate. He might even be able to pull it off…with a gun or a knife. But exsanguination?”

“The animals were fairly simple to kill in that manner. Certainly easy enough for four boys with a rudimentary knowledge of anatomy. From
the photographs, the job was a messy one, suggesting the perpetrators possessed no medical finesse.”

“Not so with Billy Arnell.”

I nodded. “Whoever inflicted those wounds knew what he was doing. Also, he had to subdue Arnell, who was a big man and would hardly allow himself to bleed out, even if he was being held down by three teenage boys.”

“Sedated.”

“Most likely.”

“Did the coroner find anything?”

“He submitted the tests. They should be back by now.”

“Time to visit again?”

“I believe so.”

We obtained a copy of the coroner’s report from Dr. Bailey’s assistant, Greg Regis. He might have provided it willingly, but we didn’t ask. If there’s any doubt as to whether someone will part with an item, there is an advantage to not requesting it. It’s easier to steal something when no one knows you want it.

So Paige went down to the morgue alone, posing as a reporter, and charmed Regis away from his desk. Then I slipped in, found the report, and slid a copy into my briefcase.

“Pentobarbital,” Paige said. “Used in veterinary work as an anesthetic and in hospitals to reduce intracranial pressure and induce comas. Also used in euthanasia. Serious stuff.”

We were in the car, pulled off along a residential street. Paige was on her laptop, using someone’s wireless Internet connection. Less than ethical, but we’d been unable to find a wireless-ready coffee shop in Middleton. So I’d driven along this road until Paige found a signal that wasn’t password-protected.

She continued. “The drug is probably available in hospitals or veterinary clinics, but it’s not something the average person could pick up in the drugstore.”

My cell phone rang and I glanced at the display.

“My father,” I said. I let it ring one more time, then answered.

“Lucas? I know you’re busy with the murder investigation, but you need to come back to Portland. We have a situation.”

My father’s news, while troubling, was not unexpected. Nor did it require our immediate return. I told him we’d finish a few things and be back by midafternoon.

Paige and I had a lead we wished to pursue before leaving. While there was always the possibility Billy Arnell had been a random victim, statistics show that such things are rare. People kill because their target blocks them from achieving a goal. The goals are equally predictable: satisfaction of the major drives—money, sex, power, and survival.

The most obvious suspect was Arnell’s first wife—Peter Arnell’s mother. It was unlikely that Peter would realize that his mother could recoup her lost child support payments through Arnell’s estate. But she would.

She could also know that her son was involved in the chupacabra attacks. It’s my experience that parental ignorance is often merely an excuse. Parents suspect what their children are doing—be it drugs, unsafe sexual behavior, or criminal acts. Whether they choose to pursue their suspicions to a conclusion is another matter. If Ms. Arnell
did
investigate her son’s activities, perhaps she saw in them an opportunity to get away with murder.

Paige and I split up again. When I returned to the car just over an hour later, she was already there. We began the trip to Portland before sharing what we’d learned.

“Well, I didn’t need an hour,” Paige began. “Took me ten minutes to find out whether Maggie Arnell could have had access to pentobarbital. According to your initial research, she worked as a home-care worker with the elderly, right?”

“Yes, but that wouldn’t provide easy access to drugs.”

“No, but she’s also a registered nurse. Looks like a case of burnout
after the divorce, but she still temps as a public health nurse. She’s known at the hospital. No one would question her hanging around, and she’d know where to find what she needs.”