Corin & Angelique (After the Fall of Night) (20 page)

“We do know how to follow proper protocol here, despite what you think of
us, Black. And look at what you’re doing, hindering our investigation by clomping all over the crime scene. Contaminating evidence. You need to move back behind the tape with the rest of the spectators,” Pierson ordered. “See to it you stay out of the way of my team. And that’s not a suggestion.”

“How many times do I have to remind you, I am authorized to be here.”

“This is my jurisdiction and I will handle things in whatever manner I see fit. And if you’re still insistent on arguing, Marshal, I’d be more than happy to pass that information along to your superiors,” he threatened.

“I’m not here to work against you, Sheriff,” Jordon backed down. “I’ll get out
of the way and let your crew do their job.”

Sheriff Pierson wasn’t fooled by a word coming out of
Marshal Black’s mouth. In fact, he got the distinct impression his intent was to prevent him from calling the agency.

Could he have something to hide?

With that thought, Sheriff Pierson jotted down a reminder on his list of priorities,
check out Black’s credentials
. Until he knew the marshal was on the up and up, he was cutting off his access to the cases.

Looking down at the body of Jessica Daniels, it was evident the killer was
targeting women. A duplicate of the second killing, she had suffered a cruel death, the proof in the numerous bite marks covering her body. Sheriff Pierson recalled his conversation with the medical examiner that morning, regarding the previous victim’s autopsy. In Dr. Berg’s study of the bite marks on the body of Sandy Darnell, when comparing his tissue findings with Forensics’ lab results, it was conclusive that canine saliva was present. However, in spite of the findings and the sudden increase in wolf activity, Sheriff Pierson found it hard to believe that the animals alone were responsible for her death. Besides, Patricia had encountered the killer, and her assailant was human. But she had heard growls.

He speculated that canines
may have perhaps been employed as trained killers, or used as a cover for the true cause of death—the chronic loss of blood. At any rate, with the animals linked to the killings, questions were bound to arise about the possibility of a wild pack of wolves endangering the county. So, just to cover all bases, he proceeded to alert the department of a potential threat.

Stepping around the body, he flipped through his notepad. Inconsistencies
between the first and latter two victims irked him. Each drained of blood, showing a definite connection, yet Louisa hadn’t sustained any bite marks whatsoever, only two small punctures found on her neck. All three women were attractive, of similar build, and in their prime of life. So, what was he missing?

“The blood irregularity,” he remembered, wondering if that could have had
something to do with it.

Sheriff Pierson sighed. He had too many questions
and no answers. The thought of facing family members empty handed twisted his guts. These victims were much more than just case files. They were mothers, sisters, wives—women who didn’t deserve having their lives snatched from them by some nefarious killer. He could only hope something would point him in the right direction, because, if nothing else, the families were due justice.

Pierson knew Dr. Berg would be exasperated to find another body on the way,
but it couldn’t be helped. Even though the doctor was exhausted, he refused to pass any work to a colleague. Seeming haunted, he’d labored 24/7 since receiving the corpse of the second victim, Sandy Darnell, for autopsy.

His odd behavior left the sheriff to speculate the gossip floating around to be
true—that he and the deceased had been involved—lovers. Both married, this information was, of course, of a sensitive nature. Knowing the situation now, Pierson could only imagine how hard it must have been for him to perform the postmortem examination.

Patricia came to mind, he’d come close to losing her at the hands of this
murdering psychopath. He wanted nothing more than to make the killer pay for all the suffering he’d caused these poor women and the people who loved them, and not necessarily in the legal way. He might have been sheriff of Jackson County, but he felt more than capable of turning rogue cop and throwing that book of “laws and ethics” right out the window.

“Sheriff, we’ve found something.” Rudy held up a gold pocket watch with
a latex-gloved hand.

Sheriff Pierson slipped on a pair of gloves and examined it closer.

“There’s an inscription on the back,” Rudy observed.

Sheriff Pierson read it aloud, “For my prince of the night. Miralanya.”

“The chain’s broken,” Rudy pointed out. “I think the victim might have
grabbed it during their struggle, ripping it off her attacker.”

“I’d say that’s a strong possibility,” Pierson agreed. “Where did you find this?”

“Under the victim’s car.” Rudy showed him the exact spot.

“Do you know anyone locally named Miralanya?”

“No, I don’t. It’s not a very common name, is it?”

Sheriff Pierson shook his head.
“No. It isn’t.”

“I could run a search and see what pops up.”

“That’s a good idea.” Pierson passed the watch off to another officer with orders to bag and tag it. “And Rudy, let me know right away if you come up with anything.”

Repossessing the evidence, disregarding procedure and his own better
judgment, the sheriff started to slip the watch in his pocket, but halted his action when he caught sight of the marshal watching like a hungry hawk.

Mumbling an obscenity, he reconsidered
the undertaking, knowing evidence wasn’t supposed to leave the crime scene due to the possibility of tampering. It had to follow proper channels to guarantee holding up in court. But being the sheriff, there had to be a clause written somewhere in that doggone book of laws, excluding him from having to abide by the same rules.

“Holding the title of Sheriff ought to count for something
.” He shoved the bagged evidence in his pocket. “I’ll deal with you tomorrow, Black. We’ll see then, if you are who you claim to be.”

Contacting the agency and confirming the marshal’s credentials was definitely
going to be his next order of business.

Chapter Thirteen

The Cemetery

Tomes confronted Corin, gripping the staker so tightly his knuckles turned
white.

“I thought we were clear about Angel.”

“I won’t hurt her.”

“You know there’s nothing you can offer her. She has no idea what you are. It
isn’t right, or fair to her.”

“I know that, Tomes. And regardless of what you think of me, you can trust
me when I tell you her well-being will always come before my own.”

“
That doesn’t sound like you intend to keep away from her.”

Corin moved past Tomes, taking a seat in a high-backed, burgundy-colored
chair. “We have more pressing matters to focus on at the moment.”

“We’re not finished with this. You know I want the nightwalker, justice for
Louisa, but I will also do whatever it takes to protect Angel.”

Glaring into Corin’s
dark, wide-open stare, he searched for a soul apparently lost to the immortal.

“As will I. And right now, the newcomer is her biggest threat.
Tonight, when I left her alone tonight to buy tickets, he made contact with her again.”

Tomes lowered the staker.

“He knows we’re after him.”

“Yes,” Corin agreed. “You’ve cut your face…must have caught a thorn on the
bougainvillea while spying from the side of the house.”

Tomes scanned the room for a mirror to examine his injury.
“That darn bush ought to be cut down.” He wiped blood from his right cheek with the sleeve of his left arm. “I forgot, you have no use for mirrors.”

“The soul reflects who we are, and since I have no soul, I cast no reflection,”
Corin explained. “So, no, I have no need for mirrors. But I do keep one in the guest bath for the sake of visitors. You know where it is, just down the corridor, second door on the right. Any others would be in storage on the third floor. Out of sight is out of mind.”

“It bothers you to look at them?” Tomes asked with interest.

“It’s only a reminder of what I’ve lost.”

“I see your point.” Tomes picked up a picture frame, holding it in a way that
showed the reflection of the room behind him. He saw the chair where Corin was sitting, but not Corin.

“It’s true.” Tomes whirled to face him. “How do you keep people from
noticing?”

“I’m careful when I’m out in public. Over the years, I’ve developed a talent for
hiding certain things.” Corin swung his right foot onto his left knee. “What is that weapon you have?”

“This little baby is what I call a staker,” Tomes said with pride. “I had it
specially made. It’s a nail gun converted to shoot these wooden nails, or small stakes, ergo the name.” Tomes held one up. “They’re made from blackthorn.”

“Cleverly thought out. You’ve done your homework. But I hope you weren’t
planning on using it on me just now.”

“I confess, I thought about it…pissed as I was.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t. Blackthorn would no doubt give a good sting.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure it would have given you a little more than a sting. This
thing packs a punch. Would you care for a demonstration?”

“Not if I’m to be the target.”

“I have a board set up out back.” Tomes led the way to the back yard where he took position, aimed, and fired a shot into the panel.

“I think you really have something with this, what did you call it, a staker?”

“That’s right,” Tomes could see that Corin was impressed.

“It might just come in handy.”

“My thoughts precisely.” Tomes fired off a second shot.

“I was thinking we should take a look around the cemetery again. When you
found me there four nights ago, I had no idea what we were dealing with.

Discovering that I can’t sense the newcomer, he may very well be taking shelter
there during the day. It’s more likely he’d choose an abandoned building, but it’s worth checking.”

“No better time than the present. We’ll take my truck. I parked in the garage.”

“Taking over the garage now? You’re getting rather comfortable in my home.” Corin followed him out.

“I didn’t want Angel to know I was here,” Tomes explained.

Corin climbed into the passenger’s seat of the oversized vehicle in desperate need of a paint job. A sharpened machete lay on the floorboard.

“Like it?” Tomes observed him eye
balling the weapon. “I’m sure you have a good idea what it’s for.”

“Yes. I think I do.”

“If I take the nightwalker’s head, I’ve taken his life.”

“That’s one way to go about it. Sever an immortal’s head from his body, and
he won’t be coming back to the world of the living.”

Tomes
reached for the machete. “Which is exactly why I’m keeping this close.” He secured the weapon between them and backed out.

“You’re turning into a dangerous one, a real commando.”

“A hunter on a mission.” Tomes flipped on the radio, catching the latest report on the hospital murder.

“A third killing now. We’ve got to catch a break at some point.”

“Maybe we’re on the right track tonight,” Tomes replied. “The cemetery is a perfect hideout.”

When they reached their destination, Tomes parked just outside the gate and
pulled a flashlight from the toolbox in the back of the truck. The moon was full, hanging low in the sky, but Tomes felt he needed some additional light.

“Take this.”
Armed with the staker, he passed the machete to Corin.

“I have to carry this?”

“I need the flashlight. Just bring it.” Tomes was going in prepared for a fight. “What are we looking for?” he spoke in a whisper as they entered the cemetery, looking over the scattered gravesites.

“There’s an above ground family vault, dating back many generations—the
Chesterson crypt—he might be utilizing. We should check there first. There are also several partially-raised vaults that would meet his needs.”

“You’re familiar with the place, so lead the way.” Tomes motioned.

The headstones appeared florescent in the night, in combination with shadowed bases, casting the illusion of floating inches above the ground.

“It’s creepy out here.” Tomes stayed close to Corin with his finger twitching on
the trigger of the staker.