Corin & Angelique (After the Fall of Night) (5 page)

In his mid-forties, Jordon was dauntless. Not at all the stereotypical image
one might have of a Deputy U.S. Marshal. His predominantly brown hair held a scattering of gray. Long and untamed, he kept it pulled back and leashed behind him with a strap. He didn’t own a suit, more comfortable outside the office, chasing down the bad guys. More often than not, his work attire consisted of worn jeans and cowboy boots. But just so no one could say he wasn’t professional, he’d toss on a dress coat.

Gathering his things, he left a tip on the table and headed for the register to
pay his bill. His Lucchese boots made a dull thud each time they struck the solid wood floor as he strode across it in a manner that told the world just how confident and determined a man he was.

Following the waitress’s directions to the station, he arrived in mere minutes,
parked, and went inside. Two officers talked behind a chest-high counter.

“I’d better get going.” One officer got up to leave.

“I’ll see you later, Bob,” the other man said, and then turned toward Jordon.

“Good day, officer. I’d like to see the sheriff
in regard to the recent murder.”

“Sheriff Pierson is out right now,” the officer, whose nametag read ‘Chuck
Gantt,’ informed him. “Hold on and I’ll take a message.” He pulled a pencil from over his ear, breaking the lead the instant it touched the paper. “Dagnabbit,” he fumbled for something else to write with, making a total mess of the paperwork on the counter.

Jordon, thinking the officer to be a simpleton by his appearance and clumsy
actions, proceeded to pump him for information.

“So, Chuck,” Jordon spoke as if he’d known
the man his whole life. “I read about the murder…hear it happened nearby, in Hixton, I believe.”

The man bit the first line he threw.

“Yeah, that’s right, over at Jaffler Farm—the family raises thoroughbreds. The victim lived there with her husband and sister-in-law.”

The officer blabbed away without
the least bit of caution, having no idea who Jordon was. It apparently hadn’t occurred to him to ask, proving Jordon’s initial impression to be an accurate one.

The young man continued, “They found her body just past the farm entrance
on Old Denaud Road, at the edge of the woods. We assume she was taking a late night walk when the killer attacked her. However, there’s some dispute on that theory.”

“Dispute by whom?”

“The husband,” the officer told him. “He claimed she never took walks after nightfall. To quote his exact words, ‘she was afraid of the dark…never went out alone after the fall of night’.”

“Really?” Jordon raised his eyebrows in interest. “Afraid of the dark?”

“That being the case, you can’t help but wonder what led her out on that road all alone and so late at night. It just doesn’t fit.”

“It sure doesn’t,” Jordon agreed. “Tell me, Chuck, were there any witnesses to
the murder?” he pressed.

“Not a one. I personally don’t know what to make of it. The poor girl’s blood
was drained, leaving her body blue as a dismal sky…or so I heard.”

Jordon suppressed a laugh. Chuck wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.
He
could have been the killer, and this nitwit would have been none the wiser.

“Did you happen to know the family?” Jordon asked.

“No, can’t say I did. You’d have better luck with that inquiry over in Hixton.”

“I’m sure you’re right
.” Confident he’d learned all he could from Officer Chuck, Jordon was ready to head out. “Think you could you pen me some directions?”

“Oh, you won’t have any problems. It’s not far, just several miles north and to
the west of I-94.”

“Do you know the exit number?”

“105. Then turn right onto 95—it’s also called Interstate Road. From there, it’s less than a mile. You could also take County Road A, but the interstate is faster.”

“I’m sure I’ll find it. Thank you for the info, Chuck. You’ve been more help
than you could ever know.” Jordon’s voice held a hint of belittlement.

“Well, that’s what we’re here for, to serve and assist,” the officer replied in a
chipper manner, seeming not to notice the derision. “What about a message…for the sheriff?”

“I’m with the
U.S. Marshals Service. I just wanted to inform him that I’m here looking into the murder. I’d like to meet with him, but there’s no need to take anything down. I’ll stop back by later.” Jordon gave a friendly nod and left.

W
hat kind of a hillbilly hellhole have I wandered into this time?

He stepped outside the building and made a beeline for his car, eager to get to
Hixton. Visiting the murder site was his next plan of action. If Chuck was any indication of the rest of the force, the incompetent idiots running Jackson County just might have overlooked some vital clues.

Arriving
in Hixton fifteen minutes later, he stopped at a local convenience store where a clerk gave him directions to Old Denaud Road. Following the course given, he found the two-lane byway with little effort. Traveling a little farther through dense, wooded terrain, he spotted a dirt drive to his right framed by two tall poles supporting a sign saying: Jaffler Farm. Several Thoroughbred horses grazed in a large pasture nestled between the road and the farmhouse that sat a distance back. Continuing past the farm entrance, he located the taped-off crime scene a minute later, at the edge of the woods.

Jordon pulled off the road and shifted the black Dodge Charger into park. His
gator-skin boots had just hit the dirt when a white SUV pulled up behind him. By the dim view afforded him through the front windshield, he recognized the man behind the wheel from his picture in the paper—Sheriff Pierson.

The sheriff alighted from his vehicle and Jordon heard him mumble, “Who
the blazes is this beatnik?”

An imposing figure, he stared at Jordon in an obvious attempt to intimidate
while pulling a pack of Marlboros from his shirt pocket and tapping one out. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he lit the cigarette and let out a plume of smoke that curled upward and drifted away on the light breeze.

“I prefer Camels myself.” Jordon spoke first, reaching for his own gold
-colored pack of cigarettes. He lit one up and blew the smoke out of the left side of his mouth in a cocky manner, letting the sheriff know he could not, would not, be intimidated. “You must be Sheriff Pierson.”

“I am. And who might you be?” Pierson asked, moving his way. “This is an
official crime scene.”

“I’m well aware of that.” Jordon bit his cigarette between his teeth to free his
hands, searching his inner coat pocket for his badge. In the process, Pierson caught sight of the 9mm strapped to his shoulder and immediately took defensive action.

“Put your hands up,” the sheriff ordered, his gun trained on Jordon. “Where I
can see them!”

“Whoa.” Jordon raised his hands and spat out his cigarette so he could speak
clearly. “Take it easy, Sheriff. I’m a Deputy U.S. Marshal.”

“I’ll be needing some proof of that.”

“I have my badge right here in my coat. If you’ll let me get it, you’ll see this is just one, big misunderstanding.”

“All right, but you make any sudden movements, and the next bullet’s got
your name on it,” Pierson warned. “Now take it slow…real slow.” The sheriff maintained a firm aim.

Jordon moved with extreme caution and reached into his coat. He located his
badge right away, pulled it out, and flipped it open.

Sheriff Pierson lowered and holstered his Glock .45. “Sorry about that,
Marshal, but you can’t be too careful.”

“No harm done. I’m Marshal Jordon Black. I stopped by your station to advise
you of my arrival and spoke with Officer Gantt.”

“I assume you’ve been sent to investigate the murder,” Pierson stated.

“Not exactly, or I guess I should say I’m not quite sure yet.” Jordon looked down and stubbed out his cigarette still burning on the ground at his feet. “The

murder you had here is identical to those of a killer I’ve been tracking.”

“So you have a suspect, then?”

“Sorry, Sheriff, I wish I did. He’s quite a mastermind, real good at covering his
trail.”

“What makes you think this is the same killer?” Sheriff Pierson reached for
another cigarette, having lost the first when pulling his gun on Jordon.

“I’m not positive it is. But from what I’ve read it seems to be his handiwork.
I’ve been after him for two years. He’s cunning, never stays in one place for long. Killing comes easy as breathing to him. He’s left a considerable number of blood-drained bodies in his wake, and the string of cases just keeps getting longer and longer.”

“Blood-drained bodies?” The sheriff looked surprised. “I hadn’t considered a
serial killer.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“I thought that was the FBI’s job.”

“I’m with a special division of the Service. We work closely with the FBI,”
Jordon told him. “Would you mind if I take a look around the site?”

“I have no problem with that. I’
m here to take another look myself,” Pierson replied and moved toward the taped-off area.

Jordon followed, sure that, sweep or not, the unqualified little force had
missed something. And preferring to conduct his own search in private, he deliberately put some distance between them, scouring the tree line and underbrush about eighty feet away from Pierson, where he found something of interest. Squatting down, fearful the sheriff might confiscate his find, he smoothed out the crumpled piece of paper and gave it a quick skim. It was a receipt from the Black River Falls Inn.

“Have you got something there?” Pierson called over to him.

Jordon slipped the receipt into his pocket before rising from his crouched position.

“Oh, no, I was just checking the underbrush for any tracks or clues your group
might have missed,” he lied.

“I know what I saw, so how about you just empty that right pocket of yours
and prove me wrong.”

“Happy to.” Jordon pulled the pocket inside out
, but with a bit of sleight of hand, transferred the receipt under his sleeve. “Nothing here but a pack of gum, a couple wrappers, and a lighter. What you saw was me retrieving a wrapper that fell from my shirt pocket when I was bending over. Like I said, I was just checking the underbrush for missed clues. I suspect you don’t have the best forensics team at your disposal, am I right?” He went on with uncouth arrogance, not caring how his words came across.

“I’m rather proud of my team, Marshal, and I can assure you, they did a more
than adequate job.” Pierson responded, his irritation at Jordon’s insult apparent.

“It’s a small county, but we do know how to follow protocol. Everything was done
by the book.” He dropped his cigarette to the ground and pressed it into the dirt with the steel tip of his boot.

Jordon chuckled to himself, a mental image forming of the sheriff pulling out
a large instruction book entitled
Homicide for Dummies
, and attempting to instruct a group of inept deputies.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Mansion

Corin rose from his dark sanctuary as the sun was setting. He usually waited for twilight before emerging, but being an older vampire, he could tolerate a small amount of sunlight. In the shadows of the forest, where he spent a great deal of time, he even dared to wander out in the earlier daylight hours. But that was a risk he wouldn’t attempt often, for the burning rays could literally turn him to ashes.

Corin stayed in isolation at his estate—a sprawling and grand abode consisting of more than two thousand acres of lush woodlands running across a hilly terrain. The mansion had undergone numerous renovations over the last five hundred years, growing in size and value. It sheltered a host of treasures—just a taste of the vast wealth he’d accumulated over his many years of existence. A cunning businessman, he’d made many wise investments, ensuring his position. Money would never be a problem for him.

With his eyes shaded by dark glasses, he stood in a shadowed area near the lanai door, looking past the wall, toward the woods. This land had been his solitude from the very beginning of his changed existence, and if he had anything to say about it, it always would be.

“You’re taking your walk, aren’t you?” His thoughts were on Angelique, fearing she was venturing out alone, regardless of her recent scare. She had no idea of the danger lurking in the area.

Concerned for her safety, he disregarded his own well-being and braved the light. Twilight wasn’t far off, but he refused to wait a moment longer for those last
lingering rays to give in to the onslaught of falling night.