Dark Eye (50 page)

“Come on, Granger, we see it all the time. Whenever a case gets a lot of attention. The rubberneckers turn out at the scene of the crime, at the courthouse, whatever. Some people thrive on this kind of stuff.”

“But where would she go? That shack out by the dam? That strip joint?”

I knew the answer before he’d finished speaking, knew it with a clarity that startled even myself. “Where the first body was found. Where Fara Spencer was killed. The Whitechapel of this whole case.” I paused. “The Transylvania. That’s where he grabbed them. Because that’s where he is.”

The girls were in their respective stalls, performing their nine-thirty poses.

They sat on the cold, bare floor in a confined area with nothing to do, nothing to look at, cold, dirty, naked. Every waking hour he would bring them a picture, usually something torn out of a porn magazine, always a woman in some demeaning pose. He would give them whatever they needed to re-create the scene. And then he would wait.

Not a word need be spoken. They knew what he wanted. And he rarely had to wait long to get it, certainly not after the first day. They knew what disobedience would bring. No food, for starters. No water. Not even a clean pan for their excrement. And quite possibly a return visit to the pendulum. Or the leeches. Or whatever else was required.

There had been no disobedience for a long time.

After they assumed the pose, whatever it was, he snapped their picture with his Polaroid, then posted it on the wall next to them. A little something to remind them who and what they were now. What they had become.

His. They belonged to the Raven, heart and mind and soul.

Judy and JJ had not been in those orangutan suits, of course, although it would’ve been magnificent, their ashes rising in an incandescent blaze, a magnificent incarnation of the prophet’s tale of little Hop-frog’s revenge. But the shock of thinking she had killed them-willingly-had been more than enough to break Tiffany. She had ended up even more deeply subservient than the two who had crumbled first. She was a sock puppet with his hand inside her.

Now the three of them were so compliant, so eager to please him, that a picture was not even necessary. As soon as he entered the room, Tiffany began to assume a variety of poses, running through her repertoire, reenacting the photos on the wall. Anything to please him.

Perfect.

Everything at the hotel was proceeding apace. The Poe room was gone, The Hunchback of Notre Dame tableau was all but complete. It was not one of the prophet’s works, but it would serve his purposes just the same.

All he lacked was the Vessel. Susan. Perhaps he had given her too much time, hoping that the time bomb he’d left ticking in her head would bring her to him of her own accord. One way or the other, once he had secured the Vessel, all his preparations would be complete.

Tiffany slithered up to him and wrapped herself around his feet. She pointed to her mouth, begging for food. Pathetic thing. He shook his head; he had not even brought a cube of sugar. Didn’t matter.

She pulled up his pant leg and began to lick his ankle, purring.

I ripped the information out of the printer just as quickly as it emerged. For once, even my inner Luddite was glad we lived in the computer age. Once I convinced the management of the Transylvania that we should be permitted access to their records-by giving them no choice whatsoever about it-getting what we wanted was a relative snap. Compiling a list of all the guests who had stayed at the Transylvania since the body of Helen Collier was found was a cinch. Then we winnowed it down to a shorter list of all male guests who fit the current profile. I started with the names of men who had been staying at the hotel for a while and were still on the premises. As soon as I had the names and addresses, I transmitted them by fax to headquarters, where Madeline and Patrick ran Internet and FBI checks on them. She could also tap the DMV records and see if they owned a pickup.

We’d been at it for hours, and so far, we didn’t have any suspects who fit all the parameters. But I wasn’t worried. Names were still flying out of the computer. I knew we were on to something. I felt it in my heart, my bones. We were on the right track, finally.

Most importantly, I felt good. Even though I had no right to, not yet. But I did. I felt strong. I felt sober. I hadn’t had a drink for days, and I was dealing with it. The shakiness was fading. I didn’t think about it all the time. I had something more important to occupy my brain.

“Still no match?” Granger asked. He pushed away from the computer terminal and stretched. He’d been at it for hours. Turned out he was pretty good with those evil little machines.

I didn’t look up. I was scanning names, faxing, periodically talking into my cell, and chatting with Granger, all at once. I don’t need a computer to multitask. “Not yet. But he’s in there somewhere. Give me some more names.”

“That’s going to take a while. We’ve covered Tower One, but they keep Tower Two in a separate database. It’ll take a while to load.”

“All right. No point in me standing around while you work.” I grabbed my coat. “I’m going to slip out for a minute. I’ll be back soon.”

“You’re leaving the hotel?”

“Right.”

“There are about a zillion bars out there.”

My buoyancy submerged, but only for a moment. “I’m going to visit my niece. I am not sneaking out to get a drink, Granger.”

“I know,” he said.

That caught me by surprise. He did?

“But-why make life difficult for yourself?”

“You want me to wear a chastity muzzle?”

He smirked. “You’re still a potential target. Take one of the uniforms with you. Take Berman.”

“I outweigh Berman by fifty pounds. How’s he going to stop me from doing anything?”

“He’s Church of Christ. He sees you order a drink, you’ll get a lecture so harsh it might save even
your
soul.”

Against my will, I found myself smiling. Why did Granger have to display these occasional flashes of human-beingness? It made it so much harder to hate him.

He’d been more than a bit worried when he saw Susan at the hotel. He had followed her discreetly, just to make sure she wasn’t getting too close. Happily, she never came near the ballroom. But after she left the hotel-

He had no idea what an astounding discovery he would make.

How had she managed to keep this from him so long? He had researched everything he could find about her. He’d hacked into her police file, searched the newspaper morgue, performed repeated Internet sweeps, quizzed her when she was barely conscious and unable to resist. But somehow, through it all, she had managed to withhold one detail.

There was another Pulaski. A little girl.

Just the age he liked them.

He’d run a computer search through the city database and come up with a name: Rachel Pulaski. A daughter? No. If she and her deceased husband had procreated, it would have appeared in the public records. Same for any adoption. A cousin?

A niece, as it turned out.

Her brother, the one who died in the traffic accident. That must be the answer.

But why was the girl living with strangers? Why wasn’t she with Susan? She must’ve lost custody, or been unable to obtain it. So she was reduced to occasional visitation.

A rapid-fire synaptic flurry crackled in his head. New ideas flooded to the surface. Was this why he’d been unable to break Susan, why she had not become his willing partner like Tiffany and her friends? His quest for Susan was always marred by the fact that she was not suited to be an offering, much less the Vessel.

But Rachel was. She so perfectly, delicately, wonderfully was.

His premonition had been right. The name Pulaski would be writ in the roll call of Dream-Land. But not Susan Pulaski.
Rachel.

He must have her.

Originally, he’d been trying to reincarnate Virginia as she once was. Of course that was impossible; her flesh was dust. But like the prophet’s Ligeia, her spirit could be recaptured, brought back to the earthly plane. If only he had the proper Vessel.

He would have to remove her, to condition her, and he had little time. But he was sure it could be done. And then Virginia would return to him. And together, they would leave this horrid world behind. And create a far better one.

The only thing worse than Granger acting like a human being was Granger trying to be consoling.

“It’s not your fault, Susan. It was a good theory. I thought we were on to something, too. But even the best theories don’t pan out sometimes.”

“He’s here. I know he’s here.”

He actually laid a hand on my shoulder. And the worst of it was, I let him. “We went through all the records, Susan. Twice. And we didn’t come up with anything.”

I pressed my palms against my forehead, running every scrap of Edgar-data through my brain for the millionth time or so. “We must have something wrong. In the profile. The description. Something.”

“Susan, you’ve looked at everyone who has stayed here in the last month who even remotely fits your profile. You came up with zip.”

Truth hurts. He was right. I’d played my best hand and come up short. The review of the Transylvania’s guests had yielded nothing.

Where was all my buoyancy now? All that blinding self-confidence? The girl who was going to catch the bad guy and never drink again? Where had she gone? Now when I looked in the mirror, I just saw a big placard reading LOSER. LOSER-AND DRUNKARD.

My wrist throbbed.

Granger was shuffling papers, obviously making moves to get the hell out of this tiny hotel office. “You look beat. Why don’t you let me drive you home?”

So I won’t stop somewhere and drown my sorrows in alcohol? “Sure. Thanks. Darce?”

After he’d done everything he could back at headquarters, Darcy had joined us here at the hotel. I don’t know why. But I made sure he went over every name, every bio, every scrap of information I had, just in case I missed something. When your PC fails you, put a human computer on the case, right? He’d stared at those lists till his eyes watered.

“Did you know Einstein wrote his Special Paper on Relativity three times before he realized that space was curved? That was what made the whole thing make sense.”

I gave him a tired grin. “I’m much too feeble to grasp Einsteinian physics at the moment. Or any other moment, actually.”

“Can I go over the lists again?”

“No, Darcy,” I said, clapping him on the back. “We’re all going home now.”

The fax machine pinged.

“Did Madeline have anything else to send us?” I asked.

Granger shook his head. “Madeline has gone home.”

That was intriguing enough to keep me by the machine a few seconds longer. And halfway through the cover sheet, I had an even better reason.

“It’s from Edgar.”

How did he know we were here? I took the sheet and stared at it. Another coded message. But this time it was all ones and zeros.

“He’s really taken this multiple-substitution code gimmick to the outer limit.”

Darcy snatched it from me. “I think that this must be binary code. Do you think that this is binary code?”

“What, like computer talk?”

“Can I use this please?” He was already scooting in front of the hotel’s PC.

“Sure. Ain’t mine.”

He tapped information into a black screen on the computer, fingers flying faster than I could follow. It all looked like gibberish to me.

“Hey,” I said, “this probably won’t be important. He wants to brag, impress me, maybe scare us a little. But he won’t give us anything we can use to stop him. And I’m not going to stay up all night so I can read a quote from Edgar Allan Poe’s grocery list.”

“I think that maybe this is a hyperlink,” Darcy said, not that it meant anything to me. “The code is much easier than the last one, if you know COBOL.”

“Well, that’s nice, but it could still take hours and-”

“Got it.” Darcy clicked the Enter button a few more times. A Web browser came up, and a few moments later I saw the hourglass symbol that told me it was traveling to a new destination.

“You think Edgar has his own Web site?” Granger asked.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. There are plenty of public-access servers that allow anonymous uploads. But what would he post? Poe’s Greatest Hits? MP3s for the Golden Age? Photos of his vic-”

My tongue froze in my mouth. The graphic image in the Web browser had begun to resolve.

It was a photograph, presumably taken from a distance with a digital camera. I had no problem recognizing one of the people in the photo. It was me. Didn’t have to work much to identify the other person, either. The one I was talking to.

It was Rachel. He knew about Rachel.

“Oh, God,” I said as a cold sweat broke out all over my body. “Oh, my God.”

“I’m calling for backup,” Granger said, already dialing his cell. “What’s her address?”

“Oh, God,” I repeated uselessly. Rachel. All I had left-

“Susan! Give me her address!”

And I did. Pulling myself together as best I could, I grabbed my car keys and raced for the front door. Please, God, don’t let us be too late. Please, don’t let us be too late.

But my own words haunted me, even as I raced out the door and into the stifling desert night air.

He wouldn’t give us anything we could use to stop him.

Rachel raised the window and leaned out into the cool night air.

Not a creature was stirring, as the poem went. Excellent.

It was drizzling outside. The white trellis attached to the front of the house was slick. She would have to be careful.

She hoisted herself through the window, flipped her feet around, then slowly descended onto the trellis. The Shepherds were nice folks, but they had to be crazy not to see how easy it was to get out of this room. Just too innocent to consider the possibilities, she supposed. Or perhaps it was some sort of test.