Lady Sativa (29 page)

“Sure.” He walked past her to the door and reached around for the light switch. “What kind of coat is it?”

She was just about to tell him when she felt a nudge at the base of her brain. Then the picture formed in her stunned thoughts.

A fanged dog leaping for a woman’s throat.

The image faded and her mind was blank for an instant before a roaring torrent of fear washed over her senses. “Wait!” she yelled
“Don’t!”

She was too late. Her scream became part of a kaleidoscope of noise and violent movement.

Sordi fell to the ground, struggling with a growling1, twisting shape on top of him and she screamed again. The room teetered and began to whirl like a carousel gone out of control. Buzzers screeched, doors burst open, voices cried out; the din reached a babbling crescendo before it exploded with a sharp crack and collapsed.

Sybelle blinked and focused her eyes through the ringing stillness. Owen and Lily were standing behind Germaine at the door of the bedroom. The tall count held a smoking revolver in his hand.

She looked at them dazedly. Then the room tilted again and her legs turned to water.

“Sybelle, are you all right?” Germaine’s melodic voice was near her ear and she felt his strong arm around her shoulders, supporting her.

“Yes... I—” Her throat was too constricted for her to say any more.

“Are you all right?” Orient repeated far away. She looked in the direction of the voice and saw that he was talking to Sordi. Lily was kneeling beside him in the doorway as they helped Sordi sit up. Blood was streaming from two deep cuts on his forehead and the sleeve of his jacket was torn.

“Doctor, you made it just in time,” Sordi stammered. “I... he was too strong.”

“Easy now,” Lily soothed as they helped him get to his feet. “We’ve got to get those cuts cleaned out.”

Suddenly, Orient muttered a curse and went into the bedroom. “Look,” he called out. “In here.”

Germaine left Sybelle’s side and went through the door, revolver held ready. She took a few hesitant steps after him.

When she first entered the room she was too shocked and confused to understand. Then she slowly grasped what was wrong.

The bedroom was empty.

23

“Where... where is he?” Sordi whispered.

Orient’s thoughts were scrambling as he looked around the room. There was nothing but an overturned table and the bed. The draped window was closed. He went to the closet and threw open the door. Except for Sybelle’s clothing, it was empty. Then his nostrils filled with an unmistakable odor and he went near the bed. There was a smudge of dark talcum on the carpet.

“There was someone here,” Sordi insisted. “He jumped me.”

“Yes, there was,” Orient assured him. “He left his calling card. But how could he get out?”

Germaine came over to examine the carpet. “I know I hit something,” he murmured. But his smile was uncertain.

Orient gaped at the powder, his hands clenched helplessly. Then he remembered. The lure. The hunter’s bait. He inhaled and the pungent scent prodded his memory of another moon. “When I left Maxwell’s house after finding his body, the smell of blood in the talcum powder drew me to a spot where I’d be an easy target for a bullet. It’s a hunter’s trick to lure game.” He stood up. “And Anthony Bestman is a big-game hunter.”

“Well,
finally
you’ve come to your senses, darling,” Sybelle said congratulating him. “Since you wouldn’t listen to me in the first place, I went ahead and did some snooping of my own. Anthony was in London the night poor Maxwell was killed. And he came back the
next
day.”

“But how... did he get out?” Sordi groaned.

“Oh, dear, let me look at your poor hand.” Sybelle took his arm and led him to the door. “Come to the bar where we can wash it out. You need a brandy. In fact, we all need one.”

Orient looked at Germaine. “Bestman tried to set me up before. Maybe he hoped to do the same thing tonight. Even though I’m in remission my sense of smell is still good enough to sniff out his bait.”

Germaine bowed slightly. “Lead the way, doctor. But don’t expose yourself unnecessarily.”

“Don t go outside, Owen,” Lily warned. “I know he’s still nearby. I can feel it.”

‘That’s why we’ve got to go,” Orient said softly. “We have to stop him.” He smiled and kissed her gently. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

“Come,” Germaine said. “We have work to do.”

Orient went across the living room to the front door.

“Do you want a brandy?” Sybelle called out. Her eyes widened when both Orient and Germaine pressed frantic fingers to their lips.

Orient turned back to the open door and opened his nostrils to the faint but discernible odors of the street. The fumes of gasoline and animal excrement mingled with a warm, musty scent and he knew he was right. Bestman had planted some of the talcum nearby and was waiting in the darkness to kill him. He slipped through the door and quickly went down the few stairs to the sidewalk. He crouched down behind a parked car and scanned the empty street.

In a few moments, he’d located the source of the scent. It was coming from a point diagonally across the street. He looked back and signaled to Germaine.

The count came out of the shadow of the doorway and joined him behind the car. Orient pointed to the spot where the dried blood had been left as bait.

Germaine nodded. He stood up, rested his gun on the roof of the car, and aimed the barrel at the darkness across the street.

Bestman would be expecting him to cross toward the odor, Orient decided, so he would do the opposite. Surprise would give him an edge. But no matter which way he went he’d have to draw Bestman’s fire. He was still the quarry. He eased around the other end of the car and then quickly dashed across the street and slipped between two parked cars.

When the scuffling echo of his footsteps died away the street was silent.

Orient crouched and began moving along the outside of the row of parked cars, closer to the area where Best-man was waiting.

As he neared, the musty scent of the powder expanded in his senses. He stopped, stood up, and squinted into the shadows.

When he lifted his head over the top of the car a simultaneous boom and flash of light went off in front of him, outlining a burly figure standing in a doorway.

Orient ducked and heard the report of Germaine’s shot behind him. There was a muffled grunt and a door slammed shut. He signaled Germaine to follow and crept around the front of the car.

The sidewalk was empty. The doorway where the shot had come from was dark and still. He waited until Germaine was near enough to cover him before going in. He flung the door open and stepped back against the wall.

A shot whined off the concrete near his feet. Then he heard the hurried shuffle of footsteps climbing stairs and started moving. He made out a stairway in front of him, but just as he started going up he heard the footsteps stop and he dropped, flattening his body against the steps.

The explosion of gunfire filled the narrow stairway. For a moment, Orient couldn’t hear anything except the painful ringing in his eardrums. Then there was a stumbling scramble of footsteps above and Germaine pushed past him.

Orient got up and followed, amazed at the quickness of the aged count. Germaine’s pace didn’t falter as he hurried up the seemingly endless stairway. Above them, however, the footsteps were becoming heavier and slower.

A sudden shaft of dim light illuminated the stairway and both of them crouched down. The light was coming through the open door, two flights above them.

“He’s on the roof,” Germaine hissed. He continued up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Orient’s chest was heaving as he strained to keep up.

When Germaine reached the open door, he stopped -and pressed against the wall. Orient crept up the remaining stairs along the opposite wall and stood looking out across the shadows.

The occasional shapes on the flat-tarred roof were outlined by the glow of the full white moon above. They were completely still.

“Nothing on my side,” he whispered.

“Another door over there.” Germaine lifted the revolver and pointed it past Orient’s head. “And a fire escape. He can’t go anywhere else.”

Orient ducked down away from the gun and peered around the edge of the doorway.

There was a small square structure on the other side of the roof and he could make out the door in the moonlight.

A shadow crossed the door and Germaine fired.

Orient heard a hoarse cry of pain and the clatter of something falling to the ground. Then the shadow separated from the wall and he saw Bestman shuffling awkwardly toward the curved metal rails of a fire escape. He was clutching his arm and his gun was gone.

“I warn you, Bestman,” Germaine called out.

Anthony Bestman stopped and turned around. He stood swaying slightly, his face contorted with rage and pain.

Orient went across the roof and recovered Bestman’s pistol It was an elaborately worked hunting pistol with a long barrel.

“Stay back,” Bestman growled as he approached.

Germaine took a step nearer. “Where are Carl’s papers? What did you do with the rest of them after you put those pages in Hannah’s bedroom?”

Bestman’s lips curled back in a defiant grin of triumph. “They’re where you’ll never find them,” he rasped. “You’ll never use any of it.”

Orient moved as he saw Bestman’s body tense, as if he were about to spring at Germaine. Even wounded, the burly man was dangerous.

But before he could reach him, Bestman turned and leaped head-first over the edge of the roof.

A peaceful silence descended over Orient’s surprise, but it was shattered a moment later by a loud crunch of metal and the splintering of glass. Then the quiet reformed in the darkness. He went to the edge of the roof and looked down.

Bestman had smashed against a parked car eight stories below, caving in the roof and part of the hood. Pieces of the windshield were scattered over the broken body like confetti.

“We’d better get back to Sybelle’s apartment before the police arrive,” Germaine said calmly. “They could be very difficult. Someone must have heard the shots. There’s not much time.”

Orient nodded and followed him to the stairs, his mind still swarming with unanswered questions.

Brandy was poured and waiting on the red velvet bar when Orient and Germaine got back to Sybelle’s apartment.

Lily rushed across the room when they entered and threw her arms around Orient. “I heard the shots,” she whispered, her eyes searching his face. “But then the fear left me and I knew you were all right.”

“What happened? Was Anthony outside? Did you find him?
Somebody
tell me
something?
Sybelle demanded as she put the finishing touches on an elaborate bandage around Sordi’s head.

“Bestman was waiting outside with a gun,” Germaine told her. “He was waiting to shoot Dr. Orient. That way he hoped to get rid of two more members of SEE at the same time, and place responsibility for the murders on the doctor. But he didn’t know the doctor had been cured.”

Sordi perked up and beamed. “You are? That’s wonderful, doctor. I was really getting worried.”

The high wail of a police siren interrupted Orient’s answer. He glanced at Germaine.

The tall, erect man was unruffled. He took a snifter of brandy from the bar and drank, ignoring the sound completely.

“I
still
don’t understand how Anthony got out of the ‘bedroom,” Sybelle complained.

“That’s right,” Sordi’s voice dropped and he looked around the room. “I was fighting with someone. If Sybelle hadn’t warned me, I would have been done for.”

“It was Owen,” Sybelle corrected. “He sent me a telepathic message. How did you know, darling?”

“Actually, Lily knew. She received an impression of danger while we were completing the cure. Since three of the members of SEE were together, and in no apparent danger, I decided to call you. When I found out your line was dead, I knew. On the way over the potion cleared the disturbance in my senses enough so I was able to break through and send. It’s been so long that I wasn’t sure I could reach you. Still,” he murmured, “it worked out better than using the phone.”

“Much
better,” Sybelle agreed. “But no one’s explained yet how Anthony got out of that room.” Orient was silent, unable to answer her question.

“Well, cheers anyway,” Sybelle offered, lifting her glass. “The werewolf is dead and Owen is cured.”

Germaine set his glass down. “I’m afraid I can’t drink to that.” He smiled regretfully. “You see, the werewolf is not dead.”

Lily’s shocked whisper broke the long hush that followed his remark. “Anthony Bestman just tried to kill Owen. He set a trap.”

Germaine nodded. “That’s true. Anthony was responsible for the killings. But he wasn’t the werewolf.” His gray eyes glanced around the room. “He stole Carl’s thesis and used part of it to compromise Hannah. She was the only other person who knew that her husband Carl was infected with the disease of the beast. That was the secret she had to bear. The secret Carl himself wanted to reveal to SEE.”