Rogue Angel 53: Bathed in Blood (8 page)

13

Annja was more frustrated than ever. She knew Tamás was lying about the cause of death, and that made her wonder if he was lying about the relationship between Vass and Polgár, as well. It was certainly a convenient solution—claiming that the two women not only knew each other but had been traveling together and had gotten into an argument that had turned deadly. That explanation no doubt appealed to the detective’s need to tie up all the loose ends. The question was, what was the truth?

Annja wasn’t sure.

Tamás had claimed that witnesses had seen the two women together near the ruins of Csejte Castle. Talking to them might help her decide if Tamás was acting in good faith or if he really was at the heart of what was starting to look like a conspiracy to cover up more than just one murder.

She was suspicious, to say the least. She’d been at the castle all afternoon and hadn’t seen either of the two women, but she had to admit that didn’t necessarily mean they hadn’t been there. Annja had been pretty absorbed in her work at the time and might simply have missed them.

But if Vass and Polgár had been there, and Tamás had found someone who’d seen them, then Annja should be able to find them, as well. What she needed to do was think like the detective.

So where to begin?

Yesterday she’d spent time knocking on doors in the village, but perhaps that had been the wrong approach. The locals had lived in the shadow of Csejte Castle for so long that very few probably visited the ruins. Those who did were likely involved in a business that catered to the tourists. According to Tamás, Vass and Polgár were on a sightseeing trip, so perhaps the best starting point would be with those who regularly interacted with such visitors. Annja could start with the locals who set up carts along the road leading to the castle and then move into town to check with the hotel staff and restaurant owners. If the women had been there—and in her mind it was a big if—someone must have seen them.

Novack’s warning about stirring up the wrong kind of people came to mind, but she brushed it aside. She’d gotten pretty good at causing trouble for the wrong kind of people, and there was no way last night’s threat would deter her from what she knew was right. She’d just pay more attention to her surroundings and make certain she wasn’t caught out alone after dark.

Satisfied that she had a plan of action, Annja crossed the underground lot and started up the ramp to the gate beyond. The detective must have said something to the guard on his way out because the man did little more than glare at her as she passed by and headed down the street to her car.

She sat in the driver’s seat for a moment, taking stock of it all. It was clear now that her instincts had been right—there was something fishy going on. From the lies about the cause of death to the rush to point the finger at Csilla Polgár, never mind the photograph of what seemed to be another victim, there were way too many loose ends. It was as if everyone around her was operating under the directions of some hidden third party; she could almost see the pattern... Almost, but not quite.

It
was
there. She had no doubt about that.

Annja made a brief stop at her hotel, where she took the time to hunt around online for a couple of decent headshots for both Csilla Polgár and Marta Vass—a feat made easier by the news broadcasts that morning. Then she printed up a dozen copies to use while canvassing the streets of Čachtice.

Before long, Annja was parking her car at the bottom of the road leading up to the castle ruins. She started working her way through the various vendor stalls set up in the parking lot, asking if any of the attendants had seen the two women.

After striking out, Annja returned to the town square, parked in the same spot she’d used the day before and resumed her canvassing. Rather than focusing on residential properties, however, Annja made straight for the tourist destinations—the restaurants, shops and bars, few though there were, that catered to those who’d come to see the Blood Countess’s ruined castle. Most of the employees she questioned spoke English and she had a much easier go of it than the day before, but unfortunately, she came up with pretty much the same results. One or two people thought they might have seen the women, but they readily admitted they might have recognized Csilla and Marta from the news reports. They couldn’t describe what the women had been wearing or what they’d been doing, so Annja wrote down their names and contact information but didn’t put much stock in their testimony.

Given that the Belák Kamil hotel was the only major establishment of its kind in Čachtice, Annja sat in the lobby for almost an hour, asking everyone who came through the door if they’d seen the two women, but she struck out. To top it all off, someone must have complained about her, for it wasn’t long before the manager wandered over, asked her to stop bothering his guests and had a bellman escort her from the property.

The bellman hadn’t seen the two women together, either.

He left her on the sidewalk outside the hotel with a friendly smile and a suggestion to come back later that night for a drink.

Or, at least, that was what she thought he was saying. His English was almost as bad as her Slovakian.

Annja was standing there, considering her options, when she noticed several small groups of women all going in the same direction. Curious, she followed.

The women led her down the street, around the corner and into the small park just beyond. There she found a few dozen more local women standing in front of a mobile command center, like those used for blood drives by the American Red Cross. Portable canopies had been set up to shade the women from the sunlight as they stood in line.

A registration table had been set up in front of the vehicle. A man and a woman were manning the table, and from the cut of their two-thousand-dollar suits they certainly weren’t from the local health clinic.

Annja moved closer, trying to get a sense of what was going on. The women in line would go to the table, answer a few questions and then receive a clipboard full of paperwork to fill out. When they were finished the clipboard was returned to the table where it was reviewed by one of the attendants and then passed to someone waiting inside the vehicle. One by one the women were called inside, only to emerge a short time later. Those wearing short sleeves like Annja had fresh gauze taped on the inside of their forearms just below the elbow.

Maybe it was a bloodmobile after all.

But if so, where were all the men? And why weren’t the women inside longer? They were coming out after just a few minutes, rather than the fifteen to twenty minutes it usually took to donate blood.

None of the volunteers looked particularly worried—just the opposite, in fact—so Annja didn’t think it was related to a local health scare. Maybe it was some kind of routine test, like that peptide study she’d been reading about recently that used a blood test to uncover breast cancer in its earliest stages.

Annja shifted to her right a few feet, and when the door opened she was able to get a quick glance of a white-smocked attendant drawing blood from a young woman sitting in a plastic chair, a cup of what looked like orange juice in her other hand. On the pocket of the attendant’s lab coat was a stylized logo containing the letters
TGI
.

Then the door closed, cutting off her view. Perhaps if she...

“Can I help you?”

Annja jumped; she hadn’t heard the woman come up behind her.

She turned, an excuse already on her lips, only to find herself struck momentarily dumb.

Standing before her was one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. Piercing eyes of crystal blue framed by long brown hair, red lips and skin so smooth it practically begged to be touched. She was taller than Annja by a good two inches even without her heels, and her custom-tailored suit showed off her athletic frame almost to perfection. And if her physical good looks weren’t enough, the newcomer practically oozed confidence, as if she should be chairing the board of a multibillion-dollar corporation instead of handling, well, whatever this was.

Annja disliked her immediately.

It wasn’t the annoyance she felt at being startled; Annja brushed that off with barely a thought. This was something at the gut level, some buried instinct that was telling her to step carefully around this woman, the way you might move cautiously but expeditiously when the big dog next to you starts growling and foaming at the mouth.

Something must have shown on Annja’s face, for the woman smiled suddenly, breaking the tension and banishing the strange vibe she’d been giving off. When Annja smiled back, she found herself wondering how she could have ever felt suspicious about this woman.

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” the woman said, extending her hand. “Diane Stone.”

She and Annja shook hands. “Annja Creed.”

“You seem rather interested in our operation. Is there anything I can answer for you?” Stone asked.

Annja glanced over at the mobile lab. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just down the street, saw the crowd and wondered what was going on.”

Stone smiled again. “It’s nothing all that exciting actually. We’re here with the University of Budapest, doing a genealogical study on several ancient Hungarian bloodlines. The women are providing a blood sample. We’ll extract the DNA and use that for sequencing the various genomes to try to trace those bloodlines back through the centuries.”

Annja digested that for a moment, trying to match the cut of Stone’s suit with the salary a university professor typically made. The two didn’t quite gel. Not by a long shot.

Not wanting to be rude, but still curious, Annja said, “You work for the university, then?”

The other woman laughed. “God, no. I work for the firm that was hired to handle the sample collection. I’m a glorified technician, nothing more.”

Right. And I’m the Queen of England, Annja thought. But why lie about it?

That initial feeling of unease returned, and Stone seemed to be watching Annja’s reactions a bit too closely. Annja didn’t know what she was looking for, but the glint of calculation in the other woman’s eyes was enough to put her guard up. Perhaps it was time to be on her way.

Annja glanced at her watch and feigned surprise. “Oh, my gosh! I didn’t realize it was so late,” she exclaimed. “Thanks for your time and good luck on your project!”

She shook Stone’s hand, said goodbye and headed quickly across the park in the direction from which she’d come. When she glanced back a few moments later, Stone was still standing in the same spot. Annja couldn’t say for certain, but it felt as if the woman was watching her.

It was odd enough to send a chill racing up Annja’s back.

When she got a few blocks away, Annja stopped in the shade of a large oak and pulled out her cell phone. She dug around in her contacts until she located the number she wanted and then dialed. The phone rang twice before a male voice answered.

“Ahoj?”

“Hi, Henry, it’s Annja.”

Annja’s first love was archaeology and she’d spent a good deal of time over the past several years elbow-deep in dirt at one dig site or another. As a result, she had contacts all over the world, and Henry Vlahović was one of them. A professor of medieval history at the University of Budapest, he and Annja had met at a conference a few years ago. They’d struck up a friendship based on a mutual love of history and their fascination with medieval culture.

Vlahović switched from his native language, Czech, to English. “Annja! So good to hear from you. Where in the world is the ravishing Ms. Creed right now, may I ask?”

Henry was twice her age but always flirted shamelessly, which Annja found endearing. When they’d first met he was fascinated with all of her exploits, particularly with her travel for her work on
Chasing History’s Monsters
and the digs she assisted on. As a practical joke he’d once sent her a Where’s Waldo? calendar with all the images of Waldo replaced with tiny pictures of Annja. It was corny as heck but had made her laugh, and as a result he’d gotten into the habit of asking where she was whenever they had a chance to reconnect.

“Funny you should ask,” she said with a smile. “I’m right around the corner from you in Čachtice, Slovakia.”

“Čachtice? What on earth are you doing... Oh. Báthory’s castle. I should have guessed.”

“Got it in one, Henry,” Annja said. “Listen, sorry to call you out of the blue like this...”

“You’re welcome to call anytime, you know that.”

“Thanks. I was hoping you could check into something for me.”

“What do you need?”

“I ran into a group in Čachtice this morning who said they were doing some work on behalf of the university. Something to do with tracing Hungarian bloodlines. Do you know anything about that?”

“Not a thing,” he replied. “You’re sure it’s through us?”

“Absolutely. The contact on-site, a Diane Stone, confirmed it.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about it. And I would, too—a project like that would have to be approved by my office. What was the name again?”

“Stone. Diane Stone.” Annja could hear Henry rustling through the papers on his desk. She’d been in his office once and remembered a massive steel affair almost completely covered with piles of loose papers and file folders. How he found anything was beyond her.

“I’m looking at the list of projects we have under way right now and I don’t see anything about Hungarian genealogy. Are you sure she said the U of B?”

“I thought so...”

“I’d check with Weigel at the University of Bonn. I seem to remember him mentioning something about bloodlines at the conference last month. Maybe you simply misheard her.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Henry. Thanks for the help.”

“You’re very welcome, Annja. When you’re done you should swing on over if you have some free time. Do this old man good to take a young lass like you out for dinner. I know a great restaurant right on the Danube that you’ll love.”

Annja laughed. Henry loved good food almost as much as he loved history, which was another thing they had in common, and she had no doubt the restaurant he had in mind would be superb. “I’m due back in New York in a few days to edit our latest shoot, but if we finish early I’ll give you a call.”