The Lingering Dead (19 page)

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Authors: J. N. Duncan

BOOK: The Lingering Dead
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He pointed down at the sidewalk. “You're over a foot from the curb.”
“We were just heading out,” she said.
He ripped off a copy of the ticket and handed it to her. “Good. See that you don't come back.”
Jackie glanced at the ticket. The fine was five hundred dollars. “Jesus Christ! Five hundred for a parking violation?”
“We enforce our laws around here,” he said. “I see you again and maybe you'll see what we do for harassment charges.”
The ticket crumpled up in her fist. “You threatening me, Carson?”
He stuffed the ticket pad back into his pocket and that thin line of a mustache twisted up into a smile. “It's no threat. You've worn out your welcome here, all of you. Come back and I'll see to it you spend a night in my cozy little cell.”
Nick stopped at her side, his hand settling gently on the back of her arm. “Let's go, Jackie. This is trouble we don't need.”
“That's right,” Carson said. “I'm trouble you don't need. Might try listening to your man there, Ms. Rutledge.”
Jackie jerked her arm away from Nick. “
When
I come back, Carson, you better hope Rebecca Thatcher is still alive, because if anything has happened to her, I'm coming after you first.”
The worm on his lip drifted back down. “Rebecca? You think I have a problem with the Thatchers?” He laughed, the belly hanging over his belt jiggling with mirth. “You guys are dumber than I thought.”
Shelby suddenly appeared between them, and Jackie's forward momentum carried her into Shelby's back. “You'll have to excuse, Ms. Rutledge,” she said. “She has some authority issues.”
Nick slipped his hand around Jackie's arm more firmly this time. “Jackie, leave this. Let's go.”
Hon, this isn't the time or place,
Laurel said.
Don't jeopardize the case for this. He'll get what's coming.
Jackie turned away and marched around to the front of the car. “He's going down,” she said and yanked open the door. “Got that, Carson? Your days as a cop are numbered.”
“You might see that she has a little more respect for authority,” Carson said.
Jackie watched Nick walk by in the rearview mirror and stop in front of Carson, standing nearly a head above him. “She has a great deal of respect for the law,” he said. “We just have no respect for you, Chief Carson. Good day.”
Shelby climbed into the driver's seat. “What a prick. Just take a breath, babe. I want to punch the little fucker just as much as you do.”
Nick finally climbed in. “All right. Let's get out of here, before I decide Jackie was right and we beat the life out of that sorry excuse for a cop.”
The Explorer wheeled around and Carson stared them down. “Stay out of my town,” he yelled.
Chapter 18
Jackie breathed in the sweet, familiar scents of FBI headquarters, picked up a Styrofoam cup of horrid coffee for old time's sake, and made the rounds of the office to say hello to anyone who was there. She had really hoped to see Belgerman, to fill him in personally on how things were going, but he was out for meetings. His presence would have been a comfort.
She gave McManus the rundown, who looked worried after hearing about the run-in with Carson.
“You're going back, aren't you?” he asked.
“Of course, we are,” Jackie said. “We aren't done yet.”
“And if he arrests you? You realize you're out of our jurisdiction over there. That's the Omaha office's area. They'll have to get you out.”
That might be an issue. Jackie did not really know anyone there. “What if things pan out the way we're thinking?”
“If you verify the paranormal activity, Belgerman should intervene,” he said. “It'll take me a few hours to get there regardless.”
“Then I'll just have to avoid getting arrested, won't I?” She smiled at his look of consternation. “Look. If we can prove a kidnapping or, God forbid, Charlotte Thatcher is a vampire, you should be able to get authority to move in and help, right?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Just don't jump the gun, Jack. I really don't want to deal with dragging your butt out of jail.”
“Don't worry. It'll be fine.”
He rolled his eyes at her. “Yeah. This is me not worrying.”
There was a knock on the conference room door, and the sketch artist came in.
Laur? You ready for this?
Of course. This will be fun.
Jackie smiled up at the bespectacled, rumpled man who carried nothing more than a laptop case. “Hi there. Ready to draw?”
There was actually no drawing at all, so thinking of the guy as a sketch artist had been something of a misnomer. After setting up the program, he led Jackie through an endless spectrum of questions, guided at narrowing down the details of Rebecca from the neck up. Jackie had never seen anyone operate this program before in person, so it was fascinating to see the generic face on the screen gradually morph into the likeness of the girl they were hoping to positively identify. An hour and two vile cups of coffee later, Laurel was finally satisfied with the image on the screen.
That's really close. At least as much as I can remember. Now for Charlotte?
Yeah, just give me a few minutes here.
She had the image sent down to Hauser to run against possible missing persons reports and had him run it on general description for as far back as the computers would allow within two hundred miles of Thatcher's Mill. If their theory held, they might get lucky and get a couple of hits on other girls who had disappeared over the years who matched Rebecca's general description.
When she was ready, they began working on Charlotte Thatcher's likeness. It was done about forty-five minutes later. Nick and Shelby were seated with them over the final fifteen minutes of the routine of relaying Laurel's information. Toward the end, Nick began to add some of his own alterations.
Jackie watched him point and make suggestions with growing trepidation. “It's her, isn't it, Nick. You can remember the details after so long?”
“It's the sort of thing that gets burned into your memory,” Nick replied. “You tend to remember those who've tried to kill you.”
An image of Morgan flashed through her mind, leering over her with wild-eyed madness, right before his possessed body had smashed her head against the floor and then bled out next to her. She would never forget that face. “So, is it her?”
“I can't be one hundred percent sure until I see her in person, but ...”—he sagged back in his chair, face grim with regret—“it sure looks like Charlotte Thatcher.”
“Fuck.” Vampires. Bloody, fucking vampires. “We have to be sure. This will change everything we've been doing.”
The images were put onto a memory stick and handed to Jackie. The image modeler, as he liked to call himself, closed up the laptop. “Will you be needing anything else?”
McManus got up and shook his hand. “No, thanks, Pat. You've been a big help.” When he was gone, McManus sat back down. “So. What's the next step?”
“We have to go see Charlotte Thatcher,” Jackie said. “It's the only way to verify the truth here.”
“And if it's true?” he asked.
Jackie's reply was interrupted by her phone. It was Hauser.
“Got something for you here, Jack. You might want to come down here and see.”
“On our way.” She clicked off the phone and got up. “Hauser's got something. Let's go see what it is.”
The geek room was its usual, dimly lit cavern aglow with computer screens. Several of the geeks hollered at Jackie and waved, who sheepishly waved back amid Shelby's chuckling. Hauser saved her, though, by waving them into his office, where his long, arcing desk housed three large computer screens.
Hauser surprised Jackie with a warm embrace. “Good to see you, Jack! Looking your usual, worn-out self, I see.”
“Sleep is for lazy, computer geeks,” she said. “It's nice to see you all again.”
He plopped down in his chair. “Yeah, well you will owe me a six pack after you see this. I think we finally got something for you.”
They gathered behind Hauser, who had one screen displaying a map with numerous red dots scattered across its surface, while the other had a picture of Rebecca Thatcher. It was displayed as part of the usual missing persons release police departments issued.
“Holy shit,” Shelby exclaimed. “There she is. Jessica Davies of Madison, Wisconsin.”
Jackie pointed at the other screen. “What's with all the points of interest on the map, Hauser?”
“Those,” he said with a smile, “are hits on missing persons reports matching the general description you gave me on this Rebecca girl. That's twenty year's worth.”
“Damn. How many are there?”
“Forty-seven,” he said, “but I haven't gone through them all yet to see if any can be weeded out. Notice a nice little pattern there?
Thatcher's Mill made a near perfect bull's-eye in the center of the red dots. “Even if half those victims are unrelated, that's a Rebecca a year for the past twenty years. Fuck. She could have a hundred victims.” The thought knotted her stomach. They could have one of the worst serial killers of all time on their hands.
“If it is indeed Charlotte,” Nick replied, “you're probably right.”
Jackie turned to him at the sound of his voice. He stared at the map on the screen or rather seemed to be staring through it to some far-off place. Shelby laid a hand on his shoulder.
“You had no idea back then, babe. You couldn't have known,” Shelby said.
Hauser looked up at them, confused. “Known what? What am I missing here?”
“I think I did,” Nick said quietly. “I just didn't want to believe it.”
“Nothing, Hauser,” Jackie replied. “Can you run the other girl just in case and then send it all over to Cynthia. We'll want this on our files at the office.”
“Sure thing, Jack. This get you what you need?”
“I think so. I'll buy you that six-pack when we're done,” she said. “We should get going.”
Back in the elevator, McManus was worried. “Jack, you guys aren't about to go after another vampire, are you?”
“We need to verify this,” she said. “I don't want to bring you guys in and have it all blow up in our faces. We've got that reporter, who isn't very sympathetic to our work, watching our every move.”
“I don't like this,” he said. “Belgerman won't either.”
“I know,” Jackie replied, “but I can't blow this on the first case. If we're wrong, this whole thing would turn into one, big clusterfuck.”
“You call the second you know. Don't try anything without backup.”
“Hey, I've learned my lesson on that one, don't worry.”
Shelby snorted with laughter at that and McManus shook his head. “See this face? This is my worried face again.”
Once out to the car, Shelby turned to Nick, jabbing a threatening finger at him. “Get over this right now, babe. You tried to help her then, and you couldn't. It's done. She's not that girl anymore.”
“No,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “She's not.”
Silence enveloped them and Jackie had no idea what to say to him. In her head, Laurel sighed.
Poor guy. This is going to be harder for him.
What do you mean? This is going to be difficult for everyone if we're right.
Oh, I think we are, but the last time Nick saw this girl, she was still just a girl who had probably just been changed by Drake. Her family had been slaughtered. She was terrified and angry and Nick couldn't help her.
She tried to kill him,
Jackie pointed out.
Because she saw what he was and took him for the same monster as Drake.
It's not like she gave him much choice in the matter.
Hon, would you have regrets, knowing what kind of life she had in store for her, knowing if given the chance you could have saved her from that fate?
Shelby gunned the engine, muttering under her breath and squealed the tires taking them out of the parking garage. Nick continued to stare out the window, lost in thought.
Shit. OK, I get it,
Jackie conceded.
Do you? If she's what we think, having done what she's done, become what she has become, we're going to have to destroy her. We can't put her in jail.
Jackie sighed.
Yeah, I know.
 
 
At the office, Cynthia had pizzas waiting. Nick said little, only grabbed a stainless steel bottle of synthetic blood and walked off to his office.
Cynthia watched him walk down the hall and shut the door to his office behind him. “What's going on?”
Shelby waved in his general direction and chomped down on a piece of pizza. “He's being a morose jackass is what he's doing.”
“Oh.” She carefully pulled off a slice of pizza and set it on her plate. “Why?”
“Because Charlotte Thatcher is a vampire and he's going to have to kill her.”
Cynthia turned and looked down the hall. “Isn't that ... ?”
“Yep.” Shelby nodded. “One and the same. I just hope he can when it gets down to it, because it's going to take all of us to pull this off.”
“Nick wouldn't do that to us,” Jackie said. There was no way.
“Not purposefully,” Shelby replied. She tossed two more slices of pizza on her plate. “I'm going to go cool off for a few, while our cowboy pulls his head out. Then maybe we can figure something out.” She marched off leaving Jackie and Cynthia at the front desk. Jackie sat down heavily into one of the visitor chairs across from the desk and ate her pizza.
“Long day?” Cynthia asked.
She shrugged. “No longer than any other. I was rather pleased with our progress until about an hour ago.”
“He'll come around, don't worry,” Cynthia said. “I've seen him get like this before.”
“Charlotte has probably killed dozens of young women,” Jackie said. “You lose your rights to whatever you were when that happens, so Nick shouldn't be stressing on this one.”
“Is it ever that simple?” Cynthia wondered.
“No.” Jackie knew enough, had seen enough to know it was never simple. “It's not. You don't do this kind of job for simple answers, but I know what you mean, Cyn. It's always worse when you know things could've been different. I can certainly relate to that.”
Cynthia gave her a sympathetic smile. “You should go talk to him.”
She nearly choked on her pizza. “And say what? I don't know what to say to him about something like this.”
“You don't have to,” she said. “Sometimes just being there is enough.”
Shit. I should go, shouldn't I?
Laurel said nothing and stepped out of her body and into the office. “I'm going to go sit with Shel for a few minutes and soothe some ruffled feathers.”
Cynthia smiled and waved. “Hi, Laurel. Good to see you.”
Jackie watched Laurel's body drift off through the walls. Cynthia only watched her in silent expectation. Finally Jackie huffed and dropped her pizza onto her plate and set it on the chair. “Fine. Print out that stuff McManus sent, would you, Cyn, and, you know, hold my calls.”

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