Morning came sleepily as it tends to do as the year grows later, barely becoming light as everyone prepared for their day. All of us were in the kitchen getting coffee or breakfast or just chilling. I sipped at my coffee as I leaned against Michael, letting it and him warm me through and finish waking me up.
Antun’s phone rang and he looked down at it with drawn brows. He answered it, “Jones?”
I glanced up, worried. Did something happen? Was there another murder?
“Hold on, I need to put you on speaker, my hands are busy,” he went on, setting the phone on the counter. Putting a finger to his lips as he locked eyes with each of us, he then used that finger to put the phone on speaker. “You don’t usually call first thing in the morning, what’s up?”
“I was wondering if you’d be able to come in today and meet the psychiatrist who was recently assigned to the serial killings.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Antun said as he continued to butter his toast. “You didn’t already have a psych assigned?”
“With the way it’s escalated, the precinct wanted to bring in someone with a more extensive track record. His name’s Razvan Ilijev, and… are you okay, Antun?”
Antun was coughing and hacking, covering up the small sound of shock that came from Syla. “Sorry, toast down the wrong tube,” he lied with a rough voice. “You said his name was Razvan?”
There was no fucking way. The Razvan we knew of was in Oregon, a 500-year-old vampire in hiding… but he was a criminal psychologist. We all stared at each other in disbelief.
“Yeah. We’re borrowing him from our neighbors near the Oregon coast, in Astoria…”
What the actual hell? What were the odds that one of the vampires we were trying to keep track of would end up on our doorstep as part of the investigation?
I must’ve been lost in my thoughts because I heard Antun say, “He sounds like an interesting person. I’ll be there in an hour.” He paused before continuing, “Do you mind if I brought someone along with me? A friend, someone I owe for leaving behind before,” he said with a glance in Syla’s direction.
I could tell she was touched that he thought of including her this way. Sure, we all were “working the case,” so to speak, but Syla didn’t have a career or anything in particular to keep her mind busy, so this case had become even bigger for her. She’d pored over the files that Antun had brought home and knew the case better than possibly any of us.
“They’ll need to sign some paperwork but that shouldn’t be a problem. That said…” Jones’ voice grew a bit uncomfortable. “There’s something about this guy that’s… different. From what I’ve read, he has a nearly 100% success rate at getting confessions. And I can imagine how. Just being around him reminds me of the nuns at my school growing up; those ladies knew how to work guilt.
“Anyway, I’ll see you when you get here. Thanks for your help, Antun.”
“No problem. See you soon, Jones.” Antun hung up the phone. All of us stared at it as if we couldn’t believe what we had heard. He set it down and then leaned against the counter. “Well, that takes care of needing to go to Astoria.”
He looked up, his eyes connecting with Syla’s. “Well, sounds like you get to come along—”
Before he had even finished speaking, she was running for the stairs. “I need to get ready – I haven’t even gotten dressed!” I grinned at her excitement despite the circumstances. Seeing her light up at all was like watching the sun break from behind the clouds.
All too soon she was out of sight again and I remembered – Razvan. I looked at Michael and Antun, not bothering to mask my unease. “So, what’s the plan now?”
Michael looked a bit flummoxed, a hand scratching his cheek as he shrugged. Antun’s response was, “We’ll talk about it tonight, after everyone is back. We should have a better idea of what – and who – we’re dealing with then.”
❖ 🩸 ❖
It was nearly impossible to stay focused on work. My mind kept wandering back to Antun and Syla. But more especially, it kept circling Razvan. I wasn’t expecting to hear from them, but with every minute they didn’t text, I became more and more anxious.
Michael, for his part, seemed to be holding up better than I was. For all intents and purposes, he appeared to be working as easily as usual. But during lunch when he came to my office to walk with me, I could see it in his eyes. He looked as penned up as I felt.
When it was finally time to go home, I felt like we couldn’t get to the car fast enough. Michael may have pushed the speed limit as we sped up the highway. The lights were on when we pulled in – they were home. I could barely keep up with Michael’s long strides as we walked inside.
Upstairs in the living room, Syla was nursing a cup of tea while Antun sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, working on his laptop. They both looked up as we entered.
The question spilled out of me. “How’d it go?”
Antun turned to Syla. “Gee, I feel so loved. Not even a ‘Hi, how are you.’ Pssh. ”
The corner of Syla’s mouth lifted but she said, “Don’t be a pest. They’ve surely been at the edge of their seats all day waiting to hear how things went.” She turned to look at us. “But that said, would either of you like some tea before we start?”
“If Drew’s feeling anything like me, I don’t care about anything other than hearing how today went at the precinct.”
I nodded along with what Michael had said, my head bobbing faster than a sewing machine needle.
“Okay, we’ll quit being mean,” Antun assured. “Sit down and we’ll tell you everything.”
Michael sat in a chair, and I perched myself on the arm of it. His arm wrapped around me, his hand resting on my thigh. We stared at the two of them expectantly. As we waited for the story…
❖ 🩸 ❖
Later, Antun explained, he and Syla got to the precinct probably around the same time Drew and Michael had gotten to the office that morning. Jones was already there, giving Razvan a brief tour of the precinct to help familiarize him with the place. He lifted a hand in greeting when he saw them approaching.
“Antun,” he greeted simply. “Who’ve you brought with you today?”
“This is my dear friend, Syla. She has a particularly keen eye so I thought her insight might be of benefit,” Antun answered.
“It’s an honor to make your acquaintance,” Syla replied politely afterwards. Then she directed to Jones, “Detective Jones, was it? Antun told me there’s something I needed to sign first?”
“Why don’t you come with me, Syla, so we can get everything completed. Antun, why don’t you wait here with Dr. Ilijev, we’ll be right back.” Jones motioned with a hand for Syla to follow him, and soon it was just Antun and the doctor.
Antun stuck his hand out. “Dr. Ilijev.”
“Antun,” the doctor replied familiarly as he accepted the handshake, firm but quick. It felt like an evaluation of its own.
“So, you know who I am, then?” Antun could tell by the man’s tone that he recognized him. He dropped his voice quieter as he said, “I and some friends of mine would be very interested in speaking with you.”
“Is that so?” the doctor mused, not giving away a thought. “Anything to help a brother. We’ll meet at my hotel, the Sorrento. Will tomorrow night be soon enough?”
An interesting choice of word, thought Antun. “I don’t see why we can’t make that work,” Antun assured quietly as he saw Syla and Jones making their way back to them.
Jones nodded his head at them. “Why don’t we take this to my office?” One of the perks for being a senior detective was getting his own office space recently – an upgrade from the bullpen in many respects.
Inside the small space was a messy desk covered in files and partly full to-go coffee cups, a whiteboard with theories and photos, and a collage wall to rival the ones at Antun’s home. Quickly, Jones tried to tidy his desk area, pulling out the chair. “Miss Tanner,” he offered.
She nodded graciously, but her smile was strained after seeing all the posted photos upon stepping inside. Crime scenes. Victims. Antun noticed, but something else caught his attention even more: Razvan’s reaction. Or rather, his complete lack of one. Even seasoned officers would cringe at such a gruesome collection, but him? Not a twitch. No tightening mouth – just placid calm.
“To give you the most basic run down, these serial killings make no sense. None of the victims are connected, yet all have been killed in the same way – internally decapitated with their faces and heads burned. It makes no sense to me, I’d appreciate any insights you all might have,” the detective rubbed the back of his neck and his stubbled face as he talked.
“How many have been killed so far?” Syla asked.
“Eight,” the doctor stated. At the confused look on the detective’s face, for there were more than eight pictures of the victims, Razvan pointed out, “No one told me. There are eight different outfits in these photos. Just simple deduction.”
There had been another one between the last time Antun had spoken to Jones and that moment. Antun could tell that Syla had also done the math and was worried.
“Doctor,” the detective started, “Are you able to draw any guesses as to the kind of person our killer is? I know we don’t have a lot to go off of right now, but there will be more soon. The latest victim, a young woman, managed to scratch her attacker. Forensics scraped some blood from under her nails, they’re running DNA analysis now.”
“Blood, you say?” the doctor queried, as if he thought he hadn’t heard correctly before. Something about the way he’d said it made Antun’s attention sharpen.
Jones nodded, “Yeah. From what the coroner could see, she had no defensive wounds. The tests should tell us whether or not the blood is hers.”
Antun was watching the doctor even more closely now, wondering what about that would be so interesting to him. Syla said nothing, eyes shuddering every time she looked at one of the photos but staying strong.
“Sounds like the killer might be getting sloppy. There could be various factors for that. Is there anything about this victim that stands out from the rest besides the blood under the nails?”
“She is the youngest of all of them, just turned twenty years old a few weeks previous. But like before, there has been no connection to any of the other victims. They don’t even use the same grocery store, for God’s sake.” The detective was weary, and the longer this went on, the more people would lose their lives.
“I see,” was all the doctor said in response, hands in his pockets. His back was straight, but posture relaxed, as if this were just another day at the office for him. Antun supposed it was actually, given that this was the man’s career. Still, the ease with which he viewed these people’s deaths gave Antun a queasy feeling in his stomach. He hid it with a mask well practiced over 500 years.
“Do you mind if we take a copy of the files with us, so we can look through them later?” Antun wanted to get Syla out of here. He was impressed by how well she was holding together, but he hadn’t even thought about how seeing photos of the dead victims would affect her. She’d seen enough dead bodies, she didn’t need to keep looking at the photos all around the room, too…
❖ 🩸 ❖
“… And that’s basically how it went,” Antun finished. “Jones gave us a copy on here,” he held up a USB drive, “so we can get started.”
“So, what’s the plan then? Meeting him at Hotel Sorrento tomorrow?” I asked, wanting to be sure that we were on the same page.
Michael took the USB and snagged Antun’s open laptop, sticking it into the port on the side. He sat back and I looked down at the screen as the files began to populate it.
Antun nodded. “We’ll plan on going right after you guys get off and meet you there.”
I gasped when I saw the first crime scene photo. A body, its head twisted unnaturally and face scorched completely, the hair mostly burned away. The only way I could tell she had once been a woman was from her body, dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt. I looked down. Clothes like what I’m wearing right now. I couldn’t help the shiver that ran through me. Killed as if she were a vampire. She could’ve been me.
Except she got another life. I was screwed.
