Page 108 of Whispers at Dusk
“What will you have?” he asked her.
Whatever it was, she’d have more.
So much more...
As she sat down, smiling, eager and adventurous, he thought that his night was going to go beautifully.
Yes, the king was dead—incarcerated.
But then again...
Long live the king!
One
Della Hamilton looked out the window as they drove from Heathrow Airport to the center of London, Detective Edmund Taylor driving and her partner, Mason Carter, seated behind her.
She took a moment to close her eyes and imagine that they were there for a fun vacation, to enjoy the sights.
She loved the city of London. A history buff, she’d been fascinated as a teenager to visit with her parents, to roam the halls of the Tower of London and ride over London Bridge, visit the remaining Roman sites, stare at the legendary Big Ben and marvel at the beauty and the stories to be discovered within the hallowed ground of Westminster Cathedral.
She hadn’t been back since she’d been a college student, and on that trip, she’d revisited a few of her favorite historic sites, but she’d also spent time in Chelsea, Covent Gardens and other areas for the nightlife and fun with friends.
Now...
Now, she was Special Agent Della Hamilton and part of a unique unit within the FBI. She and Mason had been assigned to a new “assistance” force, and thus they headed to Europe when the need arose. They had started out on a case in which a killer had skipped from country to country, his method of killing unique. They’d been able to trick him into being captured when he’d returned to the United States and, through his taunting, they had learned that he had more followers—doing some of the killings attributed to him—than they had previously expected.
And so now...
London. A city of over eight million people, busy with their day-to-day lives, most good citizens, hard-working human beings. And yet, like anywhere in the world, there were those among humanity who were not quite so decent. In fact, they might be described as purely evil.
“We’ve had some bloody whack jobs in this city,” Edmund Taylor said, his eyes on the road, his head shaking as he stared hard ahead. “Just in the last decade we had a man who killed his victims, chopped them up—and ate their brains. And other body parts, I believe. He was incarcerated, released and killed again, once again chopping up his victim and eating their brains until he was rearrested. We have no death penalty and he was sentenced to a secure mental facility, but...” He paused, shaking his head, and Della had to wonder if he wasn’t wishing that, in certain cases when a killer escaped to kill and kill again, there might be a death penalty in Great Britain.
But Edmund just shook his head and continued with, “All throughout its history, there have been incidents that defy anything resembling normality. Going all the way back to Jack the Ripper. Latest case in point, our so-called Vampire King—a man I am entirely grateful to see incarcerated and behind bars, thanks, of course, to Blackbird and the two of you.”
From the back seat, Mason leaned forward to speak. “Blackbird! We’re a team. And working as a team, we got Dante. But the man is claiming that he didn’t do the killing in London—and when he made those claims, he didn’t know that Della was in contact with all of us and that his words were recorded. But those victims he was referring to were killed by his method—the victims were drugged, carefully exsanguinated, and left as sleeping beauties.”
Edmund nodded. “We don’t know just how many killers there may be—but we’ve gone through every bit of evidence we have, which is sadly not much. Dante was good about teaching his people that forensics are at a point these days where a single hair can identify a killer. And he also made a point of leaving bodies where they’d be discovered but not before the elements around them had compromised whatever might be found. He isn’t saying more, right?”
“One of our agents who is also a criminal psychiatrist has been working with him,” Mason said. “And, so far, he knows what we surmised. You were with us in the bayou. He said he killed in France, but not all the victims in Norway—or in London. Dante was great at finding those people who were seeking something in life that they didn’t have. Some looking for any excuse to kill and some believing in whatever ridiculous story he told them. Hopefully, any of the true idiots he had among his followers never got to the point of murder—and are scared to death now that he has been taken and, in the United States, may well face lethal injection. Of course, every country where he killed wants a crack at him, but...”
“But?” Edmund asked.
“I think even the most peace-loving countries in the world want a man like him removed with no possibility of parole or escape,” Della provided flatly.
Edmund didn’t respond, but watching him, she knew that he might agree.
“I’m always conflicted,” she told him. “There is no undoing an execution if it’s later proven that someone was innocent. But sometimes, when evidence is overwhelming, and a killer does get out and kill and kill again... I guess we wouldn’t be human if we didn’t wish it could be stopped.”
“Of course,” Edmund murmured.
She turned and glanced at Mason. He was serious, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead. She was glad that he was her partner for so many reasons. She had been hesitant about him at first—before they’d met on a case, he’d been working solo for a year because his partner had been killed in the line of duty. That did something to any law enforcement officer. But while he hated to kill, he was a crack shot and an excellent judge of when deadly force was necessary and when a suspect could be talked down. He had an extreme sense of justice. It also helped that he stood an intimidating six foot five, was incredibly fit and blessed with ink-dark hair and eyes so dark a blue they could appear almost black in shadows.
And it helped, of course, that in the Krewe, it was all right to fall for one’s partner. Krewe members were simply different—some said special, others said cursed—and for their work, it was important that they shared that difference.
They were simply a minute portion of the population.
Like many others—in law enforcement in general—she and Mason had also made the most of all their off-time. There was always a fine line that had to be observed. They cared. They cared deeply for the victims, for ending violence that was humanly possible to end. They also knew that they had to stop and smell the proverbial flowers when they could—they needed that space to stay sane and as prepared as humanly possible as well.
