Page 23 of Whispers at Dusk
The space they had been given offered a large whiteboard. From the time they arrived and surveyed the space, Della was at work—after having asked their colleague if they minded—marking out what they knew on the board in one section, what they were speculating about in another, and the information they had on the victims in yet another column. While she worked, the others chose spaces at the desks supplied in the room and discussed what they had so far and what the day had brought.
“My fear is we have aheadvampire, if you will,” Mason told the others. “And he is attracting a following. But I don’t believe it’s a case where he would just rile people up. They must do things his way and do them right. If I am correct, I believe ourheadvampire is responsible forpracticemurders in the United States and for the first murders—but we might discover he has taken on, trained, or allowed a recruit here in Norway.”
Lapierre nodded gravely. “Yes, he will be very careful as far as allowing followers—he is pursuing a myth, or...”
“Or there’s an agenda,” Della said, turning around to look at them all. “But what the hell it can be, I sure can’t figure yet.”
Edmund nodded. “There have been cases in history in which a killer struck at random victims as aserialkiller so the intended victim would be chalked up to someone who will never be caught. A bit likeStrangers on a Train. If you have a solid alibi for a killing, you go free. And the first people we look at in a murder investigation are those closest to or rebuffed in some way by the victim.”
As they spoke, Wilhelm glanced at his phone and then headed toward the door.
François Bisset, their Interpol agent, had arrived. They all rose to meet him, and Della left her board to walk over and join them.
Bisset was of medium height, a pleasant-looking man with soft blue eyes but a solid handshake. He quickly assured them they were the investigators. His job was to see they all accessed whatever they needed from local law enforcement wherever they might be, and to mediate with any difficulties they might have. As they spoke, Mason’s phone rang.
It was Angela, and Mason excused himself to take the call.
“Anything new?” he asked her.
“We’ve been collecting information, of course, from all the law departments involved. We’ll be the central point, getting all information to you at your European headquarters as soon as we gather it—that way none of you are tied to a desk. But I’m afraid it’s as you feared. The DNA has been resolved on the cases in Paris and London. The first, as you know, was the suspected hitman, Judson Burns. That was the same on the first young lady discovered in London. But on the second, the DNA belonged to another man who was the suspect in the murder of a business executive killed on Baker Street. That suspect was Ned Romano—who died mysteriously in a London jail while awaiting trial.”
“Mysteriously?”
“Poisoned.”
“Ah. So, dead men are turning into vampires.”
He could hear Angela sighing over the wire. “It doesn’t matter that it’s ridiculous. Sane minds will immediately eschew the idea these criminals are walking the world again as vampires now. The media will run riot if they get a hold of any of the details.”
“What about this archaeological dig that’s going on here. Can you compile—”
“I’m on it. There are at least forty professionals involved with it from eight countries: USA, Norway, of course, Denmark, Sweden, England, France, Italy, and Romania. As I’m sure you’re aware, it’s not as easy gathering all that’s needed when our pool of people is from so many places. And not only do you have the professional archaeologists, including forensic archaeologists, historians, and so on, you also have paid workers who are catering food, digging in the dirt, and supplying support. It’s a nightmare.”
“Thankfully, I hear you’re great with nightmares.”
“Oh, yeah. This nightmare might just take a night,” she said dryly. “Or more. But we’re looking into everyone involved, hoping for something.”
“All right. Thank you. Well, we have a lead that may or may not pan out. A new friend suggested to Della we should find a fellow who frequents a local bar and tells the bartender his Bloody Marys are good but don’t compare to the real thing. We’ll head over there soon.”
“Keep me apprised,” Angela told him. “And I’ll report frequently, even if we have nothing to report.”
“Ah, but you will have something to report. You’re investigating those involved with the dig.”
“Who may have nothing to do with it. The dig started up a few months ago. If this is one killer, they’ll have had to have been in Paris, London, and then Lillehammer at the right dates—and if they’ve been working—”
“It’s not that hard to move around Europe. Put a bunch of countries together and you’re still not talking the full size of the US.”
“There’s still movement,” Angela reminded him. “The techs and I will get all the information we need, but there’s no guarantee—”
“Gut?” he asked.
“Pardon?”
“Gut feeling,” he told her. “And while that’s not scientific—”
“Sometimes, it’s everything,” she said.
“Thanks.”
