Page 64 of Whispers at Dusk
Della watched as he put through the call. They were on the street so he didn’t put the phone on Speaker. She watched as he frowned, finally thanked Angela, and ended the call.
“Well?”
“She went through the video logs on every visitor to the prisons where the men were that the saliva traced back to—going back several years. Then she had to cut down the possibilities, then try to do video comparisons. She’s come up with a possible.”
“A possible?”
He shrugged. “Hard to tell. But if it’s who she thinks it is, it all fits. Our head vampire went to the different prisons under different names—with impeccable false IDs each time. She believes, despite the cosmetic differences he had at each stop, he might be a man named Stephan Dante. He has dual citizenship—he was born in America, Slidell, Louisiana, but his father was born in Italy and his mother was born in France, meaning he can hop around the States and Europe when he chooses. But here’s where he gets interesting—he was a certified phlebotomist a few years ago, then he took a job as a makeup artist for a production studio. But he was convicted of stealing from the studio and did some time. But he has been out several years. He was released right about the time the strange unsolved murders occurred in the States. He speaks several languages fluently—among them Norwegian, German, French, and Italian.”
“Oh, my God!” Della breathed. “Angela has done it. That must be him. I mean...”
“At any rate, she’s sending pictures to us—and to all law enforcement involved—of the many different ways he appeared when he visited the prisons. And she’s sending his high school graduation picture to get an idea of what he looks like when he’s not playing with makeup and costuming.”
“Great,” Della said. “Then maybe, if he is here... Well, we’ll get an idea. Do you think he was the one in the cape below our rental apartments in Lillehammer?”
“If so, he had help. Because he disappeared in a car.”
“Did Angela check on everyone involved with the dig outside Lillehammer?”
“Yes. But it was impossible to know if he was ever there because the records on people hired just to move the heavy dirt are sketchy at best. But even the important archaeologists came and went. She’s sent all the information to us. Tonight... Well, let’s seriously study all the pics before we head out. But she’s also sent us a list of people who came and went. It’s extensive.”
They reached the hotel and saw Detective Robertson seated in the lobby, studying his phone.
When he saw them arrive, he rose, nodded, and waited for them to sit as well.
“I’ve been going over the pictures,” he said, adding dryly, “It’s a pity this guy is a psychotic killer. His talent with makeup and disguise is grand.” He looked at them, shaking his head. “We could pass him on the street within arm’s reach and not even know it. Anyway, I’ve seen to...our Orkney victim. Elizabeth MacDougall’s cousin arrived, and she said she talked to Elizabeth when she arrived here. Elizabeth was excited to head out for the night. She’d been to Scotland at least twenty times, but she’d never made it up to the Orkneys before. She wanted to see the nightlife of Kirkwall. So we know she did head out at night, and it is likely she headed to the new pub. She would have been pointed in that direction most likely by anyone she met.”
“We’re ready to hopefully follow in her steps,” Della told him. “Did we find any witnesses? Anyone who saw her out before she disappeared?”
He sighed. “We’ve had her name and picture out there, begging for help. Naturally, our tip line received dozens of calls. She was seen at the new pub, she was seen on the street, and she was even seen drifting above the ground by one caller. So far, we have nothing really substantiated.”
“How are we doing on forensics?” Della asked.
Robertson leaned forward and nodded grimly. “Better along that avenue. We’re sending the DNA results from the cigarette butt across the globe, and yes, the blood on the butt belonged to our victim. We may finally have something from that. And as for the stone...it’s local limestone, shined to appear to be marble. Etched by a simple tool. Whoever wrote on it most likely acquired it right here in Orkney. What have you seen in the pictures Special Agent Angela Hawkins sent?” he asked.
“We’re just getting to them,” Mason said.
“Right, of course, I just received them as well.” He glanced at his watch. “Detectives Lapierre and Taylor have received them, too. I imagine they’ll be down, still going through them.”
Della had just started looking at the pictures herself.
The man in them appeared with brown hair. Blond hair. No hair—a skullcap, she assumed. He knew how to use prosthetics—his nose was big, small, straight, and hooked.
At last, she got to the high school graduation picture of their subject. He would have been younger, of course, and yet, if he’d been walking the streets as himself, his facial features would be much the same.
“We were told,” Mason said, “that there’s a crew here filming a show intended for a cable channel. Do you know anything about that?”
Robertson looked at him, nodding. “Right, indeed. It’s been in our news as well, of course.” He grimaced and let out a sigh. “It’s a detective show. They’re playing on the old Burke and Hare story, not using the history, but it revolves around a present-day private eye seeking murderers who are selling human organs on the black market. Of course, the private eye is struggling because it’s costume season. They have a made-up holiday going on. Yes, we’re all finding dress-up and Halloween fun these days, but nothing here like in America. They should have filmed in Venice during Carnevale. There you have some costumes.”
“But this filming makes it easy for our killer to dress up and blend in,” Della said.
She was listening, paying attention to the conversation, and also looking at the pictures Angela had sent.
“The production company is called Lochlean Films. The producer on this—Frasier MacLean—is also the director. I’ll call and set up a meet for whenever you’d like,” Robertson said.
“Thank you. If our fellow is good, I’d be willing to bet he’s made himself part of the film crew,” Mason said.
Della paused, frowning as she studied the high school picture of the man who was most likely their main vampire.
