Blood Walk Part 50

2

Being cleared of suspicion in the break-in changed nothing back in Homicide either. The activity in the squadroom continued to flow around him as though he were invisible. He went back to his book and speculation. If Lane broke into the Foundation, why had she bypa.s.sed the perfect opportunity to finish the frame? Maybe, he decided hopefully, she was not responsible after all. The burglary did not have to be connected with this case at all. It could have been just some junkie aware of a medical facility there and hoping to find drugs.

In the file cabinets?a thought mocked him.

Questions without answers. Garreth tried to forget them for the time being and concentrate on the book.

He still had trouble enjoying it. Mrs. Stroda's comment on how Fowler's characters treated other people as disposable tools came back to him. The protagonist callously used and discarded several colleagues and supposed friends. Garreth found himself almost regretting that the tall brunette, who proved to be working for the other side, failed in her attempt to kill the hero.

A feeling of danger jerked him up out of the book. Looking around swiftly, he saw nothing new or threatening in the squadroom, only Faye and Centrello marching in with their lunches in carryout boxes.

Lunch! He lurched to his feet. From one of the boxes came the scent of garlic rolls! Panic exploded in him as air turned to concrete in his lungs. Suffocation! Clawing at the turtleneck of his s.h.i.+rt, fighting for breath, he bolted for the door and the untainted air of the corridor. Someone shouted behind him but he kept going.

The odor of garlic hung in the corridor, too, marking the carryout's pa.s.sage. The movement of air was dispersing it, though.

That made the air just syrup instead of concrete. He sagged against the wall, head thrown back, eyes closed, and concentrated on forcing the syrup in and out of his lungs.

Footsteps pounded toward him. He opened his eyes to find Serruto, Faye, and Centrello piling out through Homicide's door and screeching to a halt in the middle of the corridor, staring at him. Other people in the corridor stared, too.

"Mikaelian, what the h.e.l.l are you doing?" Serruto demanded.

How did he answer without giving himself away? Why not the same excuse he gave Maggie for his tenseness in movie theaters.

"Sorry. I get . . . claustrophobic sometimes."

Serruto raised a skeptical brow. "Claustrophobic? That looked more like a panic attack to me. How long have you had them?

Is this what happened in the restaurant the day Harry got shot?"

Faye and Centrello exchanged grimaces. Garreth groaned inwardly. Terrific. Now they thought he was psycho. "No, this is something different," he snapped. "It's a reaction to being a murder suspect."

Serruto scowled. "Don't get cute. Are you over whatever it is now?"

The undertone of genuine concern dissolved Garreth's anger. He sighed and nodded. "I will be if I can stand out here a minute longer."

"Faye, Centrello, stay with him."

Serruto turned and went back into the squadroom.

Mischief glinted in Faye's eyes and tweaked a corner of his mouth. "Panic attack. Partner, I know we're ugly, but this is the first time it's sent someone screaming from the room."

Garreth managed a weak smile. "Not you, your garlic rolls. Garlic has some bad a.s.sociations for me."

Faye grinned. "It does, huh. Aha! Another vampire."

Only the detective's grin prevented a surge of panic. "Anothervampire?"

"Sure. You and Clarence 'Count Dracula' Parmley. When we answered that call the other morning, he met us in the hall outside the apartment and wouldn't go back in." Faye's voice went high and mincing. "The place positively reeks. I almost didn't find him because of it. I only went storming in because I was so furious at Ricky for fixing Italian food when heknows I can't tolerate garlic."

Shock jolted Garreth, followed by a rush of relief. Garlic! Then Lane could not possibly be involved.

Centrello's long face distorted in a grimace and rolling eyes. "I didn't smell anything, but he swore garlic was there, and he refused to stay at the apartment even after the body was removed. He insisted on going to a hotel, only then he started carrying on about how was he going to reach the hotel when it was daylight outside." Centrello shook his head.

Faye chuckled. "Fortunately Fowler knew how to handle him."

Garreth started. "Fowler?"

"Yeah. He was in the squadroom when the call came and asked to ride along. You should have seen him. It was a cla.s.s act, man. With a perfectly straight face he tells the Count that in Stoker's book Dracula moved around in daylight, so another vampire should be all right, too, as long as he wears a hat to shade him from direct sunlight. Then he takes the Count downstairs and puts him in a cab for the Bay Vista Hotel."

Fowler? Garreth frowned. Later when Harry and Girimonte started talking about visiting the Count, Fowler gave the impression of never- "Ready to go back inside?" Centrello asked.

With the garlic rolls? Garreth shuddered inwardly, forgetting Fowler. Garlic rolls or not, though, he could not stand out here all day. "Maybe if we leave the hall door open and I sit near it." Where air currents from the corridor would carry the deadly scent away from him.

He eased into a chair by Kevin Chezik's desk, the closest to the door, and took a cautious breath. Yes, this might work. The air tasted mostly clear of garlic. "Centrello, toss my book over, will you?"

Centrello skimmed it across the room like a frisbie, nodding approval when Garreth plucked it from the air.

Instead of opening the book, however, Garreth ran a finger across a puddle of blood pictured on the dust jacket. Garlic in the apartment. If there really were, and he had only the Count's word on it, that ruled out not only Lane as Maruska's killer but any other vampire as well. It also explained how someone other than a vampire could overpower Maruska.

So he needed to confirm or disprove the presence of garlic.

Garlic was insurance against vampires, Holle's housekeeper said, implying all vampires. So it had to be a physiological, not just psychological, reaction. Which meant someone affected must show physical signs. The autopsy on Maruska found severe pulmonary edema. Thinking about it, that was how the garlic reaction felt, like his lungs swelling shut.

Chezik was not at his desk, and aside from an occasional glance toward the desk, no one appeared to be paying much attention to Garreth. He picked up the phone and dialed the coroner's office. "This is Garreth Mikaelian in Homicide. May I speak to any available pathologist?"

A minute later a female voice came on the line. "This is Dr. Alvarez. How may I help you, Inspector?"

"What causes severe pulmonary edema?"

The voice on the other end paused before answering. "There are several possiblities. Cardiac failure is one, also electric shock or allergic reaction-"

"Allergic reaction?"Bingo! "Thank you very much, doctor."

He hung up thoughtfully. So chances were good that Maruska's killer was human after all. But . . . who? The killer had tailed Garreth around the city night after night. He had seen no one following him, however, not ever. It was understandable, acceptable, that another vampire could do that, but . . . ahuman?

Holle's housekeeper talked about keeping an atomizer of garlic juice. Her guilt would also explain why there was no evidence of anyone breaking into the Holle house, but how could she possibly have followed him? The killer had to be someone else, someone who knew Garreth before the first murder, someone athletic and skilled in the art of surveillance.

Fowler's name stared up at him from the cover of the book's dust jacket. Garreth traced the letters with his finger. Strange how the writer had not mentioned riding along with Faye and Centrello on the original call about Maruska's death. More than strange.

Suspicious. He had, in fact, acted surprised at the name Maruska's roommate used. Why should he pretend he had never heard it before unless he wanted to hide his previous contact?

Garreth leaned back in his chair. Could Fowler be tied to the other killings? Maybe. The writer had been in North Beach the night of the scuffle with Ricky Maruska. He could have seen it, and heard the remark Maruska tossed back climbing into the john's car. Fowler appreciated the difference between theoretical and applied knowledge and went for the latter when doing research. So he probably knew burglary techniques. Look at his demonstrated wizardry with handcuff locks. So he could have gotten into both the Foundation and Holle's house. Surveillance had to be part of his research, too. Could he actually follow someone, though, and how could he tail a vampire without being seen?

On top of that Fowler lacked one vital qualification for a suspect . . . motive. What reason could he have for killing three men and torturing two of them?

Did Irina know about the garlic? Garreth wondered. He picked up the phone again. If so, maybe she could be persuaded to tell him what she knew about the killer. If not, she ought to be told, warned that an unfriendly human knew vampires existed.

"I'm sorry, Miss Rudenko isn't here," the Philos receptionist said when Garreth asked for Irina.

He had not really expected her to be. "Will you please see that she gets a message? It's very urgent. This is Garreth Mikaelian.

Tell her there was garlic in Ricky Maruska's apartment at the time of his death and we need to talk about it. I should be here in the Homicide section at the Hall of Justice the rest of the day but all evening I can be reached at 555-1099."

"I'll tell her, Officer."

He hung up. Now all he could do was hope she showed up there this evening, and that she bothered to call back.

3

Girimonte showed up again about four o'clock, alone. She dropped into her chair and lit a cigar. "Harry had to make a pit stop.

Did you have an exciting day, Mikaelian?"He gave her a thin smile. "Rewarding. I'm too short to be the Philos burglar."

"Too bad." She dragged at the cigar. "Everyone we talked to says about the same thing about Holle. He was a quiet, friendly man who always had room to put someone up for the night, was always a gracious host and never too busy to lend a hand if someone needed it. He didn't make enemies. And no one has ever heard of a Lane Barber." She blew out smoke. "Face it, Mikaelian; you're still our best suspect. Why not just save us all trouble by confessing. You can probably beat the rap with an insanity plea. Just say your condition has unbalanced you . . . vitamin deficiencies due to your diet. The Twinkie defense revisited."

Garreth clenched his fists in his jacket pockets. Her blood scent curled around him with the sweet smell of her cigar. A pulse throbbed visibly in her long mahogany throat. He watched it, malicious hunger licking at him. Perhaps there was a human or two after all he would not mind drinking from.Better not wander into any alleys with me, Girimonte.

The squadroom door, shut now that the smell of garlic had dissipated, opened. Harry came in . . . not alone. "Look what I stumbled over at the elevator."

Lien followed Harry, but it was the woman behind her who brought Garreth jumping to his feet. "Grandma Doyle! What are you doing here?"

His grandmother gave him a broad smile. "Why else but to visit me own dear grandson?"

Lien said, "I know you want to spend time with Harry, Garreth, but today would you be willing to leave early with Grania and me?"

The name puzzled him for a moment. After a lifetime of calling her just Grandma Doyle, it was hard to remember that she had a regular name: Grania Megan Mary O'Hare Doyle.

Girimonte straightened in her chair, frowning. Garreth caught Harry's eye questioningly.

Harry glanced past in the direction of Serruto's office. Garreth did not turn around to see the lieutenant's reaction, but when Harry's eyes s.h.i.+fted back to Garreth, Harry dipped his chin in a.s.sent. As Garreth moved past him toward the door, he warned, "Stay with them. If I hear you've taken off on your own, we'll be after you with a warrant."

Garreth gave him a thin smile. "I don't throw away an alibi, Harry."

Riding down in the elevator he said, "Grandma, do Mom and Dad know you're here?" He had uneasy visions of Phil Mikaelian calling his old buddies and setting every law enforcement agency in the state looking for her.

She sniffed. "Am I a child, that I need permission to go where I wish? I've been looking after meself quite well, thank you, since I was seventeen." She paused. "I left them a note."

Maybe only the San Francisco police would be asked to check on her. "Why did you really come?"

This time she did not smile. "I saw you last night, lying dying and someone laughing like the devil's own above you." Her eyes flashed. "I'll not sit home knitting when me flesh and blood are in mortal danger."

Despite the wash of fear in him, he wanted to hug her. And despite the fear, he could not resist pointing out an error in her Feeling. "Not from a violet-eyed woman."

She gave him the same withering stare she used to in church just before thumping him on the head with a knuckle. "There's a violet-eyed woman involved, isn't there?"

He wilted under the stare as he always had. "Irina Rudenko."

She smiled in satisfaction. "I went to Lien's studio from the bus station. I see why you like her. She's a fine, intelligent woman.

We've been discussing you."

His stomach took a sickening plunge. "Grandma-" The elevator opened. Catching her arm, he hurried her out, down the corridor, and into the parking lot. "Grandma, please, you didn't tell her-"

"What you've become?" Lien said from behind him. "She didn't have to; I already knew. After our talk last night, I opened your thermos."

His stomach dropped. He turned slowly. "And from that you figured out the rest." Exactly what he had been afraid of.

She smiled. "After all, I am Chinese, and we understand that reality is not as simple as it appears. Once we made G.o.ds out of characters in novels. If fiction can be considered real, then it follows that some of what we consider fiction may be real. It's a relief to finally understand your behavior."

Belatedly he realized she was not shrinking from him, nor regarding him with revulsion. "And . . . you don't mind?"

Her chin snapped up. "Of course I mind! Look how unhappy it's made you. I'd like to kill that woman for what she's done to you! But I accept what you are, of course. What else can I do?"

He could hardly believe what he heard. "You . . . aren't afraid of me?"

"Afraid of someone I love?" she said indignantly.

He stared at her in wonder. Knowing about him had not changed her feelings toward him? Could it be Irina's "hold" on Holle and the housekeeper was not one of fear after all, that humans and vampires could actually be friends?

"I did wonder where you collected a thermos of blood," Lien went on. "It was . . . rea.s.suring to realize that the lip and lid of the thermos smelled of horse." She peered anxiously at him. "Is this change in you responsible for the trouble between you and Harry?"

"Partly." As long as she knew about him, he might as well give her some of the rest. "I thought at first a vampire was responsible for these murders, but since I couldn't tell anyone that, I investigated on my own. Harry suspects I know more about the case than I'll admit. Since he doesn't know why I'm keeping the information to myself, he-" No, he could not tell her about being a suspect!

"He a.s.sumes I'm shutting him out to grab the glory of the collar for myself."

"You're a terrible liar," Grandma Doyle said. "Why don't you admit he's afraid you're the killer."

Her Feelings were just too d.a.m.n accurate!

Lien caught her breath. "Oh, G.o.d. Poor Harry. Poor Garreth. I wish you'd trusted our friends.h.i.+p enough to confide in us."

Guilt stabbed him. If only he had.

His grandmother poked him. "There's no point feeling guilty about that now. What's done is done."

Lien nodded. "Now we have to clear up this ridiculous mess. Tell us what to do."

Warmth spread through him. What super ladies, both of them. He shook his head. "You do nothing. I don't want you involved.