An Apple for the Creature Page 9

  “Right.” She pursed her lips. “Okay, so why are we headed to IC?”

  “To show you the next victims, we think. The student body has lots of, ah, susceptible people.”

  “So you know who is doing this?”

  “We have, ah, indications. High degree of probability. We don’t have enough to support a charge against it, or him, or whatever. Not yet. But we will.”

  “Give me a minute,” she said.

  A light rain began as they were passing the Williamsburg Interchange, and she spoke again. “Okay. Background.”

  “Thought you’d never ask,” he said. “That whole venomlike diagnosis thing? That got it started. It was referred to CDC in Atlanta. They told us, well, what to look for.”

  “It’s nationwide?”

  “Not quite. But they’ve found the same evidence in seven states. They described the circumstances of all the victims, including their social activities. Turns out that this venom shit is an STD, more or less.”

  “Let me get this. . . . This vampire dude, he has venom instead of semen? He screws them to death, right? Come on. That’s just gross.”

  “Oh, no. Just has to be direct contact with mucous membranes. That’s how the predator—because that’s what they are, predators—that’s how the predator transmits it. A kiss . . . getting saliva in contact with a mucous membrane, that’s all it takes. The gland that secretes the venom, or whatever, seems to be located right alongside the salivary glands. They say that a normal autopsy would never discover ’em.” George attempted to lighten it up just a bit. “Hell, I suppose it can be transmitted if it spits in your eye.”

  She sighed, loudly. “Just when I think I can get a grip on this, you toss something else in.”

  “Think how we felt as it developed,” he said. “And it gets worse. The CDC people say that the specimen they have there, male, is just about completely sterile. And they tell me that if he was gonna mate with another like him, they’d have a . . . well the term they finally gave me was a mule.”

  She just stared.

  “We’ve never seen a female, but we think they exist. CDC believes they’d be the same, though. Fertility-wise. So they need to mate with humans.”

  “I knew we’d get to the sex thing. I knew it.”

  “Not the way you think. They need to have lots of, you know, episodes, before they can have a successful reproduction. So they just keep doing it, and that’s what gets the victims into an overdose kind of state. With the venom. And they just can’t recover.”

  “That,” said Dillman, “makes no sense at all. If they were pregnant, then they’d kill them, and that would be the last thing they’d want.”

  “CDC thinks pregnancy brings some kind of immunity. Fetus is immune, of course, and it transfers to the mom through the blood or something.” He glanced over at her. “Hey, that’s just what they said. Beats the shit out of me altogether.”

  “So, like, it’s federal? And accidental to boot?”

  “First, that does explain why Norma is at the academy this week, doesn’t it? We don’t usually rate having the FBI as a participant.” George moved into the right lane. “No accident, though. This critter, it uses people, exhausts them, burns them up for what it considers their failure. The sample at CDC said that he’d get furious after so many attempts with a gal and he’d just step up the frequency in kind of a rage. He had to know what the result would be. Sometimes in just a few months. Sometimes over a period of years, depending on its particular whim, I guess.” He swerved right to get to their exit. “I have no idea how it works. The medical folks probably do. I do know that the chronic fatigue is the most remarkable symptom. It can really be deadly without, you know, being the cause of death. Three here in Iowa we believe just zonked out when driving. Killed in the wrecks, or died shortly after. One died when, according to witnesses, she just seemed to be in a daze and stepped out into traffic without looking. The baseline here is that we find out about it when the victim dies. So far, we’ve never examined a living victim, because we just can’t know who they are.” He took Exit 244, bringing them into Iowa City on Dubuque Street. The rain had become steady, and the background sounds of the wipers were a kind of comforting accompaniment. “The Iowa victims so far have all been female, under twenty-five, attractive, eager, and more trusting than not. Look around . . . see any potential victims?”

  “We have a couple thousand freshmen who that would fit, every year.”

  “Exactly. Where else would you find a similar group?”

  “Any university town.”

  “And that’s where we find these critters. Vampires, for want of a better term. But there are those who think that it’s just exactly what they are, or at least what’s referred to in some of the legends.”

  “Why Iowa?”

  He snorted. “Well, ya know,” he said, confidentially, “we’re a simple folk.” Old joke. “But for real . . . not so many cops, not so many nut cases. Nut cases, we find, tend to spoil their game. You actually get nut-case vampire hunters, for one thing. Weird people. That’s why they’ve kind of migrated out from the major metro areas, and headed for flyover country.” George turned right on Church, then left on Clinton. They were passing a row of dormitories on one side of Clinton, and some fraternity houses on the left. As they reached the first dorm, they slowed. “That’s where she lived, right?”

  “Currier Hall,” said Louise. “Top floor, above the entrance there.”

  He glanced at his watch. They were early. “Want to see where we think she was first contacted?”

  “You know that?”

  “We think so,” he said. They drove on.

  “So, let me get this straight, nobody has ever actually seen one of these things, right?”

  “Oh, no. No, I told you, they’ve been seen, all right. Twice by me, even,” he said. “Not socially, though, if that was what you meant.”

  “Screw social,” she said. “Why didn’t you arrest them?” There was very strong skepticism in her voice, and he knew they had a way to go.

  “Did. One of ’em. It ain’t easy, trust me. It, or he, wasn’t very happy being found, okay?” He remembered the manlike creature. They’d cornered it in an enormous home improvement store, of all places. Just on the outskirts of Dubuque. They’d been following him at a distance for several nights, and when they saw him drive around behind the closed store and cut a hole in the wire fence, it looked like they had him in a righteous bust. What he was doing in there they had no idea, nor why he wanted to steal instead of simply buying whatever he needed. They called for backup, and got a sheriff’s car, a state patrol car, and two Dubuque PD cars, all with a single officer. They put an officer on each side of the huge place, in case he saw them coming and made a break for it. They stationed the Dubuque County deputy near the hole in the fence, and then George and his partner went in. The vampire had apparently heard them approaching, and made for the rear exit. They’d been in hot pursuit when he’d slammed out the back door and was confronted by a Dubuque police officer. All hell had broken loose, and the city cop and George’s partner had been severely injured. George had tried to hold him at gunpoint, and the creature had decided to go its own way. He’d charged George, heading toward the cornfield behind the store, and George had shot him. Eight times. “Had to shoot him.”

  “Didn’t die, though. Right?” There was sarcasm in her voice.

  “Oh, no. Should have died. Hit him lots of times. It was really messy, and he really fought it. But you’re right. Didn’t die, though.”

  “Immortal,” said Louise.

  “That’s not true. Just live a long time, and really hard to kill,” he said. “Remember the Des Moines detective, shot a guy in the chest six times, the guy strangled him while he was trying to reload? That was meth, but it’s the same sort of deal.”

  “So you busted him?”

  “For attempted murder and burglary. It was really strange, okay? I mean, we were having to do so many reports about shots be
ing fired, not to mention somebody actually getting shot . . . we didn’t get to examining the store’s security tapes for three days. When we finally did, we were lookin’ for what he was actually doing in there. Found a young female employee standing back by the manager’s office. She was waiting for him. We were sure of it. I mean the store was closed, had been for hours.”

  “Oh. But you got him for it?”

  “Not for being a vampire. We thought about giving that a shot, but the prosecutor said we couldn’t get it to fly, and we’d just blow the investigation. The vampire just did seventy-two hours in the hospital, believe it or not. Under very close guard. Then jail, then in front of a judge, then to Security Mental Health down here in Iowa City, for his pre-placement evaluation.” He laughed. “That was a hoot! Anyway, then the Feds sort of got him on loan, all legally, and he’s the one now down at CDC in Atlanta.”

  “What did his attorney have to say about that?”

  “Nothing. Court-appointed. Justified, since he or it wouldn’t cough up any information regarding his finances. That would have given up his name, and he didn’t want to do that. His choice. The exam upon admission to Security Mental Health, so they can tell what institution to put him in? Well, that showed he or it wasn’t quite human, one way or another. Something extra or missing in his DNA, ya know? That’s a tough one, because we can only charge humans, okay? Everything else in the law we just turn over to animal control.” He said that with a grin. “So, anyway. We took the matter to the AG, and they took it to a judge who has a kind of confidential court. Just like the federal judges, you know? The ones who hear select terrorism cases? Like that.”

  “You might need to show me a transcript of that.”

  “In my briefcase, backseat. Go ahead.”

  “You brought it with you?”

  “It’s one of the things I would need, if I was in your position. To convince me.” He turned, and they crossed the Iowa River. “It wasn’t easy getting that out of the files,” he said, as she opened his briefcase. “Don’t lose it.”

  “Yeah, right.” She began to read, and he pulled into a restaurant parking lot. She looked up. “Mondo’s? He lives here?”

  “Oh, hell, no. I’m hungry, and thought we could sit in the lot while you read the file, and then go in and get something. Love their Italian sausage sandwiches. We’ve got time.”

  He shut the car off, and rolled down the windows. The rain had made everything smell fresh and clean, and he liked the sound of the cars as they went by on the Coralville Strip, splashing through the puddles.

  She finished the transcript in about fifteen minutes, and returned it to his briefcase.

  “Redacted a lot, didn’t they?”

  “You mean those black lines? Yeah. Just names and places, though.”

  “I noticed the prisoner being referred to as John Doe 6822. No name?”

  “Not that he’d give. We’re sure he had, well, identities. Giving them up, that might just enable us to trace activities. So he didn’t. I never said they were stupid.” He opened his car door. “Hungry?”

  —

  There weren’t many in the grill at that hour, and they got an isolated table.

  “It mentions one that was killed,” she said. “The transcript.”

  “Yeah. Missouri.”

  “No details, though. How do you kill one?”

  George chuckled. “They’re pretty straightforward down in Missouri. Blew his head off, if I remember right. Shotgun.”

  “Ah.” She scanned the menu. “I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she said. “Gotta hit the restroom.”

  —

  During the meal, he asked her if there had been anything she remembered from the Claire Bennington case that, now that she knew who or what had killed her, might have been important but previously overlooked.

  “Numph,” she said, her mouth full of sandwich.

  “DCI labs handled the processing?”

  “Most of it.”

  He nodded, and cut off another section of sandwich. “You believing this, yet?”

  She chewed silently, swallowed, and then said, “Beginning to.”

  “Wanna see where it lives?”

  “You bet. Ah, but can we keep calling it ‘he’? Easier to get my mind around, okay?”

  “Sure. Whatever you want. I call it ‘he’ most of the time, myself. But they’re a lot easier to deal with if you call ’em ‘it.’ Easier to comprehend, after a while. But ‘he’ it is.”

  —

  Back in the car, she tried to lighten it up a bit. “Is there gonna be a test over this?”

  “Strictly pass-fail.”

  “How will I know?”

  “Been thinkin’ about that,” he said, backing out of the parking place. “Not up to me alone, but I tell ya what. If I tell you I’m recommending to Ben and Norma that you be added to the task force, then you can figure you’re in.”

  As they went back over the Iowa River and approached the old state capitol building up on its hill, he said, “Ever been to the Museum of Natural History, up over there?”

  “Macbride?”

  “Yep.”

  “Only once. Unusual place. That where he lives?”

  “Nope. Just making conversation.” He turned left, went straight past the Memorial Union, and into the parking ramp on the right. He took the automated ticket, and found a place fairly close to the exit. “Let’s walk from here. Just for a few minutes. We got a little time to kill, yet.”

  She wanted to ask just what he was waiting for, but didn’t.

  Everything near the campus of the University of Iowa seems to be uphill. George announced that, due to his advancing years, they would walk more slowly than the students, who seemed to fly up the hills with little or no effort. As effortlessly as Louise, he noticed, whose long legs seemed to prefer a faster pace. As they went up, he asked her what she’d want to be when she grew up.

  “Never really intend to,” she said, smiling. “Call me later.”

  He smiled back. “But when and if you do?”

  “Well, back in high school, I wanted to be Indiana Jones,” she said.

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Hat and whip and all. No S&M crap. Just wanted to be Indy.”

  “Cool.”

  “Majored in history, looking for a minor in archeology. Changed to English, because it was easier and, well you know. If you’re majoring in history, you only have two choices . . . make it or teach it.”

  “So they say.” They were nearing the top of the hill. The stopped at the top, ostensibly to let George get his bearings, but really to let him catch his breath. “So you’re an English major, huh?”

  “No. Got interested in people again, so I changed my major to sociology. That was crap. So I got back to history, and stayed there. Kind of hiding where classes were cool until I could graduate and get on with things.”

  George was beginning to like her.

  “How in hell did you get into cop work?”

  “Paid better than being a high school teacher,” she said. “At least this way, somebody gives you some shit, they only do it once.”

  “Got that right.” They had crossed Market Street to their left, and walked a short bit on Capitol Street when he stopped. “This is a place you should be aware of.”

  “What?”

  “It, or he, spends a bit of time here, late at night.”

  “This is the chemistry building,” she announced patiently.

  “Yep. Was called Chem Dent in my day. Dentistry was here then, too. But this is the place.”

  “There’s just no freakin’ way. It’s classrooms and labs.”

  “Oh, there’s a reason. There’s . . . okay, you gotta stop staring at it. Let’s walk a bit farther. He’s likely not in there now, anyway. Trust me, we don’t want to corner him in there without a TAC team.”

  They began walking north.

  “Okay, look,” she said. “You expect me to believe that he lures freshmen girls
to the chemistry building in the middle of the night, seduces them, transfers venomlike stuff as an STD thing, and then makes them his, what? Slaves? In the fuckin’ chem building? You ever smell that place?”

  It must have been the way she said it, because George found himself laughing.

  “This isn’t funny!”

  “No, no. I know.” He drew a deep breath. “It’s just I didn’t realize how screwy it sounded. Ah. Well, anyway, no, he also has a house. But he doesn’t, well, live there. We think he lives in a subbasement area beneath the chem building.”

  “How . . . ?”

  “We’ve done some surveillance. Not a lot, but enough to get baseline data.”

  “So who on my department worked with you?”

  That was a fair question, George thought. “Nobody on Iowa City PD. Your Johnson County sheriff gave us a hand.”

  She didn’t seem too happy about that. Jealous of her jurisdiction, and wanted a piece of the action. George was beginning to like her a lot.

  “Let’s head back to the car,” he said.

  “So how does he get to students?” she asked. “Hang around in bars?”

  “Nope. He’s an artist.” He watched her face for a reaction. There was none.

  “He teach it?” she asked, as they walked.

  “Not as far as we know. Not for the U of I anyway. He does art stuff. Specifically, drawing people.”

  “Drawings from life, or something like that. Sketching people. That’d kind of figure,” she said. “No pun intended.”

  “Think back,” said George. “What was the Claire girl’s major?”

  “Art,” said Louise. “She was an art major.”

  “He runs an art supply store,” said George. “Has a couple of art grad students working for him there. They’re the conduit to the students, and the store is where lots of the art majors get supplies. Cheaper than some of the other stores, they tell me.”

  “He’s in retail?”

  “Enterprising, too,” said George. “He’s gotta eat. Walk beside me, and make like we’re, oh, buddies of some sort. Head down like we’re discussing some really academic thing.” She did. He began to tell her about the intelligence workup on this creature, in a very conversational tone, and being very watchful for anybody passing too close. He explained how they’d been investigating leads for two years.