“If we can tie him to Barent we’ll be set. Any correspondence between the two?”
“Not that we’ve found yet. We dumped his texts and are going through them, but that’s going to take a while.”
“Anything off the personal security video cameras at any of the houses?”
“The only one that had a camera was the Norwoods’, but it was turned off. The rest were pointed away from the scenes, so nothing of use.”
“Well, if little Miss Ember was sneaking out at night to see her boyfriend, Thorn, she may have jury-rigged the camera to cover her tracks.”
“We’ll have to ask the Norwoods to get the whole story. The security firm said the camera was turned off sometime during the first week of September because Mrs. Norwood felt it too intrusive.”
“Too intrusive? I will never understand why people spend oodles of money on these elaborate alarm systems then don’t use them correctly.”
“Maybe Mrs. Norwood was aware of her daughter’s proclivity for running around after hours and approved,” McKenzie said.
“Do any parents approve of their child seeking nocturnal activities?” Marcus asked.
Taylor glanced at him in the rearview. “You’d be surprised. I’ve seen parents do crazy things. If the Edvins were feeling so terrorized by their son, what’s to say the Norwoods weren’t feeling that from their daughter? Maybe it was self-preservation.”
“Do you think she could kill her own brother?”
“I don’t know, Marcus. I just don’t know.”
McKenzie pointed to an ornate mailbox. “Hey, this is it.”
Taylor braked, hard, skidding a little bit on the rough asphalt. There was a gated entrance, harled stone stacked six feet high on either side of a dirt driveway. The black wrought-iron gate was conveniently open.
Taylor backed up a bit, then drove through, dust swirling around the Lumina in choking waves.
The drive was about a mile long, with a hedge running along each side that blocked the view of the land.
“He’s got a decent bit of property out here,” she said, gritting her teeth as she hit a dip in the road unexpectedly, jarring all of them. “Sorry.”
The road curved then, and opened into a beautiful cobblestone parking area. The house beyond sprawled the length of the circular turnaround, a three-storied Gothic Victorian, columned, gray with white trim, complete with a turret. It was a lovely house, double balconies, in good shape, no peeling paint, no cobwebs. If it were run-down, then she could get the sense that the king of the vampires lived there. As it was, it was downright cheery. She snorted to herself at the thought, threw the car into Park and climbed out.
Simari pulled in behind, left Max in the car and joined them.
Marcus stared in admiration at the surroundings. “Used to be a farm, I’d bet. See how the land rolls away? It would make a good vineyard.”
“Lots of good farmland up here. Cotton and corn. Some tobacco, too.”
They jumped at the voice, turned to see a small man in coveralls advancing on them, brandishing a rake.
“You’re trespassing on private property. Can I help you folks?”
Taylor took a step back, tapped her badge on her belt. “Yes, sir. My name is Lieutenant Jackson, Metro Homicide. Detective Wade, Detective McKenzie and Officer Simari. We have a warrant to search the premises.”
Max began barking in the backseat, Taylor shot Simari a glance. No sense getting this guy riled up. Go calm the dog. Simari turned and went to her patrol car. Max’s throaty growls lessened.
The man used the rake like a cane, leaned on it and scratched his freckled, balding head. He had tufts of white hair pouring out of his ears-it made him look like a party favor.
“Now, what in the world? A warrant? For what? Why do you need to search my home?”
“Your home? We were under the impression that it belonged to a Keith Barent Johnson.”
“Ha!” The little old man laughed. “That’s me, and this here’s my house. But I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Sir, we have a man in custody who says his name is Keith Barent Johnson, and lists this address as his residence.”
The man shifted the rake to his other side. Taylor could see him thinking. He finally sighed deeply, mopped his forehead with a red bandanna and waved them to the porch.
“You’re probably talking about my son, Barry. Come on in the house, I need some coffee. We can talk.”
Mr. Johnson poured the coffee, so thick it practically slid into the cups.
“Barry’s a good boy, you mind. Just a wee bit messed up in the head. He was a soldier, don’tcha know. A damn good one, from what I hear.”
“What branch of service was he in?” Taylor asked. She pretended to sip from her cup-coffee wasn’t her favorite thing in the world.
“Marines. First Gulf War. He’s a chemical engineer by training, but he ended up in the infantry. Boy can handle a weapon-I taught him young, they buffed him up. Parris Island, then SOI at Camp Geiger.”
“SOI?” Taylor asked.
“School of Infantry. He came home in one piece, but the mind wasn’t all there, if you know what I mean. Gulf War syndrome, they call it. He’s on a full disability discharge and gets regular checkups at the VA hospital. They’ve been doing a nice job keeping up with him, actually. Once his momma died, God rest her soul, it’s just been the two of us. He gets lonely, I know that. I try to keep him busy, but he spends a lot of time on his computer or out in his sheds.”
“You weren’t concerned when he didn’t come home last night?” McKenzie asked.
Johnson poured himself another cup of sludge. “Naw. He likes to carouse, sometimes. He’s got himself a widow woman up near Pleasant View. She was the wife of a friend in his old unit. He goes up there to see her at night, once in a while. She’s a nice girl, churchgoing. Bit soft in the head herself, but they manage. When I came home from the grocery yesterday and he wasn’t here, I just assumed he was up with her. Guess y’all had come to take him away though, huh.”
“That’s right.”
“So are you going to tell me what he’s done, or do I need to guess?”
Taylor hated giving bad news to parents, regardless of the age of the child or their misdeeds. “Sir, your son has claimed that he was involved in the murder of seven teenagers in Green Hills on Halloween night.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Wasn’t my boy. He was here with me on Halloween.” The small mouth shut firmly.
“He also claims that he’s the king of the Vampyre Nation,” McKenzie said.
The old man closed his eyes briefly, shook his head. His voice was soft. “That’s just his sickness. He came back from that war all kinds of messed up in the head, talking about vampires sucking the blood out of his body. Started sleeping all day and roaming around at night. Filed his teeth into them stupid fangs. I never saw no harm in it-he doesn’t do anything. He talks to some of his kind on the computer some. They have themselves a fine old time. But he’d never hurt a flea.”
“Sir, you understand that we will have to execute this warrant regardless. Your son knew details about the crimes that weren’t released to the press. And he was caught on film at several of the crime scenes. So we know he wasn’t home with you.”
“Must’ve left after I went to sleep. I have a scanner in the living room. He likes to listen to it. I’m sure he heard about it from that and decided to go check it out.”
“Sir, I appreciate that, but we’re going to have to search the house anyway. We’d best get on with it.” She stood, plunked her cup in the kitchen sink. “I’ll just go get Simari.”
McKenzie stayed put with the old man. She knew he was going to pump him for more information, left him to it.
Marcus and Simari were ready to get going, both leaning impatiently against Simari’s patrol car. Max was leashed and had his nose to the ground, quivering.
“Marcus, why don’t you start in the house. Mr. Johnson mentioned his son likes to putter in the sheds. I
