—THE STATEMENT OFALVAGRIEST
45.
There were a million phone calls to be made while they waited for Malvern to spell out her next message. Far too many to keep straight. The local metropolitan police all wanted reassurances and advice. Arkeley took the brunt of that, nodding and yessing and confirming all the protocols. The Philadelphia Commissioner of Police spent half an hour of Caxton’s time demanding to know why she’d brought so much trouble to his city and what she planned to do about it. She offered to give a statement to the press, taking all the blame on herself, not that she really had the time. He grew silent then and when he spoke next it was to tell her he would take things from there.
It was only after she’d ended the call that she understood. She’d been trying to help, but instead he’d taken her offer as a threat. He must have heard what had happened to the Gettysburg tourist trade after she spoke to the press there.
Gettysburg—there were more calls, calls she was embarrassed to make, to Chief Vicente. He didn’t like being woken up. He sounded pleased to hear from her once she said where she was calling from, though, and why. “Don’t hurry back,” he said, with a little laugh to try to take the sting away. It didn’t work.
“Can I tell my men to stand down from alert, then?” he asked.
Caxton chewed on her lip. She hesitated long enough that he asked if she was still there or if her phone had cut out.
“Yeah,” she said, finally. “I’m still here. I think your people are safe.” It was what he wanted to hear—it was what he’d always wanted to hear. “We know what he wants and it’s here. I think he’ll try again tomorrow night.” Something still worried her, though. She thought of what Arkeley would say. He would want them to stay on their guard, just in case. Would it really hurt Gettysburg that much to keep the town’s cops on their toes? “I’m not going to guarantee anything, though. Can you keep the tourists away another day or two?”
“We don’t have any choice. Ninety percent of all hotel bookings for this week have already been canceled. Your vampire is costing us millions of dollars a day and I don’t see things changing until you give us the green light.”
She thought about Garrity, and Geistdoerfer. If the vampire killed another human being and drank his blood, how many millions was that worth? “You brought me in as a consultant,” she said, finally. “I can’t tell you what to do, just give you advice. And my advice is to stay sharp until we have a confirmed kill here.”
“You’re just covering your ass,” he said, almost making it a question. Or maybe an accusation.
Was she? Maybe. But just because he wanted to hear something didn’t mean she had to say it. “I think it’s for the best, Chief,” she said, finally, a little steel in her voice. “Even if that means erring on the side of caution.”
“I’m counting on you, Trooper,” he said. “You kill this jerk already. It’s your responsibility.” With that he hung up on her.
Arkeley put away his own phone and gestured her to come over to where he stood. She had one more call to make, though, and it wouldn’t wait.
When Clara answered, the line was full of weird echoes and distorted voices. Caxton’s blood ran cold until she heard her lover laugh and say, “What? What? No, shut up! It’s Laura. Hey, baby.”
Caxton smiled despite herself. “Do you have the TV on or something?” she asked.
“Yeah—yeah. Stop that! Sorry. Angie and Myrna are over and we’re having a Maggie Gyllenhaal film festival.
Caxton sighed and slumped down onto a wooden bench. A wave of jealousy washed through her like nausea. Clara had known Angie since high school. Every time Caxton had met her she had a different color hair. In her latest incarnation she was a little goth chick with dyed black hair and lots of lace shirts that never quite covered her belly button. She was supposedly straight, but everyone knew she had a crush on Clara. Myrna had well-defined arms and frosted blond hair that stuck out wildly from her head.
She was an ex, the last woman Clara had been with before she met Caxton. If she had asked point blank Clara would have told her that they were just friends, but for some reason she didn’t dare ask.
She didn’t dare say any of the things she wanted to. She had thought she would find Clara alone, with nothing better to do than listen to Caxton talk about how scared she’d been in the car, about how badly the vampire had hurt her, about how she’d almost been killed. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d used Clara as a sounding board. She couldn’t bring herself to ruin the girls’ movie night, though. “I’m in Philly,”
she finally said. “Probably will be all night. Maybe tomorrow night too. Can you feed the dogs?”
“Um, yeah, I can—are you okay? I mean, you’re obviously alive.”
“Yes.” Caxton scratched at one eyebrow.
“Well, that’s good. Because you know, I worry.”
“I know.”
Clara’s voice changed. The background noise cut out and the line got sharper, but it was more than that.
She was suddenly quite serious. “I just walked out back so I could hear you better. It’s cold out here.
You’re okay, right? I mean you’re not hurt.”
“Yeah.” Caxton closed her eyes. “Go back to your movie.” It was suddenly all she wanted. For Clara to be someplace safe and warm and to be surrounded by friends.
“Okay. Come home when you can.”
“Don’t doubt it,” Caxton said, and then she switched off the phone.
In the silence, in the darkened museum, she felt something dark stretching out its wings. All the fear and the pain were about to catch up with her. If she let them. When they did, she would curl up in a corner and just rock back and forth and mutter to herself. She would stop functioning.
That was not an option. To dispel the darkness she went back to the coffin and read what Malvern had typed on the laptop:
“Not particularly helpful,” Arkeley said, coming up from behind her. “We already figured she was the one who made him a vampire, right? And the fact that he was a soldier was just common sense, considering where he was buried.”
“Maybe we should try asking actual questions,” Caxton suggested. “Tell us where you think he’ll go to ground. Or what his name is. What I’d really like to know,” she said, “is how he can cheat time like that.
He’s half as old as you are, but he has the strength of a newly created vampire. How the hell does he manage that?”
Malvern’s hand reached for the keyboard. Caxton watched it drift across the keys, feeling their contours. Not for the first time she thought the hand moved like the planchette on a Ouija board.
Arkeley looked up at her. His mouth curled up on one side. “It’ll take her a while to answer those. That gives
