Nocturnal Urges Read online

Henry glared at Isabel. “Sorry, Detective, I was trying to—”

  “Can it, Ken,” Freitas snapped. “I think I’ll re-interview this witness, if you don’t mind.”

  Henry shrugged, and handed over his pad of paper with obvious contempt. Freitas took it, and led Isabel back into an interrogation room.

  “Well, you sure know how to get attention,” Freitas said.

  Isabel ducked her head. “Sorry.”

  Freitas sat down and scanned Henry’s notes. Then she blinked, and glanced up at Isabel. “Look, I’m not really interviewing you here. I know you, I consider you a friend, and that pretty much puts me out of the running,” she said. “But I had to get you away from those bozos long enough to ask you something, right here, right now.”

  “I’m telling the truth,” Isabel said.

  Freitas held up a hand. “Listen to me, Isabel. If you’re fibbing, it’s going to go very badly for you. If you’re not, it’s going to go very badly for you and Ryan both.”

  Isabel gaped at her. “What do you mean? How could it be worse than being charged with murder?”

  “First of all, Ryan Callahan’s not charged yet,” Freitas said. “We picked him up for questioning, but we have not arrested him, we have not charged him. TV jumped to their own damned conclusions, color me shocked, and now I’ve got a city screaming for vampire blood.”

  Isabel shook her head. “I still don’t see…”

  “Wake up, Isabel,” Freitas snapped. “If you go public, you’re admitting to having an affair with a vamp. Not just using them for the bite, not just employing them as night workers, but actually consorting with them. “

  “What, you think I’m worried that my country-club membership will be cancelled?” Isabel cried.

  Freitas turned off the cop eyes and looked honestly concerned. “I’m worried you’re going to lose your job, Isabel. I’m worried that you’ll get kicked out of your apartment if Ryan tries to move in, and that you’ll get killed by his neighbors if you move in with him. I’m worried your family and friends will be horrified and shun you. I’m worried that those kooks in SAV will harass you as a very public example of ‘mixing’. I’m worried that you’re going to throw away your whole life because of one roll in the hay, when it may not even exonerate him, because frankly, I think he did it.”

  Isabel sat in stunned silence. She wasn’t sure which shocked her more—Freitas’ recitation of horrors that she had not considered, or the flat conviction in her voice.

  “Why?” Isabel said. “Why do you think he did it?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say,” Freitas said formally.

  “Give me a break, Annie, it’s me!” Isabel cried. “You’ve got him locked up on more than being off-duty last night, I’m not asking for forensics reports, why do you think the man I love murdered five men?”

  Freitas leaned forward. “Let me tell you a little bit about your lover, Isabel. He’s the only one who has no alibi for each murder. When we asked him about last night, he said he was home alone. He didn’t tell us about this little rendezvous.”

  “He was trying to protect me,” Isabel murmured.

  “He also has a history of violence, especially protecting other vamps, and all the victims had harassed the vamps in some way,” Freitas went on. “The attack on you was certainly unprovoked, and he’s been known to throw around abusive patrons…”

  “He’s supposed to just stand there while drunken fools hurt his friends?” Isabel cried.

  “He’s killed before, Isabel,” Freitas said softly. “Interpol has a file on him. He was tried and convicted in Ireland, but fled before execution.”

  Isabel gaped at her. “It’s not possible,” she whispered. “When was that?”

  Freitas gave a sad smile. “1838. I’m still getting through the file, and it’s not very complete. They vacated his sentence in the 1920s. But it’s a record, and it’s not going to look good in court.”

  “Who?” Isabel breathed.

  “Who’d he kill?” Freitas replied. “His wife. Hell, given the times, he’s lucky they didn’t just set him on fire. Vamps usually didn’t get a trial then.”

  “Seems they barely get one now,” Isabel shot back, hiding her churning emotions behind ersatz anger.

  “Isabel, I’m your friend, and that’s the only reason I’m talking to you now. I have to turn over this statement you gave Henry. But if it’s not true, if you’re trying to protect him, you’re only buying yourself trouble, hon. Yeah, we’re probably going to release Ryan—but your life is ruined and he may be charged anyway. If you walk out now, recant the statement, it’ll be over. You’ll be safe from the press, from Osborne’s kooks and from Ryan Callahan.”

  Isabel’s head lifted up. “I don’t need protection from Ryan,” she declared. “Let me write the statement.”

  “Isabel—”

  “That’s my decision, Annie,” Isabel said. “Let me do it.”

  Freitas stared at her. Then she slowly pushed a legal pad toward Isabel.

  * * * * *

  It was hours before they let her see Ryan. Desk Sergeant led him into the interview room, still handcuffed, and shoved him into a chair.

  “Can’t you take off the handcuffs?” Isabel cried, but Ryan shook his head mutely even as Desk Sergeant stomped out without a word.

  “Isabel, you shouldn’t have done this,” he began, but she shushed him with a kiss.

  “Nonsense,” she said. “You should have told them you were with me last night, saved yourself this whole mess.”

  Ryan looked up at her with eyes that suddenly reminded her how very old he was. The weight of centuries lay in his gaze. “It is futile, love,” he said.

  “Did you kill those men?” Isabel asked with the surety of one who knows the answer.

  Ryan lowered his head. “No.”

  “Well then,” she said. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.” Even as she said it, she felt naïve. Well, someone has to be upbeat here, she thought.

  “Isabel, there’s something you should know,” he began.

  Isabel looked over at the mirrored wall, wondering if they were watching. “Careful, love,” she said.

  “It’s nothing they don’t know,” Ryan said. “About Ireland, my wife…”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” she replied, though her heart was pounding.

  “Yes, I do,” Ryan said. “She was human. We were married in 1831, lived on my family’s farm outside the village. We had to have a traveling cleric marry us, a man who didn’t know what I was, because the church would not recognize the union. We thought that would be the end of it. But naturally, the villagers didn’t like the idea of a mixed couple. They threw rocks at her when she came to town for market day. Mysterious things would happen on the farm, dead chickens, so on.

  “One day, a couple of men in a wagon chased her down a dirt road. They didn’t mean for it to go so far, but it didn’t matter. They ran her over, and instead of taking her for help, they left her to die in a ditch.”

  “You found her there,” Isabel said.

  Ryan nodded. “She was dying. I couldn’t bear it, I wanted her with me. So I turned her. No vaccine in those days, of course. I shared my blood with her and she was reborn.”

  Isabel frowned. “I don’t understand. She became a vampire?”

  “Making a human into a vampire against their will was considered murder back then,” Ryan said. “They held a trial, dragged her before the authorities to prove she was a vampire. She didn’t believe it herself, you see—despite the craving, the physical changes, she couldn’t believe what had happened until the trial. They condemned me to death, but I escaped.”

  “How?” Isabel breathed.

  Ryan shrugged. “It wasn’t exactly Attica,” he said. “I knew my life was over. I fled the village, joined with thousands of other immigrants and came to the United States. Ireland changed the law in 1925, which is why my sentence was commuted.”

  “They can’t possibly hold this aga
inst you,” Isabel said. “It was a hundred and seventy years ago, and it was an act of love!”

  Ryan smiled sadly. “Have you ever noticed that it is acts of love that so often become mortal crimes in the eyes of men?”

  Isabel leaned against him, resting her head against his shoulder. “We’ll work this out,” she declared.

  From the hallway beyond the room, a commotion was building, voices raised and the occasional thump. Isabel rose to her feet. “I’ll be just a moment,” she said.

  “Be careful,” Ryan said.

  Isabel opened the door and peered out into the squad room. A number of officers were wrestling a shouting, twisting man down into a chair.

  “Let go of me!” the man shouted, and as an officer moved out of the way, Isabel recognized him as Jonathan Osborne, the protester from outside Nocturnal Urges.

  Freitas was standing over him, reading what Isabel recognized as the Miranda warning off a small index card. Osborne kept shouting, demanding to be freed, as Freitas continued impassively. He spat at her and it landed on her jacket. Freitas didn’t even flinch, just finished reading. “Toss him in holding,” she told Henry. Looking over her shoulder, Freitas saw Isabel watching and crossed the room.

  “What’s going on?” Isabel asked.

  Freitas went into the room and unlocked Ryan’s handcuffs. “My apologies, Mr. Callahan,” Freitas said. “We’ve got the killer.”

  Ryan jumped to his feet. “How? When?”

  Freitas inclined her head at the squad room. “There was another murder just before dawn, while you were with us. We found him at the scene, staggering around in the mess, high as the proverbial kite,” she said. “Had a pair of false vampire teeth, do you believe it?”

  Ryan stared at her. “Him? It was a man?”

  “Yeah,” Freitas said.

  “Listen, the circus is gathered out front. Let me drive you two home.”

  Ryan offered his hand to Freitas. “Thank you, Detective.”

  Freitas snorted. “For what, dragging you in here? Letting the cameras get a good look at you?”

  Ryan shook his head. “For treating me as an ordinary suspect,” he said with a touch of wry amusement. “Many detectives would not have bothered to cover the windows.”

  Freitas glanced away. “Well, don’t go spreading it around,” she said gruffly.

  Isabel and Ryan followed Freitas through the squad room, where Isabel sensed every eye upon them. Sgt. Henry was openly glaring from across the room as Osborne babbled incoherently to him.

  On the ride down the elevator to the parking garage, none of them spoke. It wasn’t until they got in Freitas’ car that Ryan spoke up. “Don’t take us home, Detective. Take us to Nocturnal Urges.”

  “Okay,” Freitas said. “But the press will probably be camped out there, too.”

  Isabel stared at him, and wanted to know everything at once. She wanted to ask him more about Ireland, why he worked at Nocturnal Urges, all about his life in America. It seemed so strange to be in love with a man whose last name she hadn’t known until this morning.

  But his hand stole over to squeeze hers, and she buried her questions. There will be many nights to ask them, she thought.

  Freitas pulled into the lot a block away from Nocturnal Urges. “Should I come with you?” she asked.

  “Perhaps,” Ryan said.

  They walked up the sidewalk toward the club. The protesters were back in full force, and as they passed between the shouting groups, Isabel saw Drew Sanford being interviewed by television crews. Ryan ducked his head a bit, and the protesters were too busy shouting and the television crews too busy filming to notice the prime suspect walking by.

  “Thank God,” Brent said at the door. “You okay, Ryan?”

  Ryan nodded. “Come in with us, okay?”

  “Miss Fiona said to keep the riffraff out,” Brent said, indicating the crowds on the sidewalks.

  Ryan grinned. “One day you’re gonna tell her off, Brent,” he said.

  Brent shrugged. “Not today.”

  “Come in with us,” Ryan said, and Brent followed them into Nocturnal Urges.

  There was almost no crowd, which made sense for the early hour, Isabel supposed. Besides, most of the attention seemed to be in the street outside tonight.

  The Creatures of the Night were just setting up onstage. There were almost no patrons in the club, just Fiona behind the bar dipping margarita glasses in salt and glaring at a guy nursing a beer at—Isabel gasped. It was Duane, she’d recognize him anywhere. Surely, he hasn’t been drinking here all day, she thought.

  “Isabel, what’s going on?” Freitas whispered.

  “I have no idea,” she replied, as Elyse came into the room and took over the margarita glasses from Fiona.

  “Ryan!” Fiona called out, crossing the room in yet another of her grand gowns. This one was a luxurious purple, sweeping to the floor, with a plunging neckline that would make a lesser woman blush. “You’re released, I see. Is it all over with?”

  “Almost.” Ryan turned to Freitas. “Detective, you had several suspects to choose from, yet you zeroed in on me. I have a great respect for your deductive capabilities, and so I assume it was not just because I was a vampire. Something told you to look at vampires.”

  “I really can’t discuss the case with you,” Freitas said.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake…” Isabel groaned.

  “It was a vampire,” Ryan said. “But I had the advantage, because I know I didn’t do it. You crossed off Drew and his people, presumably because they have alibis.”

  Freitas folded her arms. “Did you notice we got the guy?”

  “Just listen, detective, and if you’re so inclined to tell me when I’m wrong, I’d be grateful,” Ryan said. “Since I knew I didn’t do it, and I trust that you properly vetted Drew’s people, that left either someone none of us knows about…or one of the vampires at Nocturnal Urges.”

  “Like a nutbar anti-vamp protester with fake vampire teeth,” Freitas said.

  Isabel ignored her. “But most of the Nocturnal Urges vampires probably had alibis too,” Isabel mused.

  “Just being at work wasn’t enough, because I was working on one of the nights that someone was killed,” Ryan said. “The night Isabel came to Nocturnal Urges for the first time.”

  Duane’s head lifted and Isabel saw him staring at Ryan.

  “So it must have been possible, at least, for the killer to sneak out,” Ryan continued.

  “Osborne. Caught him. Watch the news,” Freitas said.

  “But does it make any sense?” Ryan asked. “What good does it do to frame vampires for murders? We are already hated, already suspicious in the eyes of the humans.”

  “He’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic, Callahan,” Freitas said.

  “Did he drink the blood?” Ryan asked.

  Freitas stared at him. “That doesn’t prove Osborne didn’t do it,” she said, but the protest in her voice was weak.

  “This is crazy,” Fiona protested. “None of my people would hurt a mark. Why would we? It only hurts business!”

  “But these weren’t ordinary marks,” Isabel said. “They were jerks, men who messed around with the vampires. Someone was…protecting them?”

  Isabel turned to look at Brent, who immediately grew pale. Well, pale for a vampire, Isabel thought.

  “Not me, no way!” Brent said, holding up his hands. “I told the detective, it goes as far as the street, no farther!”

  “He kicks them out, he doesn’t kill them,” Fiona said.

  “True,” Ryan said. “I know Brent, he couldn’t hurt a fly. He drinks cow’s blood from the butcher’s. He can’t bite a human, even a willing one.”

  Brent looked down at his feet in embarrassment. Ryan put a hand on his shoulder. “Nothing to be ashamed of, man.”

  Duane downed his drink and stumbled past the bar, toward the door. But Ryan called out after him. “Please, sir, don’t move.”

  Isabel star
ed at Duane. “Ryan, what are you doing?”

  “Mr. Russell,” Ryan called, and his voice was more insistent.

  “Fuck you,” Duane growled, and kept moving.

  “Duane!” Ryan shouted, running toward the door. Duane turned on him and swung a drunken punch, his face contorted with fury. Freitas was already moving to separate them, with Brent right behind her. Isabel shouted something—she wasn’t sure what—but suddenly everyone was still.

  Duane stood alone in front of the bar.

  Elyse held his neck between her hands.

  “Elyse, please,” Ryan pleaded, his voice trying for that calm tone Isabel loved so much, but there was a ragged edge to it she had never heard. “Let him go.”

  Elyse’s nails dug into the skin on either side of Duane’s neck. Isabel clapped her hand over her mouth, horrified at the look of stupefied terror on Duane’s face.

  “He’s evil, Ryan,” Elyse spat. “He’s just like the others. He’s a bastard and he deserves whatever he gets.”

  Freitas had drawn her gun, but held it carefully down by her side. “Miss, let’s talk this out, okay?”

  Elyse hissed at Freitas, her pretty face contorted into a rictus of hate. Freitas stepped back, her free hand held out in a calming gesture.

  “Elyse, this isn’t the way,” Ryan said. “You can’t get your revenge by killing him.”

  “Don’t pretend you care,” Elyse snapped. “When he’s gone, you can be with your pretty little human. No messy entanglements.”

  Isabel felt as though she were still a few pages behind. “You wanted Ryan?” she said. “Then why did you help me find him?”

  “Stupid girl!” Elyse growled. “He can have you. He can have any human he wants. I don’t care.”

  “She doesn’t love me,” Ryan said dully. “She hates me. She’s killed all these people, oh God, those poor men, because she can’t kill me.”

  “Why?” Isabel asked.

  “He made me into this!” Elyse hissed, baring her teeth an inch from Duane’s throat. Duane was too petrified to move. “He turned me into this thing, forced me to live an eternity like this!”

  Ryan stepped forward. “Elyse, I can never get your forgiveness,” he said, his voice broken. “But this man has done nothing to you.”