Book One, Chapters 21 to 30

The Vampire's Daughter
Book One
Chapters 21 to 30

Copyright, 2003, 2004, 2005, Reuben Gregg Brewer, all rights reserved.

0021
"How about we talk about this over a cup of coffee," John suggested to the bum who took him up on the offer. "Where’s a good place to get something to drink around here?" he asked.

"I never drink," the bum said with a wry laugh, "but just around the corner is a coffee shop."

They walked to the shop talking about the weather and other meaningless topics. As they entered the empty shop the guy behind the counter said, "Hey Beth, you know the rules. I’ll serve you but you have to wait outside."

"She’s with me," John said, flashing his badge.

"Sorry, didn’t know," the owner said. "What’ll ya have?"

The woman ordered herself a ham, egg and cheese on a roll with a coffee. John just got coffee.

The shop was really a small bodega. One of those places that sell just about anything you need and has a food by the pound bar in the middle. It also had a couple of seats in the back, which is where Beth and John went to sit and talk.

"So, let’s cut to the chase," John said, "what did you see?"

"Everything."

"Walk me through it."

Beth started by explaining that the alley was a hot spot for couples trying to "get it on." That she was used to it, and simply didn’t pay much attention anymore. This time, however, was different because of the way in which the woman said, "no." The almost pathetic tone of her voice was what first drew Beth’s attention.

What shocked Beth was that the man had lifted this woman off the ground while nuzzling her neck. She was short and he was tall, so he had lifted her at least a foot or two off the ground. While this wasn’t all that odd, "some people get pretty kinky," the fact that he simply dropped her in a heap on the ground was startling. Beth explained that she was frightened for her life and couldn’t move. She had seen dead people before and she knew the woman was dead. She guessed that the woman’s neck had been broken.

Apparently, after he had dropped the woman, a little girl came running down the alley. She came over to the body and said something to the man. Beth was too far away to hear anything, but they sat near the body for a little while talking every so often.

Then, all of the sudden, the two of them got up and left. After she was sure the man was gone, Beth came out of her home and looked at the body. She made the call to the police shortly after that.

“Finally,” John though, I have something to work with.


0022
After watching Beth eat her ham, egg and cheese, John decided it was time to sober up the drug dealer. He gave the woman a twenty and headed out the door. Before leaving, however, he bought some antacid tablets; seeing Beth eat made him feel a bit nauseous since she didn’t even bother to wash her hands first and obviously didn’t understand the value of napkins.

Before he got back into his car, John paused to take one more look around the scene. When he was dealing with killers, he often found it useful to try to get "into the killer’s head." Normally, this entailed sitting with the evidence, but he didn’t have that to go on so the best he could do was the alley.

"Why here?" he asked himself. "Of all places, why here?

"The bum said that prostitutes and couples looking to hook up used this alley. She was a drug addict. Fine, she sold her body for drugs. He picked her up to kill her. That's too simple, there has to be more."

As he stood there looking at where the body was found, all he had were more questions. Why drain all of her blood? Why leave the body where it could be found? Why destroy the body and all the photos after the body was found? Was that freak last night, Sabastian, involved? Who were the people that didn’t want this case to be solved that Sabastian spoke about? How could he find Sabastian?

"There has to be a reason why he chose her. The way he killed her was too sick, if this was a one-time thing it was probably some sort of sick revenge. If it wasn’t revenge, this guy might kill again. No, this guy will kill again."

He knew that answering most of these questions and solving the case would be difficult, but he felt deep down that he had to stop the killer or more people would die.

Although his talk with Beth was interesting, there wasn't much of value to him. She couldn't even give a good description of the killer other than he was tall and thin. The one thing the bum said that would help him was the little girl. That was an odd twist.

He didn’t know for certain, but emotionally he felt that the little girl was the woman’s daughter. Was the killer the father? Why wasn't the girl afraid of the killer? Although this new information added more questions to the equation, John hoped it would be a good starting point with the junkie.


0023
By the time he got back to the station it was early afternoon. John had the junkie moved to an interrogation room. While he was no longer high, as such, he was still out of it.

"Alright buddy," John began, "let’s start with your name."

"Wayne Cashman."

"Wayne, what do you do for a living?"

"Come on, man, what do you want from me?"

"I want some answers. Now, what do you do, Wayne?"

"I’m not talking until I get a lawyer."

"You are a drug dealer," John said very calmly. "That makes you a very bad man."

Wayne looked at one of the walls.

"I know you’re a drug dealer, everyone in this station knows you’re a drug dealer. I could go, right now, clean out your apartment and send you to jail for a very long time."

Wayne continued looking at the wall because he knew this game already. Push the little guy to get to the big guy. Of course that normally meant the little guy died once the big guy’s friends figured out who the snitch was.

"Wayne, there was a murder last night. Do you know anything about that?"

A bit nervous, Wayne blurted out, "I have never killed anyone. I may sell dope for a living, but I have never killed anyone."

"Relax Wayne," John comforted him, "I don’t think you did. But I need your help to find out who did kill someone." John knew at this point that Wayne would talk. He would give John any information he had.

It was obvious that Wayne had gotten got caught up in something that he couldn’t handle. Now, years latter, it was too late. It made John sad to see kids like Wayne. Scared to go on, but too addicted to get out. It seemed like the addiction always won.

It was typical, too, for someone like Wayne to draw a line between being a killer and selling drugs. Even though plenty of people he sold to have probably died, he still had to cling to the idea that he only gave them what they wanted. If they didn’t come to him, someone else would have given them the drugs. It’s a sick world where people can justify themselves with that kind of logic. Although it normally took a little more arm-twisting, John was used to getting information out people like Wayne.


0024
"Last night the body of a young woman was found in an alley down in the financial district. She had tracks on her arms so we think she was a heroin addict. We don’t have much to go on. I was hoping you could help us figure out who she is."

"What do you want me to do, identify the body?" Wayne asked with a wavering voice. It was clear he didn’t like the idea of seeing a dead person.

"That’s the problem. The body’s gone. All I have is a description."

With obvious relief Wayne said, "I’ll try, man, but I know lots of people." Knowing lots of people was clearly a euphemism for having lots of clients.

"Well, this one was probably in her mid to early twenties. She was a brunette, cute. She had strong features and blue eyes."

"I can’t help you."

"She may have had a daughter."

"Jane, " he said softly.

"What?"

"If it’s who I think it is, her name was Jane," answered Wayne louder this time.

"She was a real bad case. I stopped selling to her a little while back. I couldn’t do it anymore after she tried to trade the girl for smack." He wiped his mouth with his hand. "She used to turn tricks with the Wall Street type for cash. She had their look and their language. She told me once she was from some town up in Westchester."

"Tell me some more about what she looked like."

"She was average height, maybe a little shorter. Brown hair down to her shoulders. Real pretty face. Like you said, strong features. Great cheek bones. And those eyes. So blue. You could tell she wasn’t just anyone. That she was from the good side of town, if you know what I mean. That if she hadn’t gotten into using smack she’d have been a cheerleader or something.

"Last I knew she was shooting into her right arm. When I first met her, she was trying to hide the marks by shooting between her toes, but last I knew she was just into getting high."

"The right arm?" asked John. That was, indeed, the arm that had the worst of the track marks.

"Yeah, she mostly used the right side."

"Let’s assume we’re talking about the same person. Tell me everything you know."


0025
Wayne’s story wasn’t pleasant.

He was pretty sure that Jane’s last name was Angle. She was from some rich town in the northern suburbs of New York. While he couldn’t remember exactly where, he remembered it had something to do with food. John knew a little about Westchester and asked if it was Rye.

"Yeah," answered Wayne, "I think that was it." John was relieved that he finally had something more to go on, but asked Wayne to continue.

He went on to explain that Jane had told him that she grew up with rich parents and never felt that she could live up to their image of her. At some point she simply stopped trying. Things got even worse when she started doing drugs.

Nothing serious at first, it was just easier to get pot than alcohol. But it didn’t stop at pot, she tried harder drugs like cocaine and, eventually, heroin. By the time she was 17, she was spending more time on the streets of New York getting high than she did at school.

Her parents knew there was a problem, but they didn’t do anything until it was too late. Wayne commented that this was a typical story. John figured that Wayne’s story followed a similar path, only he wasn‘t dead yet.

When the family confronted the issue, they threw her into rehab. Wayne had met her just prior to this. He said he didn’t see her for a while after she was in rehab because she tried to clean herself up. While she was still using, he explained, she had become pregnant. She would have sex with dealers for drugs, including Wayne. He said he didn’t think the kid was his, but the thought that it might be was always in the back of his mind. That, apparently, was why he stopped selling to her when she offered the kid up for sex. But he said Jane told him she really tried to make it work for her child, Susan.

After the kid was born, she spent some time at home, but eventually left because she didn’t get along with her parents. She took Susan with her.

She moved back into the city and started working in some tattoo parlor as a receptionist. That was when their paths met for the second time. He said that the owner let Jane bring her child to work and everyone seemed really supportive there.

The only problem was that the tattoo culture and the drug culture tend to overlap. She started using again. First it was pot but then she started to come back to Wayne. The folks over at the tattoo shop tried to stop her, but they couldn’t do anything and wound up firing her. She then tried working as a waitress, but that didn’t work either.

That was when she started turning tricks—for cash this time, not just for drugs. When she’d get money, she would do drugs. When she remembered, she would feed her child. Wayne said that he had tried to help, but looking down at his tattered arms, explained that he doubted he did any good since he wasn’t in much better shape than Jane.

The last he saw of Jane was a few months ago when she offered up Susan. Wayne said he asked her if she had done it before—she said yes and that it was no big deal.


0026
With a full name and some additional information, John headed off to the computers. He figured he would find something on the victim, and he certainly did. Jane was well known in NYPD’s hallowed halls. Her offenses included loitering, drug possession, shop lifting, and prostitution, among others. Some of her records were sealed because she was underage when the offenses took place. Interestingly, there was no mention of a daughter.

The photos, however, were a definite match, Jane Angle was the victim—John was sure of it. It made him sad to look at the photos because you could see a progression from the early photos to the most recent, which was just a month or so old. She was headed down a dark path and it finally killed her. John had seen this before and there was nothing that anyone could have done about it. She didn’t want help, she wanted to die.

Other than a sense of what the dead woman was like, John found the names, phone number, and address of her parents. He decided he should make a phone call and try to arrange a visit.

"Hello," a woman’s voice answered after a couple of rings.

"Hi, is this Mary Angle?" John asked.

"Yes, who is this?"

"My name is Detective John Lewis, I’m with the New York City Police Department."

"Oh God, is she alright?"

John was bad at this part of the job, but he knew it had to be done. "No Mrs. Angle, I’m sorry but your daughter is dead." After listening to Jane’s mother sob for several minutes, John continued, "Mrs. Angle, I would like to come and talk with you and your husband about your daughter."

Mrs. Angle told him that he could come up that night if he wanted, though she was barely coherent and John wondered if she would remember she had agreed to his visit when he showed up. Still, he wanted to talk with Jane’s family as soon as possible because he felt it might fill in some blanks that would help him solve the case.

John stopped in with the Chief, updated him on the case, and told him where he was going. On his way out the door, he got another, "Be careful."

As he was getting onto Interstate 95 headed North toward Westchester, John noted that the sun was setting and turned his car’s lights on. "Next stop, Playland Parkway," he said out loud to himself.


0027
As dusk fell into night, Sabastian awoke. The vivid images of the prior night danced in his mind.

He could sense the little girl in his house.

After a few moments of reflection, he changed his clothes and headed upstairs.

"Susan, dear, where are you?" he asked as he stepped from the cellar. He wasn't quite sure where the "dear" came from, but it felt nice to say.

"In here," was the reply from out of the living room.

Sabastian walked into the room to find a jewel encrusted little girl wearing oversize clothing and a diamond tiara. "I see that you found your way around the house."

Susan simply looked up and smiled.

"Was there food enough for you?"

"Yup."

"What did you eat?"

"Cereal."

"Ahh," he sounded, wondering how old the cereal must have been. "We need to find you a place to stay tonight."

"I'll stay here."

"You cannot stay here, though I would very much like it if you could. You see, I sleep during the day and you sleep at night. Not to mention that I have very little food that is suitable for little girls."

"We can buy food and I'll learn to stay up at night."

Her logic was so simple that he chose not to argue the point. "Come, I believe you should have a proper dinner."

The two of them walked up Second Avenue to The Palm steakhouse. There they ordered two strip steaks with a couple of sides. Susan ravaged her meal, while Sabastian never even touched his utensils.

"Was the meal not to your liking, sir?" the waiter asked.

"It was quite wonderful, thank you. I believe we are done, could you bring us a bowl of strawberries with a rather generous helping of your homemade whipped cream."

After Susan had completely stuffed herself, Sabastian paid and they walked back to the house. Deep inside Sabastian liked having Susan with him. He found that she gave him meaning, purpose. He had been aimlessly wandering for so long that he had forgotten what it felt like to be needed. He truly liked this feeling.

Unfortunately, he was also aware that his lifestyle was not appropriate for a little girl. The Tribunal and their henchmen, the Enforcers, were also weighing heavy on his mind.


0028
John got lost shortly after turning onto Playland Parkway. The highway, however, is what threw him. After leaving Interstate 95, Playland Parkway quickly turns into a somewhat residential road, and John simply got distracted just long enough to miss his turn. After coming to the end of the “highway,” which stops at the entrance to the Playland amusement park, he swore, made a right, and pulled over.

It was late and the only things open were restaurants. He decided he had little choice but to ask for directions since he certainly didn’t want to call Mary Angle again—that would be too awkward. He needed information from Mary and her husband, but he knew he was going to be on the receiving end of much more than he wanted.

The owner of the nearest restaurant sent him back up the highway three stop lights—which was all John needed to get back on the right track. After a couple of turns, he found the house and pulled into the driveway. It was huge and backed up against what he assumed was a river, though it was too dark to be certain.

Before he got out of his car, the front door of the house opened. The Angles were expecting him. He could see two figures standing in the doorway.

“Here we go,” he said under his breath as he stepped out of his car and headed up the walkway.

“Mr. and Mrs. Angle?”

“Yes,” responded a woman’s voice.

“Hello, I’m Detective John Lewis. We spoke earlier today,” John said as he neared the door.

The man put his hand out and said, “I’m Bill Angle, this is my wife Mary. You spoke with her earlier.”

“Yes.”

“Please, come in Detective.”

John entered the house and was amazed at the interior. While he couldn’t make out what the outside really looked like because it was dark, the inside was nothing short of impressive. The furniture was classic hard wood stuff, and there were fancy vases and things all over. Everything in the house looked like an antique. There were even fresh flowers, in every room. It was beautiful, spotless, and certainly expensive.

The three didn’t talk much on the way into the library, which required a quick walk though the formal dining room and living room.

As John sat, Bill Angle offered him a drink, which he refused. Mr. Angle joked that he hoped John wouldn’t mind if he had one even though his guest didn’t. John chuckled and, obviously, said, “Of course not.”

“So,” Mr. Angle started after his first sip, “you’re here to tell us our daughter is dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault, she’s been heading down this path for years. I assume you have Susan in a home somewhere. We will take her, of course.”

“That’s just it. We don’t have your daughter’s child.”

“What!” Mary exclaimed. “Oh God, not my granddaughter, too.”

“We don’t know. All we found was your daughter. I didn’t even know that Jane had a daughter until the day after we...,” he trailed off.

Bill Angle sat down in the chair across from his wife and simply looked at the floor. Mary just cried. John was struck by the lack of connection between the two of them. It almost seemed as if there was no love in the house. It was all very nice, but it was sterile.

“This is all your fault,” Mary said quietly, looking up at her husband. He started to sob. This was worse than John had imagined. He figured it would be a long night.

“I need to get as much information as possible if I’m going to find your granddaughter and, hopefully, figure out who was responsible for this,” John started after several excruciatingly silent minutes.


0029
The Angles were just as Wayne Cashman had described them, rich and, by all perceptions, perfect. Mr. Angle, actually Dr. Angle, was chief of staff at the local hospital—United Hospital in Port Chester. His wife was a housewife and a prolific volunteer. They had the highest of hopes for their only child, Jane, but once she turned thirteen, it seemed like she stopped caring.

She fell in with the wrong crowd and started using drugs. The Angles "did all they could" to help her, but nothing seemed to stop her slide. Eventually she just left one night and didn’t come back. The next thing they knew, the New York City Police were on the phone. She had been caught shoplifting.

They took her back and tried to get her help, but within a week she was gone again. Only this time she had stolen money from the house before she left. They tried to find her, but couldn’t.

The next time they heard from her, she was pregnant. She didn’t know who the father was, but she seemed like she really wanted to make things work for herself and for her child.

She had Susan and, for a little while, it looked like things were turning around. But, as usual, things didn’t work and she took off again. That was the last time the Angles had seen or heard from her.

John contemplated asking about her home life, but figured there was little point. She was dead—knowing if her father abused her or if she fought constantly with her mother wouldn’t bring her back. And, frankly, he didn’t really care. He knew these two didn’t kill their own daughter, at least not directly, and all John wanted to do was get the killer off the street. As for Jane’s daughter, he would do what he could, but street kids disappear all the time in New York City.

"Do you have any recent pictures of your daughter and her child?"

"Yes," Mrs. Angle said as she got up and walked across the room. She pulled down a frame and took out the picture. It was a photo of Jane and Susan. It was a bit old, but it was better than nothing. It was odd, but they both seemed so happy in the photo that you would never guess that anything was wrong.

"I guess we’ll need to make arrangements for the body," Mr. Angle said while John was looking at the photo.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Angle, your daughter’s body was destroyed in a car fire as it was being taken to the morgue." This set off a new round of crying. After what he felt was an appropriate amount of time, John said, "I need to head back to the city so I can..."

"Of course. We understand," Mr. Angle interrupted.

The Angle’s showed John out and watched as he got into his car. They didn’t once touch each other.

Feeling a bit worn, John couldn’t get up the strength for the drive to the city so he drove back to the restaurant, which had a bar, and reflected over a glass of beer.

That Jane had "given up" didn’t surprise him. It was obvious that her parents were hard driving and demanding. She couldn’t have lived up to any expectation because as soon as she had met one goal, there would have been another to take its place. What a life for a kid.

Although he felt he knew more about the victim, John surely was no closer to figuring out the case. The more he found out, the more it seemed she was killed at random. That would make finding the killer that much harder. He guessed that a few more people would have to die before a good trend would appear. A trend he could follow to understand why Jane was selected.

At about midnight, he headed back to New York. He wanted to check some more into Wayne Cashman’s record and put Susan Angle into the missing kids file. He also wanted to look into other "bizarre" deaths that might start the trend he was looking for. Perhaps the killer was a real nut case, one of those serial types, but hid it by killing in random places or at odd times.


0030
Back at the house, Sabastian sat thinking while Susan resumed drawing. He knew he must find someone or some organization that could take care of this little girl. Having spent more time with her, however, he now wanted to be sure that she would be well taken care of—not just out of his life.

He was not, in fact, entirely sure he wanted her out of his life, but he knew that something had to happen soon or Susan's life would be in danger because of her association with him. He thought about a private school where she could stay on the school grounds, but that would require awkward paperwork and contact with the school that he could not handle properly. There would be too much suspicion.

He even thought about renting her an apartment of her own and hiring a full time nanny to watch over her. He could limit the ties with this arrangement and be absolutely certain she was getting the best possible treatment, but it was still possible that a connection between them could be made.

No, he simply had to find some other way that would not leave a trail. Not being able to trace Susan back to him was important for both of them. It would insure her safety and his.

The police were an option, in fact the one he thought best the night before, but the questions that would be asked would also be difficult to handle. Not to mention that he had spoken with the detective, which might pose a problem if someone figured out the connection. The last thing either of them needed was that policeman snooping around. Besides, Sabastian was quite sure that the Tribunal knew about the cop, and he didn’t want them snooping around either.

"A hospital," he said quietly. Susan looked up from her playing.

He sat with Susan for several hours, savoring their time together. He knew it was likely that he wouldn’t see her again and wanted to enjoy what little time he had.

She drew for a while and then they played dress up on the second floor. Finally, the late hour began to slow her down and she started to get sleepy.

"It is time for us to go," Sabastian told her.

"I don't want to go," she said sleepily and with a slight pout.

"Come, my dear, I will carry you."