Blood Born Page 15

  Frederica was a seventeen-year-old runaway from Fancy Gap, Virginia. She passed herself off as eighteen to get jobs and to incur debts in support of her expensive tastes in clothing and accessories. She had so much debt, in fact, that to pay it off she volunteered in various medical studies—lying about her age so she could participate. The latest was for a new procedure to treat ovarian cancer, sponsored by a fertility clinic in Tyson’s Corner, Virginia. On the morning of June third, Frederica departed for the clinic and was never seen again. A few days later, Fairfax County police found her car in a parking garage at the Tyson’s Corner mall, about a mile away from her destination.

  According to the case file, police questioned the scientist running the study of ovarian cysts. They searched his laboratory, with his signed consent, for evidence linking him to the disappearance. They found nothing, and the scientist steadfastly stated Frederica neither kept her appointment nor returned follow-up calls. He said he had no idea where she was. Messages that Maryland police found on Frederica’s home answering machine from the scientist corroborated his claim. There had been no further developments.

  “Until now,” Tucker said as he finished. Roll call had concluded, so he had to speak over the noise of patrol officers flooding the hallway.

  “Hey, good work today, Randall,” a cop said as he passed by.

  “Thanks, Phil.” Randall lowered her voice and addressed Tucker: “A fertility clinic, huh? I’ll be damned. And the M.E. says she gave birth just before she died.”

  Tucker nodded. “That’s what has Baker all excited. I mean, isn’t that what they do at fertility clinics? I could’ve discussed the case with him over the phone, but he wanted to impress me with this information in person—as if I’m anyone important.”

  “You are important, believe me.” Randall could hardly contain her excitement. “Now I better corner him before he goes off duty.”

  “Oh, he’s not going off duty tonight. He’s too close to being the hero. Says he might get a medal for solving all the recent MP cases.”

  MP was lingo for missing person. Randall blinked at him. Tucker was referring to the rash of missing college women—almost a half dozen so far—reported in the past couple weeks.

  “Oh my god. I can’t believe I never put those together with this.”

  Tucker shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. You were investigating a serial rapist. There’s been no evidence to suggest the same guy was also responsible for the missing persons. Until now.”

  “You keep saying that phrase. What happened?”

  “The media broke it this afternoon—while you were supposedly off-duty.” Tucker smirked and crossed his arms. “In the past two days, Montgomery County’s been hit with a string of MPs similar to ours. Nothing notable about them except they’re all in their teens and twenties, like the ones here. The media’s alleging it’s the Beltway Bigfoot’s work.”

  Randall could only shake her head in disgust. “That’s a leap, even for yellow journalists.”

  “But there’s that new evidence I mentioned. One of them showed up dead this morning behind an elementary school—and guess what?”

  “What?”

  “No, I’m asking you to guess.” Tucker turned when another cop, as old and burly as he was, deliberately shoulder-checked him.

  The newcomer smiled at Tucker. “Oh, I’m sorry, were you standing here?”

  Tucker burst out laughing. “Hey there, old man. They let you out of the nursing home today?”

  “Yes sir, they even let me put on my uniform. I find my holster’s a good place for my cane when I’m using the bathroom.”

  “You mean when you’re using your catheter?”

  Randall huffed and tried to be patient as this continued for another minute. Finally, when the discussion came around to meeting up at the sports bar after work, she interrupted. “Excuse me. Gramps and I have to finish planning his funeral.”

  “Uh oh, Tucker, sounds like you’re in trouble.” The other cop roared laughter and punched his arm before drifting away.

  Tucker chuckled as he rubbed his tricep. “Ow. That didn’t used to hurt.” He winked at Randall. “So, you figured it out yet?”

  “The victim behind the school gave birth just before she died?”

  “Bingo.”

  “And she was partially eaten.”

  “I’ve always said you were a bright officer.”

  She grunted, considering this new information. “Any trace splatters, fingerprints, things like that?”

  “Well, I don’t know about the Maryland case, but there was none of that around Frederica Wolford’s body in the Dumpster.”

  Randall drummed her fingers against her empty mug. “So Frederica was put in there—dumped there—after being killed elsewhere.”

  “You think your rapist monster did that?”

  “No. Doesn’t sound like his style.” There was also the question of how the monster could’ve made it up to Montgomery County and back without anyone noticing. “Anyway, thanks for all the info, sergeant.” Randall smiled and started to walk off.

  “Don’t mention it. Or rather, do mention it—but only to make me look good.”

  “I promise you’ll be a big hit with all the ladies at the nursing home.”

  “Ah, but cooperation is bliss.”

  Then, to show she really was grateful, Randall smiled and waved before turning the corner. Tucker nodded.

  She walked straight into Detective Baker coming the other way. Coffee splashed out of the mug he was carrying, all over his white shirt.

  “Goodness gracious, Randall! Can’t you do nothin’ right?”

  Randall didn’t lose her grin. In fact, it widened. She imagined fangs descending from her mouth, a bit like the creature they were tracking.

  “Plenty,” she answered.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Despite having what she thought was moral righteousness on her side, it took Randall a good ten minutes to get Baker to cave. She worried she must be losing her touch as an interrogator. Oh well, she was tired.

  But in the end, Detective Baker sat at his desk with his head bowed, coffee stain drying on his shirt, as Randall stood over him with her hands on her hips. The threat of what she planned to tell the chief of detectives tomorrow morning was what did it. Cooperation is bliss, as Tucker said.

  Randall paused to make another note with the expensive Mont Blanc pen Baker had generously given her.

  “Refill your coffee?” Baker said. He gave her a look that said being nice to her was about as much fun as eating Georgian cow dung.

  “Yes, in a minute. Now tell me, what’s the name of the doctor who was running the study on ovarian cysts?”

  “Don’t know if he’s a doctor. The file says he listed his profession as ‘scientist.’”

  “I said what’s his name.”

  “Nick Schaefer. Here—” he handed her a file folder, “this is everything about the Frederica Wolford case.”

  Randall opened it and copied down the spelling of the scientist’s name. She glanced farther down and paused on the name of his business: CalPark Fertility Clinic. Where had she seen that name before?

  “I was planning on bringing him in tonight for questioning.” Baker rolled his eyes and added, “Would you like to be present?”

  “Absolutely. E-mail me when he’s been picked up.” Randall returned the file to him. “Thank you, detective. You’ve been most helpful.”

  He just glared at her.

  Randall kept her expression stony until she returned to her desk. Then she allowed herself to smile as she inserted her new Mont Blanc pen into her pocket.

  Go ahead, enjoy your smugness, a small part of her replied. While you’re congratulating yourself on playing politics, there’s a bunch of girls at the hospital dying from their pregnancies. More could be getting raped right now.

  Her smile faded, and she returned to her notes. She needed to stay professional and control her emotions. What was wrong with her?

/>   Then it hit her.

  The hospital. The girls at the hospital. And Cassandra Elliott, behind the hospital.

  “Oh my god.”

  It seemed so obvious now that she felt like slapping herself—but there was no time. It might already be too late.

  Randall rose from her chair and started walking toward the roll-call room in search of Sergeant Lively. In a moment, she was running.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  She found him standing at a urinal in the men’s room. “Dammit, Randall!” Sergeant Lively hurried to zip up when she entered.

  “The girls. It’s the girls at the hospital.”

  “What?”

  “That’s where the creatures are going. Why else do you think it was headed south? Why else was a woman murdered there?”

  “What are you . . .” he began, but then he stopped. His eyes went wide.

  Randall abandoned all pretense of remaining calm. “They know where their children are. They’re coming to get them.”

  Chapter 10

  When the press conference ended and the TV reporters began rehashing everything, Margaret stood up and muted the sound. She was afraid to turn it off altogether. She wiped her cheeks and faced her daughter.

  “Daniella?”

  Daniella stared into space with moist eyes. Eventually, she reached for the Coke her mother had brought her, but her hand trembled and she only succeeded in pushing it off the bed. The smack of it hitting the floor made her start crying again.

  “Oh oh oh, that’s okay,” Margaret said, picking up the can. She opened it for her, and immediately the carbonation came boiling out to drip onto the floor. Margaret ran with it to the bathroom sink.

  As she located a cup and wad of paper towels, she heard Daniella pick up her phone and dial some buttons. A moment later, the receiver clattered back onto its cradle. Margaret emerged from the bathroom to see Daniella stumbling into the hallway.

  “Where are you going?”

  She caught up to her at the nurse’s station, where she appeared to be searching for something. Margaret was glad she’d made Daniella change into sweat pants and a T-shirt. Her daughter had precious little dignity remaining and didn’t need her butt hanging from a hospital gown.

  Nurse Kimball was nowhere to be found. It was like they were in an abandoned building. The Hershey’s bar Kimball opened during their conversation lay half-eaten beside the computer.

  “What are you doing, Daniella? Come back to bed.”

  Daniella ignored her and continued to rummage through the papers on the desk. She frowned at the computer the way Margaret might puzzle over how to change a tire.

  “I gotta find my doctors. I tried calling, but no one answered.”

  “I don’t know where they are, sweetie. The nurse is probably looking for them.”

  “They know the father’s one of those monsters. They’ve been lying to me. I want it out of me.”

  Down the opposite hall, a young Asian woman in a gown and with a bandage on her forehead leaned against her doorframe to watch them.

  Margaret reached out for Daniella. “Come on, honey. We’re disturbing the other patients.”

  “I don’t care about the other patients. I want an abortion.”

  “Let’s go back to your room and talk about it.”

  Daniella bowed her head and started sobbing. She allowed her mother to lead her back. Along the way, she snatched up the rest of the chocolate bar and devoured it in two bites. Margaret wondered what was so important that the fat nurse had left her candy unfinished.

  “Come on, honey. Lay down on your bed here. Relax.”

  “I didn’t mean what I said. I do care. It’s just that . . .” Daniella shook her head. “I’m so hungry. Why am I so hungry?”

  Margaret struggled to stay impassive as she pulled the blankets up over her daughter’s legs. “I don’t know.”

  But she did know—and so did Daniella, she suspected. The girl was pregnant. No use in denying or hiding it anymore. Daniella now knew she’d been raped by an animal that had raped and possibly impregnated other women—women who were at this very hospital. Worse still was the revelation that there could be two of these creatures on the loose. It meant these attacks weren’t flukes; it was an epidemic, and Daniella was no longer special. Resources would be divided and subdivided as the attacks continued, and her daughter would be lost in the crowd.

  Margaret bit her lip. Stop it. You’re being irrational. This is why I can’t presume to be Daniella’s doctor in this. I’m not thinking clearly. . . . But the press conference was the first I heard of the second creature. Why didn’t Detective Randall tell me? Is everybody keeping secrets to cover their asses?

  “I wonder what it’ll look like,” Daniella said.

  Margaret stared at her daughter’s stomach. Nurse Kimball had said Daniella’s hCG level was that of a woman two months pregnant. At that point, the developing baby was no longer an embryo but a fetus, almost one-and-a-half inches long. She still couldn’t believe this was happening.

  “Daniella, I—”

  The Asian woman whom Margaret spotted down the hall surprised them by coming in. She walked hunched-over and holding her stomach. “So,” the visitor said, “I take it you were watching the TV, too.”

  A man’s voice called from the hallway: “Jan? Where’d you go, hon?”

  “I’m in here.”

  A young man came in and put an arm around her shoulders. “Wow, you scared me. I turned around, and you were gone.”

  He was a white guy who looked to be in his late twenties. Margaret was struck by how handsome he was, particularly his dark hair and eyes. Even Daniella briefly emerged from her despair to give him a once-over. Margaret felt a moment’s hope that Daniella wouldn’t let the rape influence her attitudes toward men.

  “I’m sorry. I’m Jan Lee. This is my boyfriend, Greg.”

  “How do you do?” Margaret said.

  Daniella went back to contemplating her empty candy bar wrapper.

  Jan Lee sat down in a chair and hugged her stomach tighter. “Now I know why the cops didn’t come here to interview me last night. They were too busy chasing bigfoots.”

  Margaret found her voice with difficulty. “You were raped too?”

  “Right there on my lawn. Just got home from work and . . .” She trailed off as her voice began to shake. Her boyfriend rubbed her shoulder. “I even had to call 911 for myself. I’m almost more disturbed by that than the monster—which I didn’t see anyway because I was knocked out. The monster part doesn’t feel real yet.”

  “Maybe you’re not pregnant.”

  “The doctor told me this morning I am. What am I going to do? I have to be in court Monday. They’re counting on me.”

  Daniella made a puzzled frown. Margaret shook her head not to ask.

  “Your boss will understand if you’re not there,” Greg the boyfriend said. “There’s other attorneys on the case.”

  “But this is my big chance.”

  Greg sighed. He turned to Margaret and Daniella. “Do you ladies know where the nurse is? Jan wanted to get some more food.”

  “We were wondering the same thing,” Margaret said.

  “We heard a crash down the hall, like someone dropped a vase. Maybe she went to check it out.”

  Margaret shrugged. “We had the TV up too loud.”

  Still hugging herself, Jan Lee shuddered as if she felt a blast of cold air. “Couldn’t they give me an abortion pill? I heard you talking to the nurse earlier. You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am. But I’m not your doctor. I can’t advise you.” She regretted how that came out. Too harsh. “I’m sorry . . . Jan, is it? I’m trying to come to terms with this myself.”

  Margaret looked between Jan and Daniella. They wore identical expressions of shell shock.

  Reaching a decision, Margaret stood and picked up the phone, then dialed 0. “Let’s see where your doctors are, girls.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽


  A minute later, Margaret was still standing there listening to the phone on the other end ring and ring. Where was the hospital operator?

  “I told you, no one answered,” Daniella said.

  “Someone’s sleeping on the job,” Jan said. She looked at Daniella’s candy wrapper. “Do you have any more of that?”

  In response, Daniella opened the package of crackers Margaret had brought in earlier and shared it.

  The muffled sound of sirens came through the window.

  Margaret slammed the phone back onto its cradle. “This is ridiculous. Daniella, you had the right idea. I’m going to the nurse’s desk to see if I can find somebody. Barring that, I’ll go downstairs.”

  “I’ll keep trying on this phone,” Greg said.

  Out at the nurse’s station, Margaret repeated her daughter’s motions and searched for a phone list. The phone itself, a receptionist’s model with at least thirty buttons for different lines, flashed like Times Square. People were evidently too busy to answer a call from the seventh-floor isolation ward.

  She glanced at the computer monitor, which showed a floor plan for their wing. Only four of the patient rooms, all in different corners of the ward, had names imprinted over them. On Daniella’s side, Connolly and Giddes. On the other, Thompson and Lee. Sergeant Lively had told the TV cameras that four victims were hospitalized so far. Margaret hadn’t realized they were all in here.

  This would be a perfect time to snoop into the other patients’ records. She imagined herself bringing her experience to bear. She could enlist all the resources of the CalPark clinic, in fact. Maybe by cross-referencing all the victims’ files against proprietary databases, she could—

  She shook her head. “Stop.” She needed to find those stupid doctors.

  Words began flashing along the bottom of the computer screen.

  FIRE: FLOOR G, FLOOR 3