Forbidden Fangs

Chapter 21

Baker got on the radio with dispatch while Pete finished off his coffee and donuts. Logan Alluvian did not have a criminal record, but he did have a driver's license which listed an out of the way address north of Wallgrave. The detectives got on the road and drove out of the gothic neighborhood, leaving the looming houses behind in favor of the more modern, blockish buildings that decorated most of the town. Before long they were on the highway heading north, and Pete broke the comfortable silence that that built up between them.

“Do you think that Meeks fellow was giving us the runaround?” The lanky detective asked, leaning back in his seat. “He seemed eager to get rid of us at first, and then all too eager to help.”

“Makes sense though, doesn't it?” Baker mused, guiding the heavy sedan around a bend in the road, high beams blazing. “When we first showed up he saw us as a potential threat to his friends and their party. Of course he was eager to send us after someone else.”

“But that's just it,” Pete said, stroking his chin. “What if he's sending us on a wild goose chase? Logan Alluvian could just be someone he has a grudge against. It wouldn't be the first time a perp provided misinformation.”

“Meeks, a perp?” Baker chuckled. “He didn't really seem the type. He's a creepy little guy, certainly… fascinated with vampires and bloody crimes no doubt. But he didn't seem like the type to get his hands dirty, or to lie to the police. My bet is, this is the first solid lead we've had on this case.”

“I hope you're right,” Pete said, rubbing his hands together. “Otherwise we're driving to the middle of nowhere for no reason.”

Suddenly the radio crackled to life.

“Unit 317, please be advised,” the dispatcher said evenly, using their car's call sign. “We've had a report of a single gunshot fired in the vicinity of the address you're currently headed for. Should I send backup?”

“A single shot?” Pete said into the mouthpiece, “could have just been a car backfire, or any other number of things. We should be fine, dispatch, but we'll check in every ten minutes. If you don't hear from us, send a couple squad cars.”

“Roger that 317,” the dispatcher crackled, and signed off. They drove in silence for a few more kilometers and then Baker glanced at his partner.

“What do you think?” He asked, “gunshot, backfire, or something else entirely?”

“Probably a backfire,” Pete reasoned, “most civilians around her have never even heard a real gunshot. A car backfire is a pretty compelling noise to anyone who watches enough action movies. Of course it could have been someone doing some illegal hunting, not that that's our jurisdiction. In any case, it gives us a solid starting place for questioning this Logan Alluvian. Where do you think that surname comes from?”

“Beats me,” Baker scoffed. “It sounds European, but that hardly narrows it down. For all we know he could have had his name legally changed to that because it sounds cool.”

Baker turned off the highway, guiding the wheel hand over hand until the heavy sedan settled onto the back country road which led to Alluvian's address. Skeletal tree branches, already missing most of the their leaves, reached inward from either side of the road like eager fingers. Baker swallowed a lump in his throat, feeling the anxiety well up within his gut, and with it came the paranoid thoughts.

What if Logan Alluvian is a vampire? What if he killed that boy in the woods? A vampire with a gun… would Pete and I even stand a chance? What if he has hostages? What are we running into here?

Baker heaved a deep breath and then another. His eyes flicked across the dashboard. The glove box, the speedometer, the gas gauge, the rearview mirror. One therapist he'd formerly seen called it random eye movement therapy. Taking in a rapid succession of stimuli was supposed to distract the brain from obsessions and depression. It worked… a little.

“You alright, partner?” Pete asked. “You look like you're about ready to tuck and roll, and that'd leave me in the car to careen into the ditch.”

“I'm fine,” Baker said in a choked voice. He cleared his throat. “Just trying to stay awake. Evidently I should have grabbed another coffee when you did.”

“There it is,” Pete said, pointing along the side of the road. The 911 number they'd been given by dispatch peered out of a swathe of long grass that bordered a winding dirt driveway. Baker stepped on the brake and slowed down, turning carefully into the narrow drive. The heavy sedan rocked on its shocks as it meandered along the uneven terrain, and came to rest nose-to-tail with a black Ford Crown Victoria parked out front of the small ramshackle house.

The detectives got out one at a time, their car rocking on its shocks, and met in front of their vehicle to lean on the hood.

“Doesn't look like much is going on around here,” Pete commented. “No signs of firearms or a struggle. Still, you never know what's inside. And it certainly seems as though someone is home.”He walked up to the black ford and placed a hand on the hood. “It's cooling, but it's still a little warm. Alluvian must have gotten home just recently.”

“Well, maybe he can explain his recent whereabouts, and the source of the gunshot.” Baker said, adjusting his belt and easing his sidearm in its shoulder holster. “Come on Pete, let's get this over with.”

The portly detective and his lanky partner fell into step as they ascended the concrete stairs leading up to the front door. They exchanged a final glance, and then Baker lifted a thick fist and knocked forcefully three times.

“Wallgrave police department,” he called in a voice much stronger than he felt. “Logan Alluvian, we know you're in there. Please open up. We've got some questions for you regarding a recent murder.”