Part 22 (1/2)
”Yes, we do. Goodbye, we'll be seeing you.” She had her hand on Harold's arm, he was up, a big man, ready to follow his slender wife.
”Keep the paper!” he said to Ragnor.
”Thanks. Thanks very much,” Ragnor said.
When they had gone, Ragnor slid into a seat at Jordan's table. She took her chair opposite him.
”I don't remember asking you to join me for breakfast,” she said.
”It isn't really breakfast,” he murmured, eyes scanning the paper.
Jordan wished she could read Italian. ”What does it say?”
”Not too much. A head was found in one of the smaller ca.n.a.ls.”
”Near the contessa's palazzo?” Jordan asked.
His eyes shot up at her. Not that she could really see his eyes. His Ray-Bans shot up at her.
He stared at her a while. ”Yes.”
”People were killed at her party. I'm convinced of it. If only someone else believed it.”
He didn't contradict her. He translated from the paper instead. ”Police will call in a forensic artist to try to re-create the face so that bulletins can be sent throughout Europe, as there are no reports of missing persons in the Venice area at this time.”
She sat back, staring at him. ”Can you take those off, please?” she asked, indicating his gla.s.ses.
”No,” he said flatly.
”Wearing them at the table is extremely rude, something even an American wouldn't do.”
”I see Americans wearing sungla.s.ses at the table all the time,” he replied absently.
She leaned forward, shoving the omelette aside. ”You spend your time warning me that I'm in danger, that I create danger, then you tell me that a severed head means nothing in Venice.”
”I didn't say that at all.”
”What did you say?”
”That you can't go a.s.suming that this severed head has anything to do with the contessa.
And if you go to the police insisting again that the contessa's party was full of costumed creatures ripping up guests, they're just going to think that you're crazy again. Delusional, suffering from stress brought on by grief due to the loss of a loved one.”
She started to rise; he caught her hand. ”Why are you angry with me when I tell you the truth?”
”You're still not telling me the truth about anything.”
”I'm telling you what you need to know.”
”Well, at the moment, I have work to do. Will you excuse me?”
His face was expressionless, but he didn't release her hand. ”Where are you going?”
”What on earth is that to you?”
”Where are you going?” he repeated.
”Down to the front desk-I was supposed to get some work by FedEx today. Then I'm going to my room to work.”
”And then?”
”I'm going to bring the red vinyl costume back to Anna Maria's and pick up the outfit I'm wearing tonight.”
”I'll be in the lobby. Make sure you stop by to get me before you go.”
”What if I don't want you with me?”
”I'm hard to shake.”
”Will you let go for now?”
”You haven't touched your food.”
”I'm not hungry. And I am awake and aware, and it seems like a good time to get some work done.”
He released her hand. His attention was back on the newspaper article.
Jordan took the elevator down to the lobby level and went straight to the front desk, asking if a package had arrived for her. To her surprise, it actually had; it had arrived in almost exactly twenty-four hours.
There was a note from her agent right on top. She scanned it and went straight to the ma.n.u.script. Vampire Legend and the Criminal Mind.
She started reading as she walked up the stairs. There was an introduction about the author, a cop named Sean Canady who lived in New Orleans. His record had been filled with commendations, and he had worked homicides for years.
The first section of the book centered on solved criminal cases involving occultism and vampirism, going back into history for centuries, and including cases involving cannibalism, all the way up to the murders perpetrated by Jeffrey Dahmer.
The book was absorbing. In her room, she flopped down on her bed and kept on reading until she realized that she hadn't locked her door.
Her reading material indicated that she really should do so.
She stood, rushed to the door, locked it, and stretched back out to read again. The ma.n.u.script was very well written: detailed without being graphic, to the point, and yet explanatory. There was a section on cases still under investigation, including the murder of several prost.i.tutes in New Orleans, and the occult killings that had occurred in Charleston, South Carolina.
Steven was in the book, mentioned by name. She bit her lip while reading that section. There was a chapter on the various psychologies involved in such murders, written in cooperation with one of the leading men from the FBI who worked on criminal profiles.