“The doctor who extended my life killed my sister while perfecting his experiments. He was... more successful with me.” And with that, Constance stood up again — even more abruptly — turned her back on Frost, and exited the woman’s chambers.
39
“We’ve got a bit of a shitshow on our hands,” Delaplane told the group assembled in the Savannah PD briefing room. Sheldrake was at her side, and Coldmoon sat unobtrusively with Pendergast in the back as the commander reviewed the case. “You saw, or heard about, the scene at the cemetery. And no doubt you saw the national news this morning, with those ghost photos on every news channel. We need to show some progress here, people.”
They were pretty damn unsettling pictures, Coldmoon thought, and he wondered how that German guy, Moller, had pulled off that level of fakery. Assuming they were fakes. He’d caught the beginning of Moller’s dog-and-pony show in the cemetery, before Pendergast had dragged him away. Now he wished they’d stuck around.
Delaplane went through a brief summary of the case so far, making notations on a whiteboard. Sheldrake spoke for a few minutes about its unusual and contradictory aspects — including a brief mention of the logistics of moving the victims from where they were attacked to where the bodies were found.
As they were finishing up, there was a stir at the door. Coldmoon glanced over. A group of men in dark suits had walked in, led by a boss man in dark glasses. He’s either a politician or mobbed up, thought Coldmoon as the man strode toward the front of the room as if he owned the place. A camera crew also appeared in the doorway and were filming — not the jackasses doing the documentary, but another crew evidently towed in by the boss guy.
Delaplane stared at the intruders and then — in a voice that wasn’t exactly warm with welcome — said: “Welcome, Senator.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” said the man, turning to the group of police officers and flashing a smile of the whitest, straightest teeth Coldmoon had ever seen. He sported an artificial tan, hair implants, and, Coldmoon guessed, a face lift. The man was built like a linebacker, his suit straining at the seams, movie-star handsome, midfifties. His only drawback was a nose with a spiderweb of veins. “I’m here in my capacity as the senior senator of the great state of Georgia to offer our assistance in getting this heinous case solved.” He looked at the camera with a smile. “I’m a strong supporter of local law enforcement, one hundred percent.” He turned again and addressed Delaplane. “How is the investigation going, Commander?”
“We were just finishing a briefing on new developments in the case,” she said.
“Are there new developments?”
“We’re working on a number of lines of inquiry,” said Delaplane evenly.
“I’m glad to hear that, because naturally I’ve been concerned.” He paused. “As you know, I’ll be holding an outdoor campaign rally in Forsyth Park tomorrow night.”
“We’re well aware of that, Senator. We’re providing security.”
“That’s the issue right there: security. I know you’ve all been working overtime on this case, but as you can see, it’s now become a national story, and it isn’t exactly casting a favorable light on either your city or our state. We need to see some real progress on getting this solved—before the rally. Am I clear, ladies and gentlemen?”
Coldmoon could see that the rank and file of the SPD were not at all happy with the senator barging into their meeting. A chilly silence filled the room.
“I just wanted to say that you’ve got my support,” the senator went on, raising his voice. “I’m going to make sure that, up in Washington, we’re going to throw all our resources into solving these heinous murders. So whatever you need, Commander, just call and let me know. We’ve got your back, I promise you that.”
“Thank you, Senator,” said Delaplane.
“Thank you. Ladies and gentlemen of law enforcement: God bless you all!”
He made a quick hand gesture and the cameras stopped filming. The smile instantly vanished. He turned and headed back toward the door with his entourage. But instead of leaving, the senator detoured and came up to where Pendergast and Coldmoon were sitting. “Could I see you two gentlemen outside?”
Pendergast rose without a word and Coldmoon did likewise. They exited the police station into the parking lot, baking in the heat. The senator’s black SUV was parked illegally in front of the station, along with several other staff cars.
Once outside, the senator turned to Pendergast. “So you’re the two agents Pickett’s assigned to this case.” He looked at them, one after the other. “You must be Agent Pendergast.”
Pendergast inclined his head.
“They tell me you’re the best. That you always solve your cases. That there’s no smarter agent in the Bureau to handle this sort of thing.”
Pendergast remained still, face betraying nothing.
“To be frank, all I’ve seen so far is a whole lot of zilch. No arrests, no leads, no nothing. Oh: except, of course, for the raid on a bunch of old swingers wallowing in duck blood. And when I woke up yesterday, what did I see on the morning news? Pictures of ghosts, and Savannah the laughingstock of the nation. ‘The Savannah Vampire’—Christ. May I ask, Agent Pendergast, what you and your partner have been doing in the past ten days or so?”
“You may ask,” said Pendergast.
Drayton waited, but Pendergast apparently had finished speaking.
The senator stepped closer. “Let me explain something to you, Pendergast. You heard what I said back there. I’ve got a rally coming up that’s crucial to my re-election. I can’t have anything interfering with or depressing attendance. I can’t do anything to reprimand you about your failure to move this case forward, you or your partner here. Frankly, you’re too low-level, and I can’t reach down that far. But your boss, Pickett — who assured me you’d solve the case, who sang your praises, and who’s been covering for you — well, he was up for promotion to associate deputy director. Note my use of the past tense.”
Coldmoon felt his blood rise up. While he didn’t like Pickett, he felt a loyalty to the Bureau, and he took deep offense at this political hack making threats. But Pendergast said nothing.
“You understand what I’m saying, Pendergast?”
“Naturally.”
This was too much. “I’m sorry to hear, Senator,” Coldmoon said, “that your re-election campaign isn’t going well.”
Drayton turned two small, squinty, rage-filled eyes on him. “You insolent bastard. Maybe I can do something about squashing a low-level bug like you.”
“Go ahead,” said Coldmoon.
Drayton gave a smile, exposing his rack of snowy teeth. “You’re both going to find out what it means to disrespect a sitting U.S. senator, that I can tell you.”
“If you’re still sitting after the election,” said Coldmoon.
“Oh, believe me, the shit’s going to rain on you sooner than that, Agent—” He paused and picked up the ID hanging on his lanyard, then let it drop. “Coldmoon.”
At this, Drayton snapped his fingers over his head and spun around. The gesture sent his minions rushing to the SUV, some opening the door for him while he climbed inside as the rest of the retinue swarmed into the other vehicles.
Coldmoon tried to take a few measured breaths and calm himself down. He glanced at Pendergast, but the man’s face was as distant and neutral as ever.