Generation 18, Page 2

  The creature seemed to be headed for the apartment in which the radio played. She watched it for as long as she dared. When it stopped and pressed a taloned hand against a window, she turned and ran for the building’s front door.

  “Gabriel, the kite’s about to break into a top-floor apartment on the corner of Gibb and Macelan streets.”

  “Help’s on the way. Stay where you are.”

  The words had barely whispered into her ear when she heard the sound of glass shattering. A heartbeat later the screaming began. Sickening visions swam through her mind—bloodied images of the street bum she’d found three months ago, his body a mass of raw, weeping muscle stripped of skin.

  She swallowed heavily and pounded up the stairs. “Negative. It’s attacking. I’m in pursuit.”

  “Damn it, you’re not equipped to deal—”

  “Just get backup here quickly.” She pressed the earphone, cutting him off again. She didn’t need to hear what she could and couldn’t do. Not when a man’s life was at stake.

  Two flights…three. She leapt over the banister and up the remaining stairs. People milled in their doorways, their eyes wide and fearful. Not one of them appeared willing to investigate what was happening to their neighbor. City living, she thought, sucked. But then, would neighbors in suburban areas be any more willing to risk investigating screams as horrifying as the ones currently shattering the silence? She suspected not.

  She slithered to a stop outside the apartment door and glanced back at the pajama-clad crowd. “SIU, folks. Go back inside and lock your doors.”

  The crowd melted away. With her laser held at the ready, she stepped back and kicked the door. Wood shuddered, splintering. She booted it a second time and the door flung open, crashing back on its hinges.

  The kite was in the middle of the living room, its sheetlike form covering all but the stranger’s slippers. His screams suddenly choked off, and all she heard was an odd sucking noise. Blood seeped past the flaccid, winglike sections of the creature’s arms, forming pools that seemed to glisten black in the darkness.

  She raised the stun rifle and fired at the creature. The blue-white energy bit through the darkness, flaring against the kite’s leather-like skin. If it had any effect, she couldn’t see it.

  She switched her aim to the creature’s oddly shaped head and fired again. The kite snarled and looked up. It had no mouth, she saw suddenly. It was sucking the stranger’s flesh and blood in through pores on its skin.

  She shuddered and fired again, this time at its eyes. The creature snarled again, the sound high-pitched and almost batlike. Then it shook its head and jerked upright. Bloodied strips of half-consumed flesh slid down its body and puddled at its feet. Her stomach churned, but she held her ground and kept on firing at the creature’s eyes. It obviously wasn’t stunning the kite, but it was doing something, because the kite’s movements were becoming increasingly agitated.

  It screamed again, then turned and stumbled toward the window. She edged into the apartment. The kite smacked into the wall, then flung out an arm, feeling for the window frame. It was almost as if it had lost all sonar capabilities. So maybe the weapon had addled its keen senses.

  It grasped the window frame, felt for the other side to position itself, then dived through the shattered glass. Sam ran over to the window and leaned out. The kite was floating back to the street, its arms out wide, loose skin stretched taut to catch the light breeze. She pressed the earphone again.

  “Gabriel, the kite is now on Macelan Street, heading west.”

  “Do not go after it. I repeat, do not go after it. Stay in the apartment.”

  Her smile was grim. If the tone of his voice was anything to go by, he was madder than hell. He had a right to be, she supposed, but what else could she have done? Let the kite devour the stranger?

  Not that her intervention had saved him. She turned away from the window and dug out the marble-sized crime-scene monitor—the latest gadget from the SIU labs. She hit the activate button, then tossed the CSM into the air. It hovered for several seconds, then the light flickered from red to green, indicating it was now recording. She ordered it to do a sweep of the premises for record purposes. The monitor obeyed, panning around the room, taking in the doorway she’d kicked open, the window and the body. Then it returned, hovering several feet away from her.

  “The kite smashed through the living room window and attacked the victim at three fifteen a.m. I—SIU Officer Ryan—intervened and drove the kite back through the window.” She showed the monitor her badge, then walked across the room to squat beside the body. “The victim is male, probably mid-sixties.”

  The CSM dropped closer to the body, capturing the bloody details of the murder. What remained of the victim’s flesh hung in strips, almost indistinguishable from the remnants of his red-and-white-striped pajamas. His eyes were wide, his mouth locked into a scream—a look of astonished horror that was now permanently etched into his features.

  Why this man? Why not the two men talking in the apartment below, or the woman who’d just joined her partner in bed? She glanced up and studied the room.

  The kite had come straight to this apartment, so it had obviously wanted this man specifically. What they now had to find out was why.

  Sam rose and walked over to the shelving unit. The CSM followed her, a small limpet that recorded her every move, protecting her from future accusations of mistakes. Or possibly damning her, if she did screw up. Mentally shrugging, she dug a set of gloves out of her pocket and put them on. Then she turned off the radio and ordered the CSM to pan across the photos lining the shelf.

  Each photo contained the same four men, either fishing, drinking, or standing around a barbecue. All of them looked to be at least fifty or sixty. She glanced again at the body. The victim was bald, save for a few scraggly wisps of white near either ear. He wasn’t in any of these photos, then. Maybe he’d been the one taking them?

  She picked up one framed photograph, then turned at the sound of footsteps. Gabriel entered, his gaze sweeping the room until he found her.

  “I could put you on report for your behavior tonight,” he said, stopping just inside the doorway.

  Though his face was impassive, his hazel eyes were stormy with anger and, surprisingly, a touch of fear. She debated ordering the CSM to stop recording, then shrugged and let it continue. Procedures stated that any and all activity at a crime scene had to be recorded. If that included being told off, then so be it.

  “Do it. Maybe then you’ll get your wish and be rid of me.” She hesitated. What was the point of arguing about it here? There were far more important matters at stake—like why the kite attacked this man. “Do you know who our victim is?”

  For an instant, it looked as if he might continue with his reprimand. Then he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked across to the body. “Male, in his mid-sixties, obviously.” He glanced around the apartment. “And fairly well off. Those paintings are by Kyle Parker.”

  She glanced across to the stylized landscapes. To her admittedly untrained eye, a three-year-old could have done a better job. And yet Parker’s paintings sold for millions.

  “If he could afford those, he should have installed better security.”

  “Security doesn’t usually stop the kites.”

  “No, only decapitation or the sun can do that.” She frowned down at the body. According to the SIU labs, the kites were some sort of offshoot of the vampire family tree. The SIU researchers were desperate to get their hands on a live specimen for testing, but as yet no one had figured out a way to capture one. “This wasn’t a random attack. The kite came straight to this apartment.”

  “Maybe the victim was the only one moving around.”

  Sam shook her head. “There was movement in several apartments, but the creature ignored them all and came straight here.”

  Gabriel frowned. “There’s been no evidence that the kites can be programmed to kill certain individuals.”

  �
€œBut there’s been no evidence that they can’t, either.”

  “True.” He studied her for a moment, his hazel eyes intense. “How did you drive the creature away? Stun rifles don’t work on kites.”

  “No, but they definitely don’t like it when you fire it at their head. It seems to affect their ability to echolocate.”

  He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but any comment he was about to make was cut off as a wristcom—a two-inch-wide communications and minicomputer unit worn around the wrist—beeped. His, not hers.

  He hit the unit’s interface with more force than necessary. “Stern here,” he said, with more than a hint of impatience in his voice.

  Given the tightening of his already annoyed expression, the news obviously wasn’t good.

  “What?” she said, the minute he’d hung up.

  “It looks like our serial killer has struck again. Byrne wants me to investigate.”

  Me, not we, she noted—and wondered if, in fact, Stephan had said that, or if Gabriel was locking her out again. “Where this time?”

  “Elwood.”

  She raised her eyebrows. If it was the same killer, then he was certainly showing no preference for area. So far, he’d killed in Toorak, Broadmeadows and now Elwood. And it was more than just miles that separated the three suburbs; each one occupied a different rung on the social ladder.

  “What about the blood bank stakeout?”

  “Briggs and Thornhill have taken over.”

  Lucky them. But she’d seen the two working together before, and she had no doubt that Briggs would be considerate enough to offer her partner some hot coffee long before his butt froze to the step. “So let’s go investigate.”

  Gabriel’s gaze narrowed, as if he’d sensed the hint of sarcasm underlying her words. “You disobeyed orders and came after the kite. Now you’re stuck with this case, I’m afraid.”

  But if the kite hadn’t attacked, he would have found some other reason to keep her away from the murder investigation. Had it been anyone else, she would have sworn it stemmed from distrust—of both her and her ability to cope with the job—but he’d already told her it wasn’t so much her, but partners in general. It was almost as if he distrusted himself more than her or any partner he might be assigned.

  Not that that thought made any sense at all—unless, of course, something had happened to his other partners. Something he felt responsible for. Maybe that was something she needed to check out, because it would certainly go a long way toward explaining things.

  Of course, it was also something he should tell her, but, obviously, the man had a stubborn streak a mile wide. Either that or he thought telling her it wasn’t about her, but about partners in general, was explanation enough.

  “Well, at least it’s better than filling out endless rounds of paperwork.”

  His brief smile held a grim edge. “You’ve been with the SIU for just on three months. You’ve yet to go through full training. Don’t expect to be treated as anything more than a trainee.”

  She snorted softly. “Don’t worry. Any expectations I might have had have long since died.”

  Anger flared briefly in his eyes. Then he glanced at the hovering CSM and his face became impassive once more. “Keep in contact. I’ll see you back at the office.”

  He turned and walked away, his movements sharp and agitated.

  She stared at the door for several minutes after he’d disappeared, then turned and walked across to the bedroom to see what she could find.

  —

  Gabriel showed his ID to the black-clad police officer keeping watch, then ducked under the yellow crime-scene tapes. The rotating red and blue lights of the nearby police vehicles washed across the night, splashing the otherwise somber, glass-walled building with color.

  Like so many other buildings constructed in the area recently, this one had no real character. Its only purpose was to provide a decent view for those wealthy enough to afford an apartment so close to the city and the beach. He glanced up—ten floors in all. Surely, this time, they’d find a witness.

  His brother walked down the steps as Gabriel approached. Stephan was a multi-shifter, capable of taking the form of any human male he touched, but the shape he mostly wore these days was that of Jonathan Byrne, the head of the SIU. Gabriel raised his eyebrows in surprise. It was unusual for the SIU director to become involved in routine investigations such as this. Something had to be up.

  Byrne stopped in front of him, his blue eyes narrowed. “Where’s Ryan?”

  Gabriel shrugged, even though he knew his nonchalance would only irritate his brother more. Right now, he didn’t really care. “Handling the kite murder.”

  Stephan shot an aggravated look at the two police officers standing nearby and Gabriel smiled grimly, knowing their presence prevented Stephan from saying too much. It was well known that Byrne had little to do with his six assistant directors. Being too familiar now might just blow Stephan’s cover.

  “Damn it, Stern, you’re supposed to be partners.”

  “I don’t want or need a partner.” And his brother, more than anyone, should have understood why.

  “Andrea died a long time ago,” Stephan said softly, an edge of compassion in his voice.

  “Mike didn’t.” Gabriel tried to control the almost instinctive rush of anger, but the desire to hit someone, anyone, was so fierce his fists clenched. “Death comes in threes, Byrne. I’m due one more.”

  And come hell or high water, that was not going to be Sam.

  Stephan studied him for a long moment, then shook his head and headed back to the building. Gabriel fell into step beside him. The matter of his partner might have been dropped, but it was definitely not forgotten. Yet this was one battle of wills his brother was not going to win.

  “Why are you here?” he asked as they entered the building.

  “As a personal request from Frank Maxwell.”

  Maxwell was the Federal Minister for Education, and one of the few friends the real Byrne had actually had. As such, he’d posed a very real threat to Stephan as he tried to secure his new identity. Luckily, the two men had seen little of each other in the last year, so any differences Maxwell might see in Byrne now would surely be put down to time and the pressures of a new job. “Why?”

  “It’s his son who’s been murdered.”

  Gabriel glanced at his brother in surprise. “A male? Are you sure it’s the same killer and not a copycat?”

  Stephan’s smile was grim. “You’ll see when we get there.”

  Which could only mean the clinical brutality of the previous attacks was evident here too. Gabriel eyed the police officer guarding the express elevator and frowned. The same officer had been guarding the doorway after Jack bombed Sam’s apartment. Odd that he was here now, too.

  “Is Marsdan on the scene?” Gabriel asked softly.

  Stephan met his gaze and shook his head minutely. The young officer stepped aside as they approached the elevator. Gabriel glanced at his name tag: Sanders.

  “Tenth floor, sir?”

  Gabriel nodded, noting that Sanders’s eyes were a deep, unfathomable green that somehow seemed older than his years. It was almost as if the soul behind the eyes had seen more than one lifetime.

  The officer pressed the button, then stepped clear as the elevator doors slid shut. Stephan raised an eyebrow at Gabriel. “Why ask about Marsdan? He’s a beat cop, not homicide.”

  Gabriel shrugged. “That officer was working with Marsdan when Sam’s apartment was bombed.”

  “He might have been transferred.”

  “Maybe.” Or maybe he was just getting suspicious in his old age. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to check why that officer was here, when he had the time. “How old was Maxwell’s son?”

  “Twenty-five, same as the others.”

  The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. The hallway beyond was pale blue, offset by gold carpeting. Four doors led off the hall, and a police officer stood guard at the far end
. Gabriel glanced up at the ceiling. CSMs were stationed at regular intervals, tracking them silently.

  “You requested the building’s security tapes?”

  Stephan nodded. “Copies have already been sent back to your office.”

  “Good.” Gabriel stepped into the apartment. The place was huge, and the floor-to-ceiling glass flanking two sides of it only added to the feeling of space. What few inner walls the apartment had were pale blue, but the carpet and the furniture were white. Another CSM hovered in the middle of the room, red light flashing to indicate it was recording.

  Gabriel showed his badge to the monitor, then said, “Our victim obviously didn’t have any kids, not with all this white furniture. Do we know his name?”

  “Harry. And no—there are no kids, no wife, and, as far as Frank knew, no girlfriend.”

  Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “What about a boyfriend?”

  “It’s a possibility. Frank was rather brusque when I asked if there was any particular woman his son might have been seeing.”

  The body lay on one of the white sofas. As long as you didn’t look below the waist, it would be easy to think Harry had merely died in his sleep. His arms were crossed, his face peaceful. There was no terror, no hint that he’d known he was about to die so brutally.

  “Cause of death?” Gabriel asked, despite the fact that it was obvious. No man could lose both his penis and testes and survive the resulting shock and blood loss unless he had medical help really fast.

  “Same as the others—blood loss. There’s an ashtray full of cigarette butts on the dining table, too.”

  “Same brand as before?” Gabriel squatted to inspect the gaping wound. The blood staining the leather no longer smelled fresh, and the wound itself was beginning to blacken.

  “Yes. We’ve scanned for prints, but our killer was wearing gloves again. All we got was a latex smudge.”