“She went up in the hills, looking for new wave vampires,” he said, and laughed derisively. “There are no vampires in Santa Cruz, Detective. Trust me on that. I’m sure she’s just fine. She probably headed back to San Francisco.”
“There have been at least two dozen vampire-style murders so far.” I tried to sober Conover up, at least to get through to him. “They hang their victims and then drain the blood.”
“I told you what I know, Detective,” he said. “I guess I could call out some patrol cars,” he added.
“You do that. And while yo
u do, I’m going to call the FBI. They believe in vampire murders. When was the last time you saw Inspector Hughes?”
He hesitated. “Who knows? Let me see, must be close to twenty-four hours.”
I hung up on Conover. I didn’t like him at all.
Then I sat and thought about everything that had happened since I’d first met Jamilla Hughes. The case made my head spin. Everything about it was over the edge, completely new territory. Having the Mastermind around made it even worse.
I phoned Kyle Craig and then American Airlines. I called Tim Bradley back and told him I was on my way to California.
Santa Cruz.
The vampire capital.
Jamilla was in trouble out there. I could feel it in my blood.
Chapter 84
ON THE long flight out to California, I realized that I hadn’t been tormented by the Mastermind in two days. That was unusual, and I wondered if he was traveling too. Que pasa, Mastermind? Maybe he was on the plane to San Francisco with me? I remembered a tired old joke about paranoia. A man tells his psychiatrist that everybody hates him. The psychiatrist says he’s being ridiculous—everybody hasn’t met him yet.
It got worse. At one point, I actually took a walk down the aisle and checked out the other passengers. No one looked even vaguely familiar. No Mastermind on board. No one seemed to be wearing fangs, either. I was losing it.
I arrived at San Francisco International Airport and was met by agents from the FBI. They told me that Kyle was on his way here from New Orleans. Lately, Kyle had been pressuring me more than ever about making the switch to the FBI. The change certainly made financial sense. Agents earned a lot more than detectives. The hours were usually better too. Maybe I would talk to Nana and the kids after this was over. Hopefully soon, but why should I think that?
I left the airport with three agents in a dark blue off-road vehicle. I sat in back with the senior agent from San Francisco. His name was Robert Hatfield, and he told me some of what they had so far. “We found where some of the so-called vampires are staying. It’s a ranch in the foothills north of Santa Cruz, not too far from the ocean. At this juncture, we don’t know if Inspector Hughes is being held there. She hasn’t been spotted.”
“What’s out there in the hills?” I asked Hatfield. He was young looking, could have been anywhere between thirty-five and fifty. He looked fit. A short brush cut. Appearances obviously meant a lot to him.
“Not a hell of a lot. It’s rural. A couple of fairly large ranches. Rocks, desert birds of prey, a few mountain cats.”
“Not tigers?” I asked.
“Funny you should mention tigers. The ranch out there used to be a preserve for wild animals. Bears, wolves, tigers, even an elephant or two. The owners trained animals, mostly for use in feature films and commercials. They were basically hippies left over from the sixties. The ranch was actually licensed by the Department of the Interior. It did business with Tippi Hedren, Siegfried and Roy.”
“The animals aren’t still on the property?”
“Not for the past four or five years. The original owners disappeared. No one’s been interested in buying the land. It’s about fifty-five acres. Not good for much. You’ll see.”
“What about the animals that had been there? You know what happened to them?”
“Some were bought by other preserves that supply specialty animals to movies. Brigitte Bardot supposedly took some. So did the San Diego Zoo.”
I sat back in my seat and thought everything through while we rode. I didn’t want to get my hopes up again. I wondered if the past owners of the ranch might have left a tiger behind. I spun a wild scenario out a little in my head. Actually, it was kind of interesting. Vampires in Africa and Asia supposedly changed shape into tigers rather than bats. The tiger imagery was certainly scarier than bats, and so were the ravaged bodies I had seen. Also, Santa Cruz had a reputation to uphold: the vampire capital.
We passed a farmhouse along the highway and then a small winery. Not much else to see, though. Agent Hatfield told me that in summer the hills got very brown and gold, much like the African veldt.
I had been trying not to think about Jamilla and the danger she might be in. Why did she have to come up here alone? What drove her? The same things that drove me? If she was dead, I would never forgive myself.
The car finally pulled off the main road. I didn’t see a house or other building in any direction that I looked. Just barren hills. A hawk floated easily in liquid blue skies. The scene was quiet and serene and quite beautiful.
We turned down an unpaved road and went for about a mile over bumpy, very rocky terrain. We passed over the grille of a cattle guard. A broken split-rail fence ran alongside the road for about a hundred yards, stopped, then started again.