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Carpe Noctem Book Three
Never the Twain Chapter Six
by Lianne Burwell
October 2001
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For the next few hours, they sat at the table in records, going 
through the files that Careena had produced for them. The crime 
scene photos from the first one was enough to convince them that 
yes, this was the same killer at work.

After that determination, they started passing the files back and 
forth, each of them writing notes on pads of paper of all the 
details that seemed important. It might not have been Mac's 
forte, but he still managed to fill several pages. He was also 
seeing a pattern form.

"All right," Vic said as he closed the last file and made a few 
last notes. "What have we got?"

Mac glanced at his pad, flipping to the page where he'd plotted 
the deaths out according to date. "The first death was in 
Victoria, five months ago," he said, tapping his pen against the 
page. "Then Vancouver, Calgary, Saskatoon and now Toronto. Other 
than Saskatoon, where there was only one death, the killings took 
place one week apart, except for the lulls when the killer 
changed cities."

"Assuming that there weren't deaths we don't know about yet," Vic 
pointed out. "But that makes him not your usual serial killer."

Mac frowned. "I'm not sure I follow you."

"Serial killers tend to stay in one area," Vic explained, 
descending into a surprising lecture mode. "They also usually 
*want* to be caught, so they make mistakes. This guy hasn't. He 
also isn't bragging to the press or taunting cops. Serial killers 
usually want attention."

Vic stared at the page in front of him while Mac watched, 
fascinated. He could remember LiAnn talking about how 
unsophisticated Vic was, and hearing the undertones that said she 
also considered him barely educated, but here he was sounding 
more like a psych teacher. Or a cop who knew his stuff. He was 
struck again by how little LiAnn had known about the man she'd 
worked with for more than a year before his arrival, not to 
mention a man she'd planned to marry.

"Now, spree killers do travel," Vic continued, "but they tend to 
be very sloppy, just killing anyone who gets in their way. As 
well, they usually just shoot them, or something similar. They 
certainly don't go to *this* level of effort. They also tend to 
escalate, killing more people, with shorter intervals between, 
until they get chased down."

"And that certainly doesn't describe this guy either," Mac summed 
up for him. "So we're dealing with something new and different. 
Quelle surprise. But you keep saying 'he.'"

Vic shrugged. "Most serial killers are male. The female ones are 
usually nurses poisoning patients or black widows killing 
husbands."

"Yeah, but we've already decided that we're dealing with 
something out of the ordinary, so it could be a woman," Mac 
pointed out. "Besides, what about the portrait?"

"We still don't know what, if anything, she had to do with 
Hamilton's death. If we can link her to any of the other victims, 
*then* she becomes a consideration."

Mac was a little dubious. Vic might know more about police work 
and homicide than he did, but Mac had learned to trust his 
instincts. Right now, his gut was telling him that the portrait 
was very important and that the resemblance to LiAnn was more 
than just a coincidence. He kept silent, though, since there was 
no evidence to back up his gut.

"As for choice of victims..." Vic trailed off, shaking his head. 
"They're all young and attractive, but other than that, they 
don't seem to have anything in common."

Mac brightened up. "Yes they do," he said, pleased with himself 
for having noticed something that Vic hadn't.

He flipped to the page he wanted while Vic waited expectantly. 
"Here we go. In Victoria, the victims were two musicians -- one 
rock, on classical -- and a sculptor. In Vancouver it was a 
writer and a jewelry maker. In Calgary, a dancer and a poet. In 
Saskatoon, a street busker. And here, a singer, a sculptor, a 
potter and two painters." He shut the pad with a slap and looked 
up. Vic was staring at him.

"All in the arts, either as a living or a hobby," he said, then 
smacked his forehead. "How the hell did I miss that?"

"Maybe because they aren't all in the same kind of arts?" Mac 
suggested. "I mean, if they were all painters, it would be 
obvious, but a painter, a writer and a busker? They don't seem to 
have much in common."

"Until you look at the bigger picture," Vic finished for him. 
"Nice catch."

Mac preened a little at the compliment. "Thanks, I had a good 
teacher." Then he deflated slightly. "Still doesn't tell us how 
they are picked or where."

"But it's a start."

Mac stared at the folders for a moment, waiting for Vic to say 
something. Finally, he gave in. "Vic, are you thinking what I'm 
thinking?"

Vic snorted softly. "I could make some tasteless Pinky and the 
Brain joke, but yeah. The killings are in a line from the west 
coast heading east."

"Cash's cryptic warning," Mac said. "Oriental interest in 
Toronto."

"Of course, the killer could still be moving," Vic pointed out, 
sounding almost hopeful.

"Maybe, but there hasn't been more than three killings in any one 
town. We've had five. And besides, if he does move one, where to? 
Montreal? Quebec City? He -- assuming that it *is* a he -- would 
still be killing kids."

"So we stop him here." It was a statement, not a question.

"We stop him here," Mac echoed, equally full of determination.

>>>~~~<<<

Jackie couldn't remember the last time she'd enjoyed herself so 
much. Sanji -- her mystery man's name, it turned out -- was an 
excellent dancer. She'd never danced with anyone so completely in 
tune with his partner. It was almost uncanny, the way he'd read 
her mind, anticipating her moves.

So they had danced and drank and talked the night away until the 
bartender -- not the one she'd been talking to earlier -- 
announced last call.

That was a shock. Jackie looked around and was surprised to find 
that the place was half-empty.

"Come on," Sanji said. His hand was on her arm, urging her 
towards the door.

Outside it was still hot and humid, even though it was well past 
midnight and on its way to morning. Neon lights flashed, up and 
down the street, and everyone was moving slowly, giving the scene 
an air of unreality.

Sanji turned left just outside the Karnak's doors and they 
started to walk down the street, threading their way through the 
light crowds of drunk or stoned club hoppers, prostitutes and 
homeless.

Jackie was feeling pleasantly buzzed, just enough to make her 
very cheerful and her body tingle. She felt good; not a care in 
the world. She leaned in closer to Sanji, enjoying the feel of 
his lean body pressed against her side. It had been a while since 
she'd taken a lover -- Mac, before she'd been Embraced, and the 
Director and Dobrinsky for a little bit of fun. This guy had 
potential.

"Want to take this someplace a little more private?" Sanji purred 
in her ear, echoing her thoughts.

He had the most incredible voice. It was like... She tried to 
think of a good comparison, but the best she could come up with 
was the cliché about warm honey, smooth and oh so sweet.

She was about to say yes when the blast from a car horn jolted 
her out of her pleasant haze. Dawn was only a few hours away, she 
suddenly realized. She'd managed to waste an entire night that 
was supposed to be spent tracing the victims, not to mention 
LiAnn. Instead, she'd been playing 'date' with the fascinating 
Sanji.

The thought of trying to explain that to the Director was like 
being dropped in a tub of ice-water. Suddenly she was fully 
awake. "I can't," she said, coming to a sudden stop and checking 
the street for a cab.

"Are you sure?" Sanji said, stroking her arm with a fingertip. He 
tugged her closer, but she resisted. "It seems a shame to end the 
night so soon."

Jackie finally saw a cab and waved it down. It pulled over to the 
curb right next to them. "I have to be at work in a few hours," 
she said, pulling away from Sanji.

"That's not what you said before."

She pulled the cab door open, then paused, frowning. "What do you 
mean? What did I say before?" she asked, trying to remember and 
coming up blank.

"That you were a secret agent and made your own hours," he said, 
his teeth flashing brightly in the glow of the street lights.

Every hair on her body seemed to be standing on end. "And you 
believed that?" she said brightly, clutching the door frame.

"What can I say?" he said with a grin. "You were very 
persuasive."

"Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I'm just a receptionist and I 
need to be at work at nine," she lied.

"If you say so," Sanji said as she slid halfway into the backseat 
of the cab. "I'll see you later."

He turned and vanished into the sidewalk crowd that was growing 
in numbers as the clubs and bars closed, one by one. Jackie 
stared after him, trying to pick him out from the press of bodies 
without luck.

"Listen, lady, do you want me to take you someplace or not? The 
meter's running."

Still distracted, she climbed the rest of the way into the cab 
and gave the driver her address. The cab immediately pulled away 
from the curb in one of those death-defying traffic merges that 
cabbies seemed to love.

Jackie didn't even notice.

>>>~~~<<<

Last call had come and gone, and Khalil found himself wandering 
the streets of downtown Toronto, his eyes fixed on the cracked 
pavement and sweat trickling down the side of his face. The heat 
and humidity that had been hanging over the city for several 
weeks now combined into a soup that made breathing difficult.

However, Khalil was oblivious to all that, sunk in a depressed 
haze. It had seemed so easy that afternoon: Go back to the club 
where he'd met his Goddess. There he would either find her or 
someone who knew her. But it hadn't worked out that way. No 
matter how many people he asked -- club hoppers, bartenders or 
bouncers -- he couldn't find *anyone* who would admit to having 
seen her. He couldn't understand how someone so... incredible 
could have been ignored like that.

It was confusing. He could almost believe that it had all been a 
dream, except his dreams were never quite that vivid.

No, it couldn't have been a dream. He refused to believe that. 
She was real and he was going to find her. It would just take a 
little longer. That was all.

He just wasn't sure *how* he was going to find her.

But it was too late to do anything that night. Even the bars were 
closing, spitting out a stream of drunken regulars, and Khalil 
had to consider how he was going to get home. It was too late for 
the transit and he didn't have enough cash for a cab.

Khalil groaned in frustration. When he went clubbing, he usually 
either went with friends with a car or made sure he left before 
the trains stopped running. Luckily, walking home was do-able. It 
was a long walk, but he'd done longer.

He quickly crossed over to the opposite sidewalk and headed down 
a side street at a brisk walk, not looking forward to the nearly 
an hour walk. He had two classes the next day that he couldn't 
miss, and he was going to be short on sleep already, so he wanted 
to get back to the apartment he would be sharing come fall term 
as quickly as possible.

And after his classes he would hit the clubs again. Just because 
he hadn't found his Goddess the first time was no reason to give 
up. In fact, it was appropriate that he would have to labor 
greatly to find her again. True romance should never be easy. It 
never was in the classic tales.

Khalil passed along the dark street whistling, cheered by that 
thought. The neon lights of the clubs were well behind him and 
there were fewer street lights as he moved into more residential 
areas. An eerie haze hung made it difficult to see, but he wasn't 
bothered.

It wasn't until he heard an unexpected sound that he started 
paying attention to his surroundings again. The street was lined 
on both sides with older apartment buildings, silent as a tomb. 
No cars and no one else foolish enough to be out at that hour. He 
couldn't even hear the sounds of traffic from busier streets not 
too far away. He stopped and listened, a puzzled frown wrinkling 
his forehead.

Then he heard it again: the sound of something hard scraping 
against metal. It wasn't very loud, but it seemed to echo in the 
silent street.

Khalil followed the sound, letting his curiosity get the better 
of him. It lead him around the side of a short, squat brick 
building that was naked of anything even vaguely resembling an 
adornment. There he found an alleyway, empty except for a single 
chipped and battered dumpster, barely visible in the gloom. He 
couldn't see anything else, but the sound continued. He moved 
forward, trying to figure out what was making it. Rats? A bum? 
Something else?

His eyes were adjusting to the darkness, letting him pick up on 
small movements from the top of the dumpster. Then there was a 
glint.

It was a bird, black as the shadows. The glint had been a stray 
bit of light reflecting off a dark eye. An eye that seemed to be 
fixed on him. The bird -- a raven, by the size -- hopped across 
the dumpster, its talons scraping the metal making the sound that 
had drawn him into the shadows.

It stopped at the edge of the dumpster, staring at him with a 
look of almost uncanny intelligence, making him think of Poe's 
classic poem. He almost expected it to croak "Nevermore." But 
when the bird's beak opened, all that came out was a harsh sound 
that made him flinch. The bird spread its wings and made another 
sound, this one suspiciously like a laugh.

Khalil stiffened at the amused croak. He came from a heritage of 
warriors, and he would be damned if he would cower before a 
carrion eater. His hands clenched into fists and he stepped 
forward, not really thinking, but determined to do *something*.

Immediately, the raven was in flight, heading directly for his 
face. Khalil ducked, purely on instinct, then cried out as a 
trailing talon slashed his forehead.

The bird gone and the alley silent again, Khalil straightened up, 
gasping in the thick air. He touched fingertips to his forehead 
and winced. His fingers came away stained with the slick darkness 
of blood.

Dizzy with confusion, Khalil backed up towards the slightly 
brighter street, watching the shadows for any other signs of 
movement. He didn't know much about ravens, but he had the 
feeling that this one's behavior wasn't normal. For one thing, 
weren't ravens day birds?

Once he was out of the shadows, everything became normal again. 
He could hear a distant siren and car horn from the next block 
over, but he couldn't seem to shake a feeling of dread. Watching 
the skies as best he could for the bird returning, Khalil headed 
for home at a near run.

>>>~~~<<<

Deciding that after running off at the mouth with Sanji -- 
although she still didn't remember doing it -- it was a little 
too late to worry about security, Jackie had the cab driver drop 
her off right in front of her apartment building. After paying 
the amazingly butch looking woman the fare, plus a generous tip 
that got her leered at, she hurried inside, already fumbling with 
her tiny purse to extract her apartment key.

It wasn't until she was inside and the door was carefully locked 
behind her that she started to relax. She leaned back against the 
solidity of the door and laughed at herself, feeling more than a 
little foolish. Sure, it had been a weird evening, but that was 
no reason to be acting like one of those silly twits in a slasher 
movie.

Of course, it didn't change the fact that something really 
strange was going on. She didn't usually forget her job like 
that, no matter how cute the guy was. Not to mention the fact 
that she'd apparently told Sanji things that she most definitely 
shouldn't have. If the Director found out, she would rip her a 
new one.

No, something strange was definitely going on. She needed to know 
just who this Sanji was. She was also beginning to wonder if 
'what' might even be a better question, considering how quickly 
and thoroughly he'd disappeared on the sidewalk. Sure, there was 
bit of a crowd, but not *that* big. Come nightfall, she needed to 
do some research, not that she had much to go on. And she was 
definitely needed to avoid him in the future.

In the meantime, she stank. A long soak in a bubble bath was 
definitely in order, followed by something to eat and an early 
bed.

Jackie toed out of her high-heeled boots and kicked them into the 
corner of the room with a sigh of pleasure. She loved the way 
they made her admittedly short legs look, but after being 
squeezed into them for an entire night, if felt damned good to be 
able to wriggle her toes in the thick carpet of the living room.

She was headed for the bedroom, the mesh top already tossed onto 
the sofa and the tank top pulled up over her head, when she saw 
the message light blinking on the phone sitting on the counter 
between the kitchen and living room. She stared at it for a 
moment, debating on whether to check it now or leave it until she 
got a good day's sleep. On the one hand, it could be something 
important. On the other hand, it could be the Director wanting a 
progress report; something she couldn't exactly provide yet.

Finally, curiosity got the better of her. She dropped the tank 
top on the floor, then walked over and punched the speaker 
button, followed by the code to listen to her messages. There 
were three.

The first was from the Director, asking for that report she was 
dreading making. Her stomach clenched as she considered just what 
to tell the woman. As her boss, the woman could be pretty scary. 
As Prince of the city, the most important Kindred in town, she 
could be downright terrifying.

The second one was from Vic, asking pretty much the same thing. 
That didn't worry her as much. Vic was an easy-going kind of guy. 
She knew that she could satisfy him with a quick answer of 
"nothing yet" and a promise to call him the moment she found 
anything out. She liked Vic, even if he had ignored all her 
attempts to get him into bed.

But the third message was the one that really threw her for a 
loop. She froze as a very familiar voice dripping with sarcasm 
emerged from the phone speaker. It was amazingly clear. Almost 
preternaturally so.

"Hello, Jackie. Still living life dangerously, I see. You really 
should be more careful about who you play with. Give my love to 
the boys. On second thought, don't bother."

There was a beep, followed by an electronic squeal that made her 
slap her hands to her ears with a pained cry.

Her ears were still ringing when her nostrils flared. She could 
smell smoke, ever so faintly. Opening eyes that she didn't 
remember closing, she was just in time to see her phone spark and 
die.

She stared at in disbelief for a moment. Then she ran for the 
bedroom and the other phone. It was fine, so she hit the 
'messages' button, and a recorded voice told her that she had two 
saved messages and no unheard messages. A check of the memory 
showed only two calls received, and she knew without checking 
that neither of the messages was going to be the one that had 
just fried her other phone. The one from LiAnn.

Jackie sat down on the edge of the bed wearing only her skirt and 
bra, staring out at nothing. She'd almost begun to doubt that the 
woman she was tracking was really LiAnn, but now she was certain 
it was her. Only problem was, she wasn't sure about anything 
else.

But now she had a bunch of new questions. How had LiAnn managed 
to make her phone explode like that? And just what had she meant 
about living dangerously or being more careful?

As for the second question, the only thing she could think of was 
the mysterious Sanji. There was definitely something up with the 
man. But no problem. She'd already decided she was going to avoid 
him from now on.

Then her eyes narrowed. If the message *was* about Sanji, how had 
LiAnn known she was with him? The only thing she could think of 
was that LiAnn was following one of them. The question was, which 
one? If it was Sanji, then she couldn't afford to avoid him.

Because she finally had a lead.

END CHAPTER SIX