Sirens in the Night Read online

  Jack shrugged his shoulders. “Like I said, I barely believe it myself. I’d never have given it any credence if it wasn’t for something I saw tonight.”

  “What was that?” queried Samantha.

  “Eyes, burning with fire, and a row of sharp, spike-like teeth.”

  _______________

  Music pumped loudly, and the swirling and blinking lights bathed the dancing crowds in a rainbow of colors on Pulsar’s dance floor. Jack stood in the booth above the throng, and observed the moving, sweaty bodies as they swayed and jerked to the rhythm of the music. Although trying not to, he couldn’t help but occasionally glance toward the bar where he had last seen Jason Spinacker alive. There was a part of him that hoped it had been nothing more than a dream, and he’d find Jason seated at the bar flirting with a woman. But the faces that he’d glimpse around the bar were those of strangers.

  When he had arrived at Pulsar that evening, everyone he encountered commented on his bruised neck and the small scrapes on his face. He didn’t tell them about the large contusion on his abdomen. He had explained away his injuries as being from an accident with his motorcycle, but doubted that anyone believed him. He just shrugged off their comments and concerns, stating that it was “no big deal”. By the time Samantha Ballard had left his apartment, it had been closing in on four in the morning. Jack had tried to grab a few hours of sleep, but had tossed and turned until finally giving up around six. Now, after nine in the evening, it was coffee and Red Bull that were keeping him on his feet.

  His discussion with the detective resurfaced in his mind and caused him to wonder if she had now written him off as nothing more than a nut job. He couldn’t blame her if she had. Jack wondered if he should have kept quiet about Bryan’s mythological creatures theory and just told her he was mugged. He wasn’t sure which was more embarrassing: stating that he believed some fairy story about monsters, or that a woman beat him up.

  He smiled briefly as his thoughts drifted to Samantha’s prediction, and how it had come true earlier that day. Around ten thirty that morning, a loud knock at his door announced the arrival of special agent Wilkinson and his partner. The conversation had been civil, and focused on the events leading up to Jack’s discovery in the alley. Providing the FBI with an abbreviated version of his chase through the city streets, Jack made sure to withhold the more unsavory details. The agents had remained tight-lipped, only acknowledging the fact that they were seeking a woman in connection with the crimes.

  But as the conversation continued, he felt very much like a man in a spotlight as Wilkinson asked about his relationship with Jason Spinacker, and his job at Pulsar. The questioning became increasingly uncomfortable as the two FBI agents asked about his relationships with the opposite sex, inquiring specifically about any recent break-ups. Not having dated much since moving to Philadelphia, Jack had little information to offer, a fact that the two agents seemed to find dubious. They had aggressively returned to the subject numerous times, pressing Jack again and again for answers.

  Jack’s discomfort turned to distress when Wilkinson began to imply that, with everything at Pulsar controlled by computer, it would be “easy for someone to slip away unnoticed for a short period of time”. References had been made about Jack’s vantage point over the Pulsar dance floor and how beneficial it might be for selecting victims. Their innuendos were subtle but clear. And although there had been no direct accusation made, when the agents had left his apartment, Jack was certain he was on their suspect list, maybe not as a killer, but definitely an accomplice.

  Scanning the faces below on the dance floor, Jack wondered if Adonia might return to the club. Contemplating the possibility that Adonia was involved in the other killings, Jack considered the fact that she might be using Pulsar as a sort of hunting ground. Mulling this over for a moment, he realized the lunacy of his thinking. Jack reminded himself that it was none of his concern, and it was better to leave this sort of thing to the police. A faint ache in his abdomen reminded him of how ill-equipped he was for detective work.

  Shortly after ten, Jack gazed once again out across the sea of faces, involuntarily examining each one in hopes of finding even the remotest recognition. Pulsar looked like a veritable melting pot for human classification. Drinking at the club’s various bars were men in their thirties wearing suits exuding wealth, or at least hoping to look that way. On the other hand, younger college men dressed in edgier attire were more interested in getting drunk, having a good time, and maybe getting laid. Women who looked like they had just come from the office mingled in the crowd, drinks in hand. Their fashions provided a glimpse into the world of business throughout the city. Other women, dressed more casually, provided further contrast of lifestyles and desires. All across the dance floor, men danced with women, women dance with women, and he even caught the occasional glimpse of men dancing with men. Pulsar looked like a microcosm of Philadelphia with different ages, genders, sexual orientations, and financial statuses all represented in one location.

  Realizing that he was again searching for Adonia, he shook his head. As he was turning back to his computer, someone at the far side of the club captured his gaze. A woman was standing at the edge of the dance floor, searching through the same sea of faces that had just captivated Jack’s attention just moments before. She looked like a goddess, with long, flowing black hair and a perfectly shaped body. She was wearing a pale blue dress, which embraced her supple curves and accentuated the exquisiteness of her figure. Jack admired her beauty from high above the crowd. He spied upon her as she perused the club, her head turning slowly to and fro; Jack found it impossible to turn his gaze away. Suddenly, her gaze turned upward and Jack found himself staring into her eyes. Unable to turn away, he shivered as her stare bore straight into Jack’s very soul. His heart began to race, and Jack had the unpleasant sense that she was probing his mind, hearing his every thought. Then she pursed her lips and blew a kiss in Jack’s direction. With the spell broken, he watched her step into the crowd and begin to dance.

  Chapter Seventeen

  At almost three o’clock on Saturday morning, Jack pushed open the employee entrance to Pulsar and stepped outside into the crisp night air. Pulsar had been packed the entire night, right up until closing time at two. The wall-to-wall crowd had danced a lot and drank a lot. Jerry Rickett had been ecstatic over the amount of money brought in at the bars that evening. It was a well-known fact among the employees that Pulsar made its money not on the price of admission, but on the inflated price of the drinks that were served. Getting the patrons to drink more was the priority above all other things. And when Jerry Rickett was happy, it could be relied upon that he would share his happiness. That evening, before everyone left, Jerry handed out a fifty-dollar bill to each of his employees working that night. Jack had just smiled, slipped the bill into his pocket, and headed for the door.

  He strolled across the pavement, heading for the parking garage where his Harley Davidson was waiting. He rounded the corner and was startled to see three police cars parked at the entrance to the garage. Their red and blue lights flashed over and over, bringing back memories of the horrors from the previous night. Two uniformed officers were standing by one of the police cars, speaking to a tall dark-skinned man in a long, dark trench coat. Recognizing the man, Jack walked toward the three officers.

  “Detective?” he said.

  Peter Thornton spun around, gave Jack a quick glance up and down, and, with a look of recognition on his face, replied, “Mr. Allyn? What’re you doing here?”

  “Just got off work,” Jack replied, gesturing toward Pulsar.

  “Oh, that’s right. You spin the tunes on Friday nights.”

  Jack glanced around, and asked, “What’s going on?”

  Peter frowned. “I’m not really at liberty to say. We’re in the middle of an investigation, that’s all I can tell you.”

  “My motorcycle’s in the garage,
can I go in and get it?” inquired Jack.

  Peter opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted as the door to the garage opened. Samantha, with a confident stride, proceeded toward them.

  “Oh, shit. Another corpse, and here you are. What the hell are you doing here this time?” she said.

  “I just got off work and was hoping to go home,” responded Jack.

  Samantha asked, “Is your car in the garage?”

  “Motorcycle,” replied Jack.

  “Which floor?”

  Jack replied, “Second.”

  “Peter can escort you up.” She paused for a moment, and then, smiling, added, “Unless you want to stick around to see if special agent Wilkinson can pull his head out of his ass when he arrives.”

  Peter laughed, and gave Jack a nod of his head. “Come on.”

  With Jack behind him, Peter started toward the parking garage door. They had walked only a few feet before Samantha called them back.

  “Mr. Allyn—Jack. You were working at Pulsar tonight, right?”

  Jack nodded.

  “Can you look at this driver’s license, and tell me if you remember seeing this person in the club?” Samantha inquired as she held up a small plastic card.

  Jack took the driver’s license from Samantha and gazed intently at the photo in the corner. The name on the license was Todd James Williams, which meant nothing to Jack. However, the face in the photo struck a chord in Jack’s memory.

  “Yeah. He was in tonight,” acknowledged Jack.

  Samantha questioned, “Are you certain?”

  Jack knew he couldn’t be more certain. He knew he had seen this man in Pulsar because Jack could vividly recall with whom Todd James Williams had left Pulsar arm in arm.

  “I’m certain. And I can tell you who he left with, too.”

  _______________

  Peter pulled the car into a parking spot outside of the Logan Square apartment complex and turned off the motor. He turned to face Samantha, who sat silently in the passenger seat. She was silhouetted against the light from the overhead streetlight and had not acknowledged that the car had stopped moving.

  “It’s awfully early to be showing up at someone’s door,” he said.

  Samantha glanced at her watch; it was three forty-seven in the morning. “I don’t care. We’ve got a witness statement that describes her to a T.”

  Shrugging his shoulders, Peter replied, “Yeah, the description matches, but it probably matches a dozen other women in the city. It seems a bit feeble to justify barging in on someone in the middle of the night.”

  “It’s the best lead we’ve gotten, and I don’t want to lose it. Did you call for an extra patrol car to meet us here?”

  Peter nodded. “What about Wilkinson? He’s gonna be pissed.”

  “Like I care what that jackass thinks.”

  “What’s the plan?” asked Peter.

  “That depends on her. If she cooperates and answers my questions, we might not even need to pull her in. If she can’t answer my questions, or refuses to . . . well, we’ll just play it by ear.”

  As a police car pulled up in front of the building, the two detectives exited their car and walked to the front entrance. After giving brief instructions to the two recently arrived uniformed police officers, Samantha and Peter headed into the building. The lobby was dimly lit and the security guard, who appeared to be dozing, jumped to his feet as Samantha and Peter displayed their badges for his inspection. The security guard argued momentarily about disturbing building residents at that hour, but Samantha quickly silenced him with the threat of arrest. Shrugging his shoulders, the guard waved the detectives on, while muttering, “I don’t get paid enough to deal with this bullshit.”

  In the elevator, the two detectives silently watched the floor numbers change as they rose toward the top level of the building. In her head, Samantha ran through the questions she had for Calithea Panagakos. Where had she been this evening? Did she know Todd Williams? Could she account for her movements on Thursday evening? For the first time during this case, Samantha saw the first glimmer of hope. In Calithea Panagakos she had a suspect, a bona fide suspect. Not only did they have an accurate description from an eyewitness, they had also found a smudge of ruby red lipstick on the shirt collar of Todd Williams.

  When the doors of the elevator opened, Samantha gripped Peter’s arm firmly, holding him back from exiting. She turned, placing her body in the elevator doorway, and gave her partner a long, hard stare.

  “You’re staying here to hold the elevator on this floor. You’re not coming in with me,” she said.

  Surprised, Peter inquired, “Why not? What the hell’s this all about?”

  Glancing over her shoulder to ensure no one was listening in the darkened hallway, Samantha said, “I don’t need a repeat of your behavior from our last visit. Stay here, and if I need you, I’ll let you know.”

  With that, Samantha turned from the elevator and walked across the hall to the well-remembered double doors, leaving her exasperated partner standing in the elevator doorway. With a firm hand, she knocked on the door and then patiently waited for a response. It only took a minute for the door to swing open. Calithea was dressed in a tight pale blue dress that hugged her shapely body. Samantha smiled as she noted that the woman’s lips were coated in ruby red lipstick, similar in color to that found on Todd Williams’ shirt collar.

  Smiling with satisfaction, Samantha said, “Ms. Panagakos, I need to speak to you.”

  Calithea smiled. “Isn’t it a bit late to be calling on people?”

  Samantha countered, “Don’t you mean early? It is four in the morning.” Gesturing toward the blue dress, she added, “You look like you’re dressed for company.”

  “As a matter of fact, I was just about to go to bed,” replied Calithea.

  “Then it’s a good thing I came when I did, or I’d have had to wake you. May I come in?”

  Reluctantly, Calithea stepped aside and gestured Samantha into the apartment. The living room looked the same as it had on Samantha’s last visit. The lights were dim and cast shadows in the corners of the room. Samantha had the eerie feeling that the shadows were moving, as if they were alive. The air in the apartment felt cold, sending a shiver up Samantha’s spine. It reminded her of the cold temperatures in the morgue. Why the morgue was the first place she thought of, Samantha didn’t understand. But the apartment, like the morgue, seemed to exude a sense of death and decay. It wasn’t like her to get so easily spooked, but she began to regret having left Peter behind at the elevator. She waited until Calithea had taken a seat on the sofa, and then Samantha made a point of idly moving to a place between the woman and the door.

  “There’s been a murder this evening, similar in nature to that of your attorney, James Seymour,” explained Samantha.

  Calithea sighed. “That’s such a shame. But I don’t understand why this news couldn’t wait until morning.”

  Remaining unshaken despite the fact that the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to be stalking her from the darkness, Samantha continued to speak. “You may be surprised to know that a witness provided a detailed description of the last person seen with the latest victim.”

  Calithea yawned. “Detective, is this going to take much longer?”

  Samantha glared at the woman whose condescension was beginning to fray the thin thread that was her last nerve. But, as angry as she was becoming, Samantha couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling that someone, or something, was lurking in the gloom. The shifting shadows seemed to dart from corner to corner, just outside the peripheral of her vision. But when she would glance in its direction, Samantha would see nothing but darkness, settled and quiet.

  “That description resembles you, so closely that it even described the neckline of that dress,” Samantha added.

  Placing her hand on her c
hest, as if in embarrassment, Calithea replied, “This old thing?”

  The shadows seemed to be drawing closer, engulfing the light as they closed in on Samantha. The room was getting darker; she would have sworn it. She drew a deep breath and stood firm, refusing to give in to the rising terror.

  “Ms. Panagakos, can you tell me where you were this evening?”

  Calithea leaned back into the sofa, and smiled. “Detective, are you accusing me of something? Should I call my attorney?”

  “I doubt he’d do you much good. He’s dead, remember?” Samantha replied, becoming infuriated with the woman’s calm resolve.

  “Oh, that’s right. Poor James. He died far too soon. He was so full of life . . . such delectable life,” said Calithea.

  Samantha could have sworn she had seen a pair of glowing red eyes dancing in the shadows in the far corner. With her heart racing, she took a deep breath and said, “Again, I’m going to ask that you account for your movements this evening.”

  Calithea remained silent for several moments, staring in Samantha’s direction. Her ruby red lips slowly formed a condescending smile and she replied, “I don’t feel I should be answering such questions without legal representation.”

  Samantha could feel a bead of sweat forming on her forehead. The pair of fiery eyes had become two pairs, glaring at her from across the dimly lit room. Her panic had risen to a level that she could barely contain. She glanced down at the woman, and then around the room. With a swift movement, she reached over to one of the two brass lampstand in the room. A brass chain hung down from under the shade, and Samantha grasped it with her fingers and tugged. Light from the incandescent bulb enveloped the room in light, pushing away the shadows and illuminating all of the dark corners. Samantha glanced around, but there was nothing there.

  “Detective, you look a little pale. Are you feeling all right?” inquired Calithea.