Chapter 37

December Twenty-fourth 3:00 p.m. EST 2:00 p.m. local time

After landing at the Tulsa International Airport, Mark shuffled out into the terminal with the other passengers. Due to the regulation prohibiting those without tickets from going past airport security, the young, uniformed police officer holding a sign that read 'Mark Kimmel' was the only person waiting for them at the gate. He was fresh from the academy fit and bore a lop- sided mustache in an obvious attempt to look older than his, at most, twenty-two years.

Mark walked over to stand in front of him, but, after giving Mark a cursory glance, the young man returned to watching the flow of the other passengers.

Extending his hand, Mark said, "Hi, I'm Lieutenant Mark Kimmel, Pittsburgh P.D."

The young officer started in surprise; Mark obviously wasn't what he had been expecting. He recovered quickly, however, and reached out to shake Mark's hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Kimmel. My name's George Claypoole."

"Nice to meet you, too, George. Please, call me Mark."

With the pleasantries disposed of, they started to walk toward the baggage claim area.

Sounding slightly embarrassed, George said, "With the holidays and all, we weren't expecting someone to come so soon, Lieu ... Mark. We really don't have a lot for you to see yet. Full examinations still haven't been completed on even the first bodies that were found, and none have been identified."

"That's okay. We thought it would be best to find out if what happened here is connected to what occurred in Pittsburgh last April as soon as possible. Tell me, has the Tulsa police department had problems with officers going missing?"

The seemingly irrelevant question confused George for a second, but he replied, "Well, I don't know about 'missing, ' but we've had some issues with job abandonment."

"You sound pretty certain that's all it is."

"There was an investigation. The detective who conducted it interviewed a lot of them. Just like in most other cities, they were suffering from severe depression and anxiety from the New Jersey terrorist attack."

"Was the officer who conducted the investigation on night shift, or did he ask to be assigned to it afterwards?"

"Uh, I'm not sure: he's not assigned to my station."

"Did you know any of those who abandoned their jobs?"

"Not really. I just finished my probationary period, so I knew a few of them to see them, but none very well."

"Have you spoken to any of them since they left?"

"No, but, as I said, I never did outside of work. Why do you ask?"

Mark hesitated for a long moment before answering, "No particular reason. I've just taken a personal interest in the matter."

"It's been a real problem. I still can't believe how widespread it's become. I've heard that even the Canadians are having issues. While I'm gratified that our neighbors to the north are taking the incident so personally, I still can't figure out why they would."

Again Mark hesitated before settling for a simple, "Me either, George."

When they exited the terminal, Mark wished that he had thought to pack something lighter than the heavy winter coat he was wearing. While not exactly warm, the air was far more temperate than what he had become used to in Pittsburgh over the past few months. Beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead by the time they reached the car. George, who had insisted on carrying Mark's single, small suitcase and garment bag, placed them carefully in the back seat of the police car.

As he started the engine, he turned toward the older policeman. "We got you a room at the Radisson. Want me to take you there so you can get settled in?"

"You said the bodies were at the medical examiner's?"

"Yes."

"Let's go there first."

Tulsa's morgue looked much like any other that Mark had been in, except the normally sterilely clean tiles and stainless steel gurneys were covered with clumps of mud and puddles of river water. All of the gurneys were occupied, and the anxious and tense looking ME was guiding several paramedics as they added to a large stack of full plastic body bags that ran the length of one of the walls.

Mark walked over to introduce himself to the dusky skinned doctor, who, in turn, identified himself as Dr. Kumar Bhatt. He quickly reiterated what Mark already knew: preliminary toxicology reports had come back negative; in all cases, death had apparently been caused by massive blood loss; there were no injuries inflicted prior to death that would explain the loss; and the bodies had been mutilated post-mortem.

"Do any of the victims have broken necks?" Mark asked.

Dr. Bhatt pursed his lips in thought before consulting a list. "Two. I think they're still bagged."

"Only two?" Mark was ashamed by the flash of elation that passed through him at the news. However odd and horrific the deaths might be, the absence of such injuries weighed against the murders having been committed by a vampire. He then recalled that the victims of the Cain killer also lacked that distinctive injury.

Excusing himself, he walked out into the hall. He stared at his cell phone for a long time before finally pressing a button with a sigh.