Vampire Dreams (Bloodscreams #1) by Robert W Walker Read Free Book Online Page B

do me a favor--”
    “What's that?”
    “Next time you go by the  Sentinel  offices?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Stop in, have a look-see at their back issues, particularly any stories about graveyard vandalism.”
    “I've heard rumors, stories.”
    “Bull. Rumors don't unearth bodies.”
    “Are you saying we've got a modern-day body snatcher on our hands? Grave robbers?” Stroud could hide his impatience no longer.
    “Two cases unquestionably,” replied Magaffey. His features assumed a frown of remembrance. In the old days, Martin Magaffey was the only man in all of southern Illinois in the field of forensic medicine. He actually had an m.e. degree, a rare piece of paper for any doctor. But he enjoyed a poor reputation, and seemingly made it poorer each chance he got. Stroud didn't know him well enough yet to form a complete judgment.
    “Dirt was freshly dug, found that way by the family.... Both cases the graves of children.”
    “You order an exhumation?”
    “No ... tried to ... wanted to ... but nobody'd have it, not Banaker, not the families--”
    “But you're the coroner.”
    “Small town, even the coroner's got to worry about re-election.”
    “Was Banaker here at the time?”
    “The old man and the kid both. Father was mayor for a time. Didn't you know?”
    “No, no, I didn't know.”
    “Anyway, nobody believed it possible. It was written off as graveyard vandalism, along with a few headstones that'd been turned over, and some chinked good with heavy tools, spray-painted with obscenities, that sort of thing. Nobody believed kids around here were industrious enough to make it the six feet under; said maybe they got a few feet and then decided it weren't worth it, and then just tried to cover it back over. I said--”
    “Why would vandals make a show of covering it back over?”
    “Exactly, but no one wanted to hear it. Families didn't want to believe it. One old-timer wanted an exhumation on his grandchild, but ahhhh, he wasn't the parents, and the parents wanted it left alone.”
    “This was all in the papers?”
    “Nah, I mean, sure, but not half as much as ought to have come out did.”
    Dr. Oliver Banaker was coming toward them. But before getting to them, Banaker stopped to say a word to everyone he passed. It seemed that he exuded some magical force like an invisible aura about him that people wished to touch, either physically, through eye contact, or a shake of the hand. He seemed more politician than medical man, and in a sense, running the Banaker Institute in the city of Andover made him a politician. He looked polished and in charge even in his stylish casual wear selected randomly from his closet as he rushed to the scene of the discovery. Behind him, the backhoe churned up more bones and clayey southern Illinois soil. The sight outraged Stroud as the killing of whales would outrage a Greenpeace man.
    Banaker was waving a map that was yellowed with age in his hand as he approached. Stroud studied Banaker's features in more detail than before. Certain physical characteristics seemed somehow more prominent now than before, such as the arching brow and confident, loping stride. He had a thick-boned frame and skull, the forehead protruding yet sloping back at the same time, wolflike in this aspect. His bushy eyebrows met over the nose, forming a long, dark line. The man's hair was tufted, crispy from too many applications of hairspray, perhaps? Banaker's triangular ears were large, as were the man's lips. His nose was not flat and large, but sleek and long like a bird of prey. He seemed an exaggeration of the species, but the eyes were luminous, lovely even, like the life-filled eyes of a pregnant woman. Stroud found himself fascinated with the man's gaze as Banaker spoke to them.
    “Appears we've got an answer to our mystery, gentlemen.”
    “Is that right?” asked Magaffey.
    “What we've stumbled onto here is a long-forgotten graveyard, Stroud.”
    “Taken over by the weeds,” said