it. In fact, I’d think he’d be thrilled. But it didn’t interest him at all. He said it wouldn’t work.”
He could see the logic in that. “So that leaves . . . a psychotic disorder or Renfield’s syndrome, right?”
“I don’t think it’s Renfield’s syndrome. I’m not even entirely convinced Renfield’s syndrome is real,” Zoe said. “But in any case, it doesn’t sound like he’s just after blood, right? He was talking about nonconsensual blood drinking. There’s something more intricate, and violent, in his desires. And the fact that his username is Dracula2 is interesting.”
“Because it’s a dumb username?”
“Well . . . yes. It means he doesn’t really care about vampire lore or vampire culture. These guys, most of them can recite all the vampire names from TV shows or Anne Rice’s books without blinking. But he tries to get a username for the forum, chooses Dracula, and it’s taken. Instead of picking Lestat, or Edward Cullen, or Spike, or anything else, he goes with Dracula2. Dracula is the only vampire he knows; he’s not interested in being in a clan or adopting their lifestyle. So he doesn’t want to be a part of the community, and just regular blood drinking doesn’t interest him. Add that to the fact that he mentioned antipsychotics. I’d say he has a mental illness that results in delusions, possibly a form of schizophrenia.”
“That would make him unpredictable,” Tatum said.
“Unpredictable . . . and susceptible to pressure.”
“Why did you ask Peter about the purity thing?”
“Two weeks ago, this guy starts asking around if pure blood can replace antipsychotics. He’s never mentioned it before. Do you think there’s a coincidence here?”
Tatum frowned. “You think Rod Glover gave him that idea.”
“I’m sure he did.”
CHAPTER 38
O’Donnell sat behind the steering wheel, eyes set ahead. Ellis sat by her side, drinking the remainder of his Starbucks coffee. Outside, the street was still, aside from the occasional vehicle that passed them by. They were waiting for Good Boy Tony to make his appearance.
“So why is he named Good Boy Tony?” O’Donnell asked.
“It’s an old nickname,” Ellis answered. “He used to live with his mother a few years ago. And whenever we ended up knocking on her door, looking for him, she’d tell us that he’d done nothing wrong and that he’s a good boy. So it stuck.”
“He doesn’t live with her any longer?”
“She died last year.” Ellis finished his coffee and looked around the car. “You don’t have a place to throw trash here?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I do, the trash just sits there. And then it starts smelling. This way, I don’t have trash in my car.”
“But I have this cup in my hand now. It’s trash. I want somewhere to put it.”
“Later we can drive around, look for a trash can,” O’Donnell said. “I don’t think he’s coming.”
“Let’s give him ten more minutes. It’s a beautiful day. And it’s Thursday.”
Frannie’s Scrap Shop was open on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. According to Ellis, Frannie was one of Good Boy Tony’s major income sources. And he almost never missed a Thursday, because missing Thursday meant he’d have to wait until Monday to sell her whatever he’d collected. And that meant a difficult weekend.
“As far as crackheads go, Tony’s pretty reliable,” Ellis said. “He’ll show up—you’ll see.”
O’Donnell yawned, regretting her decision to go with Ellis on this stakeout. Her time would be better spent working on those “L” stations’ security cams like she’d discussed with Tatum the day before. Ellis could have picked Tony up and taken him to the station to be questioned. But Ellis didn’t think that Tony would be very cooperative that way.
Ellis placed the empty cup on the floor of the car.
“Don’t forget it there,” O’Donnell said.
“I won’t.”
“I don’t want my car smelling like coffee.”
“Yeah, I get it.” Someone crossed the road ahead of them, pushing a shopping cart full of junk. Ellis pointed. “That’s him. Told you. Reliable.”
They got out of the car and approached the man. He was so thin O’Donnell had no idea how he managed to push that cart. He had on a grimy sweater and stained blue jeans. As they got closer, she could see one of the telltale signs of a crackhead—two ugly burn marks on his lips.
“Morning, Good Boy,” Ellis said cheerfully. “How’s the haul this morning?”
Tony’s eyes darted around. “It’s fine. I got twenty-three cans, mostly Coke cans. And I found some wire, I din’t swipe it, I know it looks like I swiped it, but I din’t, it was lying