Realizing my twin’s attention was centered somewhere over my shoulder, I asked, “What?”
“Something moved. A shadow.”
Instinct raised the short hairs on the back of my neck and had me going for my gun and being grateful I could legally carry it off duty. I raised the weapon into position as I turned, but I saw no one, moving or otherwise. “I think your imagination is playing you, Silke.”
“I’m telling you I saw someone.”
When I saw a dark figure slink suspiciously between the rapid-transit supports a few dozen yards away, I didn’t wait for an answer. Reasonable suspicion was valid incentive for a seasoned cop to detain and question someone not acting right.
“Freeze!” I yelled. “Police! Come out where I can see you, hands up!”
Rather than complying, the shadow took off. And I ran after him. Rather, after a figure that could be male or female. It was dark and the person’s clothing was darker—loose pants and a hoodie hiding what lay beneath.
“Stop or I’ll shoot!” I bluffed.
It didn’t matter if you were off or on the job, an officer was expected to respond—though I wasn’t about to discharge my gun unless the suspect intended to use one on me. The paperwork involved was just not worth it.
I stumbled to a halt to catch my breath. He or she was climbing up the slats of the frickin’ elevated support as if it were a slant board!
Great! I was chasing Spider-Man.
I holstered my weapon and did my best imitation of a Cirque du Soleil star.
The hair-raising climb up angled slats of steel gave me some time to think—maybe I should find a different occupation. This stuff was for rookies.
Like my first day on the job when Al and I had spotted a guy flying out of a convenience store with a wad of cash in one hand, a gun in the other. He’d taken one look at us and had run the other way. Al made me get out of the squad car and run after the guy, while he drove ahead and blocked him with the vehicle. The thief had turned on me and aimed his weapon, and my training, fueled by adrenaline, had kicked right in. It didn’t matter that I was exhausted and winded. I’d dropped into the position low to the ground to make myself a smaller target. Luckily, I hadn’t had to take him out. Al had left the squad car, gun drawn, and the thief had given up.
I’d been sick anyway, all over the sidewalk.
Over the years, I’d used my gun more than once, but I’d never actually had to shoot anyone and I wasn’t in the market to break that particular record. I knew that even though I’d passed psych evaluation, I was still considered a personal-concern officer and would be until I’d proved otherwise. I couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.
The screech of metal on metal alerted me to a train coming from downtown, jerking my gaze toward the glow of skyscrapers in the distance. I was distracted only for a second, but when I tried to pin the suspect, I was stunned. No prey. The shadow had disappeared.
I tried to hurry the rest of the way up. A mistake. My foot slipped, my body followed, and the next thing I knew I was dangling from one hand twenty or so feet above the street. My stomach clutched and my heart pounded as fast as the approaching train. I contemplated my fate and wondered if I had enough pluses in my favor to make up for the minuses before I got in front of those Pearly Gates.
Just in case.
They say when you’re about to die, your whole life flashes before you. Well, nothing was flashing, so I figured I was going to be okay.
But Silke was directly below me, screaming, “Hold on, Shell!”
Pain shot through my arm as, with a grunt, I swung my body toward the steel structure. I found purchase for my free hand, but my fingers couldn’t get a grip. It took a couple of breathtaking grabs to get hold of it. Then I hooked a foot on a steel slat and hesitated for a second to catch my breath and let my heartbeat steady.
Just then, the train clack-clacked overhead and rained soot down on me. I closed my eyes against the grit and tried not to breathe for a moment until the train was gone. Blinking and coughing, I finished my climb only to come up on the tracks to find them empty.
No body.
No suspect.
Saying that I was ticked was an understatement.
I escorted Silke back to her apartment. The possibility of another homicide being covered up had gotten to me, and I wanted some answers. I’d thought about making out an official report for about five seconds before deciding I wasn’t about to call anyone.
No body, no case.
I didn’t need another psych evaluation. Not that I could just forget about it.
I still couldn’t figure out how I’d lost the suspect—if the person even was somehow connected to what had happened to Thora Nelson. So how had he or she disappeared into thin air? Silke had suggested the person hopped the train. But since there were no nearby stations, that sucker had been chugging hellbent for leather. So was it really possible that anyone could have leaped onto the side and held on?
I didn’t see any other explanation.
I didn’t know what to think about Thora.
I was uneasy, though. I felt raw and defensive. A too familiar feeling.
We entered Silke’s apartment in an old courtyard building—a big, cheerful studio filled with lots of color and plants. She hadn’t changed any of that when she’d gone Goth. Then again, she often changed who she was—the actress in her, I guessed—and Goth was simply her latest interest. I threw myself onto the sofa bed, thankful Silke had made it up that morning—she wasn’t the neatest person in the world. She had a bunch of books tossed to one side. I glanced at them and shook my head.
Witchcraft. Wicca. Shamanism.
What was my sister into now?
Even though I wasn’t sure of what this Raven had seen, I had a gut feeling the situation was a potential danger zone for Silke. I didn’t want her going back to work at Heart of Darkness until the wee hours of the morning and then going home alone, but I doubted Silke would listen to reason.
“Want some tea?” Silke was already heading for the tiny kitchen off the main room.
“Okay. I didn’t need sleep anyway.”
“Tomorrow is Saturday. No work, remember. And you can crash here.”
“Sure, why not,” I said. “Since we’re meeting Mom for an early lunch tomorrow anyway…” My mind was still on the missing body. That’s what I wanted to talk about. “Whatever happened to Thora…I’m worried about you. If there was foul play…” Then Silke might become a target through her association with Raven. Not that I wanted to jump to conclusions, but my protective instincts were engaged, and my mind made those connections automatically. “Tell me about Thora.”
“She was nice, but kind of a lost soul.”
Exactly the kind of person Silke would be drawn to, I thought. “Lost how?”
“She didn’t have anyone, not here in Chicago. Her family doesn’t even know she came here. She was from a small town in southern Illinois, but she always said she didn’t fit in.”
“So Thora decided to become a Goth to fit in?” I asked. The notion of a Goth fitting in to anything was odd.
“I guess.” Silke came into the living area and set down a teapot and two mugs on the coffee table. “It has to steep for a few minutes.”
She’d made something with spice that smelled wonderful. Silke was more homey than I was. Despite the Goth phase, she liked brilliant colors, exotic foods—she learned to cook—and great-smelling stuff whether it was candles or shower gels or teas. My needs were less complicated.
“So, how well do you know Thora?”
Her face fell. “We hung together sometimes.”
“So then you have her address and phone number, right?”
“We always met somewhere if we were going to do something together. All I know is that Thora was living in a communal situation with some other Goths who hang at the bar. They pool their resources to pay rent and stuff.”
Sounding worse and worse, I decided. At least Silke still had her
own apartment and was taking care of herself in some fashion. “Maybe you ought to think about getting away from that bar. You can find a better job downtown.”
“The only better job I want is on a stage.”
“Okay, how about a safer job?”
“Look, Shell, I know you’re trying to be protective and all, but we’re not kids anymore. I respect your choices, and I’d appreciate your respecting mine.”
“I do. Really.” I tried to be supportive, despite Mom’s putting me in the middle. “I just want you to be safe is all.”
“Quitting won’t do it. They can find me if they want.”
Her dramatic statement made my chest tighten.
“Who can find you?” I could feel her agitation. “What aren’t you telling me, Silke?”
I recognized her tense expression. I’d seen it often enough looking into my own mirror. I gave her as good as I got. I was used to getting the truth out of offenders. And out of my sister. Finally, Silke sighed and I knew I had won.
“Okay, Thora was seeing this guy who’s part of a bizarre crowd. She told me things…well, things you wouldn’t like, Shell.”
I was liking this less and less. “Things like what?”
“Things.” Silke turned her attention to the teapot. She avoided looking at me for a moment and concentrated on filling the mugs. Then she handed one to me and met my gaze. “Thora told me about some really dangerous stuff…about people bleeding other people. I’m afraid that’s maybe what happened to her. That she died from loss of blood.”
“Loss of blood?” I echoed, suddenly feeling sick inside.
“That’s why I wanted you to come and not call 911. It sounded so crazy. Raven said Thora was really white…that her body was cold like she didn’t have any blood left in her at all. I mean, she didn’t leave the bar that long before Raven found her. And Raven said the inside of Thora’s arm was slashed open.”
“Slashed?” I echoed. “Why didn’t you tell me this right away?”
“I figured you wouldn’t believe me unless you saw for yourself. And then, when her body wasn’t there…Most Goths are chill, but some of them…well, they can be scary. A vampire cult hangs at the bar, and Thora had a thing with the leader. That’s who she was living with—the vampire cult. Only she was doing it because of Elvin Mowry, not because she wanted to trade blood. What if Thora knew more than she told me, but the murderer thinks I know everything?”
This would have sounded crazy to me if not for my own experience. A body seemingly drained of blood…a slash on the inside of her arm…a vampire cult.
Cult?
Just that afternoon, Mom had been talking to Commander Aniceto about cult activity in the area. This couldn’t be a coincidence…so why hadn’t she told me?
I took a deep breath and a long, hard look at my sister. Her smeary raccoon eyes looked larger than usual. Even so, I was reminded of the image I had of her, when the recruit Morris had been down on the mat bemoaning being hurt.
Silke could get hurt.
Silke could get dead.
The thought drove down into my core like a hot knife.
I was the sensible one. I saw the world in black and white, while Silke saw it in living color. She explored it, celebrated it. And took chances that could spell disaster for her.
Now here we went again.
I didn’t want to believe this Thora had been drained of blood, or that Silke could be next for knowledge she didn’t even own. But I had seen LaTonya Sanford with my own eyes, and she’d been dead-dead, no matter what the department’s official position was.
Who had killed her and why? How had her body disappeared so fast—so fast that she might have up and walked herself out of that alley?
My gut was making me wonder if maybe I could find some answers here. Maybe even clear up the idea that I’d had a fruit-loop moment. No more psych evaluations for me, thank you. Two months at the callback center had been nearly enough to make me lose my mind, so I tried to remain pragmatic.
“There could be an explanation about what happened to Thora.”
“I want you to be right, Shell. I don’t want her to be dead. Only I think she really is. I think they drained her blood. You could find out for sure. You are a detective.”
“Not anymore I’m not. I’m a trainer at the academy,” I reminded her, though in my heart of hearts…
“You just hit a bump in the road. If anyone can find the truth of what happened, you can. Detecting is what you were born to do.”
Who knew me better than my twin?
I was pumped at the idea of getting back into an actual case—one possibly related to my biggest failure. My blood was already rushing through my body so fast I could feel my pulse. But I couldn’t do this through the department. If I made an official report, I’d be headed for Psych City in no time.
I couldn’t let that happen, not again.
Before I went public with this, I would have to make sure I had some kind of evidence that a crime had been committed. A witness who wouldn’t do a disappearing act. Maybe even the murderer himself.
“I just have to get on the inside without anyone being suspicious of my motives.”
“How?” Silke asked.
“We do what we did when we were kids. We fool everyone. We trade places.”
Chapter 3
Trade places. Was I out of my mind? I winced at the reference and tried to convince myself not.
Pretending to be a cop, Silke would last…oh, about thirty seconds. On the other hand, I could probably get away with pretending to be her for a while.
If I decided to do it—how could I not…what would a night or two hurt?—I would see if anyone knew Thora’s whereabouts, make sure she was missing. I’d already called Detective Stella Jacobek, a friend in the department, to get an official update. No Jane Doe found along Lake Street or anywhere nearby. No call to report Thora Nelson missing, either, which didn’t surprise me since Silke had said the girl was from southern Illinois and didn’t have anyone here.
No one but an Elvin Mowry, the head of this bizarre vampire cult.
Assuming Raven came back to the bar, I would talk to her myself. If she didn’t, I would see if I could get an address on her. A phone number. A last name.
Equally important, I would get the lay of the land, see how dangerous this vampire cult seemed to be.
Cults. That was the reason I hadn’t cancelled lunch with Mom. Could I get her to share what she knew without arousing her suspicions?
“Silke, must you wear so much makeup away from your job?” were the first words out of Mom’s mouth.
“Hi, Mom, love you, too.” Silke gave our mother a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
I didn’t move to follow suit. Neither did Mom.
The criticism of my sister was uncalled for, especially since Silke had gone conservative to please Mom. Her hair was neatly coiled at the base of her neck, and she had a pale, languid, smudgy-eyed look, which was nothing like the Halloween mask she’d worn the night before. Mom, on the other hand, had let loose—well, for her—with lipstick and a hint of blush and hair out of its tight confinement.
Me, I went light on the makeup. My pale skin looked decent au natural, and my green eyes were large enough that a simple swipe of mascara brought them out. My chestnut hair was long and thick enough to look good in a ponytail. So I could stick my lipstick and wallet in my pocket and I’d be good to go. Not having a purse simplified life.
I’d picked up Silke and we’d met Mom at the ritzy second-floor North Michigan Avenue restaurant. Our table overlooked the street. The food order settled, my mind drifted back to the Goth bar and vampire cult. “So, Mom, you never told me the results of your meeting with Aniceto.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “He filled me in with the history of cult activity in Chicago. Homegrown religions. Satanic groups.”
“Weird stuff, huh?” I asked, immediately pushing it. “Like sacrifices—have you heard about any kind of bloodletting?”
Mom frowned at me. “You’re not a detective anymore, so why the sudden interest?”
“I’ve always been interested in your work.” Which was the truth. “Maybe you just never noticed.”
“Hmm, seems to me there’s more to it, Shelley. You’re not happy at the academy, are you?”
Also true, but how had this suddenly become about me? It was supposed to be my interrogation. She did know something—I could read that much from her.
“Back to the cult discussion—”
“I knew being away from the action wouldn’t suit you.”
“You mean my doing something that landed me on the psych couch didn’t suit you.”
“Can we all get along just for one lunch?” Silke asked. “We should be supportive of each other.”
Luckily the food arrived, cutting short the quibbling.
Not to mention my third-degree. Apparently Mom wasn’t going to tell me anything. Maybe she thought if she did, I would screw things up…just like with the Sanford case.
Unfortunately, Silke and I had never lived up to our mother’s professional standards, but Silke had the good sense to stay as far away from police work as she could. On the other hand, I had no sense. I’d stepped right into Mom’s arena. I thought my becoming a detective would stir her maternal pride. Hah. I heard more praise from my lieutenant, and that wasn’t saying much.
After being given the crappiest caseload in history for an entire year—mostly simple assault cases where threats never actually turned into violence or called for my investigation skills, but rather generated a lot of paperwork—I’d hooked on to a big multiple homicide as a subordinate to the very male detectives in charge, of course. And just when Norelli and Walker had been ready to blow off the case due to lack of anything to follow, I’d found a key witness through an informant. Thank you, Junior Diaz.
That little gift should have made me the toast of Area 4. Yeah, burned toast. Male coppers didn’t like looking bad. Liked it even less when shown up by a woman. And they hung together. So I was on the outs in the office. Worse, Norelli and Walker got all the credit and media attention because it was Norelli’s case. I could have done without the last, but at least I would have appreciated departmental recognition.
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