Operation WetFish, Vampire Detective: Ultimate Omnibus Volume 1 of 4 (Operation WetFish, Vampire Detective Ultimate Omnibus)

by Adam Carter

  Thompson held her anger in, although she did not know how. It was standard procedure for WetFish officers to handle assignments in pairs, and she had been given Detective Sharon Foster. Foster may have been the best statistician in the bunker, but she was also living proof as to why Thompson preferred to ride motorbikes. Surveillance in a car with Foster was Thompson’s own personal hell. She was beginning to feel this assignment was going to be the most difficult she had ever faced.

  “Why couldn’t I have had Baronaire?” she muttered. Still, putting up with Foster was a small price to pay if it meant Thompson could take six thugs off the streets. If only she could find a patsy.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A jolly song about everything going his way drifted through the office. Detective Foster stopped working. She was generally the happiest person in the bunker, mainly because her job didn’t involve going outside and killing people, and it was unusual to hear someone else humming. The melody was sung so low that she had almost missed it, and when she turned her head to peer over the stack of files she was carting around she was absolutely certain she had been mistaken. Charles Baronaire was a man in his early thirties. He was tall, good-looking in a rugged sort of way, and was always dressed half smart, half as though he had just taken his clothes from the washing machine without any thought to iron them. His trademark trench coat was hanging over the side of a chair while the man himself pottered behind his desk. His ever-plain desk, devoid of photographs, keepsakes and anything else that might remind everyone else he was still a member of the human race.

  Shaking her head, Foster carried on.

  “Dum, dum, dum, beautiful morning ...”

  She stopped, turned back, and could clearly see the man’s lips moving unconsciously.

  A titanic crash broke Baronaire from his reverie and Foster herself jumped as her files slammed into her foot. “Oh for the ...!”

  “Sharon?” Baronaire asked, rising and moving over to give her a hand picking things up. “You all right?”

  “Oh dandy,” she replied, sitting on the edge of a desk and removing her shoe. She wiggled her toes, which meant they weren’t broken or anything. She eyed Baronaire intently as he gathered up her things. “You were singing.”

  Baronaire frowned. “I don’t know any songs.”

  “Well you do this morning. This beautiful morning.”

  She could tell from his face he realised he had indeed been singing, for while he did not turn red he did look away. Now that she thought about it, there was a bit more colour to his cheeks these days, although she was too polite to mention it.

  “There’s a spring in your step too,” she noted. “Amazing what a woman can do for the self-esteem.”

  Foster had known Baronaire for a handful of years now. While it was true she had been trying to get him to notice her for most of that time, she had eventually written him off as gay and moved on with her life. Now Baronaire had shacked up with a prostitute and he was as happy as Larry the sand-boy. What a prostitute had over Foster she could not say ... or perhaps didn’t want to know. It never occurred to her that a relationship could ever mean something beyond the physical. Sometimes people had told her that was why she was doomed to wander from one relationship to another, but she really didn’t understand what people were talking about.

  “Rachael’s very well thank you,” Baronaire said. Foster didn’t remember asking after her welfare, but supposed Baronaire was just being evasive because he was embarrassed.

  “Good,” Foster said somewhat bitterly. “Glad for you. So, you taking her out somewhere nice tonight?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Oh dear. She working?”

  Baronaire glowered at her and Foster realised perhaps she had pushed things a little too hard. If Baronaire was like the rest of them he wouldn’t get paid enough to support his new girlfriend, so she would have to continue in her job. Foster could not believe Baronaire would have liked that very much, but even Foster in her angry jealousy knew when she had said too much.

  “Sorry,” she said clumsily. “I was just ...”

  “Save it,” Baronaire said, shoving her files roughly into her. “I have work to do.”

  He stormed off back to his desk and Foster made a hasty retreat. She almost collided into Thompson, who was leaning against the wall, arms folded and smiling to herself. “Nice to see you two still get along so well.”

  “Shove it, Thompson,” Foster said and barrelled past her. She knew Thompson and Baronaire were friends, nothing more of course. It riled her to even think of another woman so close to Baronaire without having the slightest desires towards him.

  Thompson watched the shorter woman march off and smirked. At the moment it was taking a lot to make Thompson smile, but Foster’s somewhat juvenile reaction to things had just about done it. She looked over to where Baronaire was once more busy at his desk. Indeed Thompson had also noted the man was a lot happier lately. She had heard of his romance with this Rachael woman, a prostitute who had been put under Baronaire’s care for two weeks, and Thompson was happy for him. She reflected somewhat oddly on how different all their approaches to relationships were. Foster fixated on someone, spent every waking moment of her life trying to dominate them until they finally ran away from her; Baronaire avoided women at all costs, hardly even seemed to know what to do with them; while Thompson herself had never really known a long-term relationship. She flitted between partners, seldom seeing the same woman for more than a few days at a time before finding someone else.

  None of their approaches were likely very good for them, but at least it stopped them having to break Sanders’s cardinal rules of telling other people just what went on in the WetFish bunker.

  “Baronaire,” Thompson said amiably, strolling over to him.

  Baronaire scowled. “You here to take a piece out of me now, Thompson?”

  “Don’t be like that.”

  Baronaire sighed as she sat on the edge of his desk. Unlike Foster, she was under the impression Baronaire did not mind her being there at all. “Sorry, Jen,” he said. “Just got a lot on my mind at the moment. And I don’t need Detective Foster making stupid comments like that.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about Foster so much. She still has a thing for you, that’s all.”

  Baronaire frowned. “Foster has a thing for me?”

  Thompson blinked, thinking he was joking. “You never noticed? God, she followed you around for a year, Baronaire. She practically threw herself at you a couple of times, one time literally if I remember rightly.”

  “Oh.”

  “You really never noticed?”

  Baronaire shrugged. “She’s not my type, why would I notice?”

  “I’m not sure Foster’s anyone’s type. I heard she stalked the last guy who dumped her. Went right up to his front door and phoned him to tell him that was her knocking on his front door right at that moment.”

  “A great use of the new phones Sanders got for us.”

  “Hmm. So how are things? When do I get to meet Rachael?”

  “You don’t get to meet Rachael.”

  “Come on. Out of everyone here, I would’ve thought I’d be the one you introduced her to. The one least likely to judge or make stupid comments?”

  She could see Baronaire consider relenting. “I’m trying not to argue with her.”

  Thompson suddenly realised he was about to dump his relationship problems on her, and a thought briefly flitted through her mind that she wanted to run a mile. But Baronaire had no one else to talk to and she would be a terrible friend if she did that. “What about?”

  “Her job.”

  “Ah. You don’t like her doing it, but she needs the money to keep a roof over her head. I heard you moved in together.”

  “Sanders got me a bigger place, and he’s trying to arrange an actual salary for me, but for the moment we need money coming in from somewhere.”

  Thompson was certain she had heard that one wrong. “You don’t get paid?�
��

  “Uh, I meant I need a pay rise.”

  That wasn’t what he had meant at all, and Thompson had interrogated more than enough people in her time to know when someone was bare-faced lying to her. Still, it was none of her business so she didn’t press the issue. “If it’s just short-term,” she said diplomatically, “maybe you should just cut her some slack. I mean, it’s not as though she hasn’t been doing that job for a while, right?” By his expression she decided she wasn’t helping matters any. “My point is she’s not in any danger if Sanders is watching out for her. Believe me, she doesn’t like doing that job any more than you like her doing it. It’s your pride that’s getting you into arguments with her, and that’s only going to stress her out.”

  “We don’t argue about it. So far I’ve managed to keep it all to myself.”

  “Well you’re the ideal man then.” Thompson paused, then said, “Uh, there’s a good way to make sure she stays safe, Baronaire.” And leaning closer, she whispered, “I don’t have much in the way of savings, but if she doesn’t have any clients scheduled I could certainly keep her occupied for the next few nights.”

  Baronaire broke into a smile, punched her playfully on the arm. “Stay away from my girl, Thompson.” The smile vanished. “No, seriously; stay away from my girl.”

  Thompson quickly changed the subject. “So what’s your case? Need any help?”

  It was against policy to discuss individual cases with other members of the department, but Thompson had never much liked playing by the rules and she had never noticed Baronaire play by them either.

  “I’m not on a case, as such,” Baronaire said. “Police Stop!”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You didn’t see it? They’re thinking of changing the name to Police, Camera, Action! To be honest, it’s a better name.”

  “Sorry, you’ve still lost me.”

  “You don’t watch much television, do you, Thompson? It’s some new show where they put a camera in the cop car and the public get to see police officers chase down drunk drivers and stuff.”

  Thompson pulled a face. “That’s a show?”

  “Cheap television. I’m sure it’ll catch on eventually. Anyway, one of the other channels is doing a similar style show, following officers around on the beat. Some bigwig decided it was a good idea for WetFish to get involved in things.”

  “Yeah, that’s such a good idea. The most top-secret department in the country really should be stuck in front of a camera. Great thinking there.”

  “I think someone up top doesn’t know what we do, doesn’t see any results come from us so figured we could just expose ourselves and then everyone can see for themselves.”

  It was a fair point. While Thompson knew the people at the very top rung of the ladder knew precisely what WetFish got up to, the regular officers in other departments, and pretty much ninety-nine per cent of the entire police force, didn’t have a clue they even existed. The ones which did know of them thought they were care in the community. Thompson had no idea why someone high up hadn’t caught the request and denied it, but she suspected Sanders was having strong words with certain people even now. “Why’d they pick you?” she asked Baronaire. “You’re the grumpiest fellow on the force. Or at least you were.”

  “Maybe Sanders wants to try out my new carefree personality. Push me to my limits. Could be worse, he could have picked you, Jen. Public relations disaster on a motorbike.”

  “Speaking of which, I’d best catch up with Foster. Got a horrible case I’m working on and I really feel like rolling some grenades into people’s houses, you know what I mean?”

  Baronaire seemed to. He knew full well that her army background allowed her access to as many grenades as she desired. “Just be careful, Thompson.”

  “Always careful, Baronaire. Oh,” she asked as she got up, “any advice on how to kill six different people and make it look like an accident?”

  He thought a moment. “Poker game gone wrong?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Just send ‘em my way. I’ll beat them to death on Candid Camera.”

  “Yeah, have fun with that.”

  Thompson moved to the car park to look for her partner. She had worked for the police for a fair number of years now and remembered a time when you were actually allowed to do your job. There was so much red tape holding every officer back now it was laughable. And the criminals were the ones doing the laughing. Now television was starting to get involved, and Thompson could foresee a time when the entire force dissolved into chaos. The police had not had a particularly good reputation for the last few years, what with one disastrous mistake after another, each being pounced upon by the media. Perhaps this was a way of them regaining some of the respect they had lost from the public. She could not see it somehow, but it was always nice to dream.

  She was ready to watch the dream shatter, just as Lorenzo’s had already.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It was approaching midday and there was nothing any good on TV. Jack Searle lived alone in a small flat. He had taken a few days off from work because of the trial, and now that he had been exonerated he would have to face going back. He knew he was lucky not to have been fired straight off: some of the other guys had been given the push as soon as they had been arrested. Now they had been found not guilty, perhaps they could sue their former employers. Searle didn’t know, but then it wasn’t as though they were not guilty, just that the courts had found them so.

  Searle didn’t remember much about the attack a year ago. He had been out drinking and almost everything was a haze. There was a part of him which had actually wanted to be sent down for it, although he had played the game by the rules the others had set. He had kept his mouth shut and because of that they were all free.

  He glanced at the phone again. It was probably best to call the office, to see what the mood was there. He doubted he would be able to stay, and finding a new job in another office wouldn’t be too much of a hassle. Living with what they had done was the worst part.

  His doorbell sounded and Searle decided to ignore it. The postman had already been and he wasn’t expecting any company. It was probably either a reporter or else someone come to shout abuse at him. And if it was one of the guys, he really didn’t want to know. He had parted company from them following the trial and said he never wanted to see them again. It was the most backbone he had shown in a long time, but they had not taken it very well. Larry especially had thought he was about to squeal, and it would be just like Larry to come pay him a visit, just to make sure he wasn’t thinking of changing his tune and going back to the cops.

  The doorbell sounded again, and again he ignored it.

  On the third ring he decided he could not simply shut himself in for the rest of his life, and rose from his armchair to head for the door. He did not have anything in the form of weapons and hiding a hairbrush behind his back seemed pretty lame, so he just opened the door a crack to see who it was.

  There were two women standing on the other side. The one at the back was shorter, with long red hair and casual clothes. The one in front wore a stylish leather jacket over a white T-shirt and blue jeans. Her dark hair was fairly short and what Searle suspected was considered a fashionable mess. She had hard eyes, but a friendly smile.

  “Larry send you?” Searle asked.

  “Uh, no.”

  “Then you’re reporters.” He went to close the door on them.

  “Whoa, hold on,” the woman in front said. “We don’t work for a national, more of a local paper actually. We’re interested in your side of the story, Jack.”

  “My side of the story was told in court. That’s why they let us off.”

  “Sure,” she said, and there was something about her smile which made him hesitate to slam the door in her face. She pushed a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. “Look, I’m going to be frank with you, Jack. May I call you Jack?”

  He blinked. He wasn’t sure if she had intende
d to say that in such a sultry way, but decided to put it down to his imagination. “Sure.”

  “I’m going to be frank with you, Jack. I think you boys have been given bad press. OK, I’m not saying I agree with what happened, not saying that at all. But you know how it is. You’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, you’ve drunk a little too much, so when the cops come to make their arrests who are they likely to pick up?”

  “The people who did it?”

  “And if they’ve scarpered and there just so happens to be a group of six drunk and rowdy lads hanging around the same area ...?”

  Her voice trailed off. He could tell she was purposefully leading him, he had heard enough of that in court, but whatever he had expected from journalists it wasn’t that they would actually agree with him. Maybe it was just her way of getting through the door, but Searle wasn’t certain of anything at that moment.

  “Fact is,” he said, “it’s over. We were found not guilty, and that’s all there is to it.” He tried to close the door again, but the woman’s hand held it back. He frowned. There was a lot of strength in her.

  “It’s not though, is it?” she asked with imploring eyes. “Over I mean. You don’t seem to have gone back to work yet. Did they fire you because of the accusations?”

  “No. I’m going back day after tomorrow.”

  “And you’re not worried? I can tell you are, Jack. You know they’ll judge you, that they already have. You won’t be able to walk past people’s desks without them suddenly stop whispering, won’t have anyone to meet by the water cooler any more, won’t have company down the pub on a Friday night after work. I’ve seen it happen, Jack. Your life’s changed whether you want to admit it or not. I’ve seen it happen so many times, which is why I want to get your side of things out in the open.”