Before the ruling, a lot of police departments had holy items as part of their uniform, like lapel pins or tietacks, but now they were back to carrying them undercover somewhere on their bodies. Holy items were now considered weapons when dealing with vampires. Which meant what the sheriff had done constituted assault with a deadly weapon.
"Was it just him, or his men, too?"
"Some of his men. Before we got here, they were all wearing little cross-shaped lapel pins. I got them to remove them, but only after I threatened to call the closest FBI office."
I looked at him, because no cop likes to call in what they so affectionately call the Feebies.
"I'd rather let the FBI take this entire case away from us than let crap like this go down. The vampires are scared shitless now. If there are any guilty ones here, I can't tell it, because they're all either royally pissed, or scared. Most of them won't even talk to us, and legally they don't have to." It didn't really show in his voice, but he was as angry as I'd seen him. I could see it in the tightness around his eyes, the way his hands kept stiffening up. Zerbrowski was usually one laid back guy, but everybody has their limits. "We got a hit from New Orleans and Pittsburgh. Very similar crimes. Two in Pittsburgh, five in New Orleans, then they moved here."
"Lucky us," I said.
"Yeah," he said, "but that means we have at least three more bodies to look forward to. We need these nice citizen vamps to talk to us."
"I'll see what I can do. Do you have anyone you want me to start with? I mean it's 4:30, we've got about three hours or less until dawn. They've got to be allowed to go home before dawn, unless you can charge them with something."
"We've got a woman dead in the side lot here, multiple vampire bites, and they're vampires. I could probably get a judge to agree to holding them as material witnesses. I know a judge that hates vampires enough to give me a court order."
I shook my head. "We're trying to smooth this over, not make it worse. Right now they can only sue this city, let's not give them a reason to sue us, too."
He nodded then stepped aside and made a sweeping gesture with his hand. "They are all yours, good luck."
There was a group of vampires around the big fireplace in the center of the main room. None of them belonged to Jean-Claude. Some of them were clustered around a table set in front of it the fireplace, in huge thronelike chairs, some on a cushioned seat near the fireplace. One of the vampires was clutching an animal print cushion while he sat in front of the fire. His eyes were wide, and he looked shell-shocked. The other five were scared, or angry, or a mixture of both, but they were holding it together better than the cushion-hugger.
I showed them my badge and explained who I was. But it wasn't the badge that made the cushion-hugger whimper, "Oh, God, they're going to kill us."
"Shut up, Roger," a tall vampire with sleek black hair and angry hazel eyes said. "Why are you here, Ms. Blake? We are being held against our wills, and we are guilty of nothing except being vampires."
"And you are?" I asked.
He stood and straightened a rather nice, conservative suit. "I am Charles Moffat."
"I know that name," I said.
He looked nervous, just for a moment, then he tried to swallow it. He wasn't twenty-years dead, a baby.
"You're one of Malcolm's deacons for the Church of Eternal Life," I said.
He opened his mouth, then closed it, and stood very tall, and said, "Yes, I am, and I'm not ashamed of it."
"No, but Malcolm has forbidden any of his church members to frequent this side of the river for nefarious purposes."
"How do you know what our master dictates?" He was trying to bluff, and it wasn't going to work.
"Because Malcolm talked to the Master of the City and got him to agree to tell Malcolm if any of the church's members frequented his clubs. You guys aren't allowed to be anywhere this naughty. You must, and I quote, be absolutely above reproach."
One of the vamps who was balding and wore glasses, started rocking in his chair. "I knew we shouldn't have come. If Malcolm finds out..."
"She is Jean-Claude's servant, and she must tell him, and he will tell Malcolm."
"Actually, the agreement was just to tattle about you coming to our clubs. Malcolm didn't ask us to keep an eye this side of the river."
The bald vampire looked up at me as if I'd offered him salvation. "You won't tell?"
"If you guys tell me everything you know about this, I don't see a reason to."
The bald vampire touched Charles Moffat's arm. Charles jerked away from him. "How can we trust you?"
"Look, I'm not the one who signed a morals clause with my master and has just been caught in a titty bar—you guys have. So if anyone is questioning someone's word, shouldn't it be me? I mean a vampire that goes against the express orders of his master, what good is he either to his master or his kiss?"
"We of the church do not use the word kiss for a group of vampires. Malcolm feels that it is too sensuous a word."
"Fine, but my point stands. You've betrayed your master, your church, and your oath, or don't you in the church take blood oath, either?"
"A barbaric practice," Charles said, "we of the church are held by our own moral standards not some magical oath."
I smiled and motioned around the room. "Hmm, nice standards."
Charles blushed, which isn't easy for a vamp, but it let me know he'd fed tonight, fed a lot. "Who was your feed for tonight?"
He just glared at me. "Look, guys, it's 4:30 in the morning. We have less than three hours to get your asses back to your homes. We want you all out of here before dawn, alright?"
They all nodded. "Then answer my questions. I can tell which one of you has fed and which hasn't. I need to know what dancers, or donors, you fed on. If they're in the other room, I need to talk to them. If they aren't, I need names, and a way to contact them tonight."
"The relationship between a vampire and their partner is sacred."
"Look, Charles, you've got enough blood in you to blush. You want me to start speculating where you got that much blood to waste?"
"We have already been threatened and abused. You can do no more to us."
I turned to the rest. "Who wants to answer my questions and get an I-won't-tell-Malcolm card?"
The bald vamp stood up. Charles yelled at him. But Baldie shook his head. "No, you aren't my master, Charles. We are all free beings in the church, it's one of the reasons we joined. I'm going to answer her questions, because it's within my rights to do so."
"Let's find a private room," I said, and motioned for him to follow me. There was a truly beautiful saltwater aquarium in a little area that was probably meant to be a smoking room, but there were smaller rooms off of it, where normally you could take one of the dancers and get a private dance.
I took Baldie into the first room. It was actually nice, not tacky in the least, with a small couch, a chair, a coffee table, and area lighting. The room still pulled off that leather and manly den theme, without being obnoxious about it. "Have a seat," I said.
He sat, rubbing his hands over his knees, nervous. He was a little plump, and soft. He looked like an accountant, except that when he licked his lips, he flashed a little fang. The new ones do that. "How long have you been in the church?"
"Two years." He was shaking his head. "I thought it would be sexy, you know, vampires, the clothes, the romance." He clasped his plump hands together. "But it's not like that at all. I'm still a law clerk, just at a different office where they let me work nights. I can't drink, can't eat a steak, and dying didn't make me sexier." He spread his hands wide. "Look at me, I'm just paler."
"I thought the church required six months minimum of study before they let you take the last step?"
He nodded. "They do, but they made all the moral stuff seem high-minded, you know, we're better than those other vampires. We aren't perverts like Jean-Claude and his vamps." He looked up and was scared, and it showed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."
&n
bsp; "I know what the church says about normal vampire society."
"It sounded so noble."
"Let me guess, there was this woman that happened to be a vampire."
He looked up, startled. "How did you know?"
"Lucky guess, and after you made the change, what happened?"
"She was my partner for the first few months, but after that, she had other duties."
That was interesting, and I filed it away for later. If the church deacons were seducing members, that might be called illegal, at the very least questionably moral. "Who'd you feed off of tonight?"
The question threw him, and he blinked at me like a rabbit in headlights. "Sasha, her name was Sasha."
"And you brought her back here?"
He nodded.
"You're a club member?"
He nodded again.
"Charles is, too?"
Nod.
"Most of the people at the table are members?"
Nod, then, "It was Clarke's first time here."
"And Clarke is the one with the pillow?"
"How did you know?"
I shook my head, smiled, and said, "Do you remember any other girls that people fed off of, names or descriptions." He remembered a lot. I ended up with four names, two descriptions, and only poor Clarke had not fed. Of course, I'd known that last part, but it's always nice to have things confirmed.
With Zerbrowski as my guard, we ventured out into the club and fetched the women in question. We matched up every vamp with at least one girl. Charles had fed on three, and he was a big tipper. Two of the girls were his regulars. Pretty naughty for a church deacon.
It took me a little more than two hours to match up those who had fed with whom they'd fed on. It didn't mean they hadn't snuck out and fed again, but it made it less likely. I suggested that we could compare bite radiuses on the dead girl with the vamps later, if we needed to. We knew their names, and knew how to find them.
The most interesting bit of information I found out was given up only by the first vamp I talked to and by Clarke, who was so scared he'd have given up his mother. There had been three other church members here earlier in the evening, and they were also part of the crowd that liked to frequent the stripper bars. But none of them were members of the Sapphire Room VIP club. I had their names and an address for the most newly dead of them. Maybe they'd had something to do with the murder, or maybe they just gotten bored and went home early. It wasn't a crime to leave a place.
Zerbrowski had actually called in state troopers to back us up, as we escorted the vampires to their cars. None of them was powerful enough, or old enough to be able to fly home. When we'd gotten the last of the undead safely off in their minivans and compact cars, Zerbrowski took me to one side and said, "Did I hear you right? The vamp church makes their members sign a morals clause?"
I nodded. "Other vamps call them nightshirt Mormons."
He grinned. "Nightshirt Mormons, really."
"Honest."
"Oh, I will have to remember that one, that's good." He looked behind us at the waiting ambulance, fire truck, and all the personnel. "Now that you've helped save the vamps, how about looking at the actual crime scene?"
"Thought you'd never ask."
He grinned, and it almost pushed the tiredness out of his eyes. "I get to go first down the ladder," he said.
I frowned at him. "What ladder?"
"Our murder scene and body dump are in a hole left by some overzealous construction workers. According to the club manager, they broke ground, but didn't have all their permits in line, so it's just a big hole. That's why we need the firemen to help us get the body up out of the hole when you're done with it."
"You are not going ahead of me down the ladder, Zerbrowski."
"What are you wearing under that little bitty skirt?"
"None of your damn business, and if you don't let me go first down the ladder, I'll tell your wife on you."
He laughed, and a few people looked our way. They were colder than we were, and just as tired. I don't think they saw anything to laugh about. "Katie knows I'm a lech."
I shook my head. "How messy is it down in the hole?"
"Let's see, it's rained, it's frozen, it's thawed, and it's rained some more."
"Shit," I said.
"Where are those overalls you used to wear to all the crime scenes?"
"It's against company policy to wear crime scene gear to a zombie raising now." What I didn't say out loud was that I'd forgotten and worn overalls that had blood on them to a zombie raising. The client's wife had fainted. Was it my fault that she had a fragile constitution? It wasn't Bert who said no more, it was a majority vote at Animator's Inc. So I actually had to pay attention to the rule. "I didn't plan on climbing into holes and looking at bodies tonight."
The grin faded from his face. "Me neither, let's get this done. I want to go home and hug my wife and kids before they go off to school and work."
I didn't point out that it was 6:30 in the morning, and his chances of making it home in time to see Katie and his kids before they rushed off to their days were slim to none. Everybody needs a little hope, who am I to take it away?
47
The woman in the hole was beyond hope, or fear, or whatever had happened to her. Her face looked empty, the way the dead always do. You get an occasional one that looks scared, but it's just happenstance. The way their face muscles worked at the moment of death. But mostly, the dead look empty, like something essential is missing, something beyond just no breath, no heartbeat. I'd seen enough eyes do that last glaze, to say that something more precious than breath goes with death. Or maybe I was just tired and didn't want to be standing ankle-deep in mud, staring down at a woman that was probably younger than I was, and now always would be. I get more morbid the closer to dawn it gets, if I haven't been to bed.
There were a lot of similarities to the first body. This one was lying on her back, just like the last one. They'd both been strippers. They were both killed just outside the clubs that they worked in. This one was a blonde, and white, which was the same as the first one. There were a set of bite marks on either side of the neck, and one in the bend of her left arm, right wrist, and chest. To see if she had thigh bites I was going to have to kneel in the mud, and I didn't want to. Simple as that, I didn't want to. I promised myself I would never again be caught out, anywhere, without a pair of coveralls, and mud boots. I'd had to borrow gloves from Zerbrowski. I'd been thinking about my date, not about my job when I packed the Jeep earlier. Stupid me.
I stood up and debated on whether I could get away without crawling around in the mud and looking at all the bites. "She's taller, by almost a foot than the last one. Blond hair but very short, the last one had long hair. Other than that, it looks damn similar."
"The bite radiuses are the same."
"Who took the measurements?" I asked.
He told me, and the name meant nothing to me. I was across the river, and I didn't actually do a lot of crime scenes here. I killed vamps for Illinois, but I didn't do much actual investigative work. I couldn't let someone else do it, not if I didn't know them. If even one bite radius was off, it would mean a change of players in our vampire group. We needed to know if we were looking for five, or six, or more.
I sighed and fetched my little tape measure out of the jacket pocket. That I'd started keeping in the glove compartment with the baby wipes. I measured the easy-to-get-to bites first and had Zerbrowski take notes. Then I planted my knee carefully in the mud, between her knees. The mud was cold. I spread her legs and found the inner thigh bites. I measured everything I could find. The bite radiuses matched, or ballparked. I was using a different instrument to do the measuring, which I shouldn't have done. I shouldn't have let the CSU technician let me use something I wouldn't have with me next time. What you measured with could make a difference in the field. The field was not a laboratory.
I got up from the ground carefully, my goal was still not to slide on my as
s in the mud. High-heeled boots were not the best thing to wear to guarantee that. So I was careful. "The Sapphire has security people walking their lot. At least one security guy at any given time. It's the weekend, there should have been two. Did they see or hear anything?"
"One of them saw the girl come out with her coat on. She was headed home, done for the night. He saw her go toward her car"—he riffled back through his notebook—" then, she wasn't there."
I looked at him. "What did you say?"
"He said, she was walking toward her car, he waved at her, then something attracted his attention to the other side of the lot. He's a little vague on what attracted his attention, but he swears he only glanced away, then when he looked back, she was gone."
"Gone."
"Yeah, why do you have that look on your face, like that means something?"
"Did he check her car right away?"
He nodded. "Yes, and when he didn't find her at the car, he went back into the club to see if she'd gone back inside. When he couldn't find her inside, he got the other security guy, and they started searching the area. They found her."
"How long does he think he looked away for?"
"He says a few seconds."
"Has anyone checked with anyone else inside, who might have seen her leave? I'd like to know what time she left the building, and how long he was really staring off in the other direction."
"Let's just get out of the hole and find someone who saw her leave and actually looked at a clock."
He was riffling through his notebook again. The lights that they had directed down into the pit illuminated everything, in fact made it all a little stark, and pitiless, as if she needed to be covered up and not stared at anymore. Maudlin, I was getting positively maudlin.
"Actually, one of the ladies inside, a customer, had liked the blonde a lot, she and her husband. So she noticed the time when she left."
"And how does it tally with the security guy's statement?"
He checked the times back and forth. "Ten minutes."
"Ten minutes is an awfully long time to stare at something he isn't even sure he saw."
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