I stood up and fished in my jacket pocket for my cell phone. I dialed a number I knew by heart.
"Zerbrowski here."
"I hope you're not at home," I said.
"Why?" and he sounded positively suspicious.
"Because I'm over the river and through the strip clubs, looking at another damn body."
"No one notified us."
"I'm notifying you."
"Are you telling me that you found the body?" he asked.
"Yep."
"Tell me what happened."
I told him a short version. I didn't leave out that the bartender had told Ronnie to get a ride home, just that she was shit-faced about breaking up with Louie. I left out the creepy couple, but that was it.
"Shit," he said, "I've got to call this in. The Staties or the local sheriff are going to get there before we do. The sheriff didn't like you much."
"I remember," I said.
I could almost feel him thinking on his end of the phone. "I'd almost say send your people home, but we'll need them to corroborate your story."
"You don't believe me?"
"I do, but I won't be first on the scene, Anita. Do you understand?"
"I think so, I'm going to need an alibi to explain how I just happened to find the next murder victim when they've got people patrolling all the clubs. They're going to think that someone tipped me to it."
"Yeah," he said.
"You believe me, Zerbrowski."
"Yeah, but I know you. If any woman could go out to a strip club trolling for guys and accidentally find a murder victim, it's you."
"I was not trolling for guys," I said.
"Oh, yeah, I'll be sure and tell all the guys here at RPIT that you were just doing a favor for a friend."
"You bastard, don't tease me about this."
"Would I do that?"
"Fuck you, Zerbrowski."
"I'd say yes, but what would Katie say?" His voice got serious all of a sudden. "I'll put the call in, tell them that one of our people is on the scene, but if the sheriff gets there first, be nice."
"I'm always nice," I said.
He laughed. "Yeah, and hell is cool in the summertime. Just try to behave until we can get there to back you up."
"I'll behave, if he does," I said.
"Great. I'll be there as soon as I can, Anita."
"I know you will."
"Long damn night," he said.
"Yeah," I said.
He hung up. I hung up and started walking. I heard sirens before I even made it back to the parking area. I had time to give Nathaniel and Micah a thumbnail sketch of what had happened and what was about to happen. Ronnie was sitting on the ground, moaning and holding her head. I'm not sure she would have heard me even if I'd tried to talk to her. Then cars squealed into the gravel parking lot, and in the lead car was Sheriff Melvin Christopher. There wasn't a state cop in sight. Perfect.
73
The EMTs, emergency medical techs, had given Ronnie a blanket. They seemed to think she was suffering from shock. That wasn't it. She was sobering up. Sobering up in the middle of a murder investigation, when she'd drunk more in one night than she'd consumed in the entire six years I'd known her. They had her sitting in the open back of their ambulance. I think partly it gave them something to do. It's good to keep busy.
Physically Ronnie felt the worst, but none of us were having a good time. Sheriff Melvin Christopher's opening shot to me had been, "Almost didn't recognize you with more clothes on, Miss Blake."
I smiled sweetly and said, "That's Marshal Blake to you, sheriff, and you are awfully interested in women's clothing for a heterosexual man in a rural area." It had gone downhill from there. I even admit that part of it was my fault. I shouldn't have made the comment about women's clothing, or questioned his sexual orientation, but, hey, his face got all the way to this awful maroon color before he started yelling at me. For a second, I thought I'd given him a stroke or something. Deputy Douglas had to separate us and take his boss for a little walk around the parking lot.
It gave me time to go check on Micah and Nathaniel. Micah was saying calmly, patiently, but in a tone that said it wasn't the first time he'd said it, or the second, "I do not work at this club."
The deputy who was questioning him was too tall for his body, as if his joints and hands and feet hadn't had a chance to catch up yet. He was either well under twenty-five, or needed to eat more. "What club do you work at, then?"
Micah looked at me. The look said, help me.
I tried. "Deputy," I said.
He looked at me. His eyes flicked to the badge in my hand, but since his boss hadn't been too impressed with the badge, it was hard for him to be impressed, either. The boss sets the tone. He had pale bluish eyes. They weren't friendly, almost mean. "I'm questioning a witness here."
I smiled and tried to push it all the way up into my eyes, but probably didn't manage it. "I see that, but, Deputy," and I read his name tag, "Patterson, the witness has answered your question several times."
"He won't tell me where he works."
"You never asked where I worked," Micah said.
Deputy Patterson looked back at him, pale eyes narrowed in what he probably thought was a hard look. It wasn't. "I did ask where you worked, and you won't answer."
"You asked what club I work for, I do not work at a club of any kind. I do not strip for a living, is that clear enough?" Micah asked. His voice had an edge of impatience. He was one of the most easygoing people I knew. What had Patterson been saying to put that tone in Micah's voice?
Patterson's face showed that he didn't believe it. He was really going to have to work on the blank cop face, right now everything he thought spilled across his face. "Then what were you doing inside this place?" A look of near evil joy crossed his face. "Oh, I get it. You like to look at other people's beans and wienies."
"Beans and wienies," I said, "what the fuck does that mean?"
"Dick and balls," he said, with a tone that implied everyone knew that.
Micah looked at me, and even through the dark glasses, I could picture the look. I was beginning to see what had gotten on his nerves.
"Patterson, I allowed you to question my friends out of courtesy. This is my crime scene, not yours, and if you can't ask a single question that could help us solve this crime, then you need to go somewhere else."
I don't know what he would have said, but I felt Sheriff Christopher coming up behind me, even before I saw the look of satisfaction on the deputy's face. His look said clearly that the sheriff would sort me out, and he'd enjoy a ringside seat.
Patterson said, "He won't tell me where he works, Sheriff. Says he's not a stripper. Says he just came to watch a little fag wag."
I made a small sound in my throat. "I'm going to say this just one more time. We got a call from my friend Veronica Simms that the bartender at this club told her she was too drunk to drive and she needed a ride home. Micah came along so that he could help me with her."
"And what about the other one?" Patterson asked. "He says he's a stripper at Guilty Pleasures."
"Nathaniel came along to keep us company," I said.
Sheriff Christopher gave me a flat cop look. It was a real look. He might be a prejudiced, woman-hating, good ol' boy, but he was a cop, too. Underneath all the crap was someone who could be good at the job, when his personal agenda wasn't getting in the way. It made me feel better, that look, but of course, his personal agenda was raining all over us.
"Why'd you need two friends," and he stressed the friends, "to help pick up one drunk girlfriend?"
"Nathaniel had just gotten off work, and we hadn't gotten to talk, so he came along, so we could visit."
Sheriff Christopher frowned at me. "You said you were home."
"I was."
"I thought this one was your boyfriend." He pointed at Micah.
"He is."
"So what's that one?" he asked, pointing a thumb in Nathaniel's direction. Nathaniel was
talking to the last deputy. He seemed to be having an easier time of it than Micah or me, maybe his deputy was smarter, or just less prejudiced.
"My boyfriend," I said.
"They're both your boyfriends?"
I took in air, let it out slow. "Yes."
"Well, my, my," he said.
I said a small prayer that Zerbrowski would get here soon. "We've got another victim, Sheriff, or don't you care?"
"Yeah, that's another thing," he said, and he put those hard cop eyes on me. If he thought it was going to make me flinch, he was wrong, but it was still a good look. "You just accidentally found our serial killer's next vic."
"Yes," I said.
"Bullshit, bullfuckingshit."
"Believe what you want, Sheriff. I've told you and your people the absolute truth. I could make stuff up, if it would make you happier."
He looked past me to Micah. "I like to see a man's eyes when I talk to him, take off the glasses."
Shit. Micah looked at me, and I looked at him. I shrugged. "Patterson has never actually asked what Micah does for a living. He's been too busy trying to get Micah to admit that he's a stripper, or a homosexual, to worry much about the facts."
"Fine, I'm askin' what do you do for a living, Mr. Callahan?"
"I am the coordinator for the Coalition for Better Understanding between Lycanthrope and Human Communities."
"You're the what?" Patterson said.
"Shut up, Patterson," Christopher said. "So you're one of the bleeding heart liberals that think the animals deserve equal rights."
"Something like that, Sheriff."
Christopher was giving Micah all his attention suddenly. "Take off the glasses, Mr. Coordinator."
Micah took off the glasses.
Patterson backed up, and his hand actually touched his gun butt. Not good. The sheriff just stared into Micah's kitty-cat eyes and shook his head. "Bestiality and coffin-bait, that is pretty damn low for a white woman."
And the "white woman" comment took care of any worries I might have had about what other prejudices the sheriff happened to be carrying around. He was an equal opportunity bigot. He hated everybody that wasn't male and white and straight. What a terribly stark and empty worldview.
"My mother was Hispanic, from Mexico, does that help?"
"Half spic," he said.
I smiled, and it went all the way to my eyes. "Perfect," I said, "just perfect."
"You look awfully happy for someone who's about to have a really bad night."
"And how is this night supposed to get any worse, Sheriff?"
"You knew the body would be here, because your boyfriend and his people did it. That's how you found it."
"And why did I bring my boyfriends, and how did I arrange for my friend to be here getting drunk?"
"You were going to move the body, hide it. That's why you needed this many people. There's something about this one that will lead to your fag vampire friends."
I wondered how Jean-Claude and Asher would like being referred to as my fag vampire friends. Better not to know. I shook my head. "How many lawsuits do you have against your department?"
"None," he said.
I laughed, but it wasn't a happy laugh. "I find that hard to believe."
"I get the job done, and that's all people care about."
It wasn't my business, but I had to wonder how many of his arrests were people not white, not straight, not like him. I would have bet almost any amount of money, most of his arrests fell into those categories. I hoped I was wrong, but I doubted I was.
"You know the line that if all you have is a hammer, all your problems begin to look like nails?"
He frowned at me, not sure where I was going. "Yeah, I like Mr. Ayoob's writings."
"Yeah, so do I, but my point is this. If all you're looking at is the monsters, then that's all you're going to see."
He frowned harder. "I don't follow."
Why was I even trying? "You're so busy hating me and everyone with me, that you've done almost no real police work, or don't you care about this one? Is that it, sheriff? Is this just some little fag stripper that got himself killed, so it's not as important as the white women earlier?"
Something flinched through his eyes, if I hadn't been staring right at him, I'd have missed it. "You must really hate this club."
His eyes were cool and unreadable when he said, "My experience has been that what goes around, comes around, Marshal. You engage in high-risk behavior, and it catches up with you, and payback's a bitch."
I shook my head. "No one so blind as those that will not see."
"What?" he said.
"Nothing, Sheriff, just wasting my breath."
The radios on the black and whites crackled to life, and what we heard was enough to stop the squabbling. "Officer down, officer down."
Location was just down the road at the first strip bar that the vampires hit. Ambitious bastards. I yelled to Micah and Nathaniel, "Take Ronnie's car and go home." I was already opening the Jeep's driver's side door.
"Anita..." Micah started.
"I love you," I said, and I slid behind the wheel. I backed up and had to wait for one of the other police cars to get out of my way. Nathaniel was still leaning against the car where the deputy had questioned him. I hit the button for my driver's side window. I blew him a kiss. He smiled and blew one back. Then I was in line between two of the black and whites, and we were gone. Officer down, was it the vampires? Or had some drunk gotten lucky? No way to know until we got there. The only bright spot was that I wouldn't be alone with just the sheriff and his men for long. Police would come from all over for this one. Officers that wouldn't normally have any business or jurisdiction here would be driving up within minutes.
The ambulance was behind us, with its lights and sirens going. They could have been simply following the police's lead, but I took it for a good sign. EMTs only do the full cherry, when they know there's someone hurt but still alive. I said a quick prayer and concentrated on driving. The sheriff was a bigoted asshole, but he knew the roads, and I didn't. Here's hoping I didn't end up in a ditch.
74
We were the first officers on the scene, because we'd been less than ten minutes away. The sound of sirens wailed off into the night. More help coming. There was an Illinois State Trooper car standing in the parking lot with one door open, and the officer slumped, sitting by the door. His face was just a white blur, one arm looked injured, and his gun was clasped awkwardly in his other hand. There was blood on the shoulder of his uniform.
The black and whites hit their doors, and they took cover behind the doors, or the engine block while they looked around. No one just ran straight at the injured trooper. We all took cover, we all had our weapons out, we all assessed the situation before we ran in. You never know about bad guys, sometimes they use bait. I hugged the front of my Jeep with my back, gun out, pointed skyward. I had the engine block at my back, so no matter what the bad guys were using I was okay, as long as I was on the right side of the Jeep. There were so many things to think about, and no time to think deep, you had to let training and experience do some of the thinking for you.
The sheriff did something with his arm, and suddenly all the sirens cut off. The silence was suddenly loud, just the strobing of the lights to let people know something was wrong,
We were all scanning the parking lot and the surrounding area. There was a privacy fence behind the dumpsters. There were other buildings within a few yards. The parking lot was packed. The bad guy could be hiding behind any of the cars, or they could have fled when they heard the sirens. No way to be sure.
Nothing moved, except the trooper who blinked at us. He was alive, and I wanted him to stay that way. We had to move up. As if Sheriff Christopher had read my mind, he moved up. He kept low, which with his stomach and his height was impressive. A lot more limber than he looked.
I pointed my gun not at anything in particular, but in the directions I could cover that might potential
ly have someone hiding who wanted to shoot at the sheriff. A white plastic bag rolled near the Dumpster, pushed by the wind. Nothing else moved.
Sheriff Christopher gave the all clear. His men all stood up, broke cover, and converged on him. I was more cautious, scanning the area as I moved to join them, my gun pointed at the ground, but held two-handed, ready to go back up. There was a crowd starting at the door to the club. Until I stood up, I couldn't see the doors over the hood of my Jeep, but I was betting the crowd had been there all along. People have no sense. Or they knew something we didn't. Naw.
I heard, "Get the EMTs up here."
Patterson trotted off to let the medics know it was safe to come up. Sheriff Christopher glared up at me. "It was one of your vampire friends."
"Looks like a knife wound to me, how do you know it was a vampire?"
The trooper spoke in a voice that was strained low with pain and shock, "Bastards flew off with her. Flew up like fucking birds, straight up."
Okay. "Alright, vampires. Who did they take?"
"One of the dancers," the trooper said. "I was making a drive-through, like we're supposed to. Saw her come out, and saw them just come out of the shadows, one on either side of her. She started screaming. I got out, pulled my gun. But there was another one, I didn't see him. I don't know why, but it was like he just appeared behind me. He put the knife to my throat, told me to watch. Then the others just flew away with the girl. They fucking flew away." He closed his eyes and looked like he was struggling with the pain.
The EMTs were there, pushing us all back.
The trooper opened his eyes, and he looked at the sheriff. "He had the knife at my throat, why didn't he kill me? He switched the blade, drove it into my shoulder. Why? Why didn't he kill me?"
I answered, while the medics went to work on him. "He wanted you alive, so you could tell us what you saw."
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