by Mark Henwick
It probably seemed fairer to me than it did to her.
What did surprise me was she didn’t hold a grudge. She wasn’t my best friend, but she didn’t sit there glaring at me. I really liked that.
Klara got me to talk a little about myself, and Emily’s curiosity fought against her attempt to be cool and distant. She seemed interested in the little stories I told about what I’d done in the police, and stuff from my days at South High. I left out everything from the army and all that led up to it.
Werner asked what I did on my days off, and rather than stonewalling, I said I went clubbing, making out it was my choice and not part of my duties, checking for vampires.
Stroke of genius. The real breakthrough came when I mentioned a particular dance club I’d been to a month before. The club was radical, apparently. The coolest place on earth. Emily was as deeply impressed as someone who has only experienced the club second or third hand could be. She went through a list of people she said had gone there and they were all, like, really, really cool too. I doubt she actually knew any of them.
Finally she stopped. “But you don’t look…” she hesitated.
“Like a Goth?” I said. I tried to tiptoe here. Tact is not my strong suit. “Or just a person with any sense of style?”
Emily tensed up.
“Emily, some people take a style and let it define them. Well, it’s a free world. The rest of us, we can take the style and use it. And then the next day, maybe we’ll try a different one. There were things I wore fifteen years ago which would make you laugh. But you would have worn them, back then.”
She thought about that a bit. “Do you dress up then?”
Second stroke of genius, sort of. I’d taken photos of myself in full vampire dress on my cell phone just before I’d gone off to Club Agonia. My own personal record of the things I had to do. I got out my cell, and pulled the pictures up.
Emily pounced, and before I could stop her, she had shown Klara and Werner. Fortunately, they saw the funny side.
When I left half an hour later, Emily begged me to come back next time her friends were around, and never, ever to delete those way cool photos.
Chapter 15
At roll call for the graveyard shift, there was no sign of Knight.
The other crews were talking about yesterday’s murder. I was confused about when that was by the hours I had been keeping. I thought they were talking about the body I’d found. They weren’t. Finally it sank in that they were talking about a dead man that had shown up twelve hours ago, on yesterday’s graveyard shift. With the same MO.
I wanted details, but we were interrupted by the duty sergeant, who read the notices and confirmed the crews. After that, the rest of them hurried off.
There was still no sign of Knight.
It wasn’t that unusual to have to run a patrol single-handed when a colleague called in sick at the last minute, but nothing had been said.
I had just stuck my head around the door to ask the duty Sergeant, Bill Carver, when Knight appeared.
“Sorry, got held up,” he said.
“Oh?”
I thought he wasn’t going to say any more, but he did. “Homicide wanted to check some stuff about patrol.”
I shrugged. I thought there were better ways to do that, but no one is interested in what the rookie has to say.
“Did you hear there was another body yesterday with the same MO?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Where was it? Have they got a name?”
Knight stopped abruptly and grabbed my arm. “Look, Farrell, I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Remember what I said about the murder the other night? This qualifies too. You don’t want to talk about it either.” His finger stabbed out at me for emphasis. “You don’t want to get involved. You don’t want to be seen scanning traffic cameras on some case that is not your concern. You got that, rookie?”
Okay.
What the hell had bitten his ass? My getting in trouble for sticking my nose into a case on my own wasn’t going to reflect on him.
“I understand,” I said.
I had to drop it. I was supposed to be on patrol for the next four hours, not solving cases. I’d pick it up afterwards.
This was routine, so we didn’t need to talk any more while I got us out of the parking lot and onto our patrol area. There are points you visit repeatedly during a patrol and I started by cruising past the closest, working our way in a zigzag to the far end of our assigned precinct before starting the standard pattern.
Something was bothering me. I mentally ran down my list of things inside and outside work to check if I’d forgotten something. I came up blank. I was going to crack a joke about it being too quiet, when I realized that was exactly what was bothering me. Knight hadn’t said a word since we got in. Surely it wasn’t all about Friday? Maybe he had been chewed out for something I’d done.
“All okay?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He lapsed back into silence, slumped down in the seat. If that was what talking with Homicide did to him, I’d advise skipping it next time.
“So, our last few graveyard shifts gets you two days off next weekend,” I said. “Got any plans?”
“Chores. Then I’ll catch the ball game,” he said and sat up straighter. “I’ll have some friends around, grill a few steaks, drink a few beers. What about you?”
At least that had got a couple of sentences from him. “I hadn’t planned anything. Ball game sounds good.”
“No friends coming around?”
We’d never met outside of work. We’d never spoken about what we did outside of work. I was at a difficult point here. Partners talked about things. I wanted to feel easy with Knight. On the other hand, I didn’t want to have him invite me over or get the wrong idea.
“I haven’t had time,” I said.
“So, what do you do? Forget what you might get up to next weekend. We had a day off on Friday. You must have done something after you caught up on sleep?”
“I fixed my car,” I said.
“The Focus? It’s stopped bouncing?”
“Pretty much.” The car had become the standing joke of the parking lot in the week since the fuel pump started to fail. Or rather, the jerking joke. A rich source of humor for the boys.
“You didn’t spend all day doing that though. What else?”
Dressed up as a vampire and went hunting. What the hell do I say? And why the hell the sudden interest?
“Oh, I went out that night.” I kept it vague, hoping he’d move on to something else. It was too early in the shift to divert him with donuts.
“Where?”
“Just a dance club. Why?”
Something was off. He’d had a session with Homicide and now he was asking me what I do during my time off? Who really wanted to know? And why?
“I don’t know,” he said, backing off. “We’ve never talked about it. I guess I’ve just realized I don’t know what my partner gets up to, on her days off.”
“Trust me, it’s boring at the moment,” I said. “All my old friends from school are gone or married, and my friends from the army are miles away. I’ve been so busy getting settled back in, I haven’t really had time.”
I hadn’t missed that ‘partner’ he’d thrown in there, but what to make of it? Did he really mean he felt we were partners now, or was it a slip?
There was a call on the radio, and conversation ground to a halt. Between calls it limped along until we finally dropped it. A thick fog rolled in across the city and the number of calls dropped. But Knight didn’t launch into his usual spiel at any time. Something was definitely wrong.
Chapter 16
MONDAY
Even for a foggy 4 a.m., it was quiet.
We’d returned to the station and parked the cruiser.
I needed to find out the details on the murder from last night. The colonel was arriving at midday, and I hadn’t gotten a solid lead for him on the vampires. The best I could do was have
all the related information ready.
I switched my cell on, dawdling behind Knight as he strode toward the door.
There were ten missed calls from Dominé, the last one ten minutes ago.
My stomach lurched. This couldn’t be good. What had gone wrong?
She answered immediately, as if she’d been sitting by the phone.
“Amber, please, we need your help.”
“What’s happened?”
“Did you not hear? About Marcel?”
“No, I haven’t heard anything about Marcel. Slow down, tell me what’s going on.”
“There’s no time. The police have been here—”
“Hold it.” I stopped her, the first hints of a sick certainty rising in my gorge. “Mike,” I called to Knight, slipping into using his first name without thought. He stopped and waited while I caught up to him.
“What was the name of the guy killed last night? The one they thought was the same MO?”
He frowned. “Marc Ellis. Why?”
Shit.
“Can’t stop now. I’ll explain later.” I sprinted towards my car.
Marc Ellis. Valery Hawks. Marcel and Valerie. Dominé’s way of making everything sound more exotic.
“Amber,” Knight called out behind me. “Wait! We have to talk. You can’t hold out on your partner!”
Like he had, all this last patrol.
“Dominé?” I said.
“I’m here.”
“Was his real name Marc Ellis?”
“Yes, yes, of course, I’m sorry, I forgot you wouldn’t know.”
I reached the car and slid inside. My mind was linking things up, but it was far too late.
Marcel the artist. Valerie the artist. They worked together at the club. She had paintings of his, in her folder.
“Marcel knew where Valerie lives?” I said as the car started.
“I don’t know, Amber, truly, I don’t, but I am afraid—”
“I couldn’t get an answer from Valerie’s home number,” I said. “I thought that meant she’d gone.”
“She’s not in Nebraska,” said Dominé. “I called her mother. I called her cell. I’ve left messages. There is nothing.”
“Did you go to her apartment?”
“I tried the intercom outside but there was no response. No lights on in her apartment. That was the first time I called you.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes. I’ll call you back.”
I ended the call and pulled out of the parking lot, my tires screeching. Knight had been walking towards me, trying to flag me down, but I couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t.
The lights were still off in Valerie’s apartment. Given the time, that wasn’t surprising. Everything was calm and orderly on the surface.
Except when I looked carefully, I could see the outside lock was damaged. It hadn’t been last time. I drew my gun. Anger and frustration boiling over in me, I gave it a hard shove and I was through. I sprinted up the stairs.
I could smell vampire long before I got to her door.
It was locked.
“Valerie!” I pounded on the door until the second smell started to seep into my awareness. Then I took a couple of steps back and kicked right through it.
I flicked on the lights, hoping I was wrong. Anything, anything but what I found.
Pictures hung skew. One penguin painting looked up from the floor, the glass shattered and the frame splintered, the previously happy look distorted into bewilderment.
Leo the cat was against the wall in the hallway, looking like he’d been casually thrown aside. His back was broken.
Chairs in the living room were overturned. There’d been a brief, futile struggle.
Valerie was lying sprawled on her back in the living room, arms above her head and her throat savagely torn. Her clothes were twisted and ripped, as if she’d been held down and struggled wildly. Her face had frozen into a rictus of pain and despair. There was no wide pool of blood, and she was so pale.
I dropped to my knees beside her. Under my questing fingers, there was no pulse beneath her jaw. No life in the wide, shocked eyes.
There was blood and skin under her fingernails. She’d fought and scratched, but she’d trained her hands to paint, not to fight. She’d had no chance against one of them, let alone three.
Looking at her throat, I put my hand to my own. These were not the neat punctures I’d seen on the first victim. This was the kind of savagery I’d experienced in the jungles of South America. Were these vampires losing control?
A scrap of paper dropped on the floor caught my attention. I didn’t need to pick it up to recognize it as the coat check I’d written my number on and asked Dominé to give to Marcel.
They’d gone looking. They hadn’t found Valerie, so they’d found Marcel instead. And before they’d killed him, he’d given them Valerie’s address.
My fingers were numb, fumbling with the radio button.
“Farrell here,” I said, my voice strained. “I need Homicide.”
Chapter 17
CSI and the ME were inside the apartment.
I’d left the station in my own car, so I didn’t have crime scene forms or tape. I was improvising, standing in the doorway with a notebook. Mainly, I was working at not revisiting all the decisions I’d made over the last few days. They kept coming at me like a blurry nightmare.
I’d been awake for over twenty hours. I desperately wanted another patrol car to come spell me. Given the complications of my connection with this case, I would have thought there would have been someone here by now.
Instead of my relief, the next to arrive was Buchanan. He had a second detective in tow, an older guy I hadn’t met before. Buchanan looked at my notepaper crime scene form as if I’d personally insulted him, but he signed. The second guy signed as Nunez, and stayed while Buchanan went into the living room to get in CSI’s way.
“You called it in as the same MO?” Nunez asked.
“Yeah, from what I heard,” I said. “Throat torn up. Not as much blood as expected.”
“Was the body moved here?”
No. I shrugged the question away. “Ask CSI.”
Nunez looked at the door. “Was it like this when you got here?” He pointed at the damage.
“No. I kicked it.”
Just like that, we were on a slide to questions I couldn’t answer without the colonel’s say-so. If I said I’d smelled vampires, Nunez would call for restraints.
“Why?” Buchanan came back out to join the party.
I couldn’t just stand here and refuse to answer questions.
“I believed the victim was in danger.”
“How did you work that out, Farrell?” Buchanan eyed me coldly.
The anger he’d stoked so well last time came back to the surface, but I kept it in hand.
“The last victim, Marc Ellis, worked with her. There was an incident at their work prior to Ellis’s murder that involved both of them. I received a call from her boss saying she’d hadn’t gone home to Nebraska as expected. I dropped by and the main door downstairs was damaged. There was no response from inside the apartment and I thought I smelled something.”
It sounded thin as tissue.
A couple of uniforms arrived at that point. I handed one of them my makeshift crime scene form and let them take over.
Buchanan and Nunez crowded me to one side.
“You’re familiar with this victim?” Buchanan’s tone was terse.
“Not really.”
“You know where she lives, where she works, you know her travel plans, you know her friends…” Nunez said.
“I gave her a ride home once.”
Nunez and Buchanan exchanged looks.
After a pause, Buchanan nodded. “You’re with us,” he said to me. “We’ll need a statement down at the station.”
“Okay, my car’s outside,” I said. I didn’t want to end up back at the station without a car.
“Give me a lift,” Buchanan said.
It wasn’t a request.
I’d showed up out of nowhere, knew the victim well enough to decide to kick her door down and I discovered a murder that was linked to two more. Just those details were enough to make me a person of interest. Add the possibility of press speculation on top, and the pressure on Homicide would be mounting. They’d want a detailed statement from me and I wouldn’t be able to tell them enough to satisfy them.
As we walked out to the cars, I felt a mounting anger at everything. Why couldn’t the colonel have gotten here sooner? Why did this investigation have to land on Buchanan’s desk? Why did I have to be the damn fuse point all the time?
Not helpful at the moment. I needed to be thinking clearly. I pushed the anger back down.
Buchanan slid into the passenger seat and I pulled out of the parking lot, Nunez following close behind us.
Buchanan let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t gotten to bed either, by the look of it.
“You did okay,” he said finally.
Huh? What the hell?
“Thanks,” I replied cautiously.
“Knight said you lit out like your tail was on fire.”
“There was a chance she was alive.”
And my partner was reporting on me. Frigging fantastic. All those questions on patrol last night. Knight talks to Homicide and all of a sudden he’s interested in what I did on Friday. Yeah.
Buchanan’s shoulders slumped.
“We need more resources,” he said. “You’re half in anyway. We’re going to need you to come on board. Who’s in charge of your duty rosters?”
“Sergeant Carver.” I was having trouble keeping up with him. He wanted me on his team? Yeah. My bullshit meter went into the red zone.
“Okay. I’ll talk to him.” He looked out the window. “The team needs to keep our story straight here. If we start talking about serial killers, the press will be all over us. It won’t look good, and believe me, this case is being watched all the way to the top. If we screw it up, they’ll know who to blame.”