Black Market Blood

by Francis Gideon

  Sully nodded. “Lots of people.”

  “Like Artie?”

  “Yes,” he answered honestly. He thought of the one teacher at school, the one who first gave him the books on saints that later helped him understand the opera. Then helped him understand the intricate underground system that gave him his life back.

  “What happened to him?” Cecil asked after Sully told him the story, careful not to use names.

  Sully shrugged, not liking to think about that too much. “I went away. He went away.”

  Cecil nodded, understanding. “You think he’s okay?”

  “Yes,” Sully said, because no other answer would do.

  “I think my guy is okay too.”

  “You know what?” Sully said, pumping harder. “I think so too.”

  Chapter 10

  COME MORNING, Chaz felt a lot better. The phone call with Sully, plus the small amount of blackout sleep he got, were like an elixir that prepared him to deal again with the realities of Manitoba and this case. At seven thirty sharp, he came down to the lobby for the continental breakfast and ran into Declan already sitting at a table. His eggs were half-eaten, along with his toast, and his coffee mug was empty next to several used packets of sugar.

  “Morning. Mind if I sit with you?” Chaz put down his coffee, which was the only thing he’d gotten so far. “The breakfast here looks good. What do you recommend?”

  “Oh, anything. You check your phone, though?”

  Chaz touched his breast pocket. After the call with Artie, he’d shut his work phone off. After he turned it on now, it buzzed like a bomb as dozens of messages came in.

  “Oh no. What have I missed?”

  “Well, other than the warrant coming in for the magazine and a preliminary search done by local PD—Jack messaged us about another body. Found in Toronto. Same necklace on him. But this time he was a vamp.”

  “Oh God.” Chaz was floored by all the information at once. He skimmed through the messages about the magazine place—found nothing, all aboveboard on the surface, but to be sure, they’d need a forensic accountant to go over the records the owner had handed over—but the new body was what struck him the most. “Is it the pimp we’re looking for? Killed so fast?”

  “Not likely since it still looks like he was killed by a vamp,” Declan said, sighing. “I know there’s a lot to go through, so let me give you some Cliff Notes: Jack is on the scene since both Detective Bhatnaghar and Jenkins called in sick. He thinks the vamp was killed around the same time as our guy, but his body was moved so it wasn’t found when our officers did a sweep at the dock.”

  “Shit. How many more bodies are we expecting to get here?” Chaz dragged his teeth across his bottom lip. “Have they checked out local vampire dens yet? Could we have missed something there?”

  “No point.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This body was found in Chinatown. No idea how he got there, but it’s likely he was dragged there since the witches and alchemists who populate the area have protections against any kind of blood magic. They prefer smoke and mirrors. At least that’s what I’ve been able to put together during my morning coffee over all the files we have on vamps.”

  “Huh.” Chaz ran a hand through his hair. All vamp dens were nothing more than abandoned warehouses where a bunch of vamps lived together. Kind of like dorm living in university but with a lot more fights over blood. Most vampires couldn’t get jobs beyond minimum wage, especially if they were out as vamps, so money was always tight. Accommodations were always lackluster. Even before he was Chip MacDonald of the Toronto police, he never liked the dens. But the Chinatown aversion was something new to him. Was there a rule among vamps that he’d never been privy to? It wasn’t like he’d been in the dens that long before he was arrested. He’d been to Chinatown since then, so the danger wasn’t actually real. A lore, superstition among vamps, maybe. But Chaz suddenly felt at a loss, missing sections of a history that had been foisted on him.

  “Here’s a photo.” Declan twisted his phone around and showed the second body wedged between two vegetable carts in an alley close to a store Chaz soon recognized as one that sold tokens based on someone’s birth year. Dressed completely in black, the victim was older than the first one, but he looked small. Shriveled. Husks of lettuce and orange peel were tossed around him. Chaz struggled to tell the difference from the picture, but there appeared to be no garlic used to disable vamps. Figures. That’s all a myth anyway. At least I was around long enough to learn that.

  Declan took back the photo before Chaz could see puncture wounds or the bruises on the body.

  “Jack is there now getting the information, but we should go. He’s already booked tickets for us and we should arrive by the afternoon, in time for the autopsy.” Declan gathered the files he’d been reading and packed them away into his suitcase. “You can wrap up your eggs if you want…?”

  “No, no. I’m fine. Relieved actually. I was getting sick of Manitoba anyway.”

  Part Two: Saint Jude

  Chapter 11

  JACK PICKED Declan and Chaz up from the airport in an unmarked car. As soon as he opened the door, Chaz smelled the Chinatown shops. Fish market. Pungent, rotted fruit. Candles. Smoke and mirrors, like Declan had said. Chaz took the backseat while Declan had the front. Jack reiterated what he’d found at the scene and what he’d sent over in his numerous text messages.

  “Sorry,” he said, wincing slightly as they jumped over a pothole. “I know I’m repeating myself, but it’s exciting to get out in the field. I haven’t even been gone that long, but I already miss it. Let me know if you need me to shut up.”

  “Never,” Chaz said. “You need our reports again?”

  Chaz had typed his up on the plane and e-mailed it as soon as he had a Wi-Fi signal, as had Declan, but it became obvious that the deluge of paperwork would need to be sorted later. They recounted their experience with the man at the brothel, plus the magazine distributor they never got to check out.

  “They have Toronto divisions,” Jack said. “We found that out before the body showed up. It was how we found it actually.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Ramirez was back on patrol and we were out of detectives, so I sent him over to find the Toronto office. He took a wrong turn, ended up in Chinatown, and well, there you have it. Dead body that is now at the morgue.”

  Chaz and Declan exchanged looks in the rearview mirror. The same cop at both scenes? It was possible, but in a city so filled with monsters and the officers who were trying to stop them from taking over, it was strange.

  “What about the necklace?” Declan asked. “You said it was at both scenes?”

  “I jumped the gun on that. The vamp had on a gold necklace, but there was no saint as the charm. Instead there was a card for Saint Jude sticking out of his pockets. No ID, nothing like that. But we’re hoping he’s in the system. Maybe even the Monster Mythology.”

  “Saint Jude?” Chaz said. “Not Saint Valentine?”

  “No, this one is Jude. The Patron of Lost Causes. Which this case might become.” Jack laughed uneasily. “I’m not entirely sure everything is related. But a second vamp kill and an association with a saint? Both killed at the same time? It has to mean something.”

  “Yeah, but a vamp killing a vamp is an odd wrench in the pattern,” Chaz said. “I didn’t see the marks on the guy’s neck from the photo, but that seems… cruel.”

  “And monsters aren’t cruel?” Declan asked.

  “No. Well. Not to each other and not without extenuating circumstances. We should consider looking into vamp dens. Interviewing some. If this was a payback or something like that, they’d want to broadcast it. Make it public.”

  “Is that why the body was left in Chinatown?” Jack asked. “Out in the open?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. Which is why we should interview,” Chaz insisted. No one in the car spoke of it or made plans for how to get that kind of canvassing done. Because t
hey don’t want to. Vamp dens are worse than crack dens because of the threat of infection. Vamps can’t control themselves. They’re fiends, and who would willingly go into the abyss? Like all cases of a “suspicious death,” the crime file would be handed off to separate units—the gang one, the drug one, the sex crimes one—until it became cold and no one could blame them for not investigating anymore because they had tried, at least on paper, to solve it. Chaz sighed, realizing that if he wanted that aspect of the crime explored, he’d have to do it himself. And he didn’t know when he’d even get the chance to do that or how to begin. If Manitoba taught him anything, it was that he couldn’t walk anywhere and not be read as a cop anymore. Someone would always see through him.

  They pulled into the morgue parking lot fifteen minutes later. Chaz hoped to see Katja when they stepped inside, but they were greeted by Melinda. She said hello, then gestured to the masks at the front of the station.

  “Please, take some gloves and get ready. I’ve already done my work, but you’re going to want to see some of what I’ve found.”

  “Just that crazy?” Declan asked.

  Melinda only nodded.

  After masking up, all three waited along the left side of the slab while Melinda took up the right. All other bodies in the morgue were covered with sheets. The vic still wore his dark clothing, but he’d shrunk even more since the photo had been taken. All doubt that this was a vamp rushed from Chaz’s mind. When vampires died, they mummified. Seeing his own mortality reflected in front of him made him queasy.

  “I ran the prints through our database and got a hit,” Melinda said as she adjusted her glasses. “He’s a vampire. Not a famous one, but a vamp nonetheless.”

  “We can see that.”

  “Yes, but he’s registered as one. He’s been out since 1988. His name is Hector Juarez.”

  Chaz was born in 1988. He shuddered at the similarity. “He doesn’t look a day past thirty.”

  “Ah yes,” Jack said. “The best anti-age cream. Until death, of course.”

  “I don’t understand, though,” Declan said. “How do vamps die? There seems to be no mark on his heart from a stake.”

  “Well, let me open him up for you to see,” Melinda said, voice teasing. “But you’re right that there’s no stake in the heart, though it doesn’t cause death with vamps in the way we expect. You strike their heart clean through and they can’t repair the damage fast enough before they bleed to death. Exsanguination from any source or type of wound will kill a vamp, though. It’s all about the balance of how fast their body can repair itself versus how serious the injury is. Starvation—as in, not feeding for two or three months—will also bleed a vampire dry. Blood is always the cause. The first source of infection and the last wish before death.”

  “You’ve worked with vampires before?”

  “If by worked you mean I’ve seen a couple on my table, then on and off, yes,” Melinda said. “I’ve also seen a couple video presentations from a conference discussing the blood of supernaturals. Very intriguing. Good information for public health. Which is why I insist on the masks and gloves. It’s likely we won’t become infected from this autopsy, but we should always be careful.”

  “I thought…,” Declan started but never finished. Chaz figured Declan thought vamps only infected through biting and direct blood draining. Like so much about vampire lore, it was only a half-truth. Vamps were made through direct blood contact, and the mouth was a common way to do it since the teeth often got in the way, cutting the vamp’s cheek or lip so their blood mixed with—and turned—the person they’d drunk from. Any blood contact, though, would do the trick.

  As Melinda cut open Hector’s chest, Chaz remembered the raw feeling of his lips the first few times he’d fed. It was hard to control the teeth. They sprang up and hurt like a baby’s would, worse than any cavity, and they left the mouth an open wound for weeks. At the time, alcohol had been the only thing that made him feel better. He’d learned from the den he wasn’t alone in that.

  Hector’s heart, lungs, and all other organs were intact, albeit smaller. Each time Melinda cut into the dead skin, it seemed like she was tearing into shoe leather.

  “Is that a bruise?” Jack asked, pointing to the thighs. “Like the one we saw before?”

  “Yes. It is. Here’s the place where at least some bleeding happened.” Melinda pulled the skin taut and displayed a cut. It was hard to tell if it was from a knife or a simple nick that got out of control.

  “But the neck?” Jack asked. “If he bled from there, why bite the neck? And why even try to turn him at all if he was already a vamp?”

  “Maybe he didn’t know?” Declan suggested.

  “The blood would be sour,” Melinda said. “Very sour.”

  Chaz nodded along, already knowing this. “Only someone who didn’t know—or someone who had a penchant for punishment—would drink from the victim.”

  “It’s more likely he didn’t know, right?” Declan asked insistently. “He goes to get a drink, then fucks up and realizes he can’t use Hector. So he disposes of him and kills Patrick instead. Right?”

  “Where’s all the blood, then?” Chaz asked. “I know we found the first victim in the water, so that answers that question. And it’s obvious that Hector wasn’t killed in Chinatown. But he bled to death, right, Melinda?”

  “Hmm? Exsanguination is the cause of death, yes.”

  “So where’s the blood?” Chaz repeated. “Have we found the boat yet?”

  “We thought we had. But maybe there’s one missing. We’re going to have to go over those manifests again, because now we have names to match them to,” Jack said. “That should be our next job.”

  The three nodded, then turned to Melinda again as she continued to work. She bisected the skin on the neck and used some kind of measuring tool around the marks. “This killer is the same. And he’s dedicated.”

  “What do you mean ‘dedicated’?”

  “I’m pretty sure the teeth marks are the same. We will know more with a casting. But there seem to be indications with this bite mark that Hector was sucked dry, which would explain the mummification.”

  “Even this guy?” Chaz asked. “Whose blood would be sour to him?”

  “Exactly why I say it would take dedication. Maybe—maybe—he was sucking and spitting, but that’s still a lot to endure. Especially if our guy Hector is fighting back while all of this is done.” Melinda picked up the victim’s shriveled hands to display a lack of defensive wounds. “Maybe he was given a sedative. There’s a bark tea that some vampires become malleable under. The killer could have used that. I’ll know more when I get the full tox screen for both victims done.”

  “Makes sense. Keep us updated, okay?” Jack said. He took out his phone a moment later and excused himself to the computer console at Melinda’s desk. Chaz wanted to follow him and confer about what they’d just figured out, but he stayed rooted in place. It was so, so bizarre to watch someone like him be autopsied. When Melinda got to his head, she opened the mouth and Chaz saw no wounds, not even superficial. He’d learned to control his urges. Maybe he drank from blood bags without even using his fangs, like Chaz so often did now. Would I have ended up like this if not for the normal paperwork? Someone random who was taken down by someone in his own den? Chaz turned away when Melinda started taking photos.

  “Hector Juarez has a prior charge,” Jack said from the computer, “for solicitation.”

  “As the john?” Declan asked.

  “Yes, and then even earlier as the worker. It prevented him from getting a boating license three years ago. So, my guess is that he’s one of our boat drivers. Probably got one illegally through a fake name.” Jack flipped through a dozen computer windows. “A lot to go through. But we’re onto something, right? What was your working theory again? About the first vamp?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Chaz said. “Our first theory doesn’t make sense anymore because both victims died at the same time.”
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  “But why?”

  “Because we thought Patrick was murdered for acting out of line.”

  “That still could work, though. Hector’s last solicitation charge was years ago—right around when he was turned—but maybe he started working as a pro again and was inducted into the same ring as Patrick?”

  “And he was forced to drive the boat? I doubt it,” Declan said. “Once you’re bought and sold into trafficking, soon it becomes all you know. That place we saw in Manitoba… it was intense. The storefront was crowded with women. This has to be about them.”

  “So who killed Hector, then? If he was working for the traffickers, then there’s no need for him to die too. And we know it’s not an accident, so….”

  “More money, power, glory,” Declan said, shrugging. “Aren’t a lot of reasons to murder. Especially in this place. I’m telling you, Jack, it was awful.”

  “This whole fucking case is awful,” Jack said. His chipper, go-getter attitude was gone. Stripped after only two days in a new position. Melinda seemed to sense the tension and glanced up from behind her goggles.

  “Welcome to management, sweetheart,” Melinda said. “I swear brass can tell when the hardest case is going to come up and they promote based on it. But I promise, it will get better.”

  Jack nodded and smiled. Normally Jack’s grin could defuse any situation, but now he looked as worn-out and ragged as Hector on the slab.

  “We have the names,” Chaz said, “and the boating licenses. That’s a good start, right? We can run those and everything else falls into place. Or something like that.”

  “Right. Isn’t there a database here for supernatural aliases too?”

  “The Monster Mythology,” Jack said, rolling his eyes. “City does have something. Are you thinking since this guy was an out vamp and has been out for decades, that he has a special name?”

  “Why not, right? I can’t remember all of them, but if one of us goes through the files in the evidence room and the other one goes through the boating licenses, maybe we’ll get lucky.” Declan glanced at Chaz, raising his brow. “What do you think?”