“You are entitled to your opinion.”
I shook my head. “Look, Franklin, it was logical for you to assume the killer, or killers, were human. It usually is human in your line of work. I’m assuming you’re with the Investigative Unit.”
He nodded.
“Great. See, you hunt people. That’s what you do. They are monsters but not real monsters. I don’t hunt people. I hunt monsters. That’s just about all I do. I don’t think I’ve ever been called into a case where the perp was human, or at least where magic wasn’t involved.”
“Your point,” he said, very stiff, eyes angry.
“My point is that if they had thought this was a monster to begin with, they’d have sent it over to Bradford’s new unit. But they didn’t, did they?”
His eyes were a little less angry, more uncertain. “No, they didn’t.”
“Everyone thought it was human, so why shouldn’t you assume the same thing? If they’d dreamt that it was non-human, they wouldn’t have sent it to you, right?”
“I suppose so.”
“Great. Then let’s work together, not at cross purposes. If we split our manpower between looking for people and looking for monsters, it will cost time.”
“And if you’re wrong, Ms. Blake, if it is a human being doing these terrible things and we stop investigating down that avenue it could cost more lives.” He shook his head. “It’s not my initial report I’m standing by, Ms. Blake. It’s the chance that it is a human perpetrator. We will continue to treat this as a normal investigation.” He looked at Bradford. “That is my final recommendation.”
He turned to Edward. “And you, Mr. Forrester, are you going to dazzle me with your profiling abilities?”
Edward shook his head. “No.”
“What do you offer to this investigation then?”
“When we find it, I’ll kill it.”
Franklin shook his head. “We are not judge, jury, and executioner, Mr. Forrester. We are the FBI.”
Edward looked at him, and most of Ted’s good ol’ boy charm seemed to have seeped out of his eyes, leaving them cold and uncomfortable to meet. “I have two men with me out in the car, one of them an expert on this type of crime. If this was done by a person, then he’ll be able to tell us how it was done.” His voice had gone bland, smooth, and empty.
“Who is this expert?” Franklin asked.
“Why is he still out in the car?” Bradford said.
“Otto Jefferies, and because Lieutenant Marks wouldn’t let him in,” Edward answered.
“By the way,” I said, “thanks for getting me back on the case, Bradley.”
Bradley smiled. “Don’t thank me. Help us solve the damn thing.”
“Who is Otto Jefferies?” Franklin asked.
“He’s a retired government worker,” Edward said.
“How does a retired government worker have expertise on this type of killing?”
Edward looked at him until Franklin began to fidget, smoothing his hands down not just his tie but his suit coat. He even checked his cuffs, though to make the movement really effective you needed cufflinks. Buttons just didn’t do it.
“I’m sure you are implying something by your so pointed gaze, but my question stands. What kind of government worker would have this kind of expertise?”
Franklin may have been nervous but he was also stubborn.
“Call the state department,” Edward said. “They’ll answer your questions.”
“I want you to answer my questions.”
Edward gave a small shrug. “Sorry, if I told you the truth, I’d have to kill you.” He said the last with a good ol’ boy smile, and an awe-shucks shine to his eyes. Which probably meant he was serious.
“Bring your men in,” Bradley said.
“I must protest involving more civilians in this case,” Franklin said.
“Duly noted.” Bradley looked at Edward. “Bring them in, Mr. Forrester. I’m agent in charge on site.” Edward went for the door.
“For now,” Franklin said.
Bradley looked up at the taller man. “I think you need to be elsewhere, Franklin.”
“Where would I be of better use than overseeing the crime scene?”
“Anywhere that is away from me,” Bradley said.
Franklin started to say something, then looked at both of us in turn, and finally at Bradley. “I won’t forget this, Agent Bradford.”
“Nor will I, Agent Franklin.”
Franklin turned abruptly and walked out, hands sliding over his clothes. When he was out of earshot, I said, “He doesn’t seem to like you.”
“Making a new division for preternatural crimes wasn’t a popular move with everyone. Until now the Investigative Division has been handling them.”
“Gee, and I thought the FBI was above such petty disputes.”
Bradley laughed. “God, don’t I wish.”
“This is a really, really fresh scene, Bradley. I don’t mean to tell you your job, but shouldn’t we be searching the area for the creature?”
“We did a ground search, turned up nothing. We’ve still got the helicopter up. We also sent off for geology maps of the ranch in case there’s a cave we missed.”
“Would a geology survey cover man-made ruins?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“This area of the country is supposed to be lousy with ruins. Just because nothing’s visible from above ground doesn’t mean there won’t be something buried. A room, or even a kiva.”
“What’s a kiva?” Bradley asked.
“A sacred underground room for ceremonial magic. It’s one of the few things that most of the southwestern tribes, or pueblos, have in common.”
Bradley smiled. “Don’t tell me you’re also an expert on Native American religious practices, too?”
I shook my head. “Nope. I had a brief overview in my comparative religion class in college, but I didn’t take Native American as one of my electives. Knowing that kiva do exist and their general use pretty much exhausts my knowledge of the southwestern tribes. Now if you need to know details about the Sioux sun-worshipping rituals, those I remember.”
“I’ll check with the surveying company and see if they mark man-made structures.”
“Good.
“The locals called in some tracking dogs. The dogs wouldn’t come in the house. They refused to track.”
“Were they bloodhounds?” I asked.
Bradley nodded. “Why?”
“Bloodhounds are a very friendly breed. They are not attack dogs. Sometimes on the preternatural bad stuff they refuse the trail. You need some trollhunds.”
“Troll-what?” Bradley asked.
“Trollhunds. They were originally bred to hunt the Greater European Forest Trolls. When the trolls went extinct, the breed almost died out. They’re still a rare breed, but they are the best you can find for tracking preternatural bad guys. Unlike the bloodhound they will attack and kill what they trail.”
“How do you know so much about dogs?” Bradley said.
“My dad’s a vet.”
Edward had reentered with Olaf and Bernardo at his back. He’d heard the last. “Your dad, a doggie doctor. I didn’t know that.”
He was looking intently at me, and I realized that Edward didn’t really know much more about me than I did about him.
“Are there any trollhunds in this area?” Bradley asked it of Edward.
He shook his head. “No. If there were I’d know it. I’d have used them.”
“You knew about troll-whatsits, too?” Bernardo asked.
Edward nodded. “If you’re a varmint hunter, so should you.”
Bernardo frowned at the criticism, then shrugged. “I do more bodyguard work than critter killing these days.” He was looking at everyone, everything but the table and contents.
“Maybe you should go back to guarding other people’s bodies,” Edward said. I don’t know what I’d missed, but Edward was angry with him.
B
ernardo looked at him. “Maybe I should.”
“No one is stopping you.”
“Damn you, . . . Ted,” and Bernardo walked out.
I looked at Olaf, as if for a clue to what had just happened, but Olaf had eyes only for the remains. His face was transformed. It took me a few seconds to realize what the expression on his face was, because it was wrong. It did not match what was happening. He stared down at the remains of that woman with enough raw lust in his eyes to burn down the house. It was a look that should have been saved for privacy, to be shared between your beloved and yourself. It was not a look for public consumption, when you were looking at the bleeding remains of a woman you did not know.
Staring into Olaf’s face, I was cold, cold all the way down to my Nikes. Fear, but not of the monster, or rather not of that monster. If you had given me a choice between whatever was doing these killings or Olaf, right that moment I wouldn’t have known who to pick. It was sort of like choosing between the tiger and the tiger.
Maybe I was standing too close, I don’t know. He just suddenly turned his head and looked full at me. And just like I’d known in the car what Bernardo was thinking, I knew that Olaf was looking for a star in his own little fantasy.
I held my hands up, shaking my head, and backed away from him. “Don’t even go there, . . . Otto.” I was beginning to really hate all these aliases.
“She was almost exactly your height.” His voice had a soft, almost dreamy quality.
Drawing a gun and shooting him was probably overkill, but I certainly didn’t have to stand there and help his imagination. I turned to Bradley. “Someone said there were other bodies. Let’s go see.” Five minutes ago, you’d have had to drag me into the next chamber of horrors. Now I grabbed Bradley’s arm and half pulled him, half let him lead me deeper into the house. I could feel Olaf’s gaze against my back like a hand, hot and close. I didn’t look back. Nothing ahead of me could be worse than watching Olaf paw through the woman’s remains, knowing that he was thinking of me while he did it.
33
BRADLEY LED ME to a door that had been half-torn out of its hinges. Something big had pushed through here. Bradley had to use both hands to get the door to one side. It seemed to have settled into the carpet, wedging itself. He jerked back, and I jumped, pulse in my throat.
“Damn splinters.” He held up the palm of his gloved hand and there was a small crimson spot on the plastic. He jerked the glove off. The splinter seemed to have come off with the glove, but it was bleeding freely.
“Some splinter,” I said.
“Dammit.” Bradley looked at me.
“You better let somebody look at it.”
He nodded, but didn’t turn to go. “Don’t be insulted, but not everyone is happy with me forcing you back on this case. I can’t leave you alone in here with evidence. If there were ever questions raised, it would be hard to explain.”
“I’ve never pocketed evidence from a crime scene in my life.”
“I’m sorry, Anita, but I can’t take the chance. Will you follow me out to the ambulance?”
He was having to cup one hand under the other to catch the blood so it didn’t reach the carpet. I frowned, but nodded. “Fine.”
He started to say something, then turned and walked back to the living room. We were about a fourth of the way through the room when Edward asked, “Otto wants to open the tablecloth and see what’s inside.”
“I’ll send the photographer and Agent Franklin in to oversee it.” Bradley kept going for the door having to hurry a little to keep his own blood from contaminating the scene.
Neither Edward nor Olaf nor the uniform that had magically appeared to watch them fondle the evidence, asked how he’d hurt his hand. Maybe no one cared.
I followed Bradley across the gravel turn-around to the ambulance. There were still too many people milling around outside. Shouldn’t they be out searching for the creature? It wasn’t my job to tell them their job, but this was the freshest crime scene yet, and there just didn’t seem to be enough frantic activity to suit me.
Bradley sat down at the end of the ambulance and let the techs treat his wound. Because it was a wound. Splinter, my ass. He’d stabbed himself. I tried to be a good girl and just stand there, but I think my impatience showed, because Bradley started talking.
“We did send people out to search when we arrived, and we arrived damn quick.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
He smiled, then grimaced as the EMT did something to his hand that hurt. “Walk far enough away from the house to give a 360 look. Then come back and tell me what you see.”
I looked at him. He motioned me off with his good hand. I shrugged and started walking. The heat was like a weight across my shoulders, but without humidity it just wasn’t as bad. The gravel crunched under my feet, louder than it should have been. I walked in the opposite direction from the horse corral. The horses were still running in their endless chase like a maniac merry-go-round. I threaded my way through the cars, marked and unmarked. The fire truck had driven away. I wasn’t sure why it had been here in the first place. Though sometimes when you call 911, you get more emergency vehicles than you need, especially if the caller panics and isn’t specific enough.
I stopped beside the silent revolving lights of a car. Who had called the police? Did we actually have a witness? If we did, why hadn’t anyone mentioned it? If we didn’t, then who had called for help?
I walked until the hot dry wind rustling through the clumps of grass was louder than the electric squawk of radios. I stopped and turned back towards the house. The cars were small enough that I could have covered one of them with my hand. I’d probably walked farther out than I needed to go. Far enough out that if I yelled for help, they might not hear me. Not bright. I should walk farther in, but I needed to be clear of it for awhile. I needed to be out in the wind alone. I compromised. I drew the Browning and put off the safety, pointing the barrel at the ground, one-handed. Now I could enjoy the solitude and still be safe. Though, truthfully, I wasn’t sure if what we were chasing gave a damn about bullets, silver or otherwise.
Bradley had said to look. I looked. The ranch lay in a large round valley or maybe a plateau, since we’d had to drive up some hills to get here. Whichever, the land stretched flat and smooth for miles to the rim of distant hills. Of course, I’d been surprised by distances here, so maybe the hills were really mountains, and the land stretched for a very long way in every direction. There were no trees. There was almost no vegetation above thigh height to me. Whatever had taken that door out had been big, bigger than a man, though not by much. I turned in a slow circle, scanning the ground, and there was nowhere for something that large to hide. They’d walked this ground when they first arrived, full of confidence that the creature couldn’t have gotten far. They marched out, and out, and out, and found nothing. The helicopter buzzed overhead, high enough that it didn’t disturb the wind, but low enough that I was pretty sure it was looking at me. They were looking for anything unusual, and I was standing out here by myself, unusual enough.
The helicopter circled a few times, then buzzed off to search somewhere else. I looked out at the empty land. There was nowhere to hide. Where had it gone? Where could it have gone?
Underground, maybe, or it flew away. If it flew away, I couldn’t help them find it, but if it went underground . . . Caves, or an old well, maybe. I’d suggest it to Bradley, and probably be told that they’d checked it. But hey, I was here to offer suggestions, wasn’t I?
I heard someone behind me and whirled. I had the gun halfway up when I recognized Detective Ramirez. He had his hands up and to each side, away from his gun. I let out the breath I’d been holding and holstered the gun. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” he said. He was wearing another white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled back over dark, strong forearms. The tie was a different color, but it still hung loose like a necklace, and the top two buttons of his shirt were open so that y
ou could see the smooth hollow of his throat.
“No it’s not. I’m not usually this jumpy.” I hugged myself, not because I was cold. Far from it. But because I badly wanted someone to hold me. I wanted to be comforted. Edward had many uses. Comfort was not one of them.
Ramirez came up beside me. He didn’t try and touch me, just stood very close and looked out over the land where I was looking. He spoke, still staring out in the distance. “The case getting to you?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I don’t know why.”
He gave a sharp laugh and turned to me, face halfway between astonishment and humor. “You don’t know why?”
I frowned at him. “No, I don’t.”
He shook his head, smiling, but his eyes were gentle. “Anita, this is an awful case. I’ve never seen anything this bad.”
“I’ve seen things as bad as the vivisected victims, the ones that died.”
His face sobered. “You’ve seen things that bad before?”
I nodded.
“What about the mutilations?” he asked. His face was very serious now. His smooth nearly black-brown eyes watched my face.
I shook my head. “I’ve never seen anything like the survivors.” I laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “If survivor is the word for them. What kind of life are they going to have, if they live?” I hugged myself tighter, staring at the ground, trying not to think.
“I’ve been having nightmares,” Ramirez said.
I looked up at him. Police don’t admit things like that often, especially not to civilian consultants that they’ve just met. We looked at each other, and his eyes were so gentle, so genuine. Unless he was a much better actor than I thought he was, Ramirez was letting me see the real him. I appreciated it, but didn’t know how to say it out loud. You don’t verbalize something like that. The best you can do is return the favor. The trouble was, I wasn’t sure what the real me was anymore. I didn’t know what to put in my eyes. I didn’t know what to let him see. I finally stopped trying to pick and choose, and think I settled for confused, bordering on scared.
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