He just looked at me. His pale eyes were opaque, empty as a window with no one home. He knew, but he wasn't going to tell me. Why?
"What do you know about the Bouviers?"
"The locals think they're witches. They do a little fortune-telling, a few harmless spells." There was something about the way he said it, too casual, too offhand. Made me want to meet the Bouviers in person.
"They any good at magic?" I asked.
"How am I supposed to know?"
I shrugged. "Just curious. Is there a reason why it had to be this mountain?"
"Look at it." He spread his arms wide. "It's perfect. It is perfect."
"It is a great view," I said. "But wouldn't the view be equally good over on that mountaintop? Why did you have to have this one? Why did you have to have the Bouviers' mountain?"
His shoulders slumped; then he straightened and glared at me. "I wanted this land, and I got it."
"You got it. Trick is, Raymond, can you keep it?"
"If you are not going to help me, then don't taunt me. And don't call me Raymond."
I opened my mouth to say something else and my beeper went off. I fished under the coverall for it, and checked the number. "Shit," I said.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm being paged by the police. I've got to get to a phone."
He frowned at me. "Why would the police be calling you?"
So much for being a household name. "I'm the legal vampire executioner for a three-state area. I'm attached to the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team."
He was looking very steadily at me. "You surprise me, Ms. Blake. Not many people do that."
"I need to find a phone."
"I have a portable with a battery pack at the bottom of this damned hill."
"Great. I'm ready to head down if you are."
He did one last turn, taking in that breath-stealing billion-dollar view. "Yes, I'm ready to go down."
It was an interesting choice of words, a Freudian slip you might say. Stirling had wanted this land for some perverse reason. Maybe because he was told he couldn't have it. Some people are like that. The more you say no, the more they want you. It reminded me of a certain master vampire I knew.
Tonight I'd walk the land, visit with the dead. It would probably be tomorrow night before I actually tried to raise them. If the police matter was pressing enough, it might be longer. I hoped it wasn't pressing. Pressing usually meant dead bodies. When the monsters are involved, it's never just one dead body. One way or another, the dead multiply.
5
We got back to the valley. The construction crew was gone except for Beau the foreman. Ms. Harrison and Bayard stood next to the helicopter, as if huddling against the wilderness. Larry and the pilot stood to one side, smoking, sharing that comradery of all people who are determined to blacken their lungs.
Stirling walked towards them all, his stride firm and confident once more. He'd left his doubts on top of the mountain. or so it seemed. He was the impervious senior partner once more. Illusion is all.
"Bayard, get the phone. Ms. Blake needs to use it."
Bayard gave a startled little jump, like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have. Ms. Harrison looked a little flushed. Was there romance in the air? And was that not allowed? No fraternizing among the flunkies.
Bayard ran off across the dirt towards the last car. He fetched what looked like a small, black leather backpack with a handle. He pulled a phone out and handed it to me. It looked like an antennaed walkie-talkie.
Larry walked over smelling of smoke. "What's up?"
"I got beeped."
"Bert?"
I shook my head. "Police." I walked a little ways from our group. Larry was polite enough to stay with them, though he didn't have to. I dialed Dolph's number. Detective Sergeant Rudolf Storr was head of the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team.
He answered on the second ring. "Anita?"
"Yeah, Dolph, it's me. What's up?"
"Three dead bodies."
"Three? Shit," I said.
"Yeah," he said.
"I can't be there soon, Dolph."
"Yes, you can," he said.
There was something in his voice. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"The victims are right near you."
"Near Branson?"
"Twenty-five minutes east of Branson," he said.
"I'm already forty miles from Branson in the middle of freaking nowhere."
"The middle of nowhere is where this one is," Dolph said.
"Are you guys flying up?" I asked.
"No, we got a vampire victim in town."
"Jesus, are the other three vamp victims?"
"I don't think so," he said.
"What do you mean, you don't think so?" I asked.
"Missouri State Highway Patrol has this one. Sergeant Freemont is the investigator in charge. She doesn't think it was a vampire because the bodies are cut up. Pieces of the bodies are missing. I had to do a lot of tap dancing to get that much information out of her. Sergeant Freemont seems convinced that RPIT is going to come in and steal all the glory. She was particularly worried about our headline-stealing pet zombie queen."
"It's the pet part that I mind the most," I said. "But she sounds charming."
"I'll bet she's even more charming in person," Dolph said.
"And I get to meet her?"
"Given the choice between a large chunk of the squad coming down later and just you right now, she chose you. I think she sees you alone, without us to back you up, as the lesser evil."
"Nice to be the lesser evil for a change," I said.
"You might get upgraded," Dolph said. "She doesn't know you too well yet."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Let me test my understanding here. None of you are coming up to the scene?"
"Not right away. You know we're shorthanded until Zerbrowski gets back on duty."
"What does the Missouri State Highway Patrol think about a civilian helping them in a murder investigation?"
"I made it clear that you are a valuable member of my squad."
"Thanks for the compliment, but I still don't have a badge to flash."
"You may if that new federal law goes into effect," Dolph said.
"Don't remind me."
"Don't you want to be a federal marshal?" His voice was very mild. Nah, amused.
"I agreed they should license us, but giving us what amounts to federal marshal status is ridiculous."
"You could handle it."
"But who else? John Burke with the power of the law behind him? Give me a break."
"It won't get passed, Anita. The pro-vampire lobby is too strong."
"From your lips to God's ear. Unless they revoke the need for court orders of execution, it won't make killing them any easier, and they won't do that. I've already gone out of state to execute vamps. I don't need no stinking badge."
Dolph laughed. "If you run into trouble, give a yell."
"I really don't like this, Dolph. I'm out here investigating a murder without any official status."
"See, you do need a badge." I heard him sigh over the phone. "Look, Anita, I wouldn't leave you solo if we didn't have problems of our own. I've got a body on the ground here. When I can, I'll send somebody. Hell, I'd like you to come take a look at our corpse. You're our resident monster expert."
"Give me some details and I'll try to play Kreskin."
"Male, early twenties, rigor hasn't set in."
"Where's the body?"
"His apartment."
"How'd you get there so soon?"
"Neighbor heard a fight, called 911. They called us."
"Give me his name."
"Fredrick Michael Summers, Freddy Summers."
"He got any old vampire bites on his body? Healed bites?"
"Yeah, quite a few. Looks like a damn pincushion. How'd you know?"
"What's the first rule of a homicide?" I said. "You check the nearest and dearest. If he had a va
mp lover, there'd be healed bite marks. The more of them, the longer the relationship has gone on. No vamp can bite a victim three times within a month without running the risk of killing them and raising them as a vamp. You can have different vamps bite somebody, but that would make Freddy a vampire junkie. Ask the neighbors if there were a lot of different guys or girls going in and out at night."
"It never occurred to me that a vampire could be someone's nearest and dearest," Dolph said.
"Legally, they're people. Means they get to have sweethearts, too."
"I'll check the bite radiuses," Dolph said, "If they match one vamp, a lover; different ones, and our boy was doing groups."
"Hope for a lover," I said. "If it's all one vamp, he might even rise from the dead."
"Most vamps know enough to slit the throat or take the head," he said.
"Doesn't sound well planned. Crime of passion, maybe."
"Maybe. Freemont is holding the bodies for you. Eagerly awaiting your expertise."
"I bet."
"Don't bust Freemont's balls on this, Anita."
"I won't start anything, Dolph."
"Be polite," he said.
"Always," I said in my mildest voice.
He sighed. "Try to remember that the staties may never have seen bodies with pieces missing."
It was my turn to sigh. "I'll be good, scout's honor. Do you have directions?" I got a small notebook with a pen stuck in its spiral top out of a pocket of the coverall. I'd started carrying notebooks just for such occasions.
He gave me what Freemont had given him. "If you see anything fishy at the crime scene, keep the scene intact and I'll try to send some people down. Otherwise, look over the victim, give the staties your opinion, and let them do their job."
"You really think Freemont would let me close up her shop and force her to wait for RPIT?"
Silence for a second; then, "Do the best you can, Anita. Call if we can do anything from this end."
"Yeah, sure."
"I'd rather have you on a murder than a lot of the cops I know," Dolph said.
That was a very big compliment coming from Dolph. He is the world's ultimate policeman. "Thanks, Dolph."
I was talking to empty air. Dolph had hung up. He was always doing that. I hit the button, turning the phone off, and just stood there for a minute.
I didn't like being out here in unfamiliar territory with unfamiliar police, and partially eaten victims. Hanging around with the Spook Squad legitimized me. I'd even pulled that "I'm with the squad" at crime scenes. I had a little ID badge that clipped to my clothes. It wasn't a police badge, but it did look official. But pretending on home turf, where I knew I could run to Dolph if I got in trouble for it, was one thing; out here with no backup was another story.
The police have absolutely no sense of humor about civilians meddling in their homicide cases. Can't really blame them. I wasn't really a civilian, but I had no official status. No clout. Maybe the new law would be a good thing.
I shook my head. Theoretically, I'd be able to go into any police station in the country and demand help, or involve myself uninvited in any case. Theoretically. In the real world, the cops would hate it. I'd be as welcome as a wet dog on a cold night. Not federal, not local, and there weren't enough licensed vamp executioners in the country to fill a dozen slots. I could only name eight of us; two of those were retired.
Most of them specialized in vampires. I was one of the few who would look at other types of kills. There was talk of the new law being expanded to include all preternatural kills. Most of the vampire executioners would be out of their depth. It was an informal apprenticeship. I had a college degree in preternatural biology, but that wasn't common. Most of the rogue lycanthropes, occasional trolls run amok, and other more solid beasties were taken out by bounty hunters. But the new law wouldn't give special powers to bounty hunters. Vampire executioners, most of them, worked very strictly within the confines of the law. Or maybe we just had better press.
I'd been screaming about vamps being monsters for years. But until a senator's daughter got herself attacked just a few weeks ago, nobody did shit. Now suddenly it's a cause celebre. The legitimate vampire community delivered the supposed attacker in a sack to the senator's home. They left his head and torso intact, which meant even without arms and legs he wouldn't die. He confessed to the attack. He'd been the new dead and just got carried away on a date, like any other twenty-one-year-old red-blooded male. Yeah, right.
The local hitter, Gerald Mallory, had done the execution. He's based out of Washington, D.C. He has to be in his sixties now. He still uses a stake and hammer. Can you believe it?
There had been some talk that cutting off their arms and legs would allow us to keep vamps in jail. This was vetoed mainly on the grounds of cruel and unusual punishment. It also wouldn't have worked, not for the really old vampires. It isn't just their bodies that are dangerous.
Besides, I didn't believe in torture. If cutting someone's arms and legs off and putting them in a little box for all eternity isn't torture, I don't know what is.
I walked back to the group. I handed the phone to Bayard. "I hope it isn't bad news," he said.
"Not personally," I said.
He looked puzzled. Not an uncommon occurrence for Lionel.
I talked directly to Stirling. "I've got to go to a crime scene near here. Is there someplace to rent a car?"
He shook his head. "I said you'd have a car and driver while you were here. I meant it."
"Thanks. I'm not so sure about the driver, though. This is a crime scene they won't want civilians hanging around."
"A car, then; no driver. Lionel, see that Ms. Blake gets anything she wants."
"Yes, sir."
"I'll meet you back here at full dark, Ms. Blake."
"I'll be here at dusk if I can, Mr. Stirling, but the police matter takes precedence."
He frowned at me. "You are working for me, Ms. Blake."
"Yes, but I'm also a licensed vampire executioner. Cooperation with the local police takes precedence."
"So it's a vampire kill?"
"I am not free to share police information with anyone," I said. But I cursed myself. By bringing up the word "vampire," I'd started a rumor that would grow with the telling. Damn.
"I can't leave the investigation early just to come look at your mountain. I'll be here when I can. I'll definitely look the dead over before daylight, so you won't really lose any time."
He didn't like it, but he let it go. "Fine, Ms. Blake. I will wait here for you even if it takes all night. I'm curious about what you do. I've never seen a zombie raised before."
"I won't raise the dead tonight, Mr. Stirling. We've been over that."
"Of course." He just looked at me. For some reason it was hard to meet his pale eyes. I made myself meet his gaze and didn't look away, but it was an effort. It was like he was willing me to do something, trying to compel me with his eyes like a vampire. But a vampire, even a little one, he was not.
He blinked and walked away without saying another word. Ms. Harrison toddled after him in her high heels on the uneven ground. Beau nodded at me and followed. I guess they'd all come in the same car. Or maybe Beau was Stirling's driver. What a joyous job that must be.
"We'll fly you to the hotel where we booked your rooms. You can unpack, and I'll have a car brought around for you," Bayard said.
"No unpacking, just a car. Murder scenes age fast," I said.
He nodded. "As you like. If you'll get back into the helicopter, we'll be off."
It wasn't until I was taking off the coveralls and repacking both of them that I realized I could have gone with Mr. Stirling. I could have driven out of here, instead of flying. Shit.
6
Bayard had gotten us a black Jeep with black-tinted windows and more bells and whistles than I could even guess at. I'd been worried they'd saddle me with a Cadillac or something equally ridiculous. Bayard had given me the keys with the comment, "Some of
these roads are not even paved. I thought you might need something more substantial than just a car."
I resisted the urge to pat him on the head and say "Good flunkie." Hell, he'd made a great choice. Maybe he'd make full partner someday after all.
The trees made long, thin shadows across the road. In the valleys between mountains, the sunlight had softened to a late-afternoon haze. We might make it back to the graveyard by full dark.
Yes, we. Larry sat beside me in his wrinkled blue suit. The cops wouldn't mind his cheap suit. My outfit, on the other hand, might raise a few eyebrows. There aren't many female cops out in the boonies. And fewer who wear short red skirts. I was beginning to really regret my choice of clothes. Insecure: who, me?
Larry's face was shiny with excitement. His eyes sparkled like a kid's on Christmas Day. He was drumming his fingers on the armrest. Nervous tension.
"How you doing?"
"I've never been to a murder scene before," he said.
"There's always a first time."
"Thanks for letting me come along."
"Just remember the rules."
He laughed. "Don't touch anything. Don't walk through the blood. Don't speak unless spoken to." He frowned. "Why the last? I understand all the others, but why can't I talk?"
"I'm a member of the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team. You're not. If you go around saying golly gee whiz a dead body, they may catch on."
"I won't embarrass you." He sounded insulted; then a thought occurred to him. "Are we impersonating police officers?"
"No. Keep repeating I'm a member of the Spook Squad, I'm a member of the Spook Squad, I'm a member of the Spook Squad."
"But I'm not," he said.
"That's why I don't want you talking."
"Oh," he said. He settled back into his seat, a little of the shine dimming around the edges. "I've never actually seen a freshly dead body before."
"You raise the dead for a living, Larry. You see corpses all the time."
"It's not the same thing, Anita." He sounded grumpy.
I glanced at him. He had slumped down as far into the seat as the seat belt would allow, arms crossed over his chest. We were at the crest of a hill. A band of sunlight fell like an explosion over his orange hair. His blue eyes looked translucent for a moment as we passed from light into shadow. He looked all scrunched and sulky.
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