“I don’t get it,” Cruz whispered after the fourth person had stammered and stared as we walked away. We were sitting at an empty table that had quickly been surrounded by more empty tables. “Why are they afraid of you? I mean, vampires I get, but these are humans.”
I shrugged. “Olivia thought the vampires tell ghost stories about us. I think maybe it’s a fear of the unknown. All I know is, the less powerful vampires and the human servants are scared of me.”
“You know, you could be helping these people,” Cruz said, a little peevishly.
“Huh?” I said, stopping to look at him.
“None of them seem all that aware of what they’re playing with. They’re like junkies. Or prostitutes.”
Now I felt like Molly. “So?”
“So, hookers are afraid of their pimps, but they still talk to us sometimes because pimps are afraid of the cops. You respect what your boss fears. And if the vampires are afraid of you...All I’m saying is, you could be trying to talk people out of doing this.”
I was flabbergasted.
Before I could work up a good response, though, a cultured tenor voice rang out over the music. “Scarlett Bernard!”
I stood up to see the crowd part and the DJ turn down the speakers, as if choreographed. A vampire stepped out of the throng of people, having taken another entrance to the rooftop.
Jeez, did he climb the friggin’ fire escape?
“Hello, Gregory,” I said evenly.
He made his way toward us, his large, regal nose seeming to lead his entire body through the crowd. That nose always makes Gregory look like a snob, which works out really well with his personality. As did the honest-to-goodness smoking jacket he was wearing over dark slacks and one of those blousy pirate-type shirts.
Cruz had stood up, too. I felt the vampire enter my space and saw his white face come back to life. Gregory is the kind of vampire who makes a fuss about proving he isn’t afraid of me, which probably means that he is. He didn’t stop strutting toward me, but there were a few gasps around us as he lost his glow and some of his grace. None of his manners, though.
“Darling,” he said, kissing my cheek, “you should have let me know you were coming. I would have warned the sheep.” He waved a hand toward the human servants milling about the rooftop.
They were whispering among themselves, looking at me jealously. Talking to the master! Oooh!
Gregory looked closely at me, examining my bruises. “My dear, what happened to you?”
“I hit one of Dashiell’s guys with my face,” I said lightly.
Gregory’s voice had been calm, but now he looked annoyed to see me. Like being on a hot streak at the roulette table and then having the cooler walk up and bum you out.
“Excuse me, this is my friend, Officer Jesse Cruz. Jesse, this is Gregory. He owns this building.”
Cruz stepped forward and offered his hand, which Gregory stared at, probably trying to remember what to do. Vampires don’t really go in for friendly touching. He reached out and allowed Cruz to shake, looking as if he’d just seen a talking dog.
“Please, come and sit down for a moment,” Gregory said, in a voice that left no room for any other options. Without waiting for a response, he turned and took off toward a far table, away from the crowd. I allowed him to lead us along, shooting Cruz a look first that said, Tread lightly. He nodded back at me: I’ll follow your lead.
“Gregory,” I said once we were seated, “Officer Cruz is investigating those murders in La Brea Park.”
“Oh?” Gregory delicately raised his eyebrows. “And does Dashiell know about the policeman’s activities, or is that what happened to your eye?”
“He knows. I was hoping maybe we could ask you a couple of questions.”
“All right, then,” he replied, leaning back in his chair and gesturing at me to begin. “Fire away.”
“Did you know that the three victims were vampires?”
Despite his current humanity, Gregory gave me a look that had sex and evil and amusement all tied up in it. “I had heard that, Miss Scarlett. Bad news travels fast in our circles, as you well know by now. I had assumed that perhaps you were connected to the murders.” He looked pleasantly from me to Cruz. “You didn’t come here to kill me, too, did you?”
“No. And I wasn’t involved in the La Brea Park thing, either.”
“If you say so.”
I didn’t like that everyone seemed to think I was capable of what had happened in that clearing, but I would worry about that later. I glanced at Cruz, who picked up his cue.
“Did you know the victims?” he asked.
Gregory frowned. “Abraham I knew, of course. Most of the vampires in LA know of Abraham. I’d seen the other two around occasionally, but I don’t think we’d ever spoken.” He looked disdainful. “Those two were very reckless. Joanna, especially. She liked to drink from children.”
Cruz’s eyes bugged out, and I saw him struggling not to comment on that. Almost all vampires refrain from feeding off kids. There’s no sport or sex to it, unless you’re extremely sick in the head, and those vampires don’t last long in a shadowy society that depends on discretion. But it does happen.
“Can you think of anyone who might want to harm any of them?” I jumped in before Cruz’s head exploded.
“I have no idea why someone would want to kill the couple, other than just general annoyance. They fancied themselves a modern-day Sid and Nancy, so perhaps they just irritated the wrong people. I heard that the scene of the crime was quite grisly”—I thought I saw Gregory lick his lips a little—“so perhaps it was witches. Some of their spells require quite the sacrifice.”
Hmm. I hadn’t even thought of that. I’d never heard of witch magic involving that kind of darkness, but maybe it was worth asking Kirsten.
“And Abraham?” Cruz asked.
Gregory tapped his fingers to his lower lip, looking thoughtful. “Abraham is a different matter. Taking him out of the picture hurts Dashiell, so it could be any one of Dashiell’s enemies. Another vampire, wanting to take over some territory. The wolves, if Dashiell’s diplomacy has been less than ideal.”
I remembered Hugo putting the silver handcuffs on Eli, and thought that Dashiell’s diplomacy with the wolves was pretty goddamned far from ideal.
“Gregory, we’d like to talk to the three vampires’ human servants. Do you have any idea where we can find them?” I asked.
He looked disgusted for a moment, as if I’d asked him where his hamburger comes from, and then his face stilled as he remembered something. “There is a human servant who organizes things for their little community—he does these parties, and I think he runs some other events as well. His name is James Rucker.” Gregory pulled out a cell phone and scrolled through the contact list, leaning over so Cruz could copy down a number. “I believe he also spends quite a bit of time at the Copper Room. Bald, with a beard.”
“Thank you, Gregory,” I said deferentially, and nodded to Cruz. We stood up. “If you’ll excuse us, we’ll be on our way.”
He stood up, too. “Of course. But, Scarlett?”
I looked back at him, and that same complicated look shadowed his face.
“Next time? Call first.”
Chapter 14
The Copper Room is sort of the ugly, unwanted stepchild of the LA vamp hangouts. A lot of the pathetic vamparazzi show up there every night, telling stories and drinking cranberry-vodkas. (Get it?) The actual vampires consider it incredibly uncool—it’s in Long Beach, for crying out loud—but if they’re desperate for a pickup, they occasionally show, one or two a night. If a vamp does work up the courage to show his face at the Copper Room, he’ll have his pick of the vampire hangers-on, which isn’t saying much, but whatever. Blood is blood, I guess. Suddenly, I wondered if that was true—did different people taste different? It hadn’t occurred to me. I’d have to ask Beatrice sometime.
Meanwhile, for everyone else, the food is crappy and the failed actors/waitstaff
have all crossed the line into bitter and hostile. On the bright side, I had no trouble finding street parking.
“Whoa,” Cruz said under his breath as I led him toward the door. A neon Bar and Grill sign flickered unsteadily in the window, and it was hard to avoid the carpet of cigarette butts in the entryway. “This is it? This is...wow.”
I shrugged, pulling open the door. “It can’t all be glamour and roses, cupcake, even with the fanged set.”
We walked into the dim entryway, and I told the bored-looking waitress we’d be in the bar area. It was big and dingy, with those extra-tall tables and stools surrounding a beaten-up pool table and a filmy big-screen TV. There were six or seven people scattered about, and when we walked in, seven pairs of eyes glanced up, hoping for a vampire, before returning to their drinks. Apparently, something about Cruz and me screamed, Still alive! When I got a little farther into the room, I understood the desperation. There wasn’t a single vampire in the bar.
It was after midnight now, and they were all looking a little defensive and drunk, like the homely girl who’s sat on the bleachers for the entire school dance.
“Díos,” Cruz said under his breath. “You’re right. This is depressing.”
We sat at one of the too-tall tables, and Cruz gave the barmaid a big grin, which had her hustling right over. I tried very hard not to roll my eyes, but to her credit, when she got a good look at my face, she did a classic double take, then glared over at Cruz. I opened my mouth to correct her assumption, but what was I going to say? Car accident? Doorknob? Anything I came up with—short of “a vampire hit me in the face”—would sound like a lame cover-up. We ordered beer and Diet Coke, and I was pretty sure the barmaid spit in his bottle of Heineken. I chose not to comment.
While she was getting Cruz’s change, I scanned the people at the bar.
“There,” I said, nudging him and nodding discreetly toward a completely bald, bearded man wearing a ribbed tank top under a khaki button-down shirt. The guy had left the shirt open to display a not-so-small paunch. He was with three others, telling an animated story while they laughed. The ringleader.
“I got this one,” Cruz told me under his breath.
I shrugged.
Cruz walked right up to Rucker and pulled out his badge. “Mr. Rucker? Could I have a word with you?”
Rucker’s mouth dropped open in the middle of a sentence. When he recovered, his face smoothed back into alpha-geek mode. “I guess,” he said casually, as if he consulted on police cases every day. He nodded to his friends, who retreated to a far corner of the barroom to gossip.
After they’d left, I went up and dropped onto a stool beside Rucker. Cruz took the other side again.
“What do the police want with me?” Rucker asked, a little pompously. “Am I behind on my gas and electric or something?”
“Actually,” Cruz replied, putting away his badge, “we’re looking into some murders that happened in La Brea Park the other night. Did you hear about that?”
Rucker sobered instantly. “Yes,” he said. “We heard. It’s terrible.”
“We’re looking for the three human servants of the vampires that died,” I added. I recited their names again. “Do you know any of them?”
But Rucker was peering at my face. “I know who you are,” he said, “but who is this guy? How much does he know?” His voice was sharp, suddenly edgy. Human servants are conditioned very hard not to talk about their extracurricular activities. It’s the first rule of Vampire Club.
“He’s with me, and Dashiell okayed it,” I told him, trying to look stern.
I don’t think stern is my best look, but his eyes widened when I said the name Dashiell, as if I’d said we were on a mission from God. Which probably wasn’t far off, from Rucker’s point of view. He took a quick gulp of his cranberry-vodka and nodded.
“I know all of them.” He pursed his lips, thinking. “But I don’t think they can help. Grottum and Myles split town, from what I heard.”
“Why?” Cruz asked. “Did they think they were in danger?”
Rucker shrugged. “They didn’t know. None of us in the community”—he twirled a finger to include the other vampire freaks in the bar—“know why those guys were killed, so why risk it? Probably, they just wanted to play it safe.”
“Do you know where they went?”
“No.”
“What about the other one?” I asked. “Freedner.”
“He’s still around, I think. But I doubt he can tell you anything I can’t.” There was a note of broken pride in his voice, which Cruz picked up on.
“What makes you say that?” he asked.
Rucker’s face blanched, and he huddled into himself a little. “Nothing. Never mind.”
Cruz glanced at me. I took the hint.
“James,” I said carefully, “were you Abraham’s human servant, too?”
And just that quickly, the last traces of bravado vanished and the bald man’s eyes began to shine a little. Deflated, he looked down into his drink and made a snuffling noise, mumbling, “Don’t tell nobody. I got a wife.”
I worked to keep my expression even. I didn’t know what a normal human would see in this guy, much less a vampire who could have his pick of the groupies.
“We won’t,” Cruz promised.
“Me and Freedner talked the day after, you know, the bodies. He was the one who called Dashiell when Abe didn’t show up for their plans. But neither of us know a damn thing about why they got killed. Abe wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary—that we knew about—and nobody had threatened him.”
“Was there anyone who would have wanted Abraham dead?” I asked. “Anyone who hated him?”
“No. Abe was...He was very calm, you know? Like, a nice guy. I know he was a vamp and all, but it’s hard to see anyone wanting to kill him. That’s why he did such good work. He kept the peace.”
I looked over at Cruz. He had this look on his face like wheels were turning.
“Did you two know about each other?” he asked. “You and Freedner?”
“Oh, sure. There was...ah...a bit of a rivalry for Abe’s attention, but it was friendly. Tom works third shift, and I keep daytime hours, so we were able to split up the nights okay. Tom was with Abe in the early evening, and I had the early morning when everyone was asleep.”
“James,” Cruz said quietly, “where were you two nights ago? Around three a.m.?”
Rucker’s eyes narrowed, calculating, and I saw Cruz’s hand drift slowly back toward his hip. But then Rucker relaxed. “Hey! That was the night my wife and me, we’d gone down to San Diego to visit our son.” He looked at me. “He’s a freshman at San Diego State, doing real good.”
“Can you prove you were there?” Cruz prompted.
“There will be credit card records and stuff from the trip, and the hotel we stayed at—the Holiday Inn by campus—they might remember me ‘cause I chatted with the guy about the free cookies in the lobby.” He peered suspiciously at Cruz. “You’re not gonna question my wife, are you?”
Cruz had produced a small notebook and was writing down the details. He looked up. “We’ll start with the hotel and the cards. But if those fall through, yes, I’ll have to ask her.”
“Can you tell her something else? Like...” His brow furrowed a moment; then he brightened. “There was something stolen at work, and they’re asking everybody, something like that?”
“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Cruz took down both Rucker’s and Freedner’s addresses and phone numbers, and we headed out. On the street, I stopped and leaned against my car, stretching my stomach muscles, which had gone stagnant. There had been a lot of driving today, which is kind of par for the course in LA, but I was still feeling a little cramped and sore. It was a lovely California night, sixty degrees with a soft breeze, and I closed my eyes, resting for a moment. I was so tired.
I felt Cruz lean against the car next to me. I had about fifteen seconds of peace bef
ore the questions started again.
“So, what was that?” Cruz asked. “Vampires have multiple human servants? I thought they only kept one.”
I opened my eyes. “Most do. Having a human servant is kind of like having a mistress. They’re whiny, they’re annoying, they require constant gifts and attention—all just so you can get what you want when you want it. Why would anyone have two of those? But some vampires do keep more than one, yes.”
“And from the wife comment, I take it there’s usually...intercourse?”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed. “Dude. Don’t say intercourse. You sound like my seventh grade health teacher. But yes, there’s almost always a sexual component to the human servant thing. And vampires are a lot less picky about sexual preference.”
He mulled that over for a while, then asked, “Do they love each other? Are vampires capable of love?”
That woke me up. I looked over at him, but he was just gazing back with calm curiosity. “That,” I said finally, “is the big question. Human servants would definitely say yes—they all think they’re in a Twilight book.” Which makes them easy pickings for any vampire willing to style his hair and slouch around looking sour.
“What do you think?”
I paused. It had been a long time since anyone at work had asked me that. A few months after I started doing crime scene cleanup with Olivia, I had asked her if vampires had souls. Could they feel? Could they love?
“What do you think?” she’d said.
I had thought it over for a long time. “I think it’s kind of like breathing. They don’t need to do it, it doesn’t come naturally, but they remember the feeling and the need. And they can pretend when they have to.”
She’d smiled broadly at me, her star and only pupil, but she never really answered. To this day, I still don’t really know. I call them the undead, and they don’t need to breathe or eat or have a pulse, but for all I know, they’re normal people with a disease that makes them distant and frozen. Who knows?
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