“Yeah, like a false beard? A mask?” he explained to Douglas while my mind ticked over to something else.
“When did that word start?”
“What?” Calvin looked at me like I’d grown another head.
“When did people start saying beard?”
“I don’t know—50s, maybe the 60s? They kind of blur together.”
“Since when do you care about slang, Hicks?” Douglas asked on his way to the kitchen to get another bottle.
“It might be something for a case. Speaking of which, where’s your shadow?” I asked Calvin, wondering about the man who’d been sent on an errand to Hollywood a few days ago.
“Samuel?”
I nodded even though I didn’t know the man’s name.
“Damned if I know. No one’s heard from him.”
Huh. That didn’t add up. “I thought you guys were closer than that.”
“We’ve worked together for longer than you’ve been alive, and he's never dropped out of touch for this long without an explanation. There’ll be hell to pay for it. If LaRue wasn’t distracted by the shit earlier, he’d be hunting him down in LA right now.”
“What did happen earlier today?”
“Around two in the morning, we got a call from Jo. Then Douglas and I got to move the car, dump it in the middle of nowhere and leave the body in it. Loads of fun, really.”
“Yup, exactly how I wanted to spend my Sunday night,” Douglas echoed.
I ignored both of their bitching. “So no ID on the guy?”
“Plenty of ID—we took the name and left the ID and his money in his wallet. As far as the cops know, he sideswiped a telephone pole and ran into a ditch. We poured enough cheap booze over him that no one’s going to notice the way she beat him to death.”
“How is Jo?” Sure, she’d said she could heal, but I worried.
“Fine. Strip the damaged skin off, eat something and it grows back.” Douglas cringed and Calvin caught it. “Not for you—not yet, anyway—but in another few decades it’s no big deal.”
I opened my door, ready to be done with the day. Catching a man in the act of having an affair wasn’t easy but I hadn’t expected so many other things in my life to explode at the same time.
I’d thought about setting Dan up—planned out how I could hire a professional to go into his office and open the blinds wide at a prearranged time. It would work—hell, it would be easy—but I wasn’t square with it. It was one thing to hide in the shadows, follow people, bribe my way after them—it was another to outright set someone up.
I missed the days of helping people who were just outside of the law with problems that would never see the inside of the court room. I wanted to climb into a dark place and just float. For a long minute, I wondered how late the pool was open or if I could break in to swim.
The bliss of that vision faded fast when I flipped on the light switch and saw a vampire sitting on my couch. I moved backward, reaching for my gun. It was in my hand before I recognized William.
“Good Evening, Elizabeth.”
“Elisabeth, with an s,” I corrected. “You pronounce it like a z.”
“Perhaps.”
I was still holding on to my gun. In most conversations, that felt awkward. In this one, it was comforting.
“What’s up?” I sat across from him, putting the gun onto a side table. I let my hand rest next to it. Not quite a threat, but not a vote of confidence in him either.
“That gun wouldn’t stop me.” His eyes glowed with a hint of mirth.
“It would slow you down.”
“Did you shoot the vampire who attacked you?”
“No.” I swallowed hard. Polite people didn’t ask questions like that. It took me back to that hillside, the cold grass beneath my body, the blood flowing out of me, the blinding pain.
“But your squad did.”
It wasn’t a question but I treated it like one. “Several times, over and over again.” And now my memory had noise—me screaming, everyone else screaming, the gunshots, and the way that thing screamed.
“It didn’t help until they severed its head from its spine.”
He was right, of course. Bullets have an impact. They throw any vampire back but they won’t kill one. Add up enough bullets, though, and you could cut off a limb or a head. Behead just about anything in this world and it dies. In my case, the vampire had exploded into dust. I’d never forget having that dust scrubbed out of my wounds. I shook the memory off and went for a drink. I didn’t bother with a glass and didn’t offer him one. I just took a long gulp from the bottle of whiskey I kept on the kitchen counter. “Why are you here?”
“Agent Dorset’s ID code and password,” he said.
I kept drinking, needed at least another two swallows of whiskey.
“You agreed to help me with the computer files.” He raised his eyebrows at me, expectant.
I nodded and put the bottle down, waited a beat, and then put the cap back on. I scrubbed my hand across my mouth, stopping myself from another drink and looked at him.
“What’s the password and ID?”
“I thought we would look at the files together.”
“You thought wrong. I’ll print them out and drop them by Ted’s.”
“Edward’s,” he corrected.
“Ted’s, and while we’re on the subject, I don’t like you being there.”
“I know.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?” I studied him—dark brown hair, pale skin, eyes that shifted between brown and green. He was wearing a button-down shirt and pants; put a jacket on him and he could be any executive or insurance salesman in the world. But nothing, no piece of clothing, would make up for the way he looked at me without blinking.
“No.”
“No?” I asked, a little surprised.
“I’ve grown used to people not liking me.”
“What have you got on Ted? Why does he trust you so much?” I finally asked the question I’d been dying to ask.
“You know why we’re both sane, that we worked together to save Brian.”
“I know. I just don’t think it’s enough.”
“We worked together.” He shrugged, a motion that didn’t look natural on him.
“Interesting way to put it. What did you do while he tortured people?”
His eyes grew a hair wider, like I wasn’t supposed to say torture. “I protected him. I left him to do his work.”
“Yeah, so I’ve heard.” I set the bottle down, not sure when I’d picked it up again or why I was clutching it. He messed me with too much. “Write down the ID and password. What kind of files do you want?”
“Each investigation has an active file. There will be several records inside. Background information, images. You won’t know what you’re looking for—that’s why it’s best we look together.”
“It’s best that you go. I’ve had a tough day.” I tried for a small smile but I could tell from the look on his face my expression didn’t work. “I’ll print out anything in the active file. I have lots of paper.”
“Fine then.” He looked around for a minute and the whiskey made my brain slow. Finally, he asked, “Paper?”
“Right.” I grabbed a pad that I kept in the kitchen, ripped off the grocery list that was on top, and handed it to him. The living room was only ten steps away but it took me a bit to get there. I didn’t want to be next to him. I didn’t want to be next to anyone. My mind stole back to the pool, to the water, and the way it would hold me up, insulate me from my life. I could almost feel it on my skin.
“Good evening, Elisabeth,” he said, putting down the pad.
“Good evening, William.” I returned his formality without looking at what he’d written.
I sat in that armchair, facing the spot where he’d been for a while, wondering why he bothered me so much. I came up with nothing, except my history. I should get over it. I should learn to like him for Ted’s sake. I should do lots of things, but tonight, al
l I wanted to do was be done with everything.
Downstairs in the office, I turned on the computer but left the room dark, enjoying the solitude. The screen flashed bright blue around a logo and then flashed again. I pulled up my internet browser and started surfing. William had given me a VPN address, and while most people would go right to it, I was cautious. I used another server, one that cloned a machine in Sri Lanka to tunnel in, then opened the folders on the agent’s desktop.
He was neat. The folders were labeled forms and active, with another folder for notes and one for email. The notes folder had only one document and I saved it to my desktop. Would it come in handy? I didn’t know, but why not? The active file was another story—it would come in handy. Very handy.
It held a series of files labeled with names, first initial last name. E Falconer, stood out, and though I loved him, I printed out all of the documents associated with Ted’s name—seven files and a few pictures. Was that invading his privacy? Maybe. My next click definitely invaded privacy. I printed William’s file, delighted that there was only one person with a first initial of W.
Then I stopped, not sure what to do, and dialed Ted.
“Hey,” Ted answered, sounding sleepy.
“Hey back. Does anyone ever have two OPS folders?”
“No, why?”
“There’s two R. Dollerns in the active folder. I’m guessing that’s your Rudy, but which folder do I get?”
“Take both.”
I realized how obvious it was and how tired I had to be not to think of it. “Sorry, I should have known that. It’s just, I’ve had a day.”
“I could come over?”
“No, it’s late. Stay there. Tomorrow though? Could you come find me in the morning? I mean, not the early morning, but before lunch?”
He laughed. “Early morning for you, mid-morning for the rest of us. I’ll come by.” He paused, but before I could speak again, he added, “I love you.”
“I love you, too. Good night.” I hung up and turned back to the computer. I checked to make sure I had ample paper, then printed all of Rudy’s files. I spent another minute wondering if I should grab anything else—maybe something from another folder but then I gave up. If William was any good, he’d gotten the password without the agent knowing and I could check tomorrow. If he wasn’t, I had what he’d asked for—all the active files.
I watched the printer spit out pages for a few minutes and then went bed, ready for the day to be over.
9
LaRue had dispatched Calvin and Douglas to take care of the crime involving his girl, but my car wasn’t his problem. The destroyed side door that greeted me when I walked outside the next morning proved it. Nothing had been done for my car. In this neighborhood, that meant the inside was empty of change but the spare gun clip in the glove box was safe. The homeless were hungry or thirsty but they weren’t generally thieves. I found one on the sidewalk not far from my place and offered him some of Mom’s best leftovers if he kept an eye out for unwanted visitors. He agreed happily and we made the trade.
Last night, sleep had come to me like someone turning out a light. I hadn’t taken off Jo’s necklace so I’d dreamed with her a little. I woke up from turn-of-the-century India and teaching her adopted son to swim and decided it was time for me to go swimming. I took Mom’s car to hit the pool for laps.
My body went through the water like a blade, twisting and turning as I cut down the length of the pool. My breathing fell into a regular pattern. Four strokes, then breathe on the left, four strokes, then breathe on the right. I moved like a fluid thing—a machine designed to do this. For a good hour, I escaped everything except the sting of chlorine on my shoulder. I ignored it, forced the sting to be a distance buzz while I worked out. The calm peace of a good swim would stick with me through a lot and I would need it. Today, I was going to deal with the police.
I didn’t have a problem with cops in general. I’d be happy if one decided to date my sister. It was the bureaucracy they worked in that bothered me—too many forms, not enough action. The forms for, say, a hit and run car accident, were legion.
“Have you called your insurance?” the boy in blue asked me. He looked about ten, with his baby fat face and clean crewcut. Our town was too small to have its own force, so he was county. The dark blue of his uniform went well with the black bulletproof vest. He’d explained that it wasn’t anything personal, just standard procedure.
I told him the same thing about the gun strapped under my arm. That spooked him and I didn’t mind one bit.
“I had a rotten night. When I saw the car was wrecked, I just went to the pool. You’re the first cop I called,” I said, mixing up my nights to save myself from explaining what I’d been doing since the accident.
“Well, there’s really not much chance we’re going to find who did it.” His honesty was refreshing. “But you can use this report number when you call your insurance.”
He tore off the goldenrod copy of the four-part form and handed it to me. The insurance was my next call. They wanted the form he’d given me and about seven other forms as well. After an hour on the phone with them, the tow truck arrived. The driver was gracious enough to let me ride along to the garage. I got a loaner from them, something sporty and cute in green that was just a little too close to neon for me to like. The loaner got good gas mileage, though, which came in handy as I drove to the main county police offices.
Internal Affairs Detective Garcia had a speech about being half Black and half Hispanic and how she didn’t take any shit. The speech was impressive. I liked it. I liked it even better when it was directed at someone else. I sat on the other side of her glass walled office, listening to the speech rattle off the windows. I wanted her help so I was willing to wait. The guy inside sounded like he wouldn’t take long anyway.
Garcia owed me a favor. Or maybe I owed her one. We didn’t keep very good track. If she needed some spirit witch insight, I was there for her. If there was dirt to be found in official records, Garcia would find it for me. I had a favor to ask this morning, one that wouldn’t strain her contacts. Track down the license plate from the guy who’d hit my car.
“How’s your morning?” I asked, even she looked ready to hit someone.
“Useless asshole. Nothing he tells me is the truth, but he wants me to protect him.” She shook her head. “But you might solve another problem for me.”
“Really? Because I came here looking for a favor.”
“How big of a favor?” She pulled her head back to look at me at an angle as if the size of the laws I would ask her to bend was written on my face.
“Not so big. I need you to run a plate.” I grabbed a sticky from her desk and wrote out the numbers I’d gotten from Douglas. I was thinking about the plate from the car that nearly killed me but the numbers on the notepad didn’t look right. I tried again, only this time the numbers were completely different.
“That’s two plates,” the always astute Garcia pointed out.
“I know.” I had two sets of plates floating around in my head and I couldn’t remember which was which. Worse, I couldn’t remember where the second memorized plate had come from. “Can you run both?”
“That’s a pretty big favor.” She leaned back and whistled. We both knew it wasn’t but she wanted something from me.
“It’s just plates.”
“I don’t know, the department’s cracking down…” She looked off in the distance, as if considering the enormity of my request.
“Don’t you have a sister at the MVA?”
“He’s a cousin. It’s still a favor.”
“Half a favor and you know I’m good for it,” I countered.
“Fine, half. Sure you don’t need anything else? Maybe a little more than plates? I’m sure you’ve got some new boyfriend you need to know a little bit more about.”
“Not me. Single as could be.”
“What about that sister of yours? Or maybe a friend? There’s always someone
to check out.”
“Actually, now that you mention it…” The wheels in my head were turning about Gina’s new boyfriend and the car accident. On Friday I’d gotten a phone call threatening Jo, telling me to stay away from Jeremy. On Monday, after I’d had lunch with Jeremy, I’d gotten hit. Two serious events and both times connected to Jeremy. That could all be coincidence but there might be something there. “Can you pull a background report on Jeremy Steel?”
She looked daggers at me. “Buy a magazine, Hicks. He’s on the cover of People this month.”
“Very funny. I need details.”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with these license plates would it?”
“Maybe,” I said, getting surer of it. “But since I just filed a hit and run report that clearly states I don’t know what happened to my car, I think you shouldn’t ask.”
Her sigh must have weighed twenty pounds. “You know why I do things for you.”
“Because of my sparkling personality?” Apparently, the fun back and forth part of our conversation was over.
“No. Because you have a gift that lets you know things about people. I’ll get you your reports but I want something in return.”
“Now or later?”
“Now. In fact, let’s go have coffee with someone.”
It was my turn to sigh. “What am I trying to find out?”
None of the things I’d spent time on – doing favors for Garcia, investigating the car accident that nearly killed me, and worrying about Ted’s troubles – would pay my bills. I needed to head back to LA, get the philandering husband on film, and wrap up that case.
Unfortunately, Wednesdays weren’t Dan’s thing. I camped out in his office parking lot for most of the day, even tailed him to lunch, but got nothing for my efforts. He went home at four, just like his wife told me he did. Instead of going after him, I wandered into his building. As I suspected, the front desk receptionist wasn’t paying a lot of attention—that happened to a lot of people after the boss left. I slipped into his office and started to get personal.
Hollywood Dead: Elisabeth Hicks, Witch Detective Page 11