by J. K. Beck
"And Talijax Feaureaux? Dallas, Texas."
"Apparently I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The charges against me were dismissed."
"And Milton Craymore?" Bosch pressed, as Sara sat more stiffly in her chair, the accusations seeming to fly at her like blows.
"Responsible for planning that deadly werewolf raid on the Oslo vampire 41
community center." A slow smile crossed his face as he looked straight at Bosch, never flinching. "Or so I heard."
It didn't matter that the charges were dismissed. She knew, and Bosch knew. It was in his eyes. He'd killed. He'd gotten away with it. And he was proud of what he'd done. Proud of the blow he'd struck. She'd bet her new job that no one had gone to trial for any of those crimes. They'd had the right defendant; they just hadn't found the evidence to prove it.
Beside her, Bosch pushed back his chair. Sara took a deep breath and made sure she had her game face on before looking over at her boss. He was standing, forcing Luke to tilt his head back to look at the prosecutor. It was, Sara knew, a simple trick that had the effect of creating at least an illusion of power. In this case, however, the maneuver didn't work.
Despite Bosch's cool confidence, Lucius Dragos lost none of his power. Instead, he rocked back slightly in his chair so that it balanced on the two rear legs. He shook his head, ruffling the perfect mane of silky black hair. He could not, Sara realized, run his fingers through his hair, as both hands were currently manacled to the arms of the chair. Yet despite that disadvantage and despite the fact that Bosch now towered above him, Luke was in no way diminished. If anything, the two men now seemed equally pitted against each other.
It was, Sara thought, fascinating.
Bosch leaned forward, his hands on the table, his head and shoulders thrusting into Luke's side of the table, getting into his space. Getting into his face. This time, when Bosch spoke, his words were low and controlled without the earlier suggestion of civility.
"Let us understand each other, Dragos. You are here because we brought you in. We trapped you. We caught you. We shackled you. And once we dispense with the formality of a trial, we will execute you."
Luke's eyes flicked up, the heat in them banked by a tight control. "You don't win the game until the executioner's stake slams through my heart. Until then, I think the wise money is on me."
The scent of cinnamon filled the air. "Do not for a moment think that this is a game, Dragos."
"I don't play games. I would have thought you knew that much about me." He turned his attention to Sara, and she forced herself to remain steady, to keep her expression bland as those deadly eyes looked into hers. "Perhaps you speak for your companion's benefit?" His eyes lingered on her, and for a moment, one fleeting, dancing moment, she thought she saw a glimmer of regret in his face. Then it cleared, and all she saw was ice. "I doubt she is as familiar with my file as you are, Nostramo." Bosch nodded toward her, his expression filled with something akin to fatherly pride. "I would suggest, Lucius, that you work hard not to antagonize Ms. Constantine. She may not yet know all there is to know about you, but I assure you that she is a quick study. She'll learn, Luke," he said, leaning slightly forward. "She'll learn all about you."
"I look forward to being thoroughly examined," Luke said. He turned toward her, the heat from his gaze curling through her.
She tamped it down, angry at herself for letting that heat warm her for even a millisecond.
"You'd be wise not to underestimate me," she snapped, and left it at that. She 42
wasn't going to get into a verbal sparring match with him. Not now. Not ever. For a moment, she thought he would answer. Then she felt the press of Bosch's hand on her shoulder. The simple weight of it calmed her, and she drew in a breath, furious with herself for lashing out.
"You are entitled to a representative, Luke," Bosch said, almost kindly.
"I don't require one at this time," he said.
Bosch looked as though he would argue. But in the end, he merely nodded. "Very well. Then let us dispense with the pleasantries and move straight to business. Record on. Interview with suspect Lucius Dragos, vampire. Interview Room A. Present are Division 6 representatives, prosecutors Nostramo Bosch and Sara Constantine. Mr. Dragos, you have declined to have a representative present?"
"I have."
"Very well. Following interview, suspect will be remanded to Detention Block C. Mr. Dragos, you are a vampire?"
"I am."
"You are the sire of the Dragos clan?"
"I am the last acknowledged Dragos, as you well know."
"Of course," Bosch said. "Your ward cannot claim the clan name." He flipped through his notes. "In light of her precarious mental state as a human, Tasha was subject to termination. She received special dispensation in 1790, sparing her life, but forbidding her to propagate or inherit, and requiring you to stand as guardian."
"I'm aware of the circumstances," Luke said, his voice hard. On her pad, Sara scribbled Tasha, then circled the name with a question mark.
"A hard-fought battle, if I recall," Bosch said. "I believe there was significant testimony both for and against termination."
"We were both there, Nostramo," Luke said. "I'm sure you recall the testimony as well as I do."
"And while you are here, she is under the care of ..."
"She is well watched after now," Luke said, "and successfully survived the Holding all those years ago. Her daemon is bound, and those who fought for her termination can all go to hell." A muscle in his jaw twitched, his hands tightening on the arms of his chair in a visible effort to calm himself. "If you wish to question me about the death of Marcus Braddock, I would suggest you get on with it. I'm growing tired, and it would be a shame if I couldn't give you my full cooperation merely because the sun looms high in the sky."
Bosch hesitated, then nodded. "Very well. Let's cut to the chase. Where were you last night?"
"Isn't that what you intend to prove?"
"Fair enough," Bosch said as the phone at his hip vibrated. He lifted it, reviewed the screen, then set the device on the table, along with the case file, open to the photograph of Braddock's brutalized neck. "Then let me tell you, and you can stop me if I get anything wrong."
Smart, Sara thought. Lead him through the evidence. Let him know how bad it is for him--and with a witness like Doyle, it was very, very bad--and then present the offer for a plea bargain again at the end of the interview.
In the calm, unemotional voice of an experienced prosecutor, Bosch began a 43
rundown of the evidence against Luke, including the investigating agent's conclusion that the injury was caused not only by a vampire, but by Luke himself. "Agent Doyle saw you. Or didn't you know that Agent Doyle is a percipient daemon?"
"Ryan Doyle is many things," Luke said, the tame words a counter to the tone, which clearly called the agent a son of a bitch.
"Agent Doyle's conclusions have been confirmed by the PEC's medical examiner."
Luke leaned back in his chair. "Is that a fact?"
"Division 6 has a record of seven hundred and eighty-six vampires permanently residing in the Los Angeles County area," Bosch said softly. "And yet yours was the DNA we discovered on the victim."
Sara lifted her head, startled by the mention of DNA evidence. Luke, however, remained impassive. Unreadable.
"Text message just came in from Agent Doyle with the lab results," Bosch said.
"With your name attached to the file, we were able to rush the results." He leaned casually against the wall. "You should be gratified to know that your involvement piques such interest across the organization. It's almost as if you're a celebrity." Sara glanced at Luke, searching for some kind of reaction--anger, fear. In her former life, DNA evidence was a serious blow, and she could only assume it was the same here. Couple that with Doyle's testimony, and it looked as if Luke was well and truly screwed.
Luke, however, didn't appear worried. If anything, he seemed amused. And though she didn't
know Nostramo Bosch well at all, she could see that he'd noted the amusement, too. And that it was pissing him off.
"I suppose, though, that some of the thanks must go to you," Bosch continued.
"After all, until your arrest, we didn't have your DNA on file. And yet you provided a sample to the agents without a court order. I have to wonder why." Sara worked to keep her features bland, but the truth was that she wondered, too. If Division didn't already have his DNA, why on earth would Luke provide it unless it would prove his innocence. In this case, though, it proved his guilt.
"Would you have been able to obtain a court order?" Luke asked.
"Undoubtedly."
"Then why put everyone to the trouble?"
Bosch ignored the question, instead leaning over the table to face Luke more closely. "Why did you kill Braddock? We'll find out, you know, and in the end it doesn't much matter. Of course, it is possible there was no prior motive. That you met Braddock, you argued, and you killed him impulsively. And that you accidentally left evidence behind. A ring, for example, carelessly forgotten."
Luke flinched, a slight twitch of the eyes. Nothing overt, and Sara imagined that Bosch missed the reaction entirely as he'd been reaching down for a photograph he now tossed onto the table, this one showing a signet ring with a red-eyed dragon eating its own tail.
Sara, however, noticed, and had to wonder. Because Luke didn't strike her as the kind of man who carelessly forgot anything.
"What I can't figure out is why you returned to your home when you had to know that a swarm of RAC officers would be surrounding you at any moment. Clearly you 44
believed you could escape. But why were you so cocksure? Your Alliance connections?
Or some other reason? It's a curiosity, you see. The kind of curiosity that eats at me. So we will find an answer, Lucius. As to that, I give you my word." He stood then, his posture suggesting the interview was over. Sara pushed to her feet as well, then reached to the table to gather the photographs Bosch had left there. Braddock's cold, dead eyes stared up at her. Luke had done this. A vampire. A killer. He'd torn Braddock's neck out, drained his blood. And now he sat there, calm and cool despite having committed such a heinous crime. A crime as personal to her as his hands upon her naked body had been. She fought the memory back, unwilling to think about the intimate things they'd done together only one night before he'd gone out and murdered Judge Braddock.
And if she was understanding Bosch correctly, he believed that not only was Luke a murderer, but he had allies within Division 6 who would help him to escape. The thought sickened her, her reaction all the more intense because the man had gotten under her skin.
"Record off," Bosch said. He turned to Sara, ignoring Luke. "We'll talk in my office."
He headed for the door and she followed.
"I won't say it's been a pleasure, Nostramo," Luke said, his voice controlled and confident. "But I will say that I look forward to seeing Ms. Constantine again. I'm sure our future interviews will be illuminating."
Slowly and deliberately, she turned in his direction. "I look forward to it, too, Mr. Dragos. This case is mine now, and I promise you that I won't rest until the dead have justice."
"I believe you," he said, his expression bland although she hoped her words had kicked him in the gut. "And may I be among the first to congratulate you on your new position."
She started to reply, but Bosch laid a hand upon her arm. "Hire an advocate, Lucius. Trust me when I say that you're going to need it." He keyed in the code and pulled open the door. "Constantine, with me."
45
Chapter 7
"I've read your file, Constantine," Bosch said. They were in the observation room, watching Luke through the glass. "I know today wasn't the first time you've seen an injury like that. For that matter, I'm guessing you still see the torn flesh in your dreams." She bristled, dragging her attention away from Luke to face her boss. "I've been thoroughly evaluated."
"Like I said, I've read your file." He leaned against the wall, his businesslike expression counterbalanced by the compassion in his voice. "Eight years old and out for an evening stroll with Daddy. Came out of nowhere. Knocked you aside, slammed your head good and hard against a cement bench. Tackled your father. You lost consciousness with his screams echoing in your head, and when you awoke, you found him not fifteen feet from you, dead, his throat opened, and the crime scene remarkably free of blood."
"I know the circumstances, sir. I was there."
"And until this day, you've never known the true nature of the defendant."
"No, sir," she said firmly, forcing her chin up. "That's not true. I've known since the night my father died that the man who did that to him was something monstrous and inhuman. Knowing now that Jacob Crouch was a vampire doesn't change my perception of him at all." She frowned, something in her memory suddenly worrying her.
"Constantine?"
"Sir, is there any doubt that my father's killer was a vampire?"
"Considering his injuries? None at all."
"But then the court tried the wrong man." Bosch's eyebrows rose, and she continued. "I remember the trial. I remember it vividly. And I also remember Jacob Crouch being led up the courthouse steps in the light of day."
"Ah," he said. "I understand your confusion. Best not to get your facts from latenight television."
"Sir?"
"While it is true that older vampires cannot abide the sun, the young ones have no such issue. Crouch, I believe, was just shy of two hundred at the time of the trial."
"I see." He was right. She needed to erase her preconceived notions.
"It's a slow progression. The skin becomes more sensitive as they age. Eventually, they realize they've reached a stage where they must succumb to the dark.
"Crouch may have walked in the light," Bosch continued, "but he was a vampire. And now you face a similar crime, this time not as a victim but as a prosecutor, now fully armed with the true nature of the murderer. Tell me, Sara. Can you do your duty and seek justice rather than retribution?"
She blinked, knowing he had to ask the question, but hating it nonetheless. She squared her shoulders, straightened her spine, and looked him dead in the eyes. "I would never allow my personal history to interfere with the way I prosecute a case, or allow my emotions to skew me from the course of justice." She licked her lips, wishing her mouth hadn't gone so suddenly dry. "In light of your concerns, I question why you want me to 46
second chair this case with you."
"Yes," he said. "Of course you do." She waited, expecting an explanation, but none was offered. "I've been monitoring you for a while now, Sara. You have the kind of talent we can use down here. Consider that the answer to your question." There would be no point in arguing. "All right. Thank you, sir." She followed him into the hall, her pleasure at his confidence in her abilities warring with the need to tell him the truth and recuse herself from the case. Because she had to disqualify herself; in light of her history with Luke, there was simply no other choice. And that, frankly, wasn't something she was thrilled about revealing.
She had no choice, though, and if she was going to be reassigned, she'd just as soon get it over with. "About me working the case, though. There's something else we should discuss."
"Yes, there is. But it can wait until we reach my office." She nodded, recognizing that he must have correctly interpreted the few glances that had passed between her and the accused. She knew that reassignment was inevitable, yet she couldn't escape the sting of disappointment. She'd meant what she'd said to Luke. And given the chance, she would relish the hell out of taking him down. Would savor the way that reviewing the case and the evidence would harden her heart to this monster who'd squeezed in past her defenses.
She wanted him gone, the sweet memories erased. They were tainted now with the stench of murder, the magic of their night fizzling in the cold, hard light of reality. A reality that, frankly, broke her heart.
"Any calls?" he asked
Martella, not breaking stride as he passed her desk and shifted left into his office.
"Nothing urgent," she said. "I'll send the memos to your desktop." He grunted an acknowledgment, then gestured for Sara to take a seat. He closed the door, then surprised her by taking the second guest chair rather than sliding in behind his desk. "You're human," he said without preamble.
"Yeah," she said, confused. "I know."
"That presents a theoretical risk in this case," he said, confusing her even more. She shifted in her seat, using the movement to mentally shift her thoughts as well. Because apparently they weren't discussing her wild night with Luke as she'd expected. What they were discussing, though, remained unclear. "A risk?"
"Vampires are unique creatures, even in our world." He picked up a fountain pen, rolling it between his fingers as he talked. "Their life spans are so long that the myths of their immortality might well be considered accurate. And that longevity has made the vampire community very powerful as a whole. A group that is around for millennia tends to achieve a certain strength and bargaining power."
She nodded slowly, understanding his words, but still not seeing where he was going.
"They are exceedingly strong and heal quickly from most injuries. Electrical shock will take them down, of course, and they are stymied by the mineral hematite. The ridiculous stories about holy water and crosses injuring them are just that--stories. But the myths about a stake through the heart or decapitation are stories that the fiction writers of your world managed to get right, at least to the extent that these things will kill. The stake by turning a vampire to ash. Decapitation simply by terminating life and leaving the body 47
behind."
He shifted in his chair. "But I am not trying to educate you on the methods of extinguishing a vampire. Rather, I want you to realize that they have many rare talents. The ability to dissolve into a sentient mist or shift into animal form. Acute senses. Exceptional speed, especially in the mist state. And the power to mesmerize humans."