Blood Work

by L.J. Hayward

  Chapter 28

  “Why are we doing this?” Ivan asked as Erin turned on her computer.

  Ivan and Brad had taken her back to their place the night before. She’d collapsed on their spare bed and been comatose for eight hours. Waking up, her head had been filled with the unshakable notion she didn’t know enough about Matt Hawkins and Night Call. He had got to her. There was still so much she didn’t know about him, so much that could explain him, and what had happened outside the Fringe Bar. She’d told the boys the bare bones of what had happened; Martin approached her, claimed to know about Night Call and she’d gone outside with him. He’d grabbed her and used her as a hostage to lure Hawkins down the side street, they’d fought, Martin had run away and Hawkins had agreed to come in to the office.

  She had dragged Ivan in on the pretence he had to help her get ready for the meeting. His presence had never been required before, so he knew something was up.

  “Because I don’t like Mrs Veilchen’s attitude. And Hawkins claims he doesn’t know her. Something’s not quite meshing here. I want to find out anything I can before the meeting.”

  “Which is in two hours,” he pointed out needlessly. “What can we find out in that time?”

  “Tell me about this Mercy Belique person. She was with him last night.”

  Ivan groaned. “I told you everything last night. She was a singer for this band. The band broke up, she wasn’t seen around for a long time. What more is there to know?”

  “Why she’s with Hawkins for a start.”

  “Because he’s a really lucky guy? I don’t know why!”

  Erin waved at his computer in the outer office. “That’s why they call it investigating. Go, investigate.”

  Grumbling all the way, Ivan trudged out to his desk and slumped down. He tapped listlessly at the keyboard, sneaking looks over his shoulder at her.

  She’d scared him last night. Brad had told her that morning while Ivan showered. He’d been frantic when Erin hadn’t returned from the toilets. Erin was genuinely flattered. She and Ivan had been working together for six months, long enough for them to be comfortable with each other but she hadn’t really thought their relationship had progressed that far beyond the office. Erin truly liked him.

  Leaving Ivan to his own devices, Erin called the Mentis Institute. It felt like years since she’d been talking to James Douglass at Redcliffe. So much had happened that it felt like a backwards step to dig into this now. But the nagging feeling of not knowing something important was too annoying. She couldn’t just let this case go. It would officially be over at noon, but that wasn’t good enough. He would come in, meet with Veilchen—who’d agreed to the meeting with chilly eagerness—sort out whatever it was all about and walk out. That would be it. Over. Finished.

  Except it wasn’t. She had most of his history but none of it told her why he was so determined to hide, why he roamed about with a petite singer who could move like the wind, why he could hold his own against a man nearly twice his size, a man who could also move with lightning reflexes and inhuman speed.

  Inhuman.

  The image of the drive-by shooter’s face came back to her. Now that had been inhuman.

  Werewolves…

  “Hello?”

  Erin jumped. She’d forgotten about the phone pressed to her ear. “I’m sorry,” she said, hauling in a deep breath to ease her racing heart. “I was miles away.” She introduced herself and explained her case. “I understand the patient was transferred to your unit. Are you able to help me find out some more information about her?”

  The woman on the other end of the phone barked a harsh laugh. “That’s confidential information. No, I can’t help you out.”

  “I understand that, but I was just hoping you could—”

  “Break the law for you? I don’t think so. Thank you for calling.” The line went dead.

  “Bitch.” Erin slammed the phone down. Then she did something she didn’t want to do. She dialled the number and when it was answered, asked for Detective Courey.

  “Courey,” he growled when he picked up.

  “Detective,” Erin said as brightly as she could. “Erin McRea here. How are you?”

  “As clueless as I was the other day. Haven’t got anything more to tell you about the Hawkins drive-by. Thanks for calling.”

  “Wait!” She held her breath, hoping he hadn’t hung up.

  He grunted.

  Uncooperative prick. “I was wondering if you could help me out with a lead. I tracked down a woman Hawkins had dealings with. Her last known place of residence was the Mentis Institute, but they won’t come to the party about her stay there.”

  “No, because that would be breaking the confidentiality agreement they have with their patients and even if they told you, you wouldn’t respect them afterward.”

  Erin pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is why I really didn’t want to call you, Courey. I knew you had the look of an arse-biter about you. Come on, be a pal and help me out here. Otherwise, let me talk to your captain.”

  “Nasty,” he muttered. “Right, what’s this woman’s name.”

  “Jane Doe.”

  “Oh, that’s going to be an easy one.”

  She glared at the phone. “I can give you an admission date, moron.”

  “Fire away.” If the insult had upset him, he didn’t show it.

  Erin told him everything she knew about Jane Doe, he mumbled something about getting back to her and hung up. She thought bad thoughts about him for a minute but was eventually distracted by music coming from the outer office. She didn’t mind Ivan playing music, but this didn’t sound like his usual choice.

  His computer screen was visible from her office. It showed the YouTube web site and a clip was playing. Frowning, Erin wandered out to see what it was about.

  The song was something she didn’t recognise, a fast paced, guitar heavy piece with a classic rock rhythm. The title of the clip named the song as Franz Ferdinand’s ‘Take Me Out’ as covered by Nasty Kitten.

  Ivan pushed back from the computer to give Erin more room. She perched on the arm of his chair and studied the clip. It was grainy and shaky, but there was no denying the tiny figure in front of the band. She wore a plaid skirt, tight white blouse and knee high socks. Her hair was black and straight, falling to her waist, when she wasn’t flinging it back over her shoulder. She moved with the music, a languid strut across the front of the stage that turned into an extremely sensual challenge to the audience as she belted out the lyrics. Her voice was, as Erin had been told, very powerful, but exquisitely controlled. She didn’t scream, didn’t whine, didn’t waver. When she turned on the audience and pointed to some lucky person who was going to ‘take me out’, Erin’s back gave a little, involuntary shiver.

  “See?” Ivan said as the clip ended.

  “She’s got a big stage presence, that’s for sure.”

  Erin looked down the list of other clips. There were several more of Nasty Kitten. They watched them all. It seemed the band preferred covering rock, but a few softer songs had leaked in. The slower songs were as imbued with sex as the harder ones. It was just more seductive than aggressive or possessive, but no less effective.

  “I almost need a cigarette after that,” Erin said when the last song finished.

  “Me too.” Ivan clicked on another window and pulled up an article about the band. “It says here that Nasty Kitten broke up because Mercy got messed up with a crowd the other band members didn’t like. A couple of months before our Mr Hawkins reportedly went off his rocker in the lab.” He raised speculative eyebrows. “You think he was the bad crowd?”

  Erin scanned the article for herself. “I’m not sure. And that’s what bothers me the most about this case. So much of it just doesn’t seem to add up. Yes, he’s got a violent past but for some reason I don’t think he’s an essentially violent person.”

  Ivan didn’t comment, but his expression showed his scepticism well enough.


  “See if you can track down one of the other band members,” she told him.

  “Now?”

  “Got anything else to do?”

  “Do you want me looking into that when he’s due here in five minutes? He might get the wrong idea about the case being closed.”

  Erin glanced at her watch. Ivan was right. “Shit. Okay, after the meeting then, unless something happens that reveals all.”

  The next few minutes were spent getting ready. Erin tidied her office and Ivan made fresh coffee. On the dot of noon, Mrs Veilchen swept in, elegant and cool, nothing showing her eagerness to finally meet Matthew Hawkins. Erin led her into her office and left her there. The client, at this stage, usually demanded a full run down on how the missing person was found. Mrs Veilchen, however, wasn’t usual. She just sat down and waited silently. Didn’t even thank Erin for her hard work.

  “She’s freaky,” Ivan whispered as they waited in the outer office.

  “She’s the client. Be respectful.” But Erin couldn’t stop feeling very nervous.

  It didn’t get any better the further around the dial the minute hand got and Hawkins didn’t appear.

  “You gave him a card, right? He knows the address?”

  “Of course.”

  She didn’t believe it. The bastard had said he would show. She’d trusted him. God damn it.

  In her office, Mrs Veilchen remained unmoving, still as a statue. That was unnerving. Hawkins’ no-show was rage inducing. Erin wanted to strangle something. Either Veilchen or Hawkins would do nicely.

  “What do we do?” Ivan asked after five more minutes had gone by.

  “Kill Hawkins,” she muttered and pushed away from the desk. She knocked on the door to her office then went in. “Mrs Veilchen, I’m so sorry. Something must have held him up.”

  The woman lifted her head enough to point her sunglasses at Erin. “You don’t believe that. He’s not coming.”

  Erin swallowed the lump of nerves trying to escape through her mouth. “When I met with him last night I believed he would honour this meeting. Anything could have happened between then and now that made him incapable of reaching the office.”

  “You have no means of contacting him to find out?”

  “No. As you may have guessed, he’s a very secretive person. He has all my details so he can get in touch with me whenever he’s able. The best I can offer you is to wait until he does so, and then try to set up another meeting.”

  Mrs Veilchen rose and stood before Erin, thin and tall, given colour only by her red blouse and cream slacks. “Please close the blinds on the windows,” she said softly. “I have very sensitive eyes, but I would like to look at you without my glasses.”

  Erin’s stomach quivered. Strange, but she did as asked. It was the least she could do since Hawkins had made her look so bad. When the office was darkened considerably, Mrs Veilchen took off her glasses with slow deliberation. She blinked several times then faced Erin.

  Breath caught in her chest, Erin couldn’t help but stare. The woman’s eyes were pure white but for the black pupil.

  “It’s a rare condition,” Mrs Veilchen said. She lifted a slender, long fingered hand, showing her milky skin. “Loss of pigmentation.” Her lips curled into something that resembled a smile but wasn’t one really.

  “I’m sorry,” was all Erin could manage.

  “You don’t need to be. I’ve lived with it for a very long time.”

  “I don’t understand. Does this have something to do with the case?”

  Mrs Veilchen shook her head, once and very precisely. “I only tell you because you’ve been wondering about me. Perhaps if I share this with you, you will share with me the name of the man I seek.”

  Erin still hadn’t revealed Hawkins’ name to the woman. There was the strong possibility of Mrs Veilchen rushing off and doing something rash. No matter what Erin thought of Hawkins, she wasn’t about to be a party to anything illegal. Trusting her instincts had got her through her years in the police force and she wasn’t about to abandon them.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs Veilchen, but I won’t do that. We’ve already discussed his desire to remain under the radar. In a missing persons case such as this, I also have a responsibility to that person, to protect them from wrong doing. You haven’t given me any definite reason to think he’s done anything wrong toward you. Until you do, he has my protection.”

  Mrs Veilchen pulled in a deep breath, her narrow shoulders lifting with the action. When she let it out, her shoulders didn’t drop. Her white eyes bored into Erin’s. Cold air rolled over her, like a sudden blast from an air-conditioner.

  “Tell me his name,” Mrs Veilchen whispered.

  Erin shivered. “I’ve already said I—”

  “Tell me his name.”

  The words coiled around Erin, slinked across her skin and burrowed in at her mouth and nose and eyes and ears—a hundred spiders crawling all over her. Erin shook so hard her teeth clattered together. Her stomach churned.

  Losing the battle, Erin spun around and threw up into the waste bin.

  Mrs Veilchen swore. It wasn’t English, but Erin knew the tone of it regardless.

  Wiping her mouth with a tissue, Erin steadied herself and turned to face her client again. Except Mrs Veilchen wasn’t there. She was already at the outer door, stalking out of the office. Ivan huddled behind his desk, looking between the open door to Erin’s office and the quickly closing outer door. When it was shut, he shot to his feet and rushed to Erin.

  “What happened? Are you okay?”

  Erin staggered to her chair and sat down heavily. “I don’t know what happened. She demanded I tell her Hawkins’ name, but I wouldn’t. She got angry and left.”

  Ivan wrinkled his nose. “Maybe it was the puke that did it. Are you feeling sick? Maybe you got slipped something last night.”

  “No one slipped me anything,” she snapped. At least she tried to snap. It came out a bit weaker than that. Actually, a lot weaker. It sounded doubtful to even her own ears.

  Maybe someone had dropped something into her water when she’d been distracted, but she couldn’t imagine why. And then there had been Hawkins looking right into her eyes and she’d felt… something. Had it been him? Whatever Martin had done to her, Hawkins had stopped it. Had he also stopped Veilchen from doing something to her?

  Either way, nothing had been resolved. The case was as active as ever.

  “Come on,” she said to Ivan. “Let’s keep looking. I know we’re going to find something much more interesting if we just keep going.”

  Ivan didn’t look convinced but he settled down again.

  Erin went to the toilet to rinse her mouth out and wash her face. Staring at herself in the mirror, she was horrified to see how pale she was. Like Mrs Veilchen, except that thought put two spots of pink into her cheeks. Loss of pigmentation? It sounded credible.

  Then she remembered Mercy Belique, not as she’d been in the internet clips, but as she’d been last night. Pale as moonlight.

  “Dear God.”