“We heard Diantha at 10:30,” Katamori said. With some surprise, Dahlia saw that he was wearing a watch, an unusual accessory for a vampire.
“And we were in here within a minute and a half of that. We’ve been investigating for perhaps twenty minutes. So someone entered the kitchen between ten minutes after ten and twenty-five minutes after ten, by the narrowest reckoning.”
“And this Arthur died of his throat being ripped out,” Katamori said.
“Yes. Though he may have been choked before that. Without the excised material it’s hard to say.”
“It’s over here.” Katamori pointed to a grisly little mound of skin and bone half-hidden under a chair.
Dahlia squatted to peer at the discarded handful. “This is so mangled, I still can’t say whether or not he was choked. This tissue was tossed aside, not consumed.”
Katamori made a moue of distaste.
Dahlia said, “I was thinking of the trace of werewolf, and all that that implies.” Werewolves would eat human flesh, at least when they were in their wolf forms.
“Do you think we’ve seen everything there is to see, smelled everything there is to smell?” Katamori asked, tactfully bypassing the werewolf issue.
“Let’s go through the human’s pockets,” Dahlia suggested, and Katamori squatted on the other side of the body. Dahlia had quick, light, fingers, and she was thorough. Folded and stuck in a pocket on her side of the corpse, she found a sheet from the donor bureau containing a rendezvous point and a scheduled donation time for tonight. Just as Gerhard had said, the donors were to picked up at eight, returned to the pickup point at ten.
Dahlia wondered if Gerhard had told Arthur to make sure he was included on the donor list. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that Gerhard’s favorite banger had been included in the donor party. In the last four years it had become a regular practice for the hosts of parties to which vampires had been invited to hire donors from a registered donor bureau, so they could be sure that all the human snacks on offer had been checked for blood-borne diseases and psychoses. There was a disease vampires could catch from humans (Sino-Aids), and donors been checked for hidden agendas ever since a donor in Memphis had brought a gun and opened fire on the assembled party-goers.
Dahlia opened Arthur Allthorp’s wallet to check his donation card, which was perforated with seven holes. The card was punched every time the agency sent him out. After Dahlia had turned over the body to go through the other pants pocket, Katamori patted down Arthur’s legs. To their surprise, he found a knife in an ankle sheath. Very careless. Gerhard’s inefficiency was now a mountain rather than a molehill.
After a glance of silent agreement, the two stood, having gotten all the information from the body. They looked all around the vast kitchen for any clue they might have missed. The blackness continued to stare in through the big windows. The blood continued to cling wetly to the stainless steel surfaces. Arthur Allthorp, fangbanger, continued to be dead.
After Katamori deadbolted the outside door, he and Dahlia left the kitchen. Rachel had resumed her post in the hall, and Dahlia asked her to keep guard over the swinging door. “Let no one into the kitchen until we’re sure we don’t need it any more,” she said. “No one will be able to enter from the outside.”
Rachel nodded, her expression intense. She was still proving herself as a vampire, and Dahlia felt sure Rachel would stand her ground against anyone who wanted to see the body.
Back in the reception room, Joaquin had resumed his seat in the throne-like chair reserved for the sheriff. His ascension party had taken a definite downturn in tone. The festive atmosphere had degenerated to uneasy apprehension. The party-goers were milling around uneasily. The demons and part-demons had established a tight knot in one corner with Diantha in its center, and the fae (an oread, a rare nix, and an elf) clustered close to them.
Bernie Feldman, Don’s enforcer, was watching the French doors with unmistakable worry. Bernie was standing oddly, as if nursing a hurt in his stomach. Dahlia followed his eyes. Approaching, obviously disheveled, were Taffy and Don. Taffy had her shoes in her free hand. The other hand was holding Don’s, and the two were looking at each other with what Dahlia could only describe as “goo-goo eyes.”
“Disgusting,” she muttered, and Katamori glanced at the happy pair. “They went through the kitchen,” he said. “We’re going to have to question them.”
“Better report to Joaquin first.”
The two vampires went to stand in front of their new leader. Dahlia bowed her head a carefully calibrated angle. Katamori’s head was perhaps a centimeter lower than hers. Joaquin accepted their gesture and waited for them to report. He looked better in the chair than Cedric had. Joaquin was slim and tall, with thin dark hair and large brown eyes. The new sheriff wasn’t as old as Dahlia (only two of the Rhodes vampires were older than her), but jobs didn’t always go to the oldest.
Glenda was draped over the back of the sheriff’s seat as if being Joaquin’s new fuck buddy gave her some special status. Dahlia eyed the vampire with no expression. Her dislike of Glenda went from vague to specific.
“What have you discovered?” Joaquin asked, giving the two investigators all his attention.
Dahlia was pleased with the mark of respect. “The human was named Arthur Allthorp. He was a pet of Gerhard’s.” Dahlia had already spotted the blond vampire, who was trying to look stoic, but only managing gloomy. “Gerhard allowed Arthur Allthorp to remain in the kitchen while Gerhard took the other donors back to their rendezvous point. I see that he has told you that.” Gerhard was flanked by Troy and Hazel, the vamps Joaquin had named as his punishers.
“Furthermore,” Katamori said, “I found a knife strapped to the human’s ankle.”
Another nail in Gerhard’s coffin, perhaps literally.
“He died very quickly when his throat was torn out,” Dahlia said. “We know he died in a ten-minute window, give or take a minute or two, between ten-ten and ten-twenty-five.”
Katamori said, “Passing through the kitchen close to the time of death were the human donors, Gerhard, another vampire or two I can’t identify, and at least one werewolf.”
All eyes went to Don and Bernie, who had been whispering furiously into Don’s ear. Don looked shocked and grim. Taffy was the only vampire standing anywhere close to them, and she took her husband’s arm. He patted her hand to show her he appreciated the support. Bernie stood to Don’s other side, and he had an expression Dahlia had seen before. It meant, “I’m ready to die, but I’d rather not.”
“It won’t make any difference to you, Joaquin, but I didn’t do it,” Don said in his deep voice. “I can’t imagine why I’d have any reason to kill the poor bastard, though maybe motive doesn’t interest you.” If Dahlia had had a moment to do so, she might have advised Don that this was not the time for sarcasm.
“Don and I did go through the kitchen,” Taffy said. “But we were on our way out into the garden to have a talk.”
“What was that talk about?” Glenda asked.
“You were right on our ass, so you probably know already. But I don’t answer to you,” Taffy said, and the light of battle flashed into her eyes.
“Any vampire who spends time with a werewolf has degraded herself and has no status in the nest,” Glenda said, straightening and taking a step away from the sheriff’s chair.
Dahlia was instantly on the alert. If she let Taffy take on Glenda, Don would get involved, and the whole situation would get unnecessarily complicated. When Glenda took another step in Taffy’s direction, Dahlia was ready. She leaped and kicked as hard as she could, and Glenda went flying through the air with her beautiful clinging dress whipping around her, as Dahlia landed gracefully and spun around to make sure Glenda was down. The crack of Glenda’s ribs was audible as she met the wall. She slid down to collapse on the carpet, bleeding and whimpering.
Joaquin didn’t move, but his eyes were blazing. From their positions flanking Gerhard, Troy and Hazel
snarled. There was a long, tense, moment with all eyes on Dahlia.
“Excuse my preemptive punishment of Glenda, Joaquin,” she said calmly. “I acted without your permission, but I was incensed at her presumption. She has no right to make such a pronouncement with you sitting in front of us. You alone have the right to determine who belongs in our community and who doesn’t. Glenda showed unforgivable disrespect.”
Joaquin blinked. “Interesting interpretation of Glenda’s words,” he said.
No one went to help the fallen vampire. Possibly they were all afraid that Dahlia would consider them an enemy if they did so.
“She was presumptuous,” Joaquin said after a moment’s consideration, and the room relaxed. Dahlia could tell more than one vampire would have enjoyed seeing her deal out even more damage to Glenda, but she’d made her point and interrupted Glenda’s accusation.
Joaquin continued, “Do you know who the other vampires were who passed through the kitchen at the vital time?
“One was Cedric,” she said. “I know his scent too well to mistake it. And I witnessed Glenda following Taffy, Don, Bernie, and Cedric out of the room, but I’m not sure if she entered the kitchen or not.”
Joaquin’s heavy eyebrows flew up in surprise. He looked at his predecessor.
“I walked through the kitchen,” Cedric said. He was leaning against the wall. “I was right on the heels of Taffy and her werewolf, but Glenda went out before me, not after. I wanted to talk to her.”
“Why?” Joaquin said. He looked up at Cedric, whose blue-patterned waistcoat was rumpled up above his belly. Even Cedric’s boots were scuffed, while Joaquin’s loafers shone like mirrors. The contrast could not have been more unkind: Cedric the old catfish, Joaquin the sleek barracuda.
To the side of the room, Glenda moaned as she struggled to her knees to get to her feet. Very quietly, another vampire stepped over to let her drink from him. Dahlia noticed he was looking as neutral as possible, as if his arm just happened to be in the right place in front of Glenda’s mouth for her to have a healing draft. He even kept his eyes on the floor so Dahlia couldn’t meet them. Dahlia smiled inside. It was good to be feared.
“Why?” Cedric said. “Because I wanted to go outside, and I hoped she would walk with me, for old times’ sake. Because, in case you hadn’t thought of it, this is a very awkward evening for me, and I needed friendship.”
The demons looked amused, the Weres embarrassed, and the vampires all looked elsewhere. An open admission of weakness was not the vampire way. Only Dahlia looked thoughtful.
Joaquin said, “Taffy, what happened out in the garden?”
Taffy bowed her head to her sheriff. “Of course I’ll answer, if my sheriff asks it,” she said graciously, reinforcing Dahlia’s point. “We talked to Bernie, my husband’s enforcer, about his lack of courtesy to one of the demons.” She nodded her head toward Diantha. “Bernie was . . . uncouth enough . . . to make fun of her speech patterns. Don felt the need to teach Bernie a lesson about diplomacy. As you can see, Don made his point.”
Now that danger had passed, Bernie had resumed his hunched-over position. He was clearly uncomfortable. He bobbed his head in acknowledgement, straightened, and winced. “My leader did correct me,” he said.
“While we were in the garden,” Taffy continued, “We remembered it was the site of our wedding, and we celebrated in an appropriate way.” She smiled brilliantly at Joaquin, pleased that she’d phrased it so diplomatically. Taffy had never been subtle.
Don grinned at her and slung his arm around her shoulders. “We had a great celebration back in the bushes,” he said. “Even if it was colder than a witch’s tit.”
The only witch present opened her mouth to protest, but Dahlia’s head whipped around so Dahlia could look at the woman in a significant way. The witch’s mouth snapped shut.
“But none of this offers any proof that the human didn’t die at your hands,” Joaquin said in the most reasonable of voices.
“We haven’t got a speck of blood on us, Sheriff,” Taffy said, holding out her arms to invite inspection. “When Don gave Bernie his etiquette lesson, he didn’t break the skin. My husband knows the smell of blood is tough on vampire sensibilities.”
“Would the killer be blood-spattered?” Joaquin asked Dahlia. “You saw the wound.”
“I’ll defer to Katamori,” Dahlia said. “It’s well known that Taffy and I are friends.”
“A vampire moving at top speed, a vampire who had performed this kill many times, might be able to avoid the blood,” Katamori said. “Anyone else would have had to change clothes.” He walked over to the couple, examined them with minute care. “I see and scent no blood on Taffy and Don.”
Dahlia’s shoulders might have relaxed a fraction.
Gerhard said quickly, “I’ll smell like blood because I took some from a donor this evening.” It was Dahlia’s turn to work, and she looked Gerhard over from stem to stern. She straightened to tell Joaquin, “He does have a trace of blood scent, and one pinpoint of blood on his collar, but nothing out of the ordinary.”
Cedric said, “You may examine me, Katamori,” though no one had suggested this. Katamori glanced at Joaquin, got no signal either way, and moved over to Cedric. He’d give Cedric a thorough examination, Dahlia knew. Katamori had never been fond of Cedric.
“I can’t find any on Cedric’s clothes,” Katamori said. “Though he does smell slightly of blood.”
Cedric shrugged. “I partook of the donors,” he said.
There was a pounding on the mansion’s front door.
Dahlia looked at the clock on the wall, just as a precaution. It was now eleven fifteen. Arthur Allthorp had been dead around an hour. The front doorkeeper for the evening, a young vampire named Melvin, came into the reception room so quickly that he skidded on the parquet floor. “The police are here, Sheriff,” he said to Joaquin. “They say they’ve had a report of a body on the premises.”
“How long can you delay them?” Joaquin snapped.
“Ten minutes,” said Melvin.
“We’ll need it,” Joaquin said. “Go.”
Melvin began walking slowly through the archway on his way back to the front door. He was looking at his watch.
“Katamori and I will dispose of the body,” Dahlia said, and she and Katamori took off at top speed. As they passed Rachel, still on guard at the swinging door, Dahlia said, “Cleanup crew, right now!” Rachel moved so fast you could hardly see her go, and Dahlia could hear her call a few names in the reception room.
It wasn’t the first time a body had had to be disposed of quickly in the mansion.
While Katamori unlocked the mudroom door, Dahlia pulled an ancient tablecloth from the linen closet. Together, the two vampires wrapped the body in the yellowing linen to prevent drippage. Dahlia took the feet and Katamori lifted the shoulders. They were carrying the body out while the cleaning crew swarmed through the swinging door. Conveniently, all the cleanup material was kept in the kitchen, and as Katamori and Dahlia took their burden through the mudroom and out the final door, she glimpsed the vampires on duty opening cabinets to pull out the bleach and turning the faucets in the sinks while others fetched the mops.
The dead man had been tall and heavy. Since Katamori and Dahlia were not too far apart in height they could bear the weight equally, and they were both immensely strong; so Arthur Allthorp’s weight wasn’t an issue. His bulk was. They carried the body through the large garden to the formal fountain with its deep raised surround, designed to form a pool. The statue in the middle of the fountain was a woman in flowing drapery. She was holding a tilted jug, out of which the running water splashed into the pool. At the side of the fountain farthest from the house, they laid the body down. Dahlia leaped up on the broad edge of the pool and craned over precariously to fish a key from the statue’s drapery. It wasn’t in the fold that usually held it, and she had a moment’s severe jolt until she felt the metal edge in the next fold down. All the vamps in the h
ouse knew the key’s location, and once or twice it had been misplaced. With a huge feeling of relief, Dahlia hopped down, a little wet from the experience.
She squatted to insert the key in the keyhole of a large panel in the base of the fountain. This panel looked as though it had been designed to give access to the plumbing and the fountain mechanism, but the vampires had designed it for another use. Though this body was somewhat bigger than most of the previous bodies that had been hidden there, and though the hole was partially obstructed, they had to make it work. Dahlia actually crawled in the space to pull on the body, while Katamori remained outside to stuff the legs in. Then Dahlia had to crawl out over the body, getting even more rumpled and a bit stained in the process.
By that time, she and Katamori could hear the police surging through the mansion.
“I can’t be found like this,” Dahlia said, disgusted, looking down at her dress.
“Then take it off,” Katamori said, holding the “maintenance panel” open. “I have an idea.”
When the police came out to search the garden, they found Katamori and Dahlia frolicking in the fountain stark naked. The sight froze them in their tracks. Not only was it fall and chilly, but in the moonlit garden Dahlia was white as marble.
“All over,” said one of the cops, awestruck. “And he’s just a shade darker.”
“Did you need to talk to us?” Dahlia asked, as if she’d just noticed their presence.
Katamori, at her back, wrapped his arms around her. “I hope not,” he said. “We have other things to do.”
“Cold hasn’t affected him much,” muttered Cop Two. He was trying to keep his eyes off the vampires, but he kept darting glances in their direction. Dahlia could feel Katamori’s body shake with amusement. Humans were so silly about nudity.
“No, no, you two are okay. No bodies in that pool?” asked Cop One, smiling broadly.
“Only ours,” Dahlia said, trying to purr. She did a credible job.
“Probably a prank call,” said Cop One. “Sorry we’re interrupting your evening. We would have been here twenty minutes ago if there hadn’t been a wreck on our exit ramp.”
Weird Detectives Page 55