Graveyard Shift

by Michael F. Haspil

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  About the Author

  Copyright Page

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  For my wife, Penny.

  And to M. & M. for getting me out of São Paulo in one piece.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  During the long and circuitous route this book has taken to publication, I had the pleasure of inflicting it upon numerous souls generous enough to read its varied incarnations. I apologize in advance to anyone I’ve accidentally left off this list. Rest assured that your contribution helped make this novel what it is today. To Mark Davis, whose mid shift screenplay scene conversations inspired Gail’s unfortunate fate and planted the seed of what would grow into this story (hopefully, the South will rise again in “Southern Blood”—coming to a drive-in near you). To Bree Ervin, who was the first volunteer to read an embarrassingly raw early draft and patiently provide feedback, thank you. To my parents, Frantz and Liliane, for encouraging a love of books and always ensuring I was well read. To my siblings, Nicky and Thierry, for putting up with my insane rants and providing geographical feedback regarding the greater Miami area. To the myriad other readers, some of whom subjected themselves to multiple drafts: Taylor Sims, Anita Romero, Jessica West-Fields, Naomi Brown, Laura Paulini, Jennifer Powelson, Connie Doyle, Thomas Transue, Brian Kotek, Dave and Rochelle Tisinai, John Riden, Lisa Louden, Carissa Cline, Bobby Veazey, Kathryn Veazey, Susan Boucher, Kenny Boucher, Michael Rothman, Teya Hajek, Jeanne Stein, Vickilynn Rivera, Tim Baptist, and Jennifer Meadows. To Michael Stackpole for his classes at Gen Con and “The Secrets” newsletter, and Graham McNeill for convincing me I could actually do this thing. To Mario Acevedo, thanks for the awesome blurb, brother. To all the great folks at Pikes Peak Writers and the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers. To all the Veterans of the Long War who helped support this project. The Emperor Protects. To my critique group, the Highlands Ranch Fiction Writers, a.k.a. “Because Magic” (Lisa Hawker, Vicki Pierce, Claire Fishback, Marc Graham, Laura Main, Nicole Greene, Chris Scena, Deirdre Byerly, Lynn Bisesi, and Chloe Hawker) I couldn’t have done this without you, and I’m still working on that race of atomic supermen to help us conquer the world. Special thanks to my editor, Moshe Feder, my copyeditor, Terry McGarry (who saved my bacon several times in this novel), Diana Pho, and the entire team at Tor who toiled to get this book through all the wickets and bring it to market.

  Supreme thanks to my inimitable agent, Sara Megibow, who has more patience than the communion of saints. This is but the first step toward world domination!

  Wer mit Ungeheuern kämpft, mag zusehn, dass er nicht dabei zum Ungeheuer wird. Und wenn du lange in einen Abgrund blickst, blickt der Abgrund auch in dich hinein.

  He who fights with monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.

  —Friedrich Nietzsche, Jenseits von Gut und Böse (Beyond Good and Evil), Aphorism 146

  1

  Wednesday, August 11, 8:45 A.M.

  No sign of forced entry.

  Detective Alex Romer took in that detail as an afterthought. He pulled on the sky-blue Tyvek booties and crossed into the air-conditioned crime scene, his footsteps making muffled sounds on the Florida Tile flooring. People here had dollars, which meant they had influence, which meant scrutiny and associated headaches. Which told Alex he was making a start on ruining the new day.

  This was Coral Gables, an affluent suburb of Miami, and it was too early to be investigating a murder. The house was just big enough that it might garner envy from most people, but it didn’t stand out in this neighborhood. A large central stairway dominated the foyer and wound its way upward. Alex thought there should have been skylights and massive picture windows framed by tall palms to offer a carefully calculated peep show of privacy. Hidden conspicuous wealth was an oxymoron.

  The entire entrance should have been drowning in sunlight. Most vampires didn’t like that.

  The place smelled pungent.

  Garlic. Concentrated. Way beyond what anyone would use for cooking. And something else. Vinegar with a hint of baking soda.

  Bright artificial light streamed from the next room, where people murmured in concerned voices. The forensic services unit had brought in portable lights and set up before they’d thought to call him. That was odd. They were moving very quickly, which complicated things. Now he’d have to explain everything to these kids like it was Day One.

  With a grimace, he set off for the lighted room. As he stepped toward it, an impressive oil painting came into view. It was the ninth trump of the Major Arcana of the Tarot, The Hermit, holding his lantern aloft as a beacon encircled by encroaching gloom. The painting depicted the scene as if the lantern’s powerful beams were actively battling the darkness—not simply traversing it, but piercing it, lancing it … laying waste to it.

  It was more than just a masterly rendition; it was a symbol. It was the sigil of the Lightbearer Society. Since the Reveal, the Lightbearer Society had purportedly been helping both established vampires and the newly turned integrate into mundane society. “The Reveal,” that’s what everyone called it. The global event when vampires had flung aside their cloaks of secrecy and darkness to brave the scrutiny of the proverbial light. It was just the Reveal. The Lightbearers were dirty as hell and had money and influence to spare. Headaches free of charge.

  Shit.

  Well, now he knew why everyone was Johnny-on-the-spot this morning. That’s why they hadn’t waited for him to arrive.

  A voice interrupted his thoughts. “When you’re done admiring the art, we could use your help with the vic. You know, anytime that’s convenient for you.”

  Alex took in the man who’d spoken. Detective. Wearing a cheap suit off the rack. The suit implied professionalism, but Alex knew better. Still, it was more professional than the loose khakis and light green camp shirt he wore.

  “You’re Nocturn Affairs, right?” The man barely hid the scorn in his voice.

  Alex raised his eyebrows as if to say, “What do you think?” He held up his badge and ID.

  “Nocturn.” There was that word. Since the vampires weren’t going away anytime soon, the politically correct folks wanted the V-word to become a no-no now. They’d come up with “nocturn.” A lazy truncation of Homo nocturnus. Alex didn’t like it. The word sanitized the reality. It was a kind of lie. He supposed that in some people’s eyes that made him a bigot. But he’d been in the business far too long to change his ways now, and despite all the Lightbearer Society’s propaganda, he knew vampires for what they were—ruthless and bloodthirsty.

  “What’ve we got?” Alex asked.

  “Female. Apparent age mid-thirties. She’s one of yours. Got herself decapitated.”

  That was all the city
needed right now. Tensions ready to bubble over and a high-profile vampire murder. Everyone would go ballistic.

  There was a bit too much activity in the house right now. Alex needed to clear it out.

  “Think I can get some time alone?” Alex asked.

  One of the forensic techs, who was prepping a doorjamb to lift prints, addressed the cheap-suited detective. “Perez. Your scene. Your call.”

  Perez hesitated.

  “Ten minutes,” Alex said.

  “Take five, guys,” Perez said.

  The tech nodded and walked outside, sweeping up the rest of his team in his wake.

  Alex looked at the doorjamb the tech had been working. They’d find nothing here. He formed a theory of events and knelt down. He felt the edge of a rug that led into the room. It was still damp.

  He sniffed. Garlic and vinegar. Bingo, here was the source of that scent.

  “You think you might take a look for yourself?” Perez prodded. “After all, you came all the way down here.”

  Alex allowed himself a small laugh, answering sarcasm with sarcasm. “Yeah, what could it hurt, right?”

  He stood and walked into the room, stepping over and around dried blood splatter. The pattern spoke volumes. There wasn’t nearly as much blood as one would presume from a decapitation, but Alex had been expecting that. Vampire physiology released blood rather reluctantly.

  The room itself was more of a pass-through with a doorway at the other end leading farther into the house. A glorified short hallway. Choke point. There were two small tables against each wall at the midpoint. One still held a fancy white vase. Blue filigree swirled around it. Its partner hadn’t been so lucky, and shards of no doubt rare porcelain littered the tiles and the rug.

  An investigator from the county coroner’s office leaned over a woman’s headless body. The woman had been fit. She was a vampire, after all. She was wearing a red power–suit jacket-and-skirt combination with designer boots to match.

  “Cause of death?”

  “Don’t be a wise-ass. It’s too early for your bullshit,” the investigator answered without looking up.

  “Rivera, always a pleasure. Where’s her head?”

  Rivera tilted his head in the direction of a covered mound a few feet away.

  “Mind if I have a look?”

  “Well, that’s why we got your happy ass down here, isn’t it?”

  Alex stepped over the body, crouched down, and lifted the covering from the head.

  He looked into the face of an until recently attractive redhead, her skin already turning waxy.

  “Does she look familiar to you?” Alex asked.

  “Yeah. Can’t quite place it though.”

  “Maybe Lelith? She’s kind of dead ringer, right? Pun intended,” Alex said.

  Lelith was the spokesperson for and figurehead of the Lightbearer Society. Very smart, very hot, and Alex bet she landed somewhere near the evil end of the whole good-bad scale.

  “Now that you mention it, yeah,” Rivera agreed.

  This woman wasn’t Lelith, but she sure looked like her. Alex was betting that was why they’d killed her, and more importantly, he guessed that was why she’d been here in the first place. Decoy.

  He looked at the severing cut. Two strikes, three at most. Whatever had done it had been razor sharp.

  “Machete?” Alex guessed.

  “Yeah, or something like it. What makes you think that?” Rivera answered.

  “It’s what I would have used. Common enough. Doesn’t mess around. They were scared. Couldn’t take chances. Had to do it quick.”

  “They?” Perez asked from the doorway. “Multiple people did this. If I were to guess, I’d say three or four. You smelled that stink coming in, right? You think anyone cooks with garlic that concentrated? Especially her?”

  “Hard to smell anything over your aftershave,” Rivera said.

  Alex let the covering drop back over the severed head, stood, and gestured toward the far door.

  “All bullshit aside, Rivera, you were in here before me. Let me run through it for you. They let her walk in and get far into the house. House like this is sure to have an alarm. So they disabled it and reset it so she could turn it off. Make her think nothing’s wrong. That tells us it was planned. But they killed the wrong lady, so that tells us it was a target of opportunity.”

  “Wait. What? How is she the wrong lady?” Perez asked.

  “They were going after Lelith. When we check, we’ll find this house belongs to the Lightbearer Society. That’s what the painting out there tells us. Lelith’s their grand pooh-bah. You know, from all the PSAs about ‘Truth Not Myth.’”

  “Yeah, yeah, the whole superhelpful, ‘I’m a nocturn and I do blah blah blah’ people,” Perez said. The Lightbearers ran commercials day and night to improve the overall vampire image. Not that they really needed to; the last several decades of pop culture had done enough of that while vampires were still in the myth category.

  “You got it. Technically, we probably need to inform Lelith her life is in danger. Make it all official-like. But she knows, that’s why she sent this youngblood. Hmm…”

  Alex drifted off, caught up in his own speculations. That didn’t quite add up. If Lelith knew it was a trap, why not send enforcers in her place or a strike team? It didn’t make sense to let the double get killed. He was missing something.

  Alex continued, “they let her walk in. Past here. She should have seen it coming, smelled them or heard them, but she didn’t. So we know she was a youngblood. An oldblood like Lelith would never have fallen for it. So, she sees something through there, scares her enough to try and run for it. Again, an oldblood wouldn’t have run and even a youngblood wouldn’t run from just one or two people. So we know there were more than that.” Alex stopped to see if the two other men were following his reasoning. They showed no sign either way. He continued to run through his idea of the crime.

  “So she runs through here. Perfect choke point. One way in, but no way out. Because someone is standing right over there.” Alex pointed to where Perez stood framed in the doorway.

  “They hit her with some O.C.—that garlic Mace. That’s what you’ll find when you get the carpet analyzed. Homemade, but industrial strength, is my bet. Anyway, they hit her with the Mace. But they can’t take any chances. If it really is Lelith, she can still tear them apart and be none the worse for wear. That’s when he hit her from behind.”

  “Who?” Rivera asked.

  “Whoever cut off her head. Strong, too. He came up behind, grabbed her by the hair. And then…” Alex pantomimed the action. “One. Two. Quick. Room’s not quite wide enough for someone that big to fully swing a sword at speed. But with a machete, not all that hard.”

  “Sounds like you could have done it yourself,” Perez said.

  Alex ignored him. The man didn’t know how right he was. Alex had done it hundreds of times. For nearly three-quarters of a century he had been part of a secret program. The code names changed more often than he bothered to track. The operators all called it UMBRA, the original name from the aftermath of World War II, when it had begun. Project UMBRA. The name stuck. Alex had been part of a deadly hunter-killer squad the OSS, the CIA, and finally the National Security Agency employed to “neutralize” vampires. Once, that would have sounded crazy to civilians, but that was before Hemo-Synth, before the Reveal. That was before the Supreme Court had given thousands of vampires sanctuary and citizenship and the NSA suddenly had a genocidal embarrassment on their hands they wanted to erase. UMBRA went away in a hurry. So now, Alex worked vice, and occasionally, homicide.

  Rivera interrupted. “That’s not how it went down. Blood spatter is all wrong.” He pointed at the severed neck. “This wound was postmortem.”

  “That’s ’cause you’re expecting arterial blood flow. Vampires don’t have that.”

  “Shit.” Rivera leaned back from the body and nodded in acknowledgment. “You guys really need your own ME.”

/>   “Yeah, I know. We need a lot. Let’s hope the whole bureau thing comes through, huh?”

  Rivera ignored him. Instead, the man went over his notes, scratched out whole portions, and began making corrections.

  “Not your fault, Rivera. How many of these have you worked?” Alex said.

  “First one.” Rivera continued scrawling down notes.

  It had only been two years since the Reveal. Alex could only think of three other local cases during that time where a vampire had been the victim. And one of those was all the way up in Osceola, so it hardly counted as local.

  Perez stepped over the body and squeezed past Alex. “There’s something you need to see.”

  Alex followed him deeper into the house. A crime-scene investigator took a series of pictures in the next room. Another bank of portable lights glared at a wall.

  “We’ll be out of your hair in a sec,” Rivera told the man.

  Alex looked at the subject of the photographs, a grouping of straight lines spray-painted in red across the bone-colored wall.

  Two parallel vertical lines bisected by a single horizontal. Superimposed upon them were two Vs, one upright and one inverted—like a rudimentary Masonic symbol.

  It was the calling card of Abraham, a notorious serial killer who’d left a bloody swath of vampire victims across Europe and three American cities.

  Complications aplenty.

  Shitstorms galore.

  Day ruined.

  No one had figured out how Abraham overcame the vampires. Now Alex had a pretty good idea. Abraham wasn’t just one guy.

  “So, the Nocturn Killer has come to Miami?” Perez used the name the press had given the murderer.

  Alex’s phone rang, the ring tone way too upbeat for the circumstances.

  He didn’t need to deal with this today. The Lightbearers would have their people on it. Alex had problems of his own.

  “No. See the false start on the paint line there?” Alex pointed to the top of one of the lines, where it was clear the painter had started again. “Who called this in? Money says it was an anonymous tip. Probably the killers themselves. They throw this up to muddy the waters and stir everyone up. I’m pretty sure it’s a copycat.”