Angel Crawford #2: Even White Trash Zombies Get the Blues (6 page)

“Right now, I’m grateful that no one was hurt,” he continued, giving me what was probably meant to be a warm and caring smile. And perhaps it really was, but I was too wound up at the moment to believe it.

Captain Pierson gave me a measured look. “How about if Detective Roth and I speak to Miss Crawford on our own for a few moments.” He glanced to the coroner. “To get a coherent statement without so many onlookers, you understand.”

Dr. Duplessis seemed only too pleased to be given an excuse to leave. “Yes, of course. Let’s all clear out and let the police do their job.”

Within a minute the room had emptied—with Derrel giving my shoulder a comforting squeeze and a worried look on the way out—leaving only the three of us. I trusted Ben, but the captain scared the crap out of me,
and not only because I had no doubt that he knew my criminal history. He had ice-blue eyes that seemed to take in everything, and I had a feeling he wasn’t the type who could be misled easily, if at all.

He took a seat across from me and laced his fingers together on the table. “Miss Crawford, I want you to tell your story again, please. With your permission, I’d like to record your statement.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Ben pulled out a small digital recorder and set it on the table. “S-E-P-S-O case number twelve dash four nine six three one,” Ben rattled the words out. “Detective Ben Roth and Captain Jeffrey Pierson interviewing Angel Crawford.” He gave me another slight smile, then sat back.

“Miss Crawford,” Pierson said, “please tell us in your own words what happened tonight.”

I did. Again. Detailed the whole goddamn thing, the whole three minutes of it—or however long it lasted. And then Pierson asked me to go through it again, but this time he kept stopping me and asking me to clarify points, or he’d repeat parts back to me to make sure he had it right. Sometimes I had to correct him. By the fourth or fifth time I went through it, I was absolutely certain that I’d changed my story or was starting to imagine parts of it. And I was hungry. Oh fucking lord, was I ever hungry. Why the hell hadn’t I chugged some brains before calling 911? Why on earth had it mattered that I not heal up the cuts? It sure hadn’t helped them believe my story. I kept my hands clasped in my lap since I was terrified that my fingernails would start falling off, just from the stress.

“Look,” I finally said, “I think it’s important that this whole thing seemed…professional.”

Pierson lifted an eyebrow at me. “Professional bodysnatchers?”

I fought back the urge to scowl at him. “No. I mean, the guy wasn’t nervous at all. He was calm and cool, and the whole thing seemed almost rehearsed. I mean, with how smoothly he pulled it off.” I shrugged. “He was waiting for me, and if the fucking cameras had been working you could have seen that. I came straight from the death scene, so somehow he knew I was heading here with the body. He didn’t have long to prepare, and it was fucking flawless.”

Ben tapped his chin. “Tell us again what he said.”

God. This would be like the fourth or fifth time. “He said, ‘The body. Open the cooler and give it to me or I’ll kill you.’ But he said it super calm-like. I mean, like he was asking about the weather.”

“Did he have any sort of accent?” Pierson asked.

I thought for a second. “No. No accent at all.”

Ben let out a soft snort. “Well, that in itself tells us a lot in these parts.”

“Right,” I said, straightening. “He didn’t sound like he was from around here.”

Ben jotted some notes onto the pad in front of him. “You said he wore a mask, but is there anything else you can tell us about him? How tall was he? Eye color? Build?”

I rubbed at my eyes. “Um, his eyes were dark. I mean, not blue. I guess brown or dark hazel? And he was taller than me, but that doesn’t take a whole lot. Well built. I mean, like definitely in shape. Not pudgy.”

Ben scraped his chair back and stood and motioned to me to do the same. I complied, and he stuck his finger out in a fake gun. “About my height? Or taller?”

“Taller, definitely.”

Ben looked over to the Captain, who stood without asking. He was at least a head taller than Ben. “His height?”

I felt self-conscious as all hell, but I went ahead and stood in front of him. I didn’t ask him to pretend to hold a gun on me though. That would have just been weird as shit.

“Not quite as tall as him,” I told Ben, returning to my side of the table. “About somewhere in between.”

“All right then,” he said with a smile. “It’s a start.”

I didn’t think it was much of a start, but I wasn’t about to say anything.

Pierson leaned forward and clicked the recorder off. I looked up at him warily.

“Thank you, Angel,” he said, surprising me with the use of my first name. “We appreciate your help.”

“Do you believe me?” I asked him bluntly.

He pushed his chair back in. “I do not believe you are attempting to deceive me,” he said with a tight smile, then gave Ben a nod before moving to the door. But he stopped with his hand on the doorknob and turned back to me. “One more question, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t say anything about being afraid that he would shoot you,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “Why is that?”

“I, um, was just shocked more than anything.” A cold hard knot began to form in my belly. I wasn’t stupid—I
could see how my apparent lack of fear could possibly be read as my being somehow involved.

“Of course,” he said. He gave me an understanding smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s a good thing you were able to keep calm. The last thing any of us want is another body.”

I gave a stiff nod. I didn’t really trust my voice at the moment.

Pierson opened the door, but before he could exit Marcus slipped in and made a beeline for me. “You okay?” he said, gaze sweeping over me as if to check for himself that I was free of pesky bullet holes. “I just heard about the holdup.”

“I’m fine,” I said, feeling absurdly self-conscious. I thought for an instant he was going to lean in and kiss me, but he apparently thought better of doing so in front of the others. Instead he simply gave my arm a squeeze. Over his shoulder I could see the Captain eyeing him with a slightly narrowed gaze. But to my relief, Pierson continued on out, with Ben right behind him. “I’m fine,” I repeated as the door swung shut. “It’s cool.”

“Good to know,” Marcus said. He gave a sigh of relief, then pulled me into a hug. I allowed myself to relax against him. “You need to eat more,” he murmured. “Weird shit is going on, and now’s not the time to be at less than full strength.” He pulled back and held my shoulders while he looked intently into my face. “I know you’re trying to ration your supply, but I can always help you out if you get into a bind.”

“I know. I was just about to. And you’re right.” He’d always been more than willing to share, but I’d decided shortly after we started seeing each other that I would
only hit him up for brains if I had no other choice. I didn’t want to be dependent on him—or anyone. “Look,” I said, “there was something weird about that dead security guard.”

“Weird how?”

“Well, he had a fractured skull, and I was pretty hungry, but I couldn’t smell his brains.”

A frowned tugged at his mouth. “Are you sure? Maybe it wasn’t fractured enough for you to be able to tell.”

I shook my head. “It was fractured. Trust me. I could see pieces moving around under the scalp. And back at the lab I was hungry enough to smell brains in living people.” Hell, I still was. The little bit that I’d chugged in the van had been more than used up during this whole incident.

The troubled expression on his face deepened. “I don’t know, Angel. You shouldn’t let yourself get so hungry—it affects your thinking and judgment.”

I tamped down my growing irritation. “Yeah, I know that, but it wasn’t so bad before the holdup. I had some in the van on the way over. I think stress burned a bunch up.”

He shoved a hand through his hair. “The only reason I can think that you wouldn’t be able to smell the brains is if he was a zombie. But that’s not possible. He was definitely dead-for-real. The paramedics ran a strip on him and everything.”

“How do you know he wasn’t a zombie?” I asked. “I don’t think that the EKG strip showing he was dead is enough proof he wasn’t. When you were shot I’m pretty sure you didn’t have a heartbeat.” Or maybe he did, I
thought, suddenly unsure. It wasn’t as if I stopped and checked. Ed shot Marcus right in the head, and as soon as I scared Ed off I grabbed Marcus up and hightailed it back to my car where I proceeded to stuff him full of brains. Thankfully it worked.

“I’m simply saying that I think it’s more likely your sense of smell was off.” He gave me a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring, but he was seriously misjudging my mood and the day I’d had.

I pulled back from him, narrowed my eyes. “Seriously? My sense of smell was off? Marcus, are you fucking kidding me? I was just held up at gunpoint. Some mercenary motherfucker stole the body, and now I’m telling you that there was something weird about it. Why the hell won’t you believe me?”

“I’m sorry.” He grimaced. “You’re right. I guess I was really wanting this to be something random—”

“You weren’t here when I was describing this guy and what he did,” I said, planting my hands on my hips. “Dude, it wasn’t just some random asshole grabbing a body for shits and giggles. This guy was some kind of fucking pro. He fucking zip-tied me!” I held up my bandaged wrists for emphasis.

He took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m sorry. Then there must be some explanation.” Yet there was still a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “I won’t say that I know everything about zombies but, the thing is, a fractured skull is pretty minor for one of us. And his body would have started rotting while it worked to fix up the fracture. Does that make sense? He was just…a corpse.”

Reluctantly, I nodded. “Okay, so maybe not a zombie.
But there was still something wrong with his brain. I
know
that.” Maybe the guy had cancer? But, no, I’d seen—and smelled—cancer-ridden brains before.

“I believe you,” he said. “I swear. And my uncle is the person to ask why that might be.” He smiled and squeezed my shoulders. “So it’s a good thing we’re going to see him tomorrow, right?”

I heaved a sigh. “Right. I’m really looking forward to it. Can’t wait.”

He laughed, pulled me into a hug. “You’re a shitty liar.”

“Don’t know why. I’ve had tons of practice.”

Marcus insisted on walking me out to the parking lot, which was more than fine with me. I retrieved my lunchbox and purse from the van and slugged down the rest of the brain smoothie as I walked to my little Honda Civic. By the time I reached my car the cuts on my wrists had healed up, and my mood in general was much improved.

My dad’s truck wasn’t in the driveway when I got home. I sat there for a minute without getting out of the car while I looked at the house and considered my options. Dad and I had spent the last two weeks getting the house cleaned up a bit, though there was still a long way to go. The crushed beer cans “paving” the driveway had taken three full days to rake up and get into bags, and I’d borrowed a weed whacker from Marcus and managed to tear through about a quarter of the overgrown weeds in the side yard before running out of the string. It’s also possible there’d been plenty of string left and that I quit
and ran shrieking when I uncovered a snake that was in the process of eating a mouse.

The first thing I saw was that the bags of crushed cans were gone from the porch. I had zero doubt that Dad had taken them down to the recycling center to see what cash he could get for them. Probably a decent amount, considering how many we’d had. However, I also knew that the recycling center closed at six, and it was almost midnight now.

Dad didn’t have a job. And I was pretty sure he wasn’t out buying groceries, not at this hour.

I silently measured my exhaustion level, then sighed, backed out, and headed down the highway. I didn’t really expect to see his truck at Pillar’s Bar, but I was a bit surprised that it wasn’t at Kaster’s, his usual hangout.
Of course he knows I’ll be looking for him.

I finally spotted the beat up truck at Puzzles Bar. I almost didn’t see it, and if I hadn’t been looking hard I certainly wouldn’t have spied it parked all the way in the back and tucked behind the dumpster. I pulled into the lot, but once again, didn’t immediately get out. Should I even go in and confront him? Or, maybe not even confront him, but….

Shit
. I squeezed my eyes shut and rested my forehead on the steering wheel. This was going to suck no matter what I did. I could ignore the fact that he was drinking—ignoring it was what I’d pretty much always done, ’cause, godalmighty, it was so much easier and less stressful and less painful.

But that’s what I’ve always done. Hey, Angel, how’d that work out for ya?

Sighing, I turned off the engine and got out of my car.
Either way this was going to suck, but this way I was in control of the suck.

At least that’s what I told myself.

The interior was lit primarily with various neon beer signs and the two TVs positioned at either corner of the long bar. It wasn’t a big place. It didn’t need much more. The bar itself was about twenty feet long, but there was only room for four tables beyond that. This was the sort of place you went by yourself, when all you wanted to do was sit and drink and pretend to watch TV.

Dad saw me pretty much as soon as I saw him. I watched the emotions crawl across his face—shame, anger, defiance, resignation. Hell, it was like the stages of grief.

I plastered a smile onto my face and headed toward him. The smile caught him off guard; it was clear he was expecting me to be pissed or resentful. And I was, but I wasn’t about to show it.

“Hey, Dad,” I said as I slid onto the stool next to him. “Saw your truck as I was driving by and figured I’d come in and say hi.”

He looked confused, but only for an instant. He wasn’t stupid by any stretch. “Yeah, right. You saw the cans gone, you knew I had money. How many bars you check before y’found me?”