BiteMarks (5 page)

Marcus shares a joke with a striking female officer, then walks back to the car still grinning at his own wit. The smile clicks back off as soon as we start to move away.

“
Dawn, the girl I was just speaking to, was talking about the vampire case. She reckons they're focusing the investigation on people who lead alternative lifestyles.” He frames the word alternative with an exaggerated hand gesture to indicate speech marks.

“
So when's your interview then?”

“
Look who's talking, Spooky. I know which one of us looks more like they wear a cape in their spare time.”

“
Yeah, but I'm not the openly gay black dwarf with a big mouth here. If there's a witch hunt you'll be tied to the next stake.” 

“
I'm hurt by your comments.” He aims a playful punch at my arm.

“
That's it, you're under arrest for assaulting a police officer, I'm turning you in to the alternative squad.”

We both laugh, grateful of the tension release, as I slow the car to allow a scruffy looking mongrel to trot out of the way. The dog stops to growl at us, squatting to pass further comment on our unwanted presence here, the sound of urine splashing on the pavement is loud through the open window.

“
You don't have to stay remote forever you know.” 

He looks ahead as he speaks, but the pause before I answer is a beat too long.

“
What do you mean?”

“
Don't do that again. I'm not trying to intrude and you're nowhere near cute enough for me to be cracking onto you, but I would like you to consider me a friend.”

“
I do.”

“
Well then treat me like one. Drop the guard and get things off your chest every once in a while. Let's start getting together outside of work for a beer or a pint of embalming fluid, or whatever the hell else you do in your spare time. I've been your partner for months and I know precisely nothing about you outside of work.”

“
Sorry, I'm not used to opening up. I tend to keep my own counsel, but I'll try.”

“
Thanks. With that in mind, you can tell me what's bothering you about this CID case.” He registers my flicker of surprise before continuing, “because I didn't fall out of a tree, so I can tell that you're rattled right now.”

* * *

When I was young I often sat and played scrabble with my father's father. The board we used was old and tattered, with silver duct tape along the fold in the middle to hold it together and letters that had yellowed with exposure to time and tobacco smoke. The yellow matched  the pallor of my grandfather's skin in the lamplight – in any light – and no matter what the time of day, he drank whiskey neat from a chipped tumbler as we played, the glass daubed by smears of greasy fingertips.  You were supposed to add a drop of water to malt whiskey he told me, since that opened up the 'nose', releasing the true flavor and bouquet of the spirit, enhancing your enjoyment; but I never saw him add any. He was generous with his snippets of knowledge, but mostly he talked about the war; rats the size of cats, blood running in rivers and the screams of the dying amongst the dead. I was not upset or disturbed by his stories, even when his eyes would look past me and I could see the haunted sheen of tears. He'd been fifteen when he left to fight, had lied about his age at a time when few questions were asked; a few short years later he had returned home an old man in all but appearance.

I was at the hospital when he died, but I wasn't allowed to see him, which seems a perversely protective act in retrospect. The corridor smelled of swimming pools with the fun extracted, and my little brother slept on our silent mother, who seldom spoke to, or looked at either of us, even in less sombre circumstances. 

Granddad had told me before that there were things that had been done to her that could not be undone, and that in time I would have to learn to accept that she would never be like my friends mothers. I never told him that I had no friends and had therefore never met their mothers for comparison. I already understood that she should be left alone, had learned that lesson instinctively at
about the same time that I had learned to walk and talk.  To pass the time in the corridor I read a book that had been abandoned on the waiting area table, quick to stifle a laugh when I turned it over and saw one of Granddad's giant rats on the cover; I felt her disapproving glare without daring to look up.

Granddad taught me a lot of things, most of which I've never forgotten even a decade and a half after he passed away. He told me that life exists within narrow bands of acceptability, that nobody likes a genius or an idiot because they don't belong between them two bands, and that I might just prove bright enough to conceal the fact that I didn't belong there too. 

“
They're not my words son, but one more thing I've learned over the years is that if you decide that you've got to hit a man, don't just hit him to get his attention and don't just hit him once or you'll end up regretting it,” he'd said and winked with an eye so pale it appeared almost white. “There's nothing wrong with selective truth boy. You decide what people need to know about your business, and tell them when it suits you and not before.”
His world view was harsh and his opinion of other people low, but I listened at all times with rapt attention, learning to be like the man I idolized and absorbing his hard earned wisdom.

* * *

I had agreed to meet up with Marcus after work, promising a straight answer to his direct questions and buying myself more time to decide what version of the truth I was comfortable handing over. He obviously considered my acceptance of social intercourse to be a result judging by his self-satisfied smile, and I was merely grateful for the respite from questioning.

The rest of the day proved to be too busy for me to dwell on it much, but I found time for my thoughts between the howling sirens and flashing lights, revisiting my dead grandfather's words, momentarily blind to the passing urban scenery, a paint pallet smear past the windows. I needed to know more about the 'vampire' investigation after Marcus's comments, specifically whether it might shine an unwelcome light in my small section of the city's alternative underbelly. I counted the minutes until we clocked off for the night, hanging back until the rest had left for home, as soon as they did I headed for the Criminal Investigation Department office.

“
Excuse me, Detective Inspector.”

“
Since there's no-one else in here call me Karen, keep the D.I for the briefing room, Shane.”

I'd never really spoken to Detective Inspector Karen Cobb before. Her work and rank meant little involvement with beat Bobbies on a day to day basis, and the reputation that preceded her didn't invite friendly chat. Here she was disarmingly relaxed and open though, holding my eye for a moment and gauging my reaction to the fact that she knew and had used my first name. 

I notice, briefly, that she wears no rings and that she's a lot prettier when she smiles. “Thank you, Karen. I just wanted to express my desire to apply for a secondment to work for you on CID when the next opportunity arises.”

“
That's pleasing to know, and I'll do what I can to ensure that it happens.”  She smiles again, smoothing a few strands of hair away from her face, and I linger, faking indecision.

“
If there's anything that I can do to help with the current case, the biting attacks I mean, no matter how repetitive or uninteresting, just say the word and I'll be there.”

“
Thanks, Shane, I'm sure with a little thought I can find a use for you.” There's a definite twinkle of intent in her eyes. “I've still got a lot of interesting places to visit, would you believe there's such a thing as the Nottingham Vampire Society? I despair sometimes, honestly.”

“
Nothing surprises me these days, Karen. I've always been an open-minded kind of guy. I'll stop taking your time up now, thanks for hearing me out.” I give her a smile of my own and head for the lockers, removing my shirt to change into civvies before I leave.

“
I forgot to say, put that request in e-mail for me and I'll get it authorized when I get a chance. Oh, and nice tattoos by the way.”  I hadn't realized that she could still see me through the crack in the door, but when I turn around she has already walked away leaving me to laugh softly to myself. This could be interesting and seriously complicated.  

The doors are open but it is still early and there's only one person in, a ruffled looking old man with distant eyes and a nose with a surface of the moon topography. He nurses a flat pint of Guinness and talks to himself angrily. Lee, head of the Nottingham Vampire Society, the barman and owner of the Old Angel, looks up at the sound of my footfalls on the wooden floor. He recognizes me of course, even without the fangs and mouthful of blood, and his face falls; I seldom visit unless there's a private event so he knows that I want something. He greets me with a nod, evidently not in the mood for a man-hug or a smile. I'm hurt.

“
What can I get you?”

“
How about a bloody Mary, extra blood.”

“
Very funny.”

“
No, what I'd actually like is a pint of your finest Guinness and for you to delete all of my membership records from your database in such a way that they never resurface.”

He starts to pull the pint, thinking. “I'm no technical whiz-kid, so I'd probably have to replace my computer to do that. I keep them records for safety and to back up the legitimacy of the society so I'm not breaking any laws.”

“
I'll buy you a new computer, you smash up the old one.”

“
I'm not sure that I want to do that, and there's no point, nobody's interested in the records anyway.”

“
The police will be here soon to talk to you about a spate of vampire attacks in the city. Now I know that you're discreet enough to give them only the official stance on our activities, but they're going to want to speak to each of your members individually too. I don't want to be amongst those listed members so I'm asking you nicely for your assistance.”

“
Why would they be interested in you?”

“
Because I'm a police officer, which means that if anyone does spill the beans about our little soirees then my career's over. It doesn't help that I live where the attacks have been happening either.”

“
You, a cop?”

“
Ain't life just full of surprises?” I take a small bow.

“
In case you're wondering I've got nothing to do with the attacks.”

“
I'll get rid of it, but I'm holding you to that new computer.”

“
Make sure you do.”

I select a couple of tracks on the jukebox and settle in with my pint to await the arrival of Marcus, Lee turning up the volume without needing to be asked, a big fan of Tool himself. Marcus had pulled a face when I'd named the venue at the end of shift, but bitten his tongue for once.

Judging by the loud dance music emanating from his GTi as he pulled out of the car-park, he wouldn't derive much pleasure from the soundtrack in here either, but nobody was forcing him to socialize with me.

I settle back in my chair enjoying the chance to reflect on the weird quirks of my day, of my whole life in fact if I'm honest with myself. The music that I've chosen is perfect for moments of calm reflection, and I try out a few different versions of what I might say to Marcus when he arrives in my head. The words themselves aren't difficult to find, I've always struggled more with attempting to second guess how somebody else might react towards any of the little revelations that I could easily litter my conversation with if I wasn't habitually cautious. For my own amusement I do a couple of mental run-throughs where I reveal some of the seriously juicy stuff to him with no preamble or sugar coating.

We had arranged to meet at eight, but it is approaching half past when he arrives, by which time I'm fast approaching the bottom of my second Guinness and considering a third. It was worth the wait. He enters wearing oversized sunglasses, black jeans and a tight white t-shirt that shows off his neck chain and chest hair. He looks like an escapee from a Wham video and people are openly staring in his direction. Begrudgingly I raise a hand in greeting so he can locate me, now that the place has begun to fill up.

“
I take it you couldn't find a rainbow flag to wrap around your shoulders, maybe an I Love Men sandwich board to complete the look?”

“
Fuck you.”

“
You're welcome.”

He removes his shades and takes a look around. The interior is all peeling red painted flock wallpaper, with dirty black woodwork and a riot of posters printed on bright fluorescent paper advertising various gigs past and present. “You take me to all the nicest places.”

Next time I'll break out the hot-pants and we'll try your local. Still keen to get to know me then?”

“
Yeah, why not? I've got no better offers at the moment. You can be the ugly mate making me look even more gorgeous and improving my chances of success tonight.”