Blood Hunt (34 page)

“
I don’t think anyone planned it,” Garreth said. “In ‘78, when Mayor Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk were assassinated in San Francisco, somewhere between twenty-five and forty thousand people spontaneously gathered in Castro Street and walked to City Hall in a candlelight vigil. They didn’t plan; it just happened.” He eyed the slow procession. “It almost makes you believe in a universal consciousness.”

Duncan grimaced. “That sounds like California hippie mumbo-jumbo. But,” he added, “I have to say the whole damn town has been like this today. God knows how Lebekov found those violations she wrote up. Come and see 282.”

Garreth had seen plenty of these yard and streetside memorials before. Still, he followed Duncan out to the highway. And caught his breath.

The memorial stretched along both sides of the highway, in front of the Co-op, just short of blocking its entrance, and at Hammond’s across the road. Piles of flowers, photographs wrapped in plastic against the rain, the inevitable candles — doused by the rain except for several in small lanterns. Hand-painted signs with Jonah and Diane’s names established the Co-op side as Jonah’s and the Hammond side for Diane. Jonah’s side included Timberwolf flags, a basketball jersey, and several basketballs; Diane’s, photos of her sitting on a bay horse and bending around a big oil drum on the same horse, cowboy hats, plastic trophies, toy horses.

“
Jonah was the Timberwolves’ star guard,” Duncan said. “My niece keeps begging my sister for a horse so she can barrel race like the Barnes girl. I guess she was good.”

As Garreth pulled away, car lights appeared in his rear view mirror and stopped for a passenger to leave yet more flowers for Jonah. When he passed the Barnes and Wiltz houses later, lights shone from all the downstairs rooms and cars lined their streets. Everyone in town coming to offer condolences it looked like. Including Martin Lebekov. Garreth recognized the Caravan outside the Wiltz house...reminding him this was the second Wiltz death in a week.

Through the evening Garreth mused that the silent cruise did reflect the town mood, as Duncan said. Even in the bars. He took not one drunk and disorderly complaint. Either the usual weekend hard drinkers were doing so quietly or had gone somewhere livelier.

A whole town in mourning. It awed him. The Moscone/Milk murders had shaken San Francisco and produced that massive walk to City Hall, and brought thousands to view the bodies lying in state at City Hall, but it had not shut down the city. Once the cruise petered out, Duncan went off duty, and the bars closed, the graveyard silence of last night enveloped Baumen. Again he seemed the only living — undead — thing walking Kansas or driving through the rest of town. And the rain drizzled gently but steadily.

Like angels weeping.

Who had he heard say that? Probably Grandma Doyle.

Maybe the mood soaked into him, too. He just knew he finished the easiest shift of his career totally exhausted. So on reaching home and finding Maggie on his steps again, this time in civilian clothes, leaning against the garage sound asleep under her slicker, his first impulse was to slip up the stairs past her.

Instead he shook her awake. “Maggie.”

She started, eyes widening and ears reddening. “Oh! Oh my god.” She jumped to her feet.

“
Are you all right?”

“
Yes, fine! I was just walking and...” Her voice trailed off...casting for an excuse to be here?

He knew why she came...drawn by some vampire pheromone for luring prey. The reason Lane’s one-night stands came begging for more. Even Velvet wanted another go with him, and prostitutes did not enjoy sex. And of course he had strained toward Lane’s mouth in that alley, welcoming her lips, tongue, teeth.

“
I mean,” Maggie said hurriedly, “I needed to tell you we’ve cancelled the waffle and sausage feed. It’s always a kind of celebration with family and friends and...I — we — just don’t feel like — Anyway, it’s off.” She started down steps. “I’ll go now.”

He blocked her with an arm. “Please don’t. Come in.”

“
No!” She shoved at his arm. Her voice tightened. “I’m not looking for another pity fuck!”

Was that her assessment of it. Why did she beat up on herself? “Did you ever consider I might have needed last night as much as you did?” Maybe he did, remembering how good it felt holding her afterward.

“
I didn’t need...” she began heatedly, then broke off to frown suspiciously at him. “You...?”

Could he stand ripping open the old wound for her benefit? “My wife died in a traffic accident last year. Sometimes you need to be reminded you’re alive.” More or less.

Maggie caught her breath. “Your wife... I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” Instantly sympathetic.

He nodded. “Let’s have tea.”

A hand under her elbow steered her up the steps and inside, where they hung their slickers on the coat rack. He put mugs of water in the microwave again and — oh, hell, he might as well — reached into the fridge for blood.

“
What’s that?” she asked.

Of course she would ask. “A liquid protein health and energy drink.” Deal with this head on. Avoid any suggestion of furtiveness. “Try some.” He poured a little into a glass.

She swirled the glass and sniffed. “It looks like blood.”

Jump in with both feet. “It has beef blood in it.” When she wrinkled her nose he said, “There are African tribes who drink a blood and milk mixture as a regular part of their diet. But it is an acquired taste.”

She sipped, grimaced, and pushed away the glass. “It isn’t a taste I want to acquire.”

Which should make his supply safe from further curiosity on her part. She had not even asked where the beef blood came from.

He finished off the blood in the glass, to her obvious disgust, then brought her tea from the microwave and sat down with his. “Look, last night we...comforted each other. Think of it like that.” She started to speak, to protest, from her expression, and he cut her off with: “It’s a human need. I know an ex-hooker in San Francisco who made very good money in World War II meeting that need for soldiers and sailors on leave or shipping out maybe to die. So what happened doesn’t reflect weakness in you. Like I said before, you have bigger balls than many cops I’ve known. Or were you afraid I’d write your name on the restroom wall.”

She went bright red. “I...ah...I...no, I never thought anything like that.”

He smiled at her. “For a cop you’re a terrible liar. But I understand, since you don’t know me well enough to have a better opinion of me than that.”

The red deepened. “I’m sorry. I guess I should get to know you better.”

“
I’d like that.”

She eyed him for several moments, then suddenly stood, with the look of someone acting before she lost her nerve, and unbuttoned her jeans. “These are wet. Can I dry them before I leave?”

Even given the vampire lure, that surprised him. Still, to be a gentleman, he should rise to the occasion, right? He stood, too. “Do you need help out of them?”

This time they unfolded the bed, and in comfort, proceeded slowly, exploring each other. Though they ended as fiercely and explosively as last night.

“
Wow!” Maggie collapsed on him. “Wow!” Rolling off, she snuggled against him. “Yee-haw.”

It had to be the vampire thing. Not even Marti, unstinting in her enthusiasm, ever gave him a wow yee-haw. Nice to know unlife had one benefit.

He did not remember falling asleep, but woke near sunset to find a note by the pillow.
Your energy drink certainly seems to work for you. It may not be to my taste but you are. I think, and hope I’m not misjudging you again, that we need to “comfort” each other regularly. And maybe even find a time we can go on an actual date. I tried waking you before I left for Mass, but you were dead to the world. I could hardly tell you were breathing. See you at the station. Maggie.

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She saw him...but other than giving him a warm and breezy greeting — countering the continued drizzle outside — said nothing hinting at last night, nor indicated any change in their relationship with her body language. Then she came out of the locker room with her purse and paused to eye Nat, standing at the forms rack dropping reports into the Return To Officer box.

“
I never noticed before, Sarge, but you have a nice butt. Yours isn’t bad either, Mikaelian.”

And took off down the hall, out the rear entrance.

Nat and Sue Ann stared after her. Garreth made himself do likewise while grinning inwardly. Nice move, making him an “afterthought” in her wisecrack. He had no trouble accepting the way she wanted to play this. Around here he doubted it could be kept quiet long, but when they were found out, Maggie might be ready for the smart remarks and tasteless practical jokes sure to follow.

“
That’s a first,” Nat said. “I wonder what got into her.”

“
Or who,” Sue Ann said.

Garreth ticked his tongue. “Don’t tell me you think getting laid is the answer to whatever ails a woman.”

“
Yes,” she shot back, “...and for whatever ails a man, too. I know it’s always good for my Leland’s tension.” She wiggled her brows, then narrowed her eyes at him. “Wouldn’t hurt you, either, Garreth.”

“
I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, and escaped before she saw more than he wanted.

Rain continued until about three, giving him another quiet shift. With Maggie waiting for him in the dark in his apartment when he reached home.

She blushed. “Helen Schoning stopped me outside the municipal court today and gave me a key. She said she’s afraid I’ll catch pneumonia on the steps. I’ll give it back if you don’t want me to have it.”

He considered. The idea of anyone being able to walk in while he slept and was vulnerable chilled him. But was that any different than letting himself go to sleep with her still there? “Keep it.”

Only when she sighed did he realize she had been holding her breath waiting for his answer. “Helen also asked if you will please drive your car to work tomorrow, even if it isn’t raining, and park on her side of the drive when you come home. Why?”

“
So a friend can use the garage.”

Her eyes widened. “A — Helen is — ”

“
As entitled to her privacy as I’m sure she feels we are. So you can be reassured no one will hear about us from her just as I never look to see if I know her friends’ cars. Now, how do you rate the rest of the butts in the BPD?”

15

It rained again for his Monday shift. Maggie did not come over and the bed already felt empty without her.

Tuesday dawned with a clear blue sky, crisp autumn air, and leaves glowing incandescent yellow and red. Tuesday Baumen buried Diane and Jonah.

Garreth made himself wake up and attend the funerals. Not exactly ordered to, but the memo Danzig posted on Monday made his feelings clear.

I think it would be a mark of respect, and demonstration that this department’s regard for accident victims and their families goes beyond working those accidents, if as many officers as possible attend the Barnes and Wiltz services, in uniform. My family and I will be there.

So Garreth made sure he was, too...uniform crisp, gear belt polished. And went well fed to curb hunger amid all that blood scent. They held Jonah’s service in the morning. PD officers and their families sat in a block. Counting noses — Danzig, Lieutenant Kaufman, Nat, Maggie, Duncan — Garreth wondered who was minding the store besides Bill Pfannenstiel.

Reserve Officer Chuck George it appeared, who drove the patrol car leading the procession from the packed First Christian Church to Mount of Olives cemetery.

Diane’s service came in the afternoon, at the equally crowded St. Thomas More Catholic church...where a horse blanket covered with show ribbons, mostly blue or purple, draped the casket. Pfannenstiel replaced Duncan in the PD contingent, though Garreth spotted the woman and teenage girl who had attended Jonah’s funeral with Duncan — his sister and the niece who wanted to barrel race like Diane — elsewhere in the congregation. He sat next to Maggie. During the service, her hands and jaw clenched with the effort of keeping her composure. He put a hand over the near fist, and her hand turned to interlace fingers tightly with his. Beyond her, Garreth saw Martin Lebekov notice and smile.

Since the cemetery lay just across from the church, they had no vehicle procession. Everyone walked. Sterling-Weiss had a vintage buckboard waiting in front of the church, draped in black. It carried the casket, still covered by the horse blanket, across to the cemetery. Followed by a bay horse tacked in western saddle and bridle with cowboy boots turned backward in the stirrups like a military funeral, then the rest of the mourners. At the grave site, John and Anita Sterling folded the horse blanket and presented it to Diane’s parents like a flag.

Garreth did not see a dry eye in the house, including his.

Maggie had the bed unfolded when he reached home after his shift. Not for sex this time, but to cuddle against him and talk about the pain of losing her mother to breast cancer when Maggie was fifteen. Holding her, he thought of his father accusing him of burying himself here. There were, he reflected, far worse places to be buried.

16