Bloody Bones (7 page)

“Are you telling me you can't raise zombies, either?” She shook her head. “If you can't help us then go home, Ms. Blake.”

I glanced at Larry. He gave a small shrug. He still looked shaky. I don't think he had the energy yet to tell me to behave myself. Or maybe he was as tired of Freemont as I was.

“I could raise them as zombies, Sergeant, but you have to have a mouth and a working throat to talk with.”

“They could write it down,” Freemont said.

It was a good suggestion. It made me think better of her. If she was a good cop, I could put up with a little hostility. As long as I never had to see another set of bodies like the ones below, I could put up with a lot of hostility.

“Maybe, but the dead often lose higher brain function faster after a traumatic death. They might not be able to write, but even if they could, they might not know what killed them.”

“But they saw it,” Larry said. His voice sounded hoarse, and he coughed gently behind his hand to clear it.

“None of them tried to run away, Larry. Why?”

“Why are you asking him?” Freemont said.

“He's in training,” I said.

“Training? You brought a trainee in on my murder case?”

I stared up at her. “I don't tell you how to do your job. Don't tell me how to do mine.”

“You haven't done a damn thing yet. Except for your assistant throwing up in the bushes.”

An unhealthy flush crept up Larry's neck. Embarrassed when he was almost too nauseated to stand.

“Larry wasn't the only one upchucking in the weeds, just the only one without a badge.” I shook my head. “We don't need this shit.” I brushed past Freemont. “Come on, Larry.”

Larry followed, obedient to the last.

“I don't want any of this leaked to the press, Ms. Blake. If the media gets hold of it, I'll know where it came from.” She wasn't yelling, but her voice carried.

I turned. I wasn't yelling either, but everyone could hear me. “You have an unknown preternatural creature that uses a sword, and is faster than a vampire.”

Something flickered across her face, like maybe I'd finally done something interesting. “How do you know it's faster than a vampire?”

“None of the boys tried to get away. All of them died where they stood. Either it's faster, or it has some amazing mind control.”

“It's not a lycanthrope, then?”

“Even a lycanthrope isn't that fast, and they don't have the ability to cloud men's minds. If a lycanthrope came in there with a sword, the boys would have screamed and run. There would have at least been signs of a struggle.”

Freemont just stood there looking. It was a very serious look, like she was weighing and measuring me. She still wasn't happy with me, but she was listening.

“I can help you, Sergeant Freemont. I can help you figure out what did this, maybe, before it does it again.”

Her quiet, confident mask crumbled around the edge for a second. If I hadn't been staring at her neutral brown eyes, I'd have missed it.

“Shit,” I said, loud. I walked back over to her and lowered my voice. “That's it, isn't it? These aren't the first killings.”

She glanced down at the ground, then met my eyes, jaw
sort of thrust forward. Her eyes weren't neutral now; they were just a little bit scared. Not for herself, but for what she'd done, or not done.

“The State Highway Patrol can handle a homicide.” Her voice was the gentlest I'd heard it.

“How many?” I asked.

“Two before. A couple of teenagers, boy and a girl. Probably necking in the woods.” Her voice was soft, almost tired.

“What's the M.E. say?”

“You're right,” she said. “It was a blade, probably a sword. The monsters don't use weapons, Ms. Blake. I thought it was the girl's ex-boyfriend. He's got a collection of Civil War memorabilia, including swords. It seemed pretty cut-and-dried.”

I nodded. “Sounds logical.”

“None of his swords matched the blows, but I thought he'd ditched the murder weapon. I didn't think . . .” She looked away from me, hands shoved so hard into her pants pockets I thought they'd split the cloth. “The first scene wasn't like this. They were killed with the first blow; it pinned them through the chest into the ground. A human being could have done that.” She looked back at me as if wanting me to agree with her. I did.

“Were their bodies cut up beyond the death wound?”

She nodded. “Disfigured faces, her left hand missing. The one that had worn the ex-boyfriend's ring.”

“Were their throats cut?”

She frowned, thinking, then nodded. “Hers was. Not much blood either, like it'd been done after she died.”

My turn to nod. “Great.”

“Great?” Larry asked.

“I think you've got a vampire on your hands, Sergeant Freemont.”

They both frowned at me. “Look at the body parts that are missing. The legs of the one boy were cut off after he died. The femoral artery is in the thigh near the groin. I've seen vamps take blood from that in preference to the neck. Cut off the legs, and no fang marks.”

“What about the other two?” Freemont asked.

“Maybe the smallest boy was bitten. His neck was sliced twice for no reason. Maybe it was just a little extra violence like the disfigurement of the face. I don't know. But a vamp can take blood from the wrist, the bend of the arm. All parts that are missing.”

“One of their brains is missing,” Freemont said.

Larry swayed gently beside me. He wiped a hand over his suddenly sweating face.

“You going to be alright?” I asked.

He nodded, not trusting his voice. Brave Larry.

“What better way to throw us off the track than to take something a vamp wouldn't be interested in?” I said.

“Okay, say it makes some sense. Why this way? This is . . .” She spread her hands wide, staring down at the carnage. She was the only one of the three of us still looking at it. “This is nuts. If it was human, I'd say we had a serial killer on our hands.”

“We may have,” I said softly.

Freemont stared at me. “What the hell do you mean?”

“A vampire was a person once. Just being dead doesn't cure you of any problems you had as a live human being. If you have a violent pathology before death, that won't change just because you're dead.”

Freemont looked at me like I was the one who was crazy. I think it was the word “dead” that was bothering her. Once her suspects were dead, they weren't suspects anymore. I tried again. “Say Johnny is a serial killer. He becomes a vampire. Why should being a vampire make him suddenly less violent? Why not more violent?”

“Oh, my God,” Larry said.

Freemont took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out slow. “Okay, maybe you're right. I'm not saying you are. I've seen pictures of vampire victims and they don't look like this, but if you are, what do you need from me?”

“The pictures from the first crime scene. And a look at where it happened.”

“I'll send the file to your hotel,” she said.

“Where was the couple killed?”

“Just a few hundred yards from here.”

“Let's go take a look.”

“I'll have one of the troopers take you over,” she said.

“This is a damn small geographic area. I assume you searched it.”

“With a fine-tooth comb. But frankly, Ms. Blake, I wasn't sure what we were looking for. The leaves and the dry weather make it almost impossible to find tracks.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Tracks would help.” I glanced back the way I'd come. The leaves were disturbed coming up the hill. “If it is a vampire . . .”

Freemont cut me off. “What do you mean, if?”

I met her suddenly accusing eyes. “Look, Sergeant, if it is a vampire it has more mind control than I've ever seen. I've never met a vampire, even a master vampire, that could hold three humans in thrall while he killed them. Until I saw this, I'd have said it couldn't be done.”

“What else could it be?” Larry asked.

I shrugged. “I think it's a vamp, but if I said I was a hundred percent sure, I'd be lying. I try not to lie to the police. There may be no tracks up the hill even if the ground was soft, because the vampire could have flown in.”

“Like a bat?” Freemont asked.

“No, they don't change shape into a bat, but they can . . .” I searched for a word and there wasn't one. “They can levitate, sort of fly. I've seen it. I can't explain it, but I've seen it.”

“A serial killer vampire.” She shook her head, the lines near her mouth deepening. “The Feds are going to be all over this.”

“No joke,” I said. “Did you find the missing body parts?”

“No, I thought maybe it had eaten them.”

“If it ate that much, why not more? If it ate, why no teeth marks? If it ate, why not some scattered body parts, like crumbs?”

She clenched her hands into fists. “You've made your point. It was a vampire. Even a dumb cop knows they don't eat flesh.” She turned her brown eyes to me, and there was a lot of anger in them. Not at me, exactly, but I might make
a good target. I stared back at her, not flinching. She looked away first. Maybe I wouldn't make a good target.

“I don't like having a civilian contractor in on a homicide investigation, but you spotted things down there that I missed. You're either very good, or you know something that you aren't telling me.”

I could have just said I'm good at my job, but I didn't. Didn't want the police thinking I was holding out information when I wasn't. “I've got one advantage over a normal homicide detective, I expect it to be a monster. No one ever calls me in if it's just a stabbing, or a hit-and-run. I don't spend a lot of time trying to come up with nice, normal explanations. It means I get to ignore a lot of theories.”

She nodded. “Alright, if you help me catch this thing, I don't care what you do for a living.”

“Glad to hear it,” I said.

“But no reporters, no media. I am in charge here. This is my investigation. I decide when we go public. Is that clear?”

“Sure.”

She stared at me like she didn't believe me. “I mean it about the media, Ms. Blake.”

“I don't have a problem with no media, Sergeant Freemont. I prefer it that way.”

“For a person who doesn't want the media around, you get a lot of attention.”

I shrugged. “I'm involved in only sensational cases, detective. Cases that make good press, good sound bites. I slay vampires, for God's sake; it makes great headlines.”

“As long as we understand each other, Ms. Blake.”

“No media; it's not a hard concept,” I said.

She nodded. “I'll have someone walk you over to the first crime scene. I'll see you get the file at your hotel.” She started to turn away.

“Sergeant Freemont?”

She turned back, but it was not a friendly look. “What is it now, Ms. Blake? You've done your job.”

“You can't treat this like a human serial killer.”

“I'm in charge of this investigation, Ms. Blake. I can do what I damn well please.”

I stared up at her, met her hostile eyes. I wasn't feeling too friendly myself. “I am not trying to steal your thunder here. But vampires aren't just people with fangs. If the vamp could catch their minds and hold them while he slaughtered each of them in turn, he could capture your mind, anyone's mind. A vampire that talented could make you think black was white. Do you understand me?”

“It's daylight, Ms. Blake; if it's a vampire then we find it and stake it.”

“You'll need a court order of execution.”

“We'll get one.”

“When you get it, I'll come back and finish the job.”

“I think we can handle it.”

“You ever stake a vampire?” I asked.

She just looked at me. “No, but I've shot a man. It can't be that much harder.”

“It's not harder in the way you mean,” I said. “But it's a hell of a lot more dangerous.”

She shook her head. “Until the Feds get here, I'm in charge, and not you or anyone else is taking over. Is that clear, Ms. Blake?”

I nodded. “Crystal, Sergeant Freemont.” I stared at the cross-shaped pin in the lapel of her suit jacket. Most plain-clothesmen had a cross-shaped tie tack. Standard police issue across the country. “You do have silver ammo, right?”

“I'll take care of my men, Ms. Blake.”

I raised my hands slightly. So much for girl talk. “Fine, we're leaving. You've got my beeper number. Use it if you need it, Detective Freemont.”

“I won't need it.”

I took a deep breath and swallowed a lot of words. Picking a fight with the cop in charge of a murder investigation was not the way to get invited back to play. I walked past her without saying good-bye. If I opened my mouth, I wasn't sure what would come out. Nothing pleasant, and nothing useful.

8

P
EOPLE WHO DON
'
T
camp much think darkness falls from the sky. It doesn't. Darkness slides from the trees and fills them first, then spreads outward to the open places. It was so dark under the trees that I wished for a flashlight. When we stumbled to the road, and our waiting Jeep, it was only dusk.

Larry looked up at the coming night, and said, “We can get back and walk the graveyard for Stirling.”

“First let's eat,” I said.

He looked at me. “You wanting to stop for food, that's a first. I usually have to beg for drive-up.”

“I forgot to eat lunch,” I said.

He grinned. “That I believe.” The smile faded slowly from his face. “The first time you offer me food voluntarily, and I don't think I can eat.” He stared at me. There was enough light left for me to see him search my face. “Could you really eat after what we just saw?”

I looked at him. I didn't know what to say. Not so long ago, the answer would have been no. “Well, I wouldn't want to face a plate of spaghetti, or steak tartare, but yeah, I could eat.”

He shook his head. “What the heck is steak tartare?”

“Raw beef, pretty much,” I said.

He swallowed hard, looking just a little paler than he had a second ago. “How can you even think of stuff like that so soon after . . .” He let the words trail off. We'd both seen it; no words were needed.

I shrugged. “I've been going to murder scenes for nearly three years, Larry. You learn to survive. Which means you learn to eat after seeing cut-up bodies.” I didn't add that I'd seen worse. I'd seen human bodies reduced to a roomful of blood and gobbets of unrecognizable flesh. Not enough left to fill a gallon-size baggie. I hadn't gone out for Big Macs after that one.

“Are you up to at least trying to eat?”

He was looking at me sort of suspiciously. “Where did you have in mind?”

I untied the Nikes and stepped carefully on the gravel road. Didn't want to snag the hose. I unzipped the coverall and stepped out of it. Larry did the same, but he tried to keep his shoes on. He managed to work his feet through, but it required some hopping on one leg.

I folded my coverall carefully so the blood wouldn't touch the Jeep's immaculate interior. I tossed the Nikes into the back floorboard and got the high heels out.

Larry was trying to brush wrinkles from his suit pants, but some things only a dry cleaner could fix.

“How would you like to go to Bloody Bones?” I asked.

He looked up at me, hands still patting at the wrinkles. He frowned. “Where?”

“It's the restaurant that Magnus Bouvier owns. Stirling mentioned it.”

“Did he tell us where it was?” Larry said.

“No, but I asked one of the local cops for restaurants, and Bloody Bones isn't that far from here.”

Larry squinted suspiciously at me. “Why do you want to go there?”

“I want to talk to Magnus Bouvier.”

“Why?” he asked.

It was a good question. I wasn't sure I had a good answer. I shrugged and climbed into the Jeep. Larry had no choice but to join me, unless he didn't want to continue the conversation. When we were all settled in the Jeep, I still didn't have a really good answer.

“I don't like Stirling. I don't trust him.”

“I got the impression you didn't like him,” Larry said, his voice very dry. “But why not trust him?”

“Do you trust him?” I asked.

Larry frowned and thought about it. He shook his head. “Not as far as I could throw him.”

“See?” I said.

“I guess so, but you think talking to Bouvier will help?”

“I hope so. I don't like raising the dead for people I don't trust. Especially something this big.”

“Okay, so we go eat dinner at Bouvier's restaurant and talk to him; then what?”

“If we don't learn anything new, we go see Stirling and walk the graveyard for him.”

Larry was looking at me like he wasn't sure he trusted me. “What are you up to?”

“Don't you want to know why Stirling had to have that mountain? Why the Bouviers' mountain and not someone else's?”

Larry looked at me. “You've been hanging around the police too long. You don't trust anybody.”

“The cops didn't teach me that, Larry; it's natural talent.” I put the Jeep in gear and off we went.

The trees made long, thin shadows. In the valleys between mountains, the shadows formed pools of coming night. We should have driven straight to the graveyard. Just walking the cemetery wouldn't hurt anything. But if I couldn't go vampire hunting, I could question Magnus Bouvier. That part of my job nobody could chase me out of.

I didn't really want to go vampire hunting. It was almost dark. Hunting vamps after dark was a good way to get killed. Especially one that could control minds like this one could. A vampire can cloud your mind and even hurt you, if its control is good enough, and you won't mind. But once its concentration is off you, onto someone else, and that person starts screaming, you'll wake up. You'll run. But the boys hadn't run. They hadn't woken up. They'd just died.

If this thing wasn't stopped, other people would die. I could almost guarantee it. Freemont should have let me stay. They needed a vampire expert with them on this one. They needed me. Okay, they really needed police with expertise in monsters, but they didn't have that. It had only been three years since Addison v. Clark made vampires legally alive. Three years ago Washington had made the blood-suckers living citizens with rights. Nobody had thought what that meant for the police. Before the law changed, preternatural crime was handled by bounty hunters, vampire hunters. Those private citizens with enough experience to keep them alive. Most of us had some sort of preternatural power that
helped give us an edge against the monsters. Most cops didn't.

Ordinarily human beings didn't fare well against the monsters. There have always been a few of us who had a talent for taking out the beasties. We've done a good job, but suddenly the cops are expected to take over. No extra training, no extra manpower, nothing. Hell, most police departments wouldn't even spring for the silver ammunition.

It had taken this long for Washington, D.C., to realize they might have been hasty. That maybe, just maybe, the monsters were really monsters and the police needed some extra training. It would take years to train the cops, so they were going to short-circuit the process, just make cops out of all the vampire hunters and monster slayers. For myself, personally, it might work. I would've loved to have a badge to shove in Freemont's face. She couldn't have chased me off then, not if it was federal. But for most vampire hunters, it was going to be a mess. You needed more than preternatural expertise to work a homicide case. You sure as hell needed more than vampire expertise to carry a badge.

There were no easy answers. But out there in the coming darkness were a bunch of police hunting a vampire that could do things I never thought they could do. If I had a badge, I could be with them. I wasn't an automatic safety zone, but I knew a damn sight more than a state cop who had “seen” pictures of vampire victims. Freemont had never seen the real thing. Here was hoping she survived her first encounter.