Weird Detectives (70 page)

“But here he is,” Katamori said, straightening from his crouched position by the body. “So either your count was incorrect, you are lying, or an extra human took his place. What is your explanation?”

“I have none,” Gerhard said, in voice so stiff it might have been starched.

“Go to Joaquin and tell him that,” Dahlia said, without an ounce of sympathy.

“Well, then.” Gerhard became even more defensive. “This man and I had come to an arrangement. I left him here, because upon my return we were to spend time together.”

“Though he had already donated this evening,” Dahlia said.

“His name was Arthur Allthorp. I have been with him before,” Gerhard said. “He could take a lot of . . . donation. He loved it.”

“A fangbanger,” Katamori said. Fangbangers, extreme vampire groupies, were notorious for ignoring limits.

Gerhard gave a jerk of a nod.

Neither Dahlia nor Katamori remarked on the fact that Gerhard had initially lied to them. They knew, as did Gerhard, that he would pay for that.

“He was my weakness,” Gerhard said violently. “I am glad he is dead.”

This sudden burst of passion startled Dahlia and disgusted Katamori, who let Gerhard read that in his face. Gerhard whirled around to leave the kitchen, but Dahlia said, “What time did you leave with the humans? Was anyone in here with the man Arthur when you took the others away?”

Gerhard thought for a second. “I bade them get into the vans at ten o’clock, since that was the time appointed by the agency that sent them. There was no one in here. But I could hear people coming down the hall as I waited for the other donors to exit. I’m sure one of them was Taffy.”

Dahlia would have said something unpleasant if she’d been by herself. As it was, she was aware of Katamori’s quick sideways glance. Everyone in the nest knew that Dahlia and Taffy were friends, despite Taffy’s unfortunate marriage. Dahlia’s own brief marriage to a werewolf had been forgiven, since it had lasted such a short time. But Taffy showed every sign of continuing her relationship with Don, and even of being happy in it, to the bafflement of the other vampires of Rhodes. “We’ll have to find Taffy and Don and ask them some questions,” she said. “Gerhard, would you request this of Joaquin?”

Gerhard gave a jerky nod and left, shoving the door with such force that it was swinging to and fro in an annoying way.

Dahlia turned her attention back to the spray of blood on the fixtures and the blood pooled on the floor, still wet. “In my experience,” she said to Katamori, “It takes over an hour for blood to begin to dry. Given its tacky quality and the low temperature of this room, I believe the body has lain here for at least thirty minutes, give or take.”

Katamori nodded. They were both experts on blood. They looked up at the clock on the kitchen wall. It read 10:45.

“If Gerhard did leave with the humans at ten o’clock . . . say it took him five minutes to encourage them to put their dishes by the sink, and to get them out the door . . . then this Arthur was left by himself at 10:05 or 10:10. I talked to Cedric, and then I danced with Melponeus.” Dahlia was trying to figure out when the scream had brought the party to a halt.

“We heard Diantha at 10:30,” Katamori said. With some surprise, Dahlia saw that he was wearing a watch, an unusual accessory for a vampire.

“And we were in here within a minute and a half of that. We’ve been investigating for perhaps twenty minutes. So someone entered the kitchen between ten minutes after ten and twenty-five minutes after ten, by the narrowest reckoning.”

“And this Arthur died of his throat being ripped out,” Katamori said.

“Yes. Though he may have been choked before that. Without the excised material it’s hard to say.”

“It’s over here.” Katamori pointed to a grisly little mound of skin and bone half-hidden under a chair.

Dahlia squatted to peer at the discarded handful. “This is so mangled, I still can’t say whether or not he was choked. This tissue was tossed aside, not consumed.”

Katamori made a moue of distaste.

Dahlia said, “I was thinking of the trace of werewolf, and all that that implies.” Werewolves would eat human flesh, at least when they were in their wolf forms.

“Do you think we’ve seen everything there is to see, smelled everything there is to smell?” Katamori asked, tactfully bypassing the werewolf issue.

“Let’s go through the human’s pockets,” Dahlia suggested, and Katamori squatted on the other side of the body. Dahlia had quick, light, fingers, and she was thorough. Folded and stuck in a pocket on her side of the corpse, she found a sheet from the donor bureau containing a rendezvous point and a scheduled donation time for tonight. Just as Gerhard had said, the donors were to picked up at eight, returned to the pickup point at ten.

Dahlia wondered if Gerhard had told Arthur to make sure he was included on the donor list. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that Gerhard’s favorite banger had been included in the donor party. In the last four years it had become a regular practice for the hosts of parties to which vampires had been invited to hire donors from a registered donor bureau, so they could be sure that all the human snacks on offer had been checked for blood-borne diseases and psychoses. There was a disease vampires could catch from humans (Sino-Aids), and donors been checked for hidden agendas ever since a donor in Memphis had brought a gun and opened fire on the assembled party-goers.

Dahlia opened Arthur Allthorp’s wallet to check his donation card, which was perforated with seven holes. The card was punched every time the agency sent him out. After Dahlia had turned over the body to go through the other pants pocket, Katamori patted down Arthur’s legs. To their surprise, he found a knife in an ankle sheath.
Very
careless. Gerhard’s inefficiency was now a mountain rather than a molehill.

After a glance of silent agreement, the two stood, having gotten all the information from the body. They looked all around the vast kitchen for any clue they might have missed. The blackness continued to stare in through the big windows. The blood continued to cling wetly to the stainless steel surfaces. Arthur Allthorp, fangbanger, continued to be dead.

After Katamori deadbolted the outside door, he and Dahlia left the kitchen. Rachel had resumed her post in the hall, and Dahlia asked her to keep guard over the swinging door. “Let no one into the kitchen until we’re sure we don’t need it any more,” she said. “No one will be able to enter from the outside.”

Rachel nodded, her expression intense. She was still proving herself as a vampire, and Dahlia felt sure Rachel would stand her ground against anyone who wanted to see the body.

Back in the reception room, Joaquin had resumed his seat in the throne-like chair reserved for the sheriff. His ascension party had taken a definite downturn in tone. The festive atmosphere had degenerated to uneasy apprehension. The party-goers were milling around uneasily. The demons and part-demons had established a tight knot in one corner with Diantha in its center, and the fae (an oread, a rare nix, and an elf) clustered close to them.

Bernie Feldman, Don’s enforcer, was watching the French doors with unmistakable worry. Bernie was standing oddly, as if nursing a hurt in his stomach. Dahlia followed his eyes. Approaching, obviously disheveled, were Taffy and Don. Taffy had her shoes in her free hand. The other hand was holding Don’s, and the two were looking at each other with what Dahlia could only describe as “goo-goo eyes.”

“Disgusting,” she muttered, and Katamori glanced at the happy pair. “They went through the kitchen,” he said. “We’re going to have to question them.”

“Better report to Joaquin first.”

The two vampires went to stand in front of their new leader. Dahlia bowed her head a carefully calibrated angle. Katamori’s head was perhaps a centimeter lower than hers. Joaquin accepted their gesture and waited for them to report. He looked better in the chair than Cedric had. Joaquin was slim and tall, with thin dark hair and large brown eyes. The new sheriff wasn’t as old as Dahlia (only two of the Rhodes vampires were older than her), but jobs didn’t always go to the oldest.

Glenda was draped over the back of the sheriff’s seat as if being Joaquin’s new fuck buddy gave her some special status. Dahlia eyed the vampire with no expression. Her dislike of Glenda went from vague to specific.

“What have you discovered?” Joaquin asked, giving the two investigators all his attention.

Dahlia was pleased with the mark of respect. “The human was named Arthur Allthorp. He was a pet of Gerhard’s.” Dahlia had already spotted the blond vampire, who was trying to look stoic, but only managing gloomy. “Gerhard allowed Arthur Allthorp to remain in the kitchen while Gerhard took the other donors back to their rendezvous point. I see that he has told you that.” Gerhard was flanked by Troy and Hazel, the vamps Joaquin had named as his punishers.

“Furthermore,” Katamori said, “I found a knife strapped to the human’s ankle.”

Another nail in Gerhard’s coffin, perhaps literally.

“He died very quickly when his throat was torn out,” Dahlia said. “We know he died in a ten-minute window, give or take a minute or two, between ten-ten and ten-twenty-five.”

Katamori said, “Passing through the kitchen close to the time of death were the human donors, Gerhard, another vampire or two I can’t identify, and at least one werewolf.”

All eyes went to Don and Bernie, who had been whispering furiously into Don’s ear. Don looked shocked and grim. Taffy was the only vampire standing anywhere close to them, and she took her husband’s arm. He patted her hand to show her he appreciated the support. Bernie stood to Don’s other side, and he had an expression Dahlia had seen before. It meant, “I’m ready to die, but I’d rather not.”

“It won’t make any difference to you, Joaquin, but I didn’t do it,” Don said in his deep voice. “I can’t imagine why I’d have any reason to kill the poor bastard, though maybe motive doesn’t interest you.” If Dahlia had had a moment to do so, she might have advised Don that this was not the time for sarcasm.

“Don and I did go through the kitchen,” Taffy said. “But we were on our way out into the garden to have a talk.”

“What was that talk about?” Glenda asked.

“You were right on our ass, so you probably know already. But I don’t answer to you,” Taffy said, and the light of battle flashed into her eyes.

“Any vampire who spends time with a werewolf has degraded herself and has no status in the nest,” Glenda said, straightening and taking a step away from the sheriff’s chair.

Dahlia was instantly on the alert. If she let Taffy take on Glenda, Don would get involved, and the whole situation would get unnecessarily complicated. When Glenda took another step in Taffy’s direction, Dahlia was ready. She leaped and kicked as hard as she could, and Glenda went flying through the air with her beautiful clinging dress whipping around her, as Dahlia landed gracefully and spun around to make sure Glenda was down. The crack of Glenda’s ribs was audible as she met the wall. She slid down to collapse on the carpet, bleeding and whimpering.

Joaquin didn’t move, but his eyes were blazing. From their positions flanking Gerhard, Troy and Hazel snarled. There was a long, tense, moment with all eyes on Dahlia.

“Excuse my preemptive punishment of Glenda, Joaquin,” she said calmly. “I acted without your permission, but I was incensed at her presumption. She has no right to make such a pronouncement with you sitting in front of us. You alone have the right to determine who belongs in our community and who doesn’t. Glenda showed unforgivable disrespect.”

Joaquin blinked. “Interesting interpretation of Glenda’s words,” he said.

No one went to help the fallen vampire. Possibly they were all afraid that Dahlia would consider them an enemy if they did so.

“She
was
presumptuous,” Joaquin said after a moment’s consideration, and the room relaxed. Dahlia could tell more than one vampire would have enjoyed seeing her deal out even more damage to Glenda, but she’d made her point and interrupted Glenda’s accusation.

Joaquin continued, “Do you know who the other vampires were who passed through the kitchen at the vital time?

“One was Cedric,” she said. “I know his scent too well to mistake it. And I witnessed Glenda following Taffy, Don, Bernie, and Cedric out of the room, but I’m not sure if she entered the kitchen or not.”

Joaquin’s heavy eyebrows flew up in surprise. He looked at his predecessor.

“I walked through the kitchen,” Cedric said. He was leaning against the wall. “I was right on the heels of Taffy and her werewolf, but Glenda went out before me, not after. I wanted to talk to her.”

“Why?” Joaquin said. He looked up at Cedric, whose blue-patterned waistcoat was rumpled up above his belly. Even Cedric’s boots were scuffed, while Joaquin’s loafers shone like mirrors. The contrast could not have been more unkind: Cedric the old catfish, Joaquin the sleek barracuda.

To the side of the room, Glenda moaned as she struggled to her knees to get to her feet. Very quietly, another vampire stepped over to let her drink from him. Dahlia noticed he was looking as neutral as possible, as if his arm just happened to be in the right place in front of Glenda’s mouth for her to have a healing draft. He even kept his eyes on the floor so Dahlia couldn’t meet them. Dahlia smiled inside. It was good to be feared.

“Why?” Cedric said. “Because I wanted to go outside, and I hoped she would walk with me, for old times’ sake. Because, in case you hadn’t thought of it, this is a very awkward evening for me, and I needed friendship.”

The demons looked amused, the Weres embarrassed, and the vampires all looked elsewhere. An open admission of weakness was not the vampire way. Only Dahlia looked thoughtful.

Joaquin said, “Taffy, what happened out in the garden?”

Taffy bowed her head to her sheriff. “Of course I’ll answer, if my sheriff asks it,” she said graciously, reinforcing Dahlia’s point. “We talked to Bernie, my husband’s enforcer, about his lack of courtesy to one of the demons.” She nodded her head toward Diantha. “Bernie was . . . uncouth enough . . . to make fun of her speech patterns. Don felt the need to teach Bernie a lesson about diplomacy. As you can see, Don made his point.”