"Why don't you work on that for a while? I want to give Lacey Brennan a call."
"Oh, you mean about the–"
"The woman in the snuff film, yeah. The resemblance looks too close to be coincidental, although I hope I'm wrong."
"I hope you are, too," Karl said. "I like Lacey – but even if I didn't…"
"Yeah, I know."
"Sure, Stan, go ahead. If I run out of forms to fill out, I can always play Angry Bats for a while."
"I think I'll call her from outside. Get some air at the same time."
Karl looked at me for a second, then nodded. "Sounds like a good idea."
I went down to the parking lot. Since we were between shifts, I had the place to myself. I got in my car and called the number for the Wilkes-Barre Supe Squad. On the second ring I heard, "Occult Crimes Unit – how may I help you?"
"Hi, Sandy. It's Markowski again."
"Good evening, Sergeant – or morning, as the case may be. You still lookin' to talk to Detective Brennan?"
"That's right. Is she available?"
"Yep, she's sittin' right at her desk. Hold on just a sec."
There was a click, and a few seconds later Lacey's voice was in my ear. "Hey, Stan."
"Hi, Lacey."
"So, two vamps are in some bar, having a blood together. And in walks this human chick – and she is hot. Know what I mean?"
"Sure," I said. I knew better than to interrupt – I'd just have to endure.
"She goes over to the bar and orders a drink. One of the vamps is married, and scared of his old lady besides, so he's out of the running. But the other one's single and something of a stud, as vamps go. So the married one says, 'Get a look at that, will ya? Go on over and buy her a drink, man.' And the other vamp gives this chick the once-over and says, 'Nah, I'll pass.' The married one says, 'How come? She's gorgeous.' The other vamp shrugs and says, 'She's just not my type'."
"I don't get it," I said, although I did. "Ohhh, you mean 'type' as in blood type. Hey, that's pretty funny, Lacey." It's an unspoken rule between us that I never laugh at Lacey's supe jokes.
"Yeah, whatever," she said. "What's up, Stan? You're not in the hospital again, are you?"
I'd picked up a bad concussion a few months back while saving the world from a race of super-vampires, and Lacey had come over to visit me a couple of times. She'd also sent a few smutty get-well cards, but she doesn't have some kind of a thing for me. Probably.
"No, I'm fine, Lacey. But I want to ask you something kind of unusual."
"It's shaved bare, except for a little landing strip of hair just above. That what you wanted to know?"
For Lacey, the concept of too much information doesn't really exist.
"Uh, no," I said, "but thanks for the image. This is something serious – potentially, anyway."
"Now you've got me intrigued," she said. "What is it, Stan?"
"Do you have a sister?"
After a brief silence she said, "Yeah, I have two. One older, one younger. I'm in the middle. Why?"
"Do either or both of them live in the area?"
"Sarah's been in Oregon for years, but Mary Beth lives in Exeter someplace."
"She's the older one, right?"
"Yeah, but how do you know that? What's going on, Stan?" I could hear a thread of unease running through her voice now.
"Maybe nothing. It's hard to say yet. Listen, Lacey, um, your sister, Mary Beth. Have you seen or heard from her lately?"
"We're not close. I get a card at Christmas, that's about it. And I'm not answering any more questions until you stop fucking around and tell me what this is all about, Stan."
"All right," I said. "It's like this: we've come into possession of a video recording which shows a woman being… murdered. And I'm pretty sure it's real, not some fake shit for the pervs to drool over."
"Sweet Christ," Lacey said softly.
"The woman in the video… she bears a resemblance to you. A pretty strong resemblance, actually. In fact, when I first saw it, for a couple of seconds I thought…" I had to stop and clear my throat. "But then Karl pointed out to me – you remember Karl."
"Yeah, sure. Go on."
"Anyway, Karl pointed out that the woman in the video appeared to be older than you, and a bit heavier – maybe twenty pounds or so. She also had a scar on one leg."
"Oh, dear God. Dear Jesus God." It was almost a whisper.
"We don't have any way to ID the victim, apart from the video. There's no, uh, body that's been found, so far. So, since I thought it was possible that there was some kind of family connection–"
"How did she die?"
"Excuse me?"
"You fucking heard me." Her voice was like flint. "How did she die?"
"Lacey, there's no need for this. We don't even know if the woman is–"
"Stan, I want you to listen to me very carefully. I'm going to speak slowly, and I want you to get every word. Understand?"
"Sure." What else was I gonna say?
"If-you-ever-want-even-the-slightest-chance-of-gettingin-my-pants-from-now-until-the-day-you-retire-you-will tell me how she died."
For me, getting into Lacey's pants wasn't quite the Holy Grail she seemed to think it was. Or maybe she assumed that was all any man would want from her. I wasn't moved as much by a desire to do her someday as I was swayed by the passion behind her words. That, and the knowledge that if I didn't give her what she wanted, she would probably never talk to me again – and that would hurt a lot more than being denied her charms.
All this went through my mind in a second or so.
"All right, Lacey. But I promise it'll only add to your pain. It's gonna put images in your head that you'll wish had never got there."