"Tarantulas aren't native to this part of the world," I said, just to be saying something. "They come from the tropics."
"Yeah, I know," Milner said. "Funny how a whole bunch of them found their way to Casey, huh? Almost like magic." The bitterness could curdle milk.
"I know you like Rachel Proctor for it, but there's something-"
" Like her for it? She a fucking witch, and witches use magic, and it was magic that fucked up two cops, decent guys with families. It don't take fucking Einstein to connect the dots."
"I know, but-"
"But nothing, Markowski. I heard you was tight with that cunt, but you know what? I don't care how many times she sucked your cock, or how good she was at it. There's a BOLO out on her, and if everybody on the force doesn't know she's a cop killer, they will before end of third watch today. I guarantee it. Now get the fuck out of my sight."
We got.
We were almost back to the car when my cell phone rang.
"Markowski."
"So this guy goes to a whorehouse, but he doesn't know that all the girls working there are vampires, right? He says to the madam-"
"Lacey, I am really, really not in the mood for jokes right now."
"Suit yourself, Stan. But I'm looking at something I think you might wanna see."
"Which is…?"
"Another dead vamp."
"Shit."
"Yeah, and it looks like the same M.O. – well, it is, but it isn't, if you know what I mean."
"No, I don't," I said, "but it doesn't matter. Look, Lacey, I appreciate your calling, but there's shit I need to deal with here tonight. Can you just send me the reports and photos online later tonight, or tomorrow?"
"I probably could, but it's not my case. I'm in Pittston, the most musical town in the Valley."
"Say what?"
"You ever drive down Main Street? Bar, space, bar, bar, space. You'd probably get the opening song from that musical Bats if you played it on the piano."
"Lacey-"
"Okay, okay, but that's where the vic turned up. A Statie I know gave me a call, because he knows about the dead vamp we turned up the other night."
"A Statie?"
"Well, Pittston doesn't exactly have a Homicide squad, you know? So they called in the Staties, and the PBI's taking over the investigation."
"Shit."
"If you put in a request through channels, you might get copies of all the case materials in, I dunno, a week or so. Maybe two."
"Shit."
"You keep saying that, Stan."
"Well, what did you say when you found out you were going to have to drive to Pittston tonight?"
"Me? I said motherfucker."
"Give me your 20, and I'll see you there in a little while."
She gave me an address along with some directions, then said, "Are you bringing that partner of yours along – the big guy?"
"I was planning to, yeah."
"Good. He's cute."
As I guided the car onto 81-South, I said to Karl, "Four dead vamps. Normally, I'd file that under G for "a good start", but if Vollman's right, that means Sligo, or whoever's behind this, is almost ready to do the Big Nasty."
"Except we don't know what that is, either."
"Or when he's gonna do it, or where, or even who this Sligo is. But other than that, I'd say we're pretty much on top of this thing."
We'd gone about a mile down the highway when Karl said, "Stan. Listen."
"What?"
"If this is none of my fucking business, then just say so, but…"
"But what? Just spit it out, Karl – I won't shoot you. Not while I'm driving, anyway."
"Well… it's pretty obvious that you've got a real hard-on for vamps. Not for other supes, so much. I never heard you bitch about weres, or trolls, or even ghouls – and those fuckers creep me out. But you just hate vampires. And that's your business, I'm not tryin' to tell you what you oughta think. I was just wondering… how come?"
I thought about making a joke about it and changing the subject. And I thought about telling Karl to mind his own fucking business. Then I thought about telling him the truth.
Since he's my partner, who's saved my ass at least twice, I decided to go with door number three.
I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay," I said. "It's like this."
I've been on the force fornine years, and a detective for two, and I want that Detective First Grade shield so bad I can taste it. I can't explain why it means so much to me. Maybe it had something to do with my old man, who said I'd never amount to much, or the Irish nuns, who always treated me like just another dumb Polack – it doesn't matter why. I want that promotion, and the way to get it is to make collars and clear cases. So I'm putting in a lot of overtime, and I mean a lot.
This brings me a fair amount of grief at home, with Rita complaining about how I'm not there much and when I am all I want to do is sleep, or vegetate in front of the TV, stuff like that. But she never complains when I bring home the paycheck, which is pretty fat because of all that overtime.
Once I make First, I'm gonna dial it back a bit, start spending more time at home with my wife and kid. That's what I tell myself, anyway.
So I come home late one Saturday night (weekends are busy times for cops) and my daughter Christine is out with friends, and my wife is in bed, and that's all normal except when I go up there I find Rita isn't breathing.
I call 911, then do CPR until they get there, and the am bulance guys are pretty quick, but none of it makes any difference. They pronounce her about ten minutes after we get to the hospital.
Once I can think again, there are two questions burning in my mind: "How?" and "Why?" I start by demanding a copy of the autopsy report and I finally get one – but it's not brought to me by a doctor, but by another guy from the job. His name's Terrana and he says he works in Super natural Crimes. In my department we used to make jokes about Supernatural Crimes.
I've seen plenty of autopsy reports, and I try to close my feelings off and treat this one like its about somebody who doesn't matter to me. That works until I get to the part where it says "exsanguination."
I look at Terrana. "She bled out? That's bullshit – there wasn't a fucking drop of blood on her or on the bed. Not a drop."
"I know," Terrana says to me. He's got one of those slow, measured voices that reminds me of funeral directors. "But there's more than one way somebody can bleed to death."
I stare at him and I think about what unit he's with and the little light comes on in my head, finally. "Vampire? You saying a vampire killed Rita?"
He just looks at me, which is all the answer I need.
"Wait a second," I tell him. "There were no marks on her neck. I'd have seen 'em, count on that."
"That biting on the neck stuff is kind of a cliche spread by the movies, Stan. Sure, it happens sometimes, especially when it's involuntary, such as in cases of surprise vampire attack. But there's lots of veins and arteries all over the body that a vampire can make use of."
"Terrana, will you talk English and stop with the rid dles? Please? You're saying a vampire killed her but that she wasn't attacked? What the hell does that mean?"
"It means it may have been consensual," he says.
I feel my hands form into fists, seemingly of their own accord. "You're telling me she let some fucking blood sucker…?"
"The M.E. did find fang marks, Stan. And you're right, her neck was clean. He found the the inside of her thigh, high up, near the… uh, there's a big artery that runs through there, the femoral artery."
"So the blood-sucking bastard raped her with his fangs, the fucking-"
"I'm sorry, Stan, but the M.E. doesn't think there was force involved. If you read the rest of the report, you'll see that there was no evidence of other trauma, and that there was more than one set of fang marks. Some of them were… old."