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 plainclothesmen 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
People 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.