Cerulean Sins (45 page)

T
HE BLOOD CLOSED
up around the plastic bootie, not quite to the top of it, not quite rolling over onto my shoe, but close. Even through the plastic, through my shoe, I could feel that the blood was cool. Not cold, but cool. I wasn't sure if it was my imagination or not. I didn't think I should have been able to feel the blood through the bootie and my shoe. But it felt like I could. Sometimes my imagination is not an asset at a crime scene.

I slid my foot forward, one hand still on the door frame. I wasn't sure that the plastic booties would be slippery in this much liquid on a tile floor, but I so didn't want to find out the hard way. There were two things I didn't want to do in this room. One, was fall on my ass in the pool of blood, two, was put my hand in the bathtub. I had to do the second, but I would be damned if I did the first.

I eased my feet forward, slowly, cautiously, and kept my fingers on the doorjamb as long as possible. Actually the room wasn't that large, and it wasn't that big a reach between the door and the tub. I got a death grip on the edge of the tub with my glove-covered hands, and when I had both my feet planted as steady as I could get them, I looked down at the water.

It was like some kind of red soup. I knew it was mostly water, but the color . . . I kept thinking of the cups you use to dye Easter eggs. It looked like a great big cup for dyeing Easter eggs, and just like sometimes happened if you didn't get the mix right, it wasn't exactly red, or pink, but both. I concentrated on the thought of Easter eggs, the smell of vinegar, and better times than this.

The water seemed to swirl, heavier than it was. Probably illusion, but I suddenly had this image of something floating right below the surface.
Something that would pop up and try to grab me. I knew it wasn't true. I knew it was just too many horror movies, but my pulse was in my throat, my heart thudding.

I glanced back at Zerbrowski. “You guys don't have any rookies to do this?”

“How do you think we got the first piece out?” he asked.

“That would explain the uniform that was throwing his guts up in the bushes as I came through.”

“It's his first week on the job.”

“You bastard.”

“Maybe, but no one else wanted to put their hand in there. When you're finished looking, the techies are going to pump the water out and filter it for evidence. But you get to see it first. Tell me this wasn't a lycanthrope kill, Anita, tell me, and I'll tell the media. It'll quiet down the witch hunt.”

“But not the hysteria, Zerbrowski. If this is a second killer, then we've got two of the worst psychos I've seen in St. Louis. I'd love to prove it's not a shape-shifter, but if it's not, then we've got other problems.”

He blinked at me. “You'd really be happier if it's the same shape-shifter?”

“Traditionally two separate killers slaughter more people than just one.”

“You still think more like a cop than a monster expert, Anita.”

“Thanks.” I turned back to the tub, and suddenly I knew I was going to do it. I wasn't fishing deeper than the gloves. Too fucking unhealthy, but if I could find a piece with the shorter gloves, I was going to do it.

The water was cold, even through the gloves. I reached down, the line of cold, bloody water creeping up my skin, and with my hand less than halfway in, I hit something solid.

I froze for a moment, took a shallow breath and ran my hand down along what I'd touched. It was soft and solid at the same time, meaty flesh. I came to bone, and it was enough to grip, and raise it free of the water. It was what was left of a woman's arm. The bone showed pinkish white as the water streamed away from it. The end that had attached to the shoulder was crushed. There were man-made tools that would do that kind of damage, but I doubted anyone would have gone to the trouble.

I set the arm aside and went back to where I'd found it. My hand sunk in a little farther this time, and I pulled out a nearly meatless bone. It didn't look like a piece of person, so I didn't think of it that way. I just looked at it as if I'd found an animal in the woods and was trying to figure out what had eaten it. Big teeth, lots of crushing strength. Very few real predators had this kind of bone-cracking strength, but most lycanthropes did. I doubted that some hyena had escaped from the zoo to rampage in a suburban bathroom.

I let the bone drift back into the water, slowly, easing it down, because for some reason I really didn't want it to splash on me.

I turned away from the bathtub, walked carefully to the doorway, stripped off the gloves, threw them in the sack that Zerbrowski held open for me, leaned against the doorjamb, removed the booties, threw them into the garbage sack, stepped out of that awful room, and kept walking until I hit the bedroom.

The air seemed cleaner, more breathable here.

Zerbrowski followed me out, and it was Merlioni who said, “She did it, didn't she?”

“Yep.”

Merlioni made a sort of crowing sound. “I knew it, I won.”

I looked at him, then at Zerbrowski. “I'm sorry, what did you say?”

Zerbrowski didn't even look embarrassed when he said, “We had a bet going on whether you'd actually fish around in the tub.”

I sighed and shook my head. “You are all such unmitigated bastards.”

“Unmitigated, ooh,” said Merlioni, “if you use big words to insult us, Blake, we'll never figure it out.”

I looked back at Zerbrowski. “It's a shape-shifter. I don't know if it's the same one. The first vic was done in her bed. Was the second?” He nodded. “This was in the bath, and there's at least two bodies cut up in the bathtub.”

“Why two?” Zerbrowski asked.

“Because the pile is too damn high to be only one woman's body, especially since he ate parts of it.”

“You say ‘he,' like you know.”

I shook my head. “I don't know, but I'm assuming male, because you don't find many women willing to do this kind of shit. It happens, but it's rare.”

“We actually got a witness that the woman who owns the house and another girlfriend were seen entering the residence at about 2 A.M.” Zerbrowski had his eyes closed, as if he were quoting. “They appeared drunk, and there was a man with him.”

“You have a witness?” I asked.

“If the man who brought them home is the shape-shifter, and not part of what is in the bathtub, yeah.”

I hadn't thought about that. “He could be in the tub. By the way, why is the water so deep, why isn't the overflow valve working?”

“Our rookie says a piece of body has been stuffed into the valve.”

I shivered. “No wonder he freaking threw up.”

“I lost on that one,” Merlioni said.

“Lost on what?” I asked.

“Most of us bet you'd be sick.”

“Who bet I wouldn't be?”

Zerbrowski cleared his throat. “Me.”

“What did you win?”

“Dinner for two at Tony's.”

“What did you win for me fishing in the tub?” I asked Merlioni.

“Money,” he said.

I shook my head. “I hate you all.” I started for the door.

“Wait, we got one more bet,” Merlioni said, “who was the chickie on the phone when Zerbrowski woke you?”

I was about to let loose a scathing comment, when a voice from the door stopped me. “Haven't seen anything this bad since New Mexico?”

I turned to find my favorite FBI agent in the doorway. Special Agent Bradley Bradford smiled and offered me his hand.

B
RADLEY WAS WITH
the Special Research Section; it was a new division set up to handle preternatural crime. We'd last worked together on some very gruesome murders in New Mexico.

I took his firm handshake and gave one of my own. He smiled, and I think we were both actually glad to see each other. But his gaze swept the room until he found Zerbrowski. “Sergeant Zerbrowski, you must be living right.”

Zerbrowski moved towards us. “What do you mean, Agent Bradford?”

He held up a slender manila folder. “There's a store across the street from the club where the two women went to last night. The store got robbed last year and put in a very nice surveillance system.”

All the joking was gone; Zerbrowski was very serious all of a sudden. “And?”

“They caught a picture of a man matching the neighbor's description with the two women last night. They walked right past the store window.” He opened the folder. “I took the liberty of getting a still made.”

“And passed it to all of your men,” Merlioni said.

“No, detective, this is the only copy, and I brought it here first.”

Merlioni looked like he would have argued, but Zerbrowski cut him off. “I don't care who solves this, as long as we get this guy.”

“I feel the same way,” Bradley said.

I didn't exactly believe Bradley. Last time we'd talked, his little division had been in jeopardy of being disbanded, and their cases given back to the Investigative Support—read Serial Killer—Unit. Bradley was one of the good guys, he really did care more about solving crimes than career
advancement, but he also cared about his new unit. He felt strongly that the feds needed one. I agreed with him. So why was he handing over the only copy of the picture? Sharing made sense, simply giving it to us didn't.

“What do you think, Anita?” he asked me.

I glanced down at the photo. It was black and white, pretty good quality actually. Two women were laughing up at the tall man in between them. The brunette on the left matched some of the pictures downstairs. I hadn't asked the name of the woman who owned the house. I hadn't wanted to know. Not knowing had made it easier to go into that bathroom and paw through the remains.

The other woman looked vaguely familiar. “Wasn't the woman in a group picture downstairs? It looked like it was taken at a party.”

“We'll check,” Zerbrowski said.

“What about the man?” Bradley asked.

I looked at the man in the picture. The man that might be our killer or might be at the bottom of the pile of bones in the bathtub was tall, broad-shouldered. Straight brown hair was pulled back into a long ponytail that one of the women was tugging on, playing with. The face was high cheekboned, handsome. He wasn't like Richard handsome, but they reminded me oddly of each other, both tall, both broad-shouldered, both classically handsome. But there was something in this man's face even through the film that creeped me out.

It was probably knowing that the two women were only hours away from being butchered. It was probably my imagination, but I didn't like the look on the man's face when he glanced up and spotted the camera. I realized that that was what the look was, why it looked strange.

“He spotted the camera,” I said.

“What do you mean?” Zerbrowski asked.

“Look at his face, he didn't like being on film.”

“He probably knew what he was going to do to them,” Merlioni said, “don't want to be seen with the vics before the murder.”

“Maybe, probably.” I kept looking at his face, and I thought it was familiar.

“Do you recognize him?” Bradley asked.

I stared up at him. His face was empty, guileless, but I didn't believe the innocent look. “Why would I?”

“Well, he is a shape-shifter, if he's our man, I thought you might have seen him around.”

Bradley was lying, I could feel it. Even I wasn't tactless enough to accuse him of it to his face, but I was saved from having to come up with something to say by my cell phone ringing. I'd kept it with me today, hooked on the
back of my belt, just in case Musette and company didn't go quietly out of town. Call me silly, but I just didn't trust them.

“Hello.”

“Is this Anita Blake?” It was a woman. I didn't recognize the voice.

“Yeah.”

“This is Detective O'Brien.”

Strangely, with all the vampire politics and the new murder I hadn't given much thought to the internationally wanted terrorist Leopold Heinrick. “Detective O'Brien, good to hear from you, what's up?”

“We identified the two pictures you pulled.”

“Really, I'm impressed, the photos weren't that good.”

“Lieutenant Nicols, you met him once, he picked them out.”

It took me a second to place the name. “The lieutenant that was in charge at Lindel Cemetery.”

“Yeah, that's the one. He picked out the same two pictures that you did, and since the two of you have only met once . . .”

Before she could finish, I said, “The bodyguards, the freaking bodyguards. Canducci and . . .”

She said, “Balfour.”

“Yeah, that's right. I can't believe I didn't remember them.”

“You saw them once at night, Blake, and from what Nicols says, the widow was putting on quite a show.”

“Yeah, but still. Did you bring them in for questioning?”

“No one knows where they are. They quit their job at the security agency the day after you saw them. They'd only worked there for about two weeks. All the references they gave are leading to dead ends.”

“Shit,” I said. I glanced down at the picture that Bradley was still holding down where I could see it. I suddenly knew why that picture looked vaguely familiar. He was another of Heinrick's known associates. Or he looked amazingly like one of them. But I just didn't believe that coincidence would stretch that far.

I looked up at Bradley. He was still patiently holding the picture down where I could see it, lower than either of the other two men needed it. Maybe he was being polite, or maybe not. He met my gaze, and he gave me blank face. Cop face.

“What if I told you that I'm looking at a picture of one of the other known associates of Heinrick, and he's in town, too?”

Bradley's face never changed. Zerbrowski's and Merlioni's did. They looked surprised. Bradley didn't.

“How did you get the picture?”

“Long story, but he's wanted in connection with some murders here in town.”

“Which man?”

“I think he was the only one with longer hair. I don't think it was back in a ponytail like it is here, but it was definitely shoulder length.”

I heard papers rustling. “I've got it.” I heard more papers rustling, then a soft whistle. “Roy Van Anders. He is a very bad man, Blake.”

“How bad?”

“Strangely, we got files just today about Mr. Van Anders. Crime scene photos that would turn your stomach.”

“A lot of blood, not a lot of body left?” I asked.

I could feel Zerbrowski tense beside me.

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“I think I'm at a crime scene right now that's Van Anders's work.”

“You're on that lycanthrope murder, right?”

“Yeah.”

“There's nothing in his record that says he's anything but human. He's just a sick son of a bitch, who likes to rape and kill women.”

“Did anybody question how he dismembered the bodies, or where the rest of them went?”

“I haven't read through everything yet, but no. Most of his crimes were in countries where we're lucky to have gotten any pictures at all. Very low tech, very little money to do sophisticated crime work.”

“How sophisticated do you have to be to figure out the difference between tools and teeth?”

“A lot of serial killers use teeth, Blake.” She sounded like she felt she had to defend the honor of some far away police.

“I know that, O'Brien, but, oh, hell, it doesn't matter. What does matter is that he's here in our town, right now, and we aren't low tech, and we do have at least a little money to track down the bad guys.”

“You're right, Blake. Concentrate on the here and now.”

“Do we have enough to question Heinrick and his pal now?”

“I think we might. We can make a case that Heinrick knows about his pal's hobbies. That would make him an accessory before the fact, if not more.”

“I'll be down there as soon as I can get out of here.”

“Blake, this is not your case. You're one of the potential victims. I think that makes you too close to everything to be objective.”

“Don't do this, O'Brien, I've played fair with you.”

“This isn't a game, Blake, this is a job. Or do you want credit for everything?”

“I don't give a fuck about credit. I just want to be there when you question Heinrick.”

“If you get here in time, but we ain't holding the party up for just you.”

“Fine, O'Brien, fine, you're the detective in charge.”

“Nice of you to remember that.” She hung up on me.

I said a very heartfelt, “Bitch!”

Zerbrowski and Merlioni had eager expectant faces, but Bradley didn't. He could do cop face, but he wasn't an actor. I filled them in, and Zerbrowski was pissed at O'Brien, not for excluding me, but for not even bothering to consider contacting a member of RPIT.

“She's got them in lockup for what, following you around? We've got four murders, maybe more.” He looked at me. “You want a ride in a car with sirens and lights, so that we can fucking get there before she does something to wreck our case?”

I liked the ‘our case,' and I liked that he asked me along. Dolph probably wouldn't have, even if he hadn't been mad at me.

I nodded. “I'd love to go riding in and wave jurisdictional flags in her face.”

He grinned. “Give me ten minutes to give everybody their marching orders, then meet me downstairs. We'll borrow a marked car. People always get out of the way faster for a marked car.” He was out the door and down the stairs humming to himself.

Merlioni went after him, saying, “Who has to stay here with the tub o' death cleanup?” I don't think Merlioni wanted to be included in the cleanup, not even to supervise.

Bradley and I found ourselves alone. It was unheard of for a fed, two feds I guess, to be left alone at a murder scene like this. Most locals hated the feds, and the feds hated them right back.

I looked up at Bradley. “Now that I've made all the connections you wanted me to make, tell me why you really came down here.”

He closed the manila envelope and handed it to me. “To solve a crime.”

“Solving these crimes would add to your unit's clout. Last time we spoke you needed that clout.”

He was looking at me carefully.

“Are you here officially, Bradley?”

“Yes.”

I stared into his bland face. “Are you here officially just as an FBI agent?”

“Don't know what you mean.”

“You told me once that I'd come to the attention of some of the less savory branches of our government, the spooks, I think you called them. Is Van Anders a spook?”

“No government in their right mind would want an animal like this in their country.”

“Talk to me, Bradley, talk to me, or the next time we meet I'm not going to trust you like I do right this minute.”

He sighed and suddenly looked tired. He rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “These murders were brought to our attention. But I'd seen crimes like this before. In a different country, in a place where the government was more worried about staying in power than protecting helpless women.” There was a look in his eyes, something faraway, and pain-filled.

“You said you got out of that line of work.”

“I did.” He looked very steadily at me, no cop eyes now. “Men like Van Anders were one of the reasons I couldn't keep doing it. But when certain people found out that Van Anders might actually have been let loose within the confines of the United States, they weren't happy. I have a one time permission to help things along here.”

“What's the price tag on this help?”

“Heinrick will be escorted out of the country. They'll never put a name to the second man he was taken in with. It will all disappear.”

“Heinrick is a suspected terrorist. You think that they'll just let him walk?”

“He's wanted in five different countries that we have strong treaties with. Who do we give him to, Anita? Better to just let him go.”

“Don't you want to know why he was in town? I know I want to know why he was following me.”

“I told you why these kind of people would want you.”

“So I can raise the dead for them. A political leader here, a few zombie bodyguards there,” I tried to make a joke of it, but Bradley wasn't laughing.

“You know the man you found nailed to his living room wall?”

“Yeah.”

“He knew Heinrick and Van Anders, and he felt that they were too extreme. He left and he hid, but not well enough.”

“If it was an execution, why make it look like some sort of ritual murder?”

“So it wouldn't look like an execution.”

“Why did they care?” I asked.

He shook his head. “It was a message, Anita. They wanted him dead, and they wanted him dead in such a way that it would be sensational enough to make headlines. They wanted his death out there for all the others like him, like me, that left.”

“You don't know this for sure, Bradley.”

“Not all of it, but I know that everyone involved wants Van Anders caught, and Heinrick gone.”

“What about the others?”

“I don't know.”

“Are they gone for good, or should I still be worried?”

“Be worried, Anita, I would be.”