No Rest for the Wicked (6 page)

Homeless men, Jane Does, that sort of thing. Then, last year Adam uncovered a…clan…in the Pasadena Hills.”

“A clan of vampires?”

“No,” said Peter. His cheeks were flaming red again. “Well, not exactly. Anyway, the situation was contained as far as the LAPD was concerned. Case closed. Bizarre anomalies more or less ignored. Most of the bloodshed was between rival gangs and, well, you know how it is.”

Nancy's expression was that of someone who has been disappointed more times than she could count. “Sure. I know how it is.” She looked at me. “What about you?”

“As far as the LAPD is concerned, Adam died in the line of duty last year. We haven't quite figured out how to explain it, and it just seems easier to keep it quiet for now. But nobody's ignoring this. My former partner was killed by one of these…people.”

“But they aren't really people, are they?” said Nancy.

“Hey,” I protested mildly.

“Sorry. So, you're letting me in on your little secret now because…?”

“Lake was bled out by something like Adam,” said Peter.

“Hey!”

“You know what I mean.”

Nancy folded her hands together on the table like she was trying to remain calm. “How many like you are there ?” she asked me.

Peter looked at me expectantly, like I was the final word on all things vampire. I felt a little like a kid who hadn't read the assignment. All these months listening to Drew I'd tuned out most of it.

“More than you'd care to know. There was an epidemic brewing a few months back, but then there was a war and most of them killed each other off or left town.”

Nancy's left eye twitched a little, but she merely said, “You can tell me that story later. So, if I understand you, you don't think this was a random attack? Not just Lake's bad luck?”

I shook my head. “We don't think so.”

“We?”

“Adam has a team that is tracking new outbreaks.”

Nancy was having trouble keeping that impassive FBI demeanor in place. “Really. I'd like to meet them.”

“That might be tricky,” I said. “They aren't exactly model citizens.”

“I imagine not.”

Peter was looking at me expectantly, so I reluctantly brought out my phone and dialed.

“You fucking shit, you left me to take the heat,” Caballo answered.

I could hear traffic and the buzz of many voices behind them. They must be down by the crime scene, sniffing around.

“I'm talking to a fed about the case right now.”

“Betsy doesn't like to wear a helmet,” Caballo went on as if he hadn't heard me. “You know what kind of mood she's in?”

“Let me talk to her.”

“You jerk,” said Betsy when she'd picked up the phone. “I had to ride Caballo's bike, and my hair is sticking straight out”.

“Feds are looking for the guy too. You want to team up?”

Betsy hissed. “I'm busy, Adam.” And she disconnected.

I raised a shoulder and said, “You see?”

Peter said, “You'll talk them into it.”

“Do they all drink human blood?” Nancy asked.

“Adam doesn't kill,” Peter put forth. He was looking anxiously from her to me. “He survives on that artificial blood he just drank.”

“You provide him this blood?” And at Peter's nod, “Is he an official CI?”

“I'm not officially alive,” I said. “So, that would be a no.”

Nancy looked concerned. And now she resembled any bureaucrat confronted with a situation that would not fit neatly into the boxes of a report. I understood her trepidation. On a

purely practical level, it was a paperwork nightmare to explain sources that couldn't be named and resources that were secrets.

“I don't work cases,” I assured her. Though my hand sometimes still went to the pocket where I'd kept my shield for years. “I'm more a consultant.”

“I call Adam when I hear about one of these homicides,” Peter told her. “And his team checks it out.”

She looked from me to Peter, sussing it out.
Yeah, I'm a pussy-whipped old bloodsucker,
lady.

“So, when we found Lake at the Chinese, I did a quick look-see and found his blood dissolving into puddles outside.”

“Maybe his blood.”

“No, it was his.” I'd said it with enough assurance to make her raise an eyebrow.

“Adam's faster than the DNA testing lab,” bragged Peter.
Oh, look at that. My boyfriend's
proud because I can smell blood. Yippee.

Nancy took this in, digesting, moving on. “We went over the entire alley, but we don't think that was the crime scene either. We thought it might have been a robbery gone wrong. But his wallet and watch were still on him.”

“It was a hit,” I said again. “Whoever ate him was an expert.”

“
Ate
him?” asked Nancy.

“We're racing the clock to contain this before the press gets wind of it,” said Peter.

“Typical LAPD. Covering up the facts,” said Nancy.

“There'd be complete panic,” Peter protested.

Nancy made a noise halfway between a snort and a laugh. She had a wild look in her eye. I could just imagine all the years of ribbing and teasing. The years of being passed over for promotions. Her fingers were probably itching to pick up her phone and start calling colleagues with the news about yours truly. I'd bet the only thing that was stopping her was the fear of appearing, yet again, to be a nutcase.

Telling this woman had been a mistake. I shoved Peter's foot with mine and gave him a look. His eyes warned me to keep my opinions to myself. “We have a small lead,” he told me.

“And I thought you might be able to help us with it. Lake had a girlfriend. Somebody new that he'd met. A work associate said he was going to a rave with her the night he was killed.”

Peter's foot was damp. He'd taken off his shoes but was still wearing his wet socks. I found the arch of his right foot with my big toe and gave it a suggestive shove.

“You can't wait a few hours? Maybe get some sleep first?” I ran my toe across the arch of his foot and was satisfied to see him shift in his chair.

“I'd like you to come along while we talk to her, so I hoped to do it tonight.”

“Why?”

“We think she might be…you know.”

I thought it over. It would be so much simpler just to send Betsy and Caballo over there.

Suss it out. If the girl was feeding from the human population, they could dispose of her quietly.

But that wouldn't satisfy Peter's sense of fair play.

“Sure, I can do that.”

* * *

The address was in Echo Park. A block up from Sunset, a narrow, twisted dead-end street led to a pile of stucco one-bedroom apartments with garages that opened directly onto the pitted and uneven asphalt, their hinges crooked and the stairs leading up to each doorway decorated with succulents in terra-cotta containers.

It was past two a.m. and the cul-de-sac in which the apartments huddled was pitch-black, shadows swallowing the thin streetlight bleeding over from Sunset. Porch lights off, barred windows dark.

The buzzer hung loose from its wiring, and the door Peter knocked on had been repainted so many times it was inches thicker than it had been originally and only gave off a dull
thud
when he rapped on it.

After he'd been knocking for several minutes, we heard someone reveal the spy hole on the other side, but no one opened the door.

I could smell the human on the other side, so I banged hard on the door and called, “Open up, Miss. We know you're in there.”

“How do you know it's a—” asked Nancy, but she stilled at Peter's look. “Oh.”

Another whispery, mousy sound and then the apartment resident decided to open the door as far as the safety chain would allow. A pale female with big dark eyes stared out at us. “Yes?”

“Jessica Bramson?” asked Peter, showing his shield.

She shook her head.

“Nickname Eclypse?”

“She is my roommate,” said the girl, her accent thickly Hispanic. “Not home.”

She remained mostly in shadow. Dark hair and dark skin and that accent gave me a clue though.

“¿
Dónde está ella
?”

A flash of black eyes. “
No sé
.”

“¿
Cuándo usted último la vio
?”

Her gaze went from Peter to Nancy to me.

“Adam?” Peter asked.

I shook my head. “Just a scared girl,” I said. No vampires here.

Lights had gone on in a couple of other entryways. Peter looked around. “May we come in?” he asked her.

She looked at me.

“
Solamente hablar de Eclypse
,” I assured her. Whatever else she felt she needed to hide was none of our business.

She closed the door long enough to release the safety chain and then opened it wide.

* * *

“You okay?” asked Peter.

I tossed the match into the dirt next to the driveway and inhaled deeply before answering.

“Sure.”

My skin was still crawling, but I wasn't going to admit that.

Jessica's roommate, Emily Guadalupe, had led us into a tiny, dark ten-by-ten living room with a sofa, a chair, and two tables. Every square inch of wall and table had been covered with crosses, images of saints, votives, and tiny little altars. Candles flickered in the draft and made

the shadowy edges of the statues move as if they breathed. I could see and smell the garlic hanging by the windows and doors. It'd make anyone edgy, I'd told myself.

Emily seated herself in one of the chairs and, after a few more minutes of nervous silence, explained that Jessica had gone out with Justin Lake the night before and never returned. Her English was good, if hesitant. She seemed to calm considerably when she finally assured herself that Peter was Homicide, not INS. The LAPD's policy has always been to ignore citizenship issues when larger felonies are at stake.

I had to push aside a pillow with
Quién duermen en el polvo de la tierra se despertarán
stiched on it. The quote was surrounded by a border of crosses. Emily's eyes seemed fastened on my face as she answered Peter's questions.

“Is it usual for Jessica to stay out all night?” asked Peter.

Emily looked embarrassed. “No. Mr. Lake was a new boyfriend.”

“You have a cell phone number for her?” asked Peter.

Emily wrote it down on a scrap of paper. “But she does not answer,” she said. It was starting to give me the creeps the way she stared at me.

“How long has Eclypse known Mr. Lake?” asked Nancy.

Emily's gaze traveled from my eyes to my mouth and down, seemingly to my hands. “She met him at”—a pause while she thought about it—“
sobrevivientes del cancer
.”

“Cancer survivors group?” And at her nod, Peter continued. “Lake was sick?”

“Mr. Lake was dying,” pronounced Emily solemnly. “He asked for me to pray for him.”

Those big black eyes gazed unblinking at my mouth.

Nancy had her cell phone out and was dialing. Four a.m. and somebody at the feds answered her by the third ring. Your tax dollars at work. “Ron? We have a medical history on Lake? Anything, really. Was he being treated for something serious? Oncology? Or any blood tests? How about the ME report? Sure, thanks.”

She disconnected. “It was a well-kept secret if it's true. Ron James will call me if he can find out anything.”

Peter glanced at his watch and then looked toward the windows of Emily's apartment. The moon had not yet set, but I knew he was thinking of the time and the approach of dawn. “We'd better get going.”

I couldn't wait to get out of the room, but Emily stopped me at the door.

“
Gracia de Dios
,” she said, her eyes huge and liquid.

“
Gracias
,” I replied. God's grace is a matter for debate, in my opinion, but what the hell.

* * *

I had to smoke a cigarette before I climbed back into the car.

“What's eating you?” asked Peter. “You look like you're standing on an anthill.”

It wasn't just the room full of saints and crosses. Something was setting my teeth on edge.

Like a ripple of something dark out there was watching us. When you work undercover, you learn to trust these feelings.

“It's nothing,” I told Peter. “Let's get out of here.”

* * *

On the drive back to his place, Peter laid out his ideas for Nancy.

“Before Davis put the kibosh on my investigation, I asked the ME to run a DNA test on the wounds in Lake's throat. We might get lucky and have a hit in CODIS. They usually stick around the areas they habituated in life.”

Nancy's gaze came over to me for a moment. “I see.”

“But Adam's people might be able to work the streets faster.”

“It didn't sound like they wanted to work with us.”

“He always talks them into it,” said Peter confidently. “But we need to move quickly. I'm thinking we get a line on the girlfriend, then follow it quick, before the trail goes cold.”

“Drew said there was a rave in the area of the Chinese last night,” I told them. “Maybe a coincidence. Maybe not.”

“This Drew know where the same DJ is playing next?” asked Peter. The LAPD has been following raves for almost two decades. What began as mostly illegal, impromptu, unadvertised house-music parties had rapidly become an accepted clubbing ritual where cops often acted as security. “Maybe your team could get an invite and ask around about Jessica and Lake.”

Nancy looked dubious. “You want to put a vampire undercover?” she said.

Peter flushed red, as if the word embarrassed him. “Adam worked undercover for vice before he…” Peter did that thing with his hand that signified my change of life. He'd reached the alley that led to his garage. “They can't work it in daylight, but if we have a location and maybe a contact or two by tomorrow night we might be able to send them in.”

Nancy regarded me thoughtfully. “There's miles of red tape to process to set up a surveillance like that.”

She and Peter exchanged that look again. I wondered what the hell was going on that Peter didn't want me to know about.

“I need to make some calls,” said Nancy. “Give me a few hours.”

“I need some sleep,” said Peter, reaching up to press the button that would open his garage door. “Let's talk in a few hours, then.”