Rajmund (12 page)

But it always surprised him when the human authorities permitted themselves to remain equally ignorant. Thornton was the Police Commissioner of a major American city—a city which was controlled by a vampire lord, no less; a city that hosted the most powerful vampires on the continent at the Vampire Council meeting every eighth year—and the man couldn't even say the word
vampire
without choking on it. But Raj kept these thoughts private. He rose slightly, just enough to extend his hand halfway across the table, establishing the pecking order by forcing the Commissioner to do likewise.

"Raymond Gregor,” he said. He noticed the Commissioner avoided looking at him directly and once again had to stifle the urge to laugh out loud. Television and movies had spread many myths about vampires, most of them utter foolishness, although some played into the vampires’ hands quite nicely. The need for eye contact was one of them. It helped sometimes to focus the target's attention, but if Raj wanted to seize control of a human's mind, he certainly didn't need to waste time staring into his eyes to do so.

"Always an honor to meet some of our fine men in blue, Detectives.” Blackwood's voice broke the sudden tension. “Even if you wear a suit,” he added, with his patented charming smile. He shook hands with the two detectives. “And Mr. Gregor,” he enthused, shaking Raj's hand in turn. “This is indeed a pleasure. My institute would love to open a dialogue with your people. I believe we have much in common."

Raj accepted the handshake without comment. Humanity Realized had been after the vampire community for years, trying to “open a dialogue.” Vampires were all but immortal, and HR wanted to know why so they could sell the secret to wealthy humans and thus fulfill their mission of realizing what they considered to be the full human potential. Since the last thing the people of Earth—or vampires either, for that matter—needed was a competing bunch of rich, immortal assholes running around, every vampire council on the planet had issued a firm edict. There was to be no cooperation of any sort with humans when it came to researching vampire physiology. It was the one thing, possibly the only thing, every council member agreed upon wholeheartedly, and they enforced that edict absolutely. The penalty was death—permanent and instant death—for any vampire caught breaking the edict. No trial, no appeal. Vampire justice had its own code, and it was uncompromising.

"I'd like to make something clear right now,” Cowens said, his tone suggesting he was accustomed to having strict attention paid to everything he said. And indeed, silence fell as everyone in the room turned to look at him. “My daughter is missing.” He breathed deeply in and out through his nose, his jaw clenched, visibly struggling to bring his emotions under control. “I know how this works,” he said bluntly. “I know you all think she's dead already.” His eyes grew hard and he stared at Felder and Scavetti. “I don't believe that. I won't believe that until I have a body to take home. I want a full investigation, do you understand me? I don't care if you resent me talking to you this way. You can complain to your Union, to the Commissioner, to God himself. I don't care. I want my daughter found. Dead . . .” He closed his eyes against the pain. “Dead or alive,” he continued hoarsely. “Or heads will roll. Do you understand me?"

Felder and Scavetti returned his stare and Raj gave them credit for not being cowed by the explicit threat. Cowens had more than enough influence to get a couple of city detectives broken down to street cops if they failed him, and they had to know that.

"And you,” Cowens said, turning his angry gaze on Raj, who regarded him impassively. “I don't give a fuck who you are or who your so-called master is. If one of you monsters has my daughter, if you've harmed a single hair on her head.” Cowens rose and leaned forward across the table. “I have resources you cannot imagine, vampire. No hole will be deep enough to hide you.” He kicked his chair out of the way suddenly, raked all of them with an angry glare and strode from the room, his bodyguard racing to hit the doorway before he did. Blackwood scrambled to his feet only steps behind, but the Commissioner merely stood and watched them leave.

When he turned back, his expression was somber. “This is a difficult case, gentlemen. Not just for you, but for the Department. I'm trusting you to take care of it.” And he, too, departed, leaving just the three of them once again.

"Well. That was useful,” Raj commented dryly. He straightened from his casual slouch to put both elbows on the table. “So tell me, gentlemen, why exactly was Sarah Stratton here tonight?"

Scavetti swung around and stared at him for a few silent minutes, and then shook his head, chuckling in disbelief. “She called, said she had an in with the local honcho.” He gave Raj a skeptical look. “Your boss, I assume."

"One would think. What's Blackwood's involvement?"

"Fuck if I know. He seems to like
you
well enough. Maybe you should ask him yourself,
Raj
."

Raj studied Scavetti lazily, thinking how easy it would be to grab the foulmouthed detective some night and make him disappear. Would anyone miss him, he wondered. Could even a Neanderthal like Scavetti have people who loved him?

"Are you married, Detective?” he asked. “You have a wife? A family?"

Scavetti regarded him suspiciously. “What the hell do you care?"

Raj shrugged. “Just curious."

"Well, leave me the fuck out of your curiosity. And if you want to know more about Stratton, you can ask her yourself. Asshole."

Felder rolled his eyes. “How about we get on with the briefing, Tony? Raj here isn't the only one with a social life. I've got a late date with my next ex-wife."

Scavetti brooded a few minutes longer, staring blankly at the wall. And then with no outward warning, both hands slapped the table, rattling Felder's already chipped coffee cup and knocking over a couple of unopened water bottles. “Fuck, yeah!” he announced. “Let's do this."

He stood and stomped over to a whiteboard which ran along the entire far wall. There was a roughly five by six foot piece of thick poster stock leaning against the board, and Scavetti moved it aside to reveal a series of photographs and notes taped to the whiteboard itself. “We've got three women over the last month who match the profile,” he said, suddenly all business. “All three missing, no bodies found yet."

"What
is
the profile,” Raj asked curiously.

Scavetti gave him a dirty look, but said, “We're going on the assumption that there's a vampire link for now, so that's fucking number one. The rest is the usual—age, appearance, access. William Cowens's daughter, Patricia, eighteen and single, was last seen at a vamp party. It was an open affair, advertised in the dorms and various places on campus, on bulletin boards and so on. We spoke to her airhead roommate who says she persuaded Cowens to go to the party at the last minute, that she'd never been to one before. At this point, we don't think she was specifically targeted. There've been no calls to her father, no ransom demand, not even with all the publicity—which doesn't say much for her fucking chances. Unless one of you guys has her?” he asked with faked curiosity. “I understand you keep ‘em alive for a few days."

Raj didn't bother to respond, and Scavetti continued with a grunt. “Anyway, for now, it looks like a random snatch—she left the party early and, as far as we can tell, alone, and no one has seen her since. We do know she never made it back to the dorm.

"Going back to the most recent incident before Cowens . . .” He moved down the board to the picture of another young woman who looked older than Patricia Cowens, but not by much. “Regina Aiello, twenty-one years old, living with her mother who filed the missing report. Mother says she went out with friends, kind of a girl's night out before someone's wedding that weekend. We talked to the friends who say they all went to a fucking blood house—"

"That's apparently the in thing for bachelorette parties these days,” Dan interrupted to add. “No more Chippendale dancers, I guess. Now it's vampires."

"The others didn't realize she was missing,” Tony raised his voice slightly over his partner and kept talking. “Until the mother started calling around the next day. Apparently several of her group peeled away during the festivities to do God knows what, and they just assumed Aiello had done the same. The mother says she didn't know they were going to a blood house and seemed pretty shocked by the idea. Talking to the girl's friends, I get the impression Aiello wasn't exactly a player."

Raj listened with half an ear to the facts—interviews with Aiello's friends and so on—but pushed away from the table and stood, walking over to the board where he studied the pictures of the missing women. Trisha Cowens's disappearance might be questionable—those ridiculous vamp parties had nothing to do with anything truly Vampire—but Aiello disappearing from a blood house was troubling.

Raj frowned and kept reading as Scavetti's expletive-laced recitation moved on to the next woman, the first one taken, as far as they knew. Martha Polk, nineteen, engaged to be married, but living with her parents. She was employed by an upscale catering company and had worked a private party downtown, after which several people, including some of the wait staff, went to another of the blood houses.

Raj saw a definite pattern developing, but whether it was vampires or someone who wanted it to look like vampires was the big question. Not that everyone went right home from the blood houses. Scavetti wasn't far off on that point. When a vampire found a tasty and amenable partner, it wasn't unusual for the two of them to spend a few days together, especially on a weekend. The very young woman who'd been lounging around Krystof's office earlier was a good example. But Polk had been gone nearly a month and that was far too long.

"Polk's group have all developed fucking amnesia about the night in question,” Scavetti was saying. “Not one of them will say for sure that Polk was with them at the blood house, but they won't say she wasn't either. Apparently her fiance's the jealous type and no one wants to pony up and get her in trouble. Like she's not in fucking trouble already."

Raj studied the young woman's picture, which was from her work photo ID. She seemed too young to be getting married. Her face was open and expressive, with a big smile and brown hair that was swept into a bouncy looking ponytail.

"And then there's Dr. Estelle Edwards,” Scavetti continued. “She fits the time frame, disappearing about a week before Polk, and there's a vamp connection, but she's older than the others and travels in radically different circles. She's a research MD at the university."

Raj moved down to Edward's profile, which was set apart from the rest. He leaned closer, straining to read someone's uneven handwriting. He frowned. Her husband said she'd gone out to meet a local vampire connection? What the hell was that about?

He shifted his gaze once again to scan the pictures pinned across the top of the board. Scavetti was right. Estelle Edwards stood out. She was only in her late thirties, but with her carefully coiffed and highlighted blond hair, and her well-fleshed face, she appeared much older, almost matronly. Each of the three others was petite and dark-haired, with a youthful ripeness to them that Raj recognized as the kind of women who many vamps—including him—enjoyed feeding from. That ripeness gave them a special glow, softening their cheeks and plumping their lips into a pouty fullness that invited a vampire to crush them with his mouth and sip at the juice of life.

He turned back to the image of Estelle Edwards. Everything about her said settled, married, matron. She was attractive enough, but she'd never have turned heads the way the other three did.

"What kind of research?” Raj asked, interrupting Scavetti's flow.

The detective looked over with a predictable scowl which transformed to quick interest when he saw the picture Raj was looking at. “I'm not sure. You remember, Dan?"

"Yeah.” Felder was flipping through his notes. “Uh . . . hematology?"

"Blood,” Raj said unhappily.

"Her husband said she's been trying to get funding for a study of vampires,” Felder added. “Wants to figure out whatever it is that makes them—” He jerked a look at Raj, as if he'd forgotten for a moment there was a real vampire in the room with him. “That is, why you all live so long and everything."

"A dangerous subject,” Raj said thoughtfully. “How did she plan to do it without a test subject?"

"What do you mean?"

He turned all the way around and looked between the two detectives, trying to decide how much to say. “I mean it's hard to study blood without a sample, and no vampire would have cooperated, not willingly anyway. Or unless he had a death wish."

"Why not?"

"We don't share,” Raj said flatly. “How do you know she's part of this case? Maybe she pressured a vampire who didn't want to cooperate and got killed for her efforts."

"We're not sure she is, actually. Like Tony says, the timing fits, and there's a definite vamp connection, but for the rest of it . . .” Felder shrugged. “You might be right about some vamp getting pissed and taking her out, but her husband was pretty insistent that she'd made contact with someone in the vampire community. Someone who was willing to cooperate in her research. And he told us she'd already met whoever it was at least once before."

"Did this supposed contact have a name?"

Scavetti snorted a dismissive laugh. “I asked him the same thing. He says she's very secretive about her work. We took a hard fucking look at the husband, I'll tell you, but I don't think there's anything there. As in
nothing's
there. I got the impression they don't spend that much time together. No heat, if you know what I mean."

"He's a doc at the University too,” Felder added. “Heads up a big psychiatric clinic or something. He seemed awfully certain his wife was going to get her samples, though. Says she had drug companies lining up to sponsor her. A lot of money, too."

"How much money?” Raj asked curiously.

"The good doctor almost choked on his own tongue trying to avoid answering that question, but I got him to admit we're talking well into the tens of millions."