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“We always told him to be careful,” Janice said.
Her voice caught again, and Barbara’s heart contracted. You could tell them, give them all the warnings, but you couldn’t protect kids from themselves. Barbara was glad she didn’t have children. She didn’t think she could handle the terror that such unconditional love brought. “Like trying to guide a balloon through the world without puncturing it,” Susan had said to her once. Hell, Barbara couldn’t even keep a relationship afloat, too scared that love only brought loss.
“Forgive me for asking this,” she continued, “but did Marcus have an interest in any anti-vampyr groups?”
Ed sighed. “One time we caught the boys watching some anti-vampyr stuff online.”
“What sort of stuff?”
“Bad stuff—beheadings.”
Barbara felt her stomach tighten.
“Marcus said it was just curiosity,” Janice said. “It’s so damn easy to find this stuff. He lost his internet privileges for a while and promised he wouldn’t look up anything like that again.”
Barbara took a breath. “Marcus had a Helsing tattoo, on his shoulder? Did you know about that?”
They just stared at her.
“A tattoo?”
“Yes. Any idea where he could have got it?”
“No.”
“The boys ever go over to Anchorage?”
Ed nodded slowly. “Sometimes. One of us would drive them to Talkeetna to catch the train. Janice has a sister in Anchorage. They’d stay with her a couple of nights, then get the train back.”
“I don’t see what this has to do with anything,” Janice said, hostility creeping in. “So what if Marcus had a tattoo? How does any of this help you catch his killer?”
“Any information about who Marcus was associating with could help us find the perpetrator,” Barbara said steadily.
“And what if it doesn’t?” Ed said. “Will you authorize a cull then? Because if it can’t be one, then it might as well be all of them.” His voice caught. “No one else should have to go through this.”
Barbara felt a hard knot in her gut. What would it take? She knew what Decker would say: All this other crap is a distraction, Atkins. Either a vampyr killed the kid or they didn’t. If the Colony are protecting someone, then we are within guidelines to authorize a cull.
Reluctantly, she said, “I’m not ruling anything out, sir.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
She nodded. “Would you mind if I took a look around Marcus’s room?”
—
It looked like most teenage boys’ rooms. A mess. The aroma of hormones and sweaty socks still hung in the air. But that was fading. Already time was gathering up the remnants of Marcus’s existence and packing them away. Dirty mugs and a couple of plates with dried food on them sat on a computer desk alongside a monitor and keyboard. An old PlayStation and Xbox sat on the floor underneath. Dust had started to gather on the consoles and controllers.
Barbara scanned the rest of the room. The bed was hastily made, duvet thrown across the squashed pillows. It was black and red with the name of some band scrawled across it. Core or Hate or Vomit. It was hard to read the florid Gothic writing.
A battered chest of drawers stood next to the bed and a wardrobe was crammed into the opposite corner, lopsided, one door hanging off. It was obvious that the Andersons weren’t exactly rolling in money. Was that why Marcus had agreed to fake the video?
She opened the wardrobe. Sweatshirts and shirts hung up haphazardly, jeans folded up beneath and trainers thrown in on top. She shut the door again and moved to the chest of drawers. Underwear, socks, more T-shirts. Nothing hidden or stuffed inside.
She felt like she was missing something. Or maybe there was nothing to miss. She walked back toward the door. The floorboards creaked. She looked down. In her experience, people rarely hid stuff underneath floorboards in real life. There wasn’t much room, and you usually needed a tool to get the damn things back up. Not to mention the splinters. Still, sometimes a cliché was a cliché for a reason.
She crouched down, eyes scanning the scarred and uneven floor. Did one of the boards look a little looser than the others? She felt around with her fingers. Definite movement. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her keyring. She wedged one of the keys down the side and, hey presto, the board lifted up. She pulled it free, flicked on her phone light and peered inside.
The first thing she spotted was a large wad of bound cash. Barbara took it out. She guessed this was the money the Doc had paid Marcus. She stuck her hand back in the hole in the floor and scrabbled around, hoping she wouldn’t feel the flutter of spider legs over her fingers. She didn’t. They closed around a large plastic bag. Barbara pulled it out. The bag was full of weed and another, smaller bag of white powder.
