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"What restaurant was it?" I asked as if I hadn't been there twenty minutes earlier. Interrogations are so often repetitive.
"What?" she asked.
"What was the name of the bar?"
"I don't remember."
"Dolph?" I asked.
"Burnt Offerings," he said.
I laughed. "A notorious vampire hangout."
"It's not in the vampire district," she said. "How was I to know that it was a vampire bar?"
"How about the picture of Christopher Lee as Dracula on the sign outside?" I said.
"It was quite late and nothing else was open."
"In University City on Delmar on a Friday night? Come on, Vicki. You can do better than that," I said.
She touched the bandage on her neck with a delicate, trembling hand. "He bit me." Her voice shook, and more tears trailed down her face.
I walked back to her. I put a hand on either side of her chair and leaned my face into hers. "You're lying, Vicki."
She burst into tears, hiding her face. I put a finger under her chin and lifted her face. "Damn, you're good, but not good enough."
She jerked away from me, standing so suddenly, the chair crashed to the floor. "I was attacked, and you're making me feel like the bad guy. You're a woman. I thought you'd understand."
I shook my head. "Can the universal sisterhood appeal, Vicki. It don't wash."
She jerked the bandage from her neck and threw it to the floor. "Look, look what he did to me!"
If she expected me to flinch, she had the wrong girl. I walked up to her, turning her head to one side. It was vampire fang marks, pretty fresh. A neat, nice bite, but there was no bruising, no hickey mark spreading across her creamy flesh. It was just two neat fang marks.
I stepped back from her. "You threw your drink into his face as soon as he bit you?"
"Yes, I didn't want him touching me."
"A filthy vampire," I said.
"A walking corpse."
She had a point. "Thank you, Vicki, thank you for talking to me." I walked to the door and motioned Dolph to follow. Zerbrowski stayed behind with Ms. Pierce.
Dolph closed the door behind us. "What did you see in the bite that I didn't?" he asked.
"If a vamp plunges fang into you but doesn't have time to feed much, it leaves a hickey. Just like a human sucking on your neck. The fangs aren't hollow, they just pierce the skin so that the vamp can suck the blood. One of the reasons they're so small. If the vamp feeds long enough, he takes blood away from the area and you don't get marking. No way did a quick bite and suck leave her clean like that. She had someone else do it ahead of time, and it took a lot more time than a few seconds."
"I knew she was lying," Dolph said, and shook his head. "But I thought she'd thrown more on him than a drink. I thought she'd come into the bar with some sort of accelerant."
I shook my head. "Once you get a vamp burning, they burn until they're put out or burned to ash. You may get a few bone fragments left, but vamps burn more completely than any human. Dental records won't even help you."
"The bartender used a fire extinguisher from behind the bar. Witnesses say he was quick."
I nodded. "Yeah, good ol' Harry. It's a miracle the vamp is still alive. I know there's some hardcore opposition to a vampire business outside the vampire district. There's a petition and some sort of city meeting scheduled. Ms. Pierce will make a great witness to the dangers of vampires being outside the district."
"The restaurant owner said the bad publicity could ruin him."
I nodded. "Oh, yeah. It could also be a personal motive against the vampire. Not little Miss Blue Eyes but someone she knows that wanted him dead."
"She could be a member of Humans First. They'd love all the vamps to burn."
"A fanatical vampire hater wouldn't let a vamp do their neck like that. No. Humans First might have paid her to discredit the bar. She may be a member of Humans Against Vampires, HAV, or even Humans First, but she doesn't really believe. The bite proves that."
"Could the vamp have captured her mind?"
"I don't think so, but I've got some better questions for your other witnesses now."
"Such as?" he asked.
"Are they sure the vampire in question even got a taste of her? Are they positive that he bit her? Ask them if she smelled of blood when she came in."
"Explain," Dolph said.
"If she came in with the bite, then some of them might have smelled it. Might not, the wound was pretty clean, which was probably why the vamp did it that way. If he'd just bitten her and brought the blood to the surface, the vamps would have all scented it."
Dolph was writing it all down in his trusty notebook. "So a vamp's involved?"
"He may not know what she was planning to do. I'd check for a vamp boyfriend, maybe, or at least one she's dated. Boyfriend may be too strong a word for Ms. Pierce. I'd see if she has some background in acting. Check out her major in college, maybe."
"Already done," Dolph said. "She's got a background in theater arts."
I smiled. "Why did you need me? You had it all solved."
"The bite, the fact that vampires burn that easily..." He shook his head. "None of this shit is in the literature."
"The books aren't designed for police work, Dolph."
"Maybe you should do a book," he said.
"Yeah, right. Do you have enough to get a warrant for her bank records?"
"If I'm careful what judge I ask, maybe."
"You know, even if she is charged and convicted, the damage is done. The petition and the meeting are scheduled for next week. All they'll have is rumors of an attack, and it will grow in the telling."
Dolph nodded. "Nothing we can do about that."
"You could go down there and tell them what you've learned about Vicki in there."
"Why don't you do it?"
"Because I'm the whore of Babylon to the right-wingers. I'm boffing the head bloodsucker. They wouldn't believe a damn thing I said."
"I don't have time to attend civic meetings, Anita."
"You think the vampire businesses should be segregated?" I asked.
"Don't go there, Anita. You won't like the answers."
I dropped it. Dolph thought vampires were monsters that the public needed to be protected from. I even agreed with him to an extent. But I was sleeping with one of the monsters. It made it hard to stay on the same bandwagon as Dolph. We agreed to disagree. It kept the peace and kept us working together.
"If you hate vamps so much, why didn't you buy Ms. Pierce's story?" I asked.
"Because I'm not stupid," Dolph said.
"Sorry," I said. "Sorry that I thought even for a second that personal feelings might interfere with your job. You'd never allow it, would you?"
He smiled. "I don't know. You're not in jail yet."
"If you had proof of wrongdoing, I might be."
"You might," he said. The smile faded from his face. His eyes went empty, cop eyes. "What happened to your hand?"
I glanced down at the bandaged hand as if it had just appeared. "Kitchen accident," I said.
"Kitchen accident," he said.
"Yeah."
"What happened?"
"Sliced my hand with a knife."
"What were you doing?" he asked.
I never cook at home. Dolph knew that. "Slicing a bagel." I gave empty eyes back to him. Once, not long ago, my face showed everything. Every thought plain to see, but not now. I stared at Dolph's suspicious face and knew my face gave him nothing. Only the blankness itself was a clue that I was lying. But he knew I was lying. I wasn't going to waste his time or mine by coming up with a really good lie. Why bother?
We stared at each other. "There's blood on your hose, Anita. That must have been some bagel," he said.
"It was," I said, then couldn't help smiling. "I would have said I was mugged, but you'd want me to fill out a report."
He sighed. "You little shit. You're wrapped up in something else right now. Right this minute." His large hands balled into fists nearly the size of my face. "I'd yell at you, but it wouldn't do any good. I'd throw you in a cell overnight." He laughed, and it was bitter. "For what's left of the night, but I don't have any charges, do I?"
"I haven't done anything, Dolph." I raised the injured hand. "I was doing a favor for a friend, raising some dead. I got cut for more blood. That's it."
"The truth?" he asked.
I nodded. "Yeah."
"Why didn't you just tell me?" he asked.
"Because it was a favor, no money. If Bert finds out I'm raising the dead for free, he'll have a heart attack. He'll believe the bagel story."
Dolph laughed. "He won't ask how you got hurt. He doesn't want to know."
I nodded. "Very true."
"Just in case the kitchen gets any hotter, remember to call if you need help."
"I'll keep it in mind, Dolph."
"You do that." He put up his notebook. "Try not to kill anyone this month, Anita. Even in clear self-defense you pile up too many bodies, and you're going to get locked up."
"I haven't killed anyone in over six weeks--hell, nearly seven. I'm cutting down."
He shook his head. "The last two were the only two we've ever been able to prove, Anita. Both self-defense. One with witnesses out the ass, but we've never found Harold Gaynor's body. Just his wheelchair in that cemetery. Dominga Salvador is still missing."
I smiled at him. "People say the senora went back to South America."
"There was blood all over that chair, Anita."
"Was there?"
"Your luck is going to run out, and I won't be able to help you."
"I didn't ask for help," I said. "Besides, if the new law goes through, I'll have a federal badge."
"Being a cop, no matter what kind, doesn't mean you can't be arrested."
It was my turn to sigh. "I'm tired, and I'm going home. Good night, Dolph."
He looked at me for another second or two, then said, "Good night, Anita." He walked back into the interview room and left me standing in the hall.
Dolph had never been this grumpy before he found out I was dating Jean-Claude. I wasn't sure he was aware of how much his attitude had changed towards me, but I certainly was. A little undead nookie and he didn't trust me anymore, not completely.
It made me sad and angry. What was really hard was the fact that less than two months ago I'd have agreed with Dolph. You can't trust anyone who sleeps with the monsters. But here I was, doing it. Me, Anita Blake, turned into coffin bait. Sad, very sad. It wasn't any of Dolph's business who I dated. But I couldn't blame him for the attitude. I didn't like it, but I couldn't bitch about it. Okay, I could bitch, but it wasn't fair of me to do it.
I walked out without going through the main squad room again. I wondered how long they'd keep the penguins on their desks waiting for me to come back. The thought of all those silly-looking toy birds sitting forlornly waiting for me to return brought a smile to my face. But it didn't last. It wasn't just that Dolph mistrusted me. He was a very good cop, a good investigator. If he really started digging, he might get proof. Heaven knew I'd done enough unsanctioned kills to put me in prison. I'd used my animating powers to kill humans. If it could be proved, it was an automatic death sentence. A death sentence for someone who had used magic to kill was not the same sort of sentence as, say, an axe murderer got. A guy could chop up his family and spend the next fifteen years on death row with appeals. There are no appeals for magic-induced murder. Trial, conviction, death within six weeks, usually less.
The prisons are afraid of magic and don't like to keep witches and such around long. There was a sorcerer in Maine who called down demons while in his cell. How anyone left him alone long enough for that particular ritual, I don't know. The people who had goofed all ended up dead, so they couldn't be questioned. They never did find the heads. Even I couldn't raise enough of them as zombies to get them to talk or write down what had happened. It was a mess.
The sorcerer escaped, but was later recaptured with the help of a coven of white witches and, strangely, a group of Satanists. Nobody who performs magic likes it when someone goes rogue. It gives us all a bad name. The last witch burned alive by a mob in this country was only in 1953. Her name was Agnes Simpson. I'd seen the black-and-white photos of her death. Anyone who studied preternatural anything had to have her picture in at least one textbook. The photo that stayed with me was one in which her face was untouched, pale, even from a distance terror plain on her face. Her long brown hair moving in the heat but not yet burning. Only her nightgown and robe had caught fire. Her head thrown back, screaming. The photo won the Pulitzer Prize. The rest of the photos aren't seen as often. A progression of photographs that ends with her burned and blackened and dead.
How anyone could stand there and keep taking pictures, I don't know. Maybe the Pulitzer Prize was a charm against nightmares. Then again, maybe not.
