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* * *
The night's so cold.I shiver as we walk from the parking lot to the Sheriff's office. After another round of introductions in which Ed flashes his badge, I sit at a desk, going over my own notes on the small laptop, waiting for the dead man's boss to arrive and answer questions. When he walks in the office, my back's to the door, so I hear him, feel his presence before I see him. I turn slowly, not wanting to betray my anticipation. He has white skin and eyes so pale the iris resembles water, the pupils huge, much larger than normal. Platinumhair.
Avampire.
Michel stands and almost knocks over his chair, his expression one of shock, his eyes wide. The man smiles at Michel. He makes a hand signal as if telling Michel to sit and hedoes.
What the heck is goingon?
I turn to Michel but he won't meet my eyes. If a vampire could flush, Michel would have at that moment, and I reach out to touch him to see what's wrong. He pulls his hand away and shakes his headquickly.
I turn back to the vampire. He wears a beret and black suede coat with a lambskin collar, and looks to be well over six feet tall. He removes his coat and beret and sits down on the chair the Sheriff's deputy offershim.
He looks around the room, waiting for the Sheriff to get off the phone and begin his questions, his fingers tapping impatiently on the tabletop. A thick gold signet ring circles his index finger. When those ice blue eyes come to rest on me, I have to fight with all my might not to look quickly away. I merely nod and wait for him to break the eye contact between us. He finally looks away, his eyes closing briefly, a small smile on his lips as if he knows who I am and why I'm here. The thought makes menervous.
The Sheriff finally puts down the phone and comes to the desk, extending his hand to the vampire, who according to my file, is former Marine, retired Colonel Anders Henrickson. Late thirties, long pale hair pulled back in a ponytail. He rises briefly and shakes the Sheriff's hand, then seats himself onceagain.
"Thank you for coming down so quickly to meet with me to discuss the recent death of one of your members, Cpl. Conrad," the Sheriff says, consulting a file in front of him. "A former Marine, and according to his membership card, a lieutenant in yourorganization."
"Yes," Henrickson replies, his voice deep and sonorous with a hint of a Norwegian accent. "Such a shock to us all, so tragic a loss - Conrad was one of my bestofficers."
The Sheriff nods. "I spoke to his family in Georgia - they seemed pleased he was a member of the group - says it was the first time he's been out of trouble in years. You had no problems with discipline? Any enemies he might have - someone who might want himdead?"
"None that I know of," Henrickson replies, shifting in his chair, waving his hand in dismissal. "I was pleased with him. I'm sad to losehim."
Henrickson sits patiently, waiting for the Sheriff to continue. His legs are crossed casually, his hands resting on the arms of the wooden chair. He's calm under the Sheriff's questions - totally at ease with the situation, no hint of nervousness. His air of absolute command makes the rest of us look pale and insignificant incomparison.
"As I say, there was a witness report about another man present at the scene when the Lieutenant died - a tall man with pale hair and skin. The man was driving a late model GMC truck. I remember from our last meeting that you own such atruck."
Henrickson raises his eyebrows. "Yes. I do, but there must be dozens in this area of the country. Any leads on who the man mightbe?"
"No, we think it's just the witnesses' vivid imagination. Not a very reliable fellow. Just for the record, Colonel, can you tell me your whereabouts in the early morning hours around 0300hours?"
Henrickson looks down at the floor and then nods. "Yes, I was with my ... girlfriend, in my quarters. She's my secretary, Jane Beauregard. I can give you her number and address if you requireit."
"Thanks, Colonel. You understand we have to check it out," the Sheriff says, downplaying the seriousness of the issue. Henrickson waves his hand and shrugs, taking a pen out of his shirt pocket andwriting something on a slip ofpaper.
"No problem. I understandprotocol."
The Sheriff takes the slip of paper and nods, then stands up and extends his hand once again. Henrickson rises and shakes it, then shrugs on the coat over his strong form before looking at us all, me last, and nodding good-bye. He pulls a beret over his head before heleaves.
"Is there anythingelse?"
The sheriff shakes hishead.
"Good day, gentlemen," he says, his voice almost jovial. "Lady." He nods to me. "Let's hope there's no more reason for me to visit your pleasant office again." His eye catches mine before he leaves and a shiver goes throughme.
We gather around the Sheriff's desk and discuss the case - the Sheriff's unconvinced of Fishman's statement. Michel still looks to be in shock but he saysnothing.
"I'll check out the Colonel's alibi but it's highly unlikely that Henrickson himself would do the dirty work. More likely one of his staff." The Sheriff looks at me and shakes his head. "Sorry, I just don't buy it. There's no motive, noevidence."
Ednods.
Another deadend.
* * *
Once we'reoutside the building, Michel grabs me and pulls measide.
