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"Funny, I don't feel protective of Reynolds at all."
"That's because you're weird, Zerbrowski."
"No," he said, "it's because I see the way Reynolds and Kirkland look at each other. They are dead gone, Anita, in L-O-V-E."
I sighed. "Maybe."
"If you haven't noticed, it's because you didn't want to see it."
"Maybe I've been busy."
For once Zerbrowski stayed quiet.
I looked at him. "You never answered my first question, am I going to the next murder scene to check Tammy's work?"
He stopped rocking on his heels and stood quiet, face serious. "I don't know, probably some."
"I'm going home then."
He touched my arm. "Go to the second scene, Anita, please. Don't give Dolph any more reason to be more pissy."
"That is not my problem, Zerbrowski. Dolph is making his own life hard on this one."
"I know, but the couple officers that have been at both scenes say the second one is a bad one. More up your alley than Reynolds's."
"Up my alley, how?"
"Violent, real violent. Dolph doesn't want to know if it's magic, he wants to know if something that wasn't human did it."
"Dolph's a fanatic about not giving details away to his people before they've seen a crime scene, Zerbrowski. What you've just told me would piss him off mightily."
"I was afraid you wouldn't go, if I didn't . . . add a little."
"Why do you care if Dolph and I are feuding?"
"We're here to solve crimes, Anita, not fight each other. I don't know what's eating Dolph, but one of you has to be the grown-up." He smiled. "Yeah. I know things have come to a sorry state when you're the one, but there it is."
I shook my head and slapped his arm. "You are such a pain in the ass, Zerbrowski."
"It's good to be appreciated," he said.
The anger was fading, and with it the spurt of energy. I leaned my head against his shoulder. "Get me outside before I start feeling bad again. I'll go see the second crime scene."
He put his arm around my shoulders and gave me half a hug. "That's my little federal marshal."
I raised my head. "Don't push it, Zerbrowski."
"Can't help myself, sorry."
I sighed. "You're right, you can't help yourself. Forget I said anything, keep saying witty irritating things as you walk me back to Jason."
He started me across the room, arm still across my shoulders. "How did you end up with a werewolf stripper as your driver for the day?"
"Just lucky I guess."
19
The second scene was in Chesterfield, which had been a hot address for the up-and-comers before most of the money moved even farther out to Wildwood and beyond. The neighborhood that Jason drove us through was a sharp contrast to the big isolated houses we'd just seen. This was middle-class, middle America, backbone of the nation kind of neighborhood. There are thousands of subdivisions exactly like it. Except in this one, not all the houses were identical. They were still too close together and had a sameness about them, as if a hive mind had designed them all, but some were two-story, some only one, some brick, some not. Only the garage seemed to be the same on all of them, as if the architect wasn't willing to compromise on that one feature.
There were medium sized trees in the yards, which meant the area was over ten years old. It takes time to grow trees.
I saw the giant antenna of the news van before I saw the police cars. "Shit."
"What?" Jason asked.
"The reporters are already here."
He glanced up. "How do you know?"
"Have you never seen a news van with one of those big antennas?"
"I guess not."
"Lucky you," I said.
Probably because of the news van, the police had blocked the street. When someone had time, they'd probably bring up those official-looking sawhorses. Right now they had a police cruiser, a uniformed officer leaning against it, and yellow do-not-cross tape strung from mailbox to mailbox across the entire street.
There were two local news vans and a handful of print media. You can always tell print, because they have the still cameras and no microphones. Though they will shove tape recorders in your face.
We had to park about half a block away because of them. When the engine shut off, Jason asked, "How did they hear about it so quickly?"
"One of the neighbors called it in, or one of the news vans was close for something else. Once something hits the police scanners, the reporters know about it."
"Why weren't there reporters at the first scene?"
"The first one was more isolated, harder to get to, and still make your deadline. Or there could be a local celebrity involved here, or it's just better copy."
"Better copy?" he asked.
"More sensational." In my own head, I wondered how you could get much more sensational than having someone nailed to their living room wall, but of course, those kinds of details weren't released to the media, not if it could be kept under wraps.
I undid my seat belt and put a hand on the door handle. "Getting through the press is going to be the first hurdle here. I'm something of a local celebrity now, myself, whether I like it or not."
"The Master of the City's lady love," Jason said, smiling.
"I don't think anyone's been that polite," I said, "but, yeah. Though today they'll be more interested in the murder. They'll be asking me questions about that, not Jean-Claude."
"You seem to be feeling some better," Jason said.
"I am, not sure why."
"Maybe whatever caused the bad reaction is fading."
I nodded. "Maybe."
"Are we going to get out of the car, or are we going to watch from here?"
I sighed. "Getting out, getting out."
Jason opened his door and was around to my side before I could get more than one foot on the ground. Today I let him help me. I was feeling better, but I still wasn't at my best. I'd hate to refuse help and then fall flat on my face. I was really trying to tone down the machismo today. Mine, not Jason's.
I put my hand on Jason's arm, and we started down the sidewalk towards the crowd. There were lots of people, and most of them weren't reporters. The first murder scene had been isolated, no neighbors close enough to walk out their doors and see the show. But this neighborhood was thick with houses, so we had a crowd.
I had my badge around my neck on its little cord, I hadn't taken it off from the last scene. Now that I was feeling better, it occurred to me that Jason's arm was in the way if I had to go for the gun under my left arm. I didn't want him on my right side, because that was my gun hand, but even on my left he was in the way, a little at least.
I was feeling better if I could be worrying this much over my gun. Good to know. Feeling bad sucks, and nausea is one of the great evils of the universe.
I think because I had Jason on my arm it took the reporters longer to realize who I was, and that we weren't just part of the growing crowd of gawkers. We were actually working our way through the crowd, almost to the yellow tape before one of the reporters spotted me.
The tape recorder was shoved at me, "Ms. Blake, why are you here, was the murdered woman a vampire victim?"
Fuck, if I just said, no comment,they'd be printing possible vampire killall over this one. "I'm called in on a lot of preternaturally related crime, Mr. Miller, isn't it? Not just vampires."
He was happy I'd remembered his name. Most people love to have you remember their names. "So it wasn't a vampire kill."
Shit. "I haven't been up to the crime scene yet, Mr. Miller, I don't know any more than you do."
The reporters closed like a fist around me. There was a big shoulder cam on us now. We'd make the noon news if nothing more exciting happened.
The questions came from all directions, "Is it a vampire kill? What kind of monster is it? Do you think they'll be more victims?" One woman got in so close that only a death grip on Jason's hand kept us from being separated. "Anita, is this your new boyfriend? Have you dumped Jean-Claude?"
That a reporter would ask that question with a fresh body only yards away said just how bad the media interest in Jean-Claude's personal life had gotten.
Once the question was raised, several more asked similar questions. I did not understand why my personal life was more interesting, or even as interesting, as a murder. It made no sense to me.
