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“Thanks, Al.” She smiled, even though she knew she would stick down the correct fare. Honest as the day is long. That was Barbara. ’Course, here in Alaska the days weren’t so long.
She bade Al goodbye and watched him pull off, no doubt to drive home to his one-bed cabin, eat a ready meal and maybe jack off to some porn before bed. Or maybe not. Maybe Al enjoyed cooking, music, books. Maybe he didn’t even own a TV. Maybe. Making assumptions about people was dangerous, but sometimes your gut just knew. If Al wasn’t the type of man who kept a bin for tissues beside his armchair, she would eat her mittens.
Barbara turned and looked up at the police department building. Lights in the shape of prancing reindeer had been strung around the window frames, intertwined with miniature jack-o’-lanterns. The whole town was like some bizarre Nightmare Before Christmas…nightmare.
Small towns, she reminded herself. They had their ways. You just had to roll with it. She hefted her case and walked up to the door. It was locked, so she pressed the buzzer at the side. Nothing. She tried again, keeping her finger on the button.
An ear-splitting crackle reverberated through the intercom and a muffled female voice muttered: “Oh shit.” And then: “Sorry—Deadhart Mayor’s Office and Police Department?”
“Err, hello. It’s Detective Barbara Atkins here. From the Forensic Vampyr Anthropology Department.”
“Oh, the Fang Doc. Hang on. I’ll let you in. Come straight through.”
Fang Doc. Barbara rolled her eyes. It was going to be a long week. The door buzzed. She pushed it open and stepped into a short corridor. To her right a room had been converted to house two small holding cells. Basically, cages with a bed and not much else.
To her left, another door led to a room which she presumed must be both the mayor’s office and the police department. Barbara could see several large filing cabinets and three desks, which was pretty much one too many for the room’s size.
A small stout woman stood in the middle of the room. She looked to be of native Alaskan descent, with thick, dark hair cut in a short bob. Maybe mid-forties. She wore glasses and a colorful blouse with jeans. Barbara surmised that this was not Police Chief Pete Nicholls. The woman held out her hand as Barbara entered.
“Hi, Detective Atkins!” She paused and frowned. “Do I call you Detective, or is it Doctor?”
Barbara smiled and shook her small hand. “Barbara works for me.”
Although Detective and Doctor were both correct. She was a doctor of forensic vampyr anthropology and a homicide detective.
The woman’s smile widened. “And you can call me Rita.”
“Good to meet you, Rita.”
Instinctively, Barbara liked this woman. Her eyes were bright and direct, her smile genuine.
“You work here with Chief Nicholls?” Barbara asked.
A look of amusement crossed the woman’s face. “Kind of. I help out. We’re waiting on a new officer to start on rotation soon. Till then I’m all Pete’s got.”
“I hear my name being used in vain?”
Barbara turned. At the back of the room, where a doorway led to a small kitchenette, stood a tall, wiry man holding a cup of coffee. He wore a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up and dark jeans. His thinning hair was shorn close and he sported a neat mustache. Barbara guessed he was about her age, but better maintained. Instinctively, she sucked her stomach in.
“Chief Nicholls?”
He walked forward and held out a smooth, lightly freckled hand. “One and the same. And you must be Detective Atkins, esteemed doctor of forensic vampyr anthropology.”
She shook his hand. “But you can call me Fang Doc…” She winked at Rita.
Nicholls glanced at the other woman. “Please tell me you didn’t?”
Rita clapped a hand over her mouth in mock dismay.
“It’s okay.” Barbara smiled. “I get that a lot. In fact, it’s one of the kinder things people have called me.”
Nicholls smiled, but it looked a little forced. “Well, I’ve probably been called a lot worse in my career.” He moved to his desk and set his coffee down. “Can I get you one? Warm you up a bit?”
“That would be great,” Barbara said, with some feeling.
“I’ll make it,” Rita said. “How d’you take it, Barbara?”
“Milk and two sugars, please.”
