Dead Heat (Taz Bell Book 1) Page 13

  "Of course, of course," George grumbled, soothed down only a little. "But if I had been here and became aware of the trouble, I might have also gotten a look at the attacker. But at least Freemont is making a small bit of headway with that harpy."

  "She spent a long enough time kind of half dreaming this morning that I got a better fix on her," Freemont put in after I glanced at him as I added sugar and cream to my coffee. "The place her nest is in isn't surrounded by city, but I didn't get the impression of complete boondocks either. The house containing her nest is private and uncrowded, so we can rule out housing developments along with the city. Tomorrow morning I'm going to look for her from a different angle, which just might give me more specifics about the area she's in."

  "That's a good idea," I said after taking a nice long swallow of coffee. "Thank you, Freemont, for getting them to bring this life-giving fluid. Now if you're willing to also have room service bring us breakfast, the day should at least get off on the right foot."

  "I knew you'd want to eat up here, that's why I ordered the coffee," Freemont answered with a wry smile. "There are too many people in this motel you want to avoid, and eating here should do the trick. Are you leaving for the police department as soon as you're done?"

  I nodded as I headed for the room service menu, and it didn't take long before Freemont and I had made our choices. After I called in the choices, I went back to my coffee and carried the cup to a chair.

  "While we're waiting I might as well ask," I said after taking another swallow of liquid caffeine. "Did you look for that … opening in the curtain you talked about last night? If not, I'd rather you did it now, while George and I are still here. I don't know what we'd be able to do if you ran into trouble, but at least we'd be around to try something."

  "As a matter of fact I went looking as soon as I got what I did from the harpy," Freemont answered, taking his own swallow of coffee first. "Last night I could feel that curtain even if I wasn't able to get through it, but today all trace of it is gone. I think whoever raised that curtain took it down again, and now there's no way to find out who they are."

  "If you want the truth, I'm not exactly disappointed to hear that," I said, George's expression showing he agreed. "I can't see that the attack on Eric last night has anything to do with the harpy killings, so it's really none of our business. As soon as we locate the harpy and put her down we can leave this area, and I won't mind leaving in any way at all."

  "I won't enjoy leaving this motel, but I have the impression we'll be asked for from an area not all that far away," Freemont put in as George nodded his agreement. "And there's going to be trouble when we do locate the harpy, but I have no details on it yet."

  "I don't need your ability to know there's going to be trouble," George said, shaking his head. "Taking down a harpy can't bring anything else, not once she gets a taste for humans. And this one has had more than one taste."

  There was no arguing that point, so we talked about other things instead. I wanted to ask George where he'd been, but if he'd been ready - or able - to talk about it he would have already said something.

  "I made the mistake of watching the news this morning, before George came back," Freemont said after a minute. "I wanted to see if there was anything about the harpy killings or the vampire attack last night, but they didn't even mention the body you two looked at yesterday without mentioning the harpy. They seem to be keeping all this stuff really close."

  "So what made watching the news a mistake?" George asked. "Were you hoping they'd talk about us being in the neighborhood?"

  "They couldn't have mentioned us without someone trying to guess why we were here," Freemont pointed out. "We seem to be on the same list as everything else, the list that no one is supposed to talk about. But what they did talk about was that case that's due to go up in front of the Supreme Court. Everyone in the country seems to be talking about it."

  "You mean that case where the man was turned into a vampire against his will," George said, a guess I was about to make myself. "Since he can't be turned human again he wants to be put down, but the courts have called doing that mercy killing, which is against the law in most states. Is the Supreme Court actually going to hear the case?"

  "It looks like they will, but no one can agree on what their decision will be," Freemont told us. "If you want to talk about what should be illegal, making that poor man suffer is the crime here. He doesn't just hate being a vampire, he considers being what he is now a travesty of nature. It wasn't his fault that rogue thought it would be funny to make a bunch of ordinary citizens into vampires like herself, but he's the one paying for it. The rogue vamp was put down by a couple of rogue hunters, but her victim is still around to suffer."

  "And what makes it even more involved is that the man won't simply commit suicide," George said. "He could walk outside at noon and his problem would be solved, but he's decided to use his situation to force the issue about mercy killing. He has the money to keep the case moving through the courts, so that's what he's doing. He's a very strong believer in the right to die."

  "It doesn't help that the vamp's other victims are settling down to the - if you'll excuse the expression - life of a vampire citizen," I added. "The leaders of the local vampire community have almost gone into a frenzy trying to help the three men and two women, knowing just how bad all the publicity over this is, but that one man isn't buying what they're selling. He wants to make a difference while solving his own problem."

  George and Freemont made comments of their own, and everything we said boiled down to the fact that everyone should be entitled to make their own decision about something like this. Vampires were usually very careful about increasing their numbers, never having too many of their kind in any one place. It was also against their strictest community law to turn an unwilling victim, and what they did to any vampire who broke that law made being killed by a rogue hunter the easier way to die.

  Oddly enough, though, neither of my partners even tried to mention the comment made by Jaril on his and Grail's first visit, the comment about me trying to get myself killed. Possibly Freemont and George had realized that I wasn't consciously trying to commit suicide, but if I did happen to die it would hardly be a tragedy. At least to me. People should be allowed to die if they want to, and to deny them that right was a greater intrusion on their privacy than the lack of a search warrant. Leave it to the government to miss so important a point.

  "If the vampires didn't police their own people, we'd have a lot more rogues than we actually do," George commented. "If I were three or four hundred years old and had developed a lot of personal power, I'd probably consider working the graveyard shift as a clerk really demeaning. I'd want to do something with a lot more … stature, standing, whatever you care to call it."

  "That's probably why most vampire clerks aren't all that old," Freemont said. "Or if they do happen to be that old, they have the job only because they can't do anything else. Not all of them gain the same amount of power as they age, don't forget. The really strong ones are given something else to do, and I've wondered how that works. Who decides which of them is to get the important positions, and just how many important positions are there? They can't just wait until those who are older than them reach retirement age, after all."

  "A lot of the biggest corporations have vampire founders," George reminded him. "A couple of those corporations have all-vampire boards of directors, and the rest have vampires in upper management positions. And you have to remember that after doing the same job for fifty or a hundred years, even vampires who started out loving what they were doing can get bored. They don't have to be ready to retire, just ready to move on to something else."

  Freemont began to say something else, but after the first word he cut himself short and got up to head for the door. By the time he got there we'd all heard the knock, a knock that announced the arrival of our breakfast. I'd heard the sound of footsteps in the hall along with the soft shushing of the cart w
heels, but I was playing human again so I hadn't said anything.

  Freemont and I had our breakfast at the table to one side of the sitting room, and the food was really good. Even better than the food, though, was the fact that no one came to intrude on the meal. Just as I was finishing my last cup of coffee the phone rang, and Freemont went to answer the call.

  "There's someone downstairs waiting to give you a ride to the police station," Freemont announced after hanging up. "I told them you'd be down in just a few minutes."

  "Looks like they're really eager for me to go through those mug books," I said, giving up on the idea of refilling my cup. "I'll be ready to go in just a couple of minutes, George."

  George nodded from his place on the couch, which left me free to go into the bathroom. As I rinsed my hands and face and brushed my hair a bit more, I couldn't help wondering about the way George really seemed to be sitting on the couch. Considering the fact that he was able to go through solid objects without the least amount of trouble, how did he manage to sit on things? Was going through objects a matter of choice, or was he only pretending to be sitting? I would have enjoyed knowing, and maybe one day George would be willing to answer my questions.

  Considering everything that had been going on, I decided to wear my gun and knife as well as carry a shoulder bag. I wore slacks instead of the jeans almost everyone else in the country lived in for one specific reason: high kicks are easier when your legs are wrapped in soft, stretchable material. My training in hand-to-hand in the police academy had been very thorough, and it didn't make much sense to negate one of the edges I had.

  The Tokarev rested in its holster just below my waist toward my left side, set for a cross draw as usual, with my knife in its sheath on the right. Attached on the belt between the two weapons was the official I.D. tag issued to all federally licensed rogue hunters, luckily sealed into heavy plastic. If the tag hadn't been laminated it would have been trashed long ago, which could be why it was sealed into plastic in the first place.

  George was waiting for me when I came out of my room, of course, so we took the elevator down. The small corridor we were let out into on the ground floor was empty, but when we moved around into the lobby proper I got a surprise. Detective Granger Allen sat in one of the lobby chairs, and when he saw me he stood up and smiled.

  "Good mornin'," he said when George and I walked over to him, most of his attention mine. "When I heard you were due to come by and look at some mug books, I decided to intrude and offer my services as a taxi. I mean, you don't really know your way around in this area… I hope you don't mind."

  "Actually, that was really nice of you," I answered with my own smile, but not as warm as the smile he showed. "And it also saves me some trouble. I wanted to tell you that my other partner, Freemont, says that the harpy isn't in a city or a housing development. He tells me her nest is in a private house with open area around it, but not deep boondocks. Does that help at all?"

  "It should help narrow down the list my people are workin' on," Allen answered with a frown that wasn't for me or what I'd said. "We found that there are almost a hundred people in this area who traveled out of the country six to eight months ago, a hell of a lot more than I would have expected. We had to go through channels to get the list from the department that issues passports, but they didn't drag their feet gettin' the names to us when they found out why we needed it."

  "Sometimes telling people why you're asking helps to cut through a lot of red tape," I said as we headed for the doors leading to the parking lot. "Don't forget to also check on whether any of those people haven't been seen for a while. Chances are good that the fool who brought in the egg went the same way as the last fool."

  "I remembered what you said about that yesterday, so we've been checkin' all the missin' person reports from the last three months," Allen told me as we moved through the doors into bright sunshine. "If the one who brought in the egg is a loner the reports might not help, but all of us feel better havin' somethin' positive to do. Beats the hell out of sittin' around waitin' for the next body to show up."

  "After I check the mug books for the attacker from last night, I'd like to see a map of where the various bodies have been found," I said, digging out a pair of sun glasses from my shoulder bag. "Freemont wants to check on the harpy from another angle tomorrow morning, which will hopefully give him a better idea of where she is. If my partner gets a really strong hit on the location, how long will it take you to put together an attack team?"

  "I can have a S.W.A.T. team ready to go really fast," Allen assured me as we stopped near a late-model Chevy. "I just hope we get a search warrant that quick, or all we'll be able to do is stand around watchin' the house. Your taxi, ma'am."

  He tipped an imaginary hat after moving to the passenger side door and opening it for me, the grin he showed making him really attractive. I thanked him with a nod and a smile before getting into the car, privately hating the fact that all his charm was even more wasted now than it had been yesterday. Yesterday I simply hadn't wanted to get involved, but today I had something definite to compare his attraction to. Granger Allen was human, and all the charm in the world couldn't change that.

  Allen actually opened a back door for George to go through, but my partner didn't laugh as he slid into the seat. George was nothing but cordial and pleasant, which probably meant he still hoped I'd find myself falling for Allen's charm. I spent the ride to the police station trying to decide whether or not to explain the facts of shapeshifter life to George and Freemont both, which might or might not be a good idea.

  George handled the polite conversation during the ride, giving Allen more details about the first harpy we'd gone up against. Allen listened carefully and asked some very good questions, and by the time he parked near his headquarters he had a better picture of what we'd be doing. It wasn't a happy picture, but the more prepared everyone was, the fewer lives would hopefully be lost.

  Chattanooga was a clean and pleasant city, and the headquarters building was, of course, much larger than the one in Masson had been. Allen led us through the maze of desks to what was the house's coffee room, supplied me with a cup of the black stuff to prove the room's name, then went off to find the mug book I needed. Detectives Seaton and Webster weren't around, and I hadn't expected them to be. They would be off-shift until dark, when Webster could move around freely again.

  The mug book of known vampire offenders wasn't very large, but not because vampires made better citizens than humans. If a vampire stepped too far out of line the other vampires took care of the problem, but petty offenders were left for the law to handle. There were enough uniformed vampires to arrest the occasional burglar or grifter who also happened to have fangs, and there was even a prison in the middle of the country that was for vampires alone. The guards and officials were all vamps themselves, and so far it hadn't become necessary for anyone to worry about needing a second facility of the same kind.

  "Well, that's it," I said after checking the last page in the book. "The attacker from last night isn't in the system yet. Do you have an artist I can describe the vamp to?"

  "It so happens we do," Allen agreed, no more pleased than I was. "I'll go and get her."

  I finished the coffee while I waited, and by the time I refilled the cup the artist had come in with her pad and pencils. We sat down together at the table, and the woman was really good. In a very short while she had more than a sketch of the vamp, she had an actual portrait. She might have done better if she'd seen the vampire herself, but I honestly didn't believe it.

  "You make an incredibly good witness," Allen remarked as he studied the picture the artist had given him. "Debbie said she's never worked with someone who had as good an eye as you."

  "It's all part of the training," I answered, speaking the actual truth. "Once you learn how to really see people, there's less of a chance that you'll walk past someone who's wanted or jump on someone who 'resembles' the perp you're after."

  "It
might be a good idea if we look into that kind of trainin' for our own officers," Allen said with another smile. "I'll mention it to the chief, and if it's not too expensive he might be able to get it for us. I'll arrange to have copies of this picture made, and then I'll take you back to your motel."

  I followed him out into the squad room, George walking along beside me. George's face had no expression, but I could almost feel the yearning inside him because I felt the same way. We both missed being part of an official family like this one, a sometimes disjointed family that was responsible for the welfare of everyone around them.

  For the most part being a cop was a thankless job, but those who did the job anyway did it because it needed to be done. Most people can't understand the dedication it takes to constantly put your life on the line just so the people you protect can call you ugly names, and that's why those who wear the uniform - or civvies - are special.

  "What's going on over there?" George murmured, bringing my attention back to our surroundings. "It looks like Detective Allen is in danger of being attacked himself."

  George's description of what seemed to be happening wasn't all that far off. Two people, a man and a woman, were talking at Allen while waving their arms around, but Allen didn't look ready to pull his weapon. He looked annoyed instead, so I drifted over toward where he stood to find out what was going on.

  The two people arguing with Allen were both tall and thin, the man wearing a brown suit and white dress shirt, the woman a dark blue print dress. I'm hardly the one who can talk about other people's lack of taste in clothing, but when even I notice how bad an outfit is that says something about the clothes. The woman's shoes were sensible with moderately low heels, a black to match the purse she carried. Not a shoulder bag but a purse, hanging from one arm. The man's tie was a solid brown that somehow managed not to match his suit, an accomplishment that showed some kind of talent.