Midnight Bites (The Morganville Vampires)(92)
I love mystery stories, and getting to write one like this was a total treat. Thanks, Kelley!
As with most things in Morganville, it started with a body. This one just happened to be alive.
Hannah Moses watched as the paramedics rolled the unconscious young woman away on a gurney, and then turned her attention back to the pavement where the victim had been found. It was dry asphalt, except where blood cast darker shadows. Not much use doing fancy analysis on that; the stains had been smeared around on dirty asphalt, then baked in the sun, and it probably wasn’t going to be any help at all. Not like Morganville, Texas, had much in the way of crime scene forensics, anyway.
“Problem?” The unctuous British voice made her stiffen, just a little; she could never get used to the way some vampires could sneak right up on her, even in daytime. Oliver was the worst. He got a hell of a kick out of it.
“You could say so,” Hannah said. She turned and put her hands on her hips. It emphasized the gun belt she wore, and she had to use every trick in her intimidation book to deal with Oliver, Morganville’s biggest snake and Amelie’s—what the hell was he, second-in-command? Boyfriend? God, she didn’t even want to know. “Got a resident who was attacked here sometime this morning. Nobody found her for hours.”
He stood in the shadows cast by a brick wall, unsettlingly close. He could easily step into the light if he wanted, even without the cover-ups, but she thought he liked the drama. “Quite a lot of blood,” Oliver noted. He sounded casual, as if they were chatting about the weather. “Not my work, of course.”
“I know. You’re so neat when you eat,” Hannah agreed. It wasn’t a compliment, and from the sharp-edged smile he gave her, he didn’t take it as one. “She was bashed in the head. She hung on, waiting for somebody to save her. Paramedics aren’t giving her much of a chance at recovery, though.”
“Well, you can’t save everyone,” Oliver said, in the same uninterested tone as before. “In point of fact, you can’t save anyone, in the end. Unless you make them immortal, of course.”
“That’s a hell of a long view you’ve got there.”
“It’s practical. I learned long ago not to accept responsibility for things outside my control.”
“Then why are you here? Didn’t think the problems of regular people-on-people crime were your business.”
“Everything that happens in Morganville is my business, Chief Moses, since I am the Founder’s . . . What would you call it? Man on the street?” She just stared at him until he shrugged. “The girl’s one of mine, technically. I felt obliged.”
“You. You’re her Protector?” A vampire Protector was, at least on paper, someone who looked out for the humans assigned to him or her—a mutually beneficial arrangement, blood deposited in the blood bank for a guarantee of safety. Problem was, it was too often a one-sided loyalty.
“She was the property of one of my . . . employees,” he said. “Said employee was killed by the draug during the recent unpleasantness. I believe I’ve inherited her.”
He said it as if the girl were an old piece of furniture he’d been left in a will. Hannah felt a weary surge of anger. “Didn’t do a very good job of it, did you? Protecting?”
Oliver gave her a silent, warning stare, and then he said, “What suspects have you?”
“Have a little patience. This isn’t CSI. We can’t just run a funny-colored light around and find the killer in ten minutes.”
“I thought it usually took a full hour for that, although I admit that I am not fully au courant on the rules of television dramas these days.” When she didn’t give him the satisfaction of a comeback, he lifted his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “I want to be kept informed. Send me updates when you have them.”
He started to turn away. Hannah took a step toward him—fast, before he could pull his usual disappearing act. “Wait. What do you know about the girl? Friends? Enemies?”
“I know nothing worth telling you. Now get to work.”
He was gone almost before the last words reached her ears. Typical vampire nonsense. Morganville was the ultimate in seagull management style: fly in, crap all over everything, fly away. And still, she’d made the choice, for whatever insane reason, to return here to her toxic hometown after her deployment with the military ended. She’d imagined she could make a difference.
Some days, she was still convinced of that . . . but maybe not today.
“Chief?” One of Morganville’s uniformed patrol officers at the end of the alley gestured toward her. “I think you should hear this.”
She walked toward him, and as she did, she spotted the red convertible parked at the curb, and the girl lounging against the fender. Pretty, spoiled Monica Morrell. She’d gone blond highlights again for the summer. Unfortunately, it suited her, and so did the skintight tube dress she had on. It showed off curves and perfect skin. Even the sunglasses were designer. How she managed all that flash when her family had lost everything . . . but then, she’d probably terrified people into buying all her goodies. It was her life strategy.
“Chief Moses,” Monica said. She somehow made it sound mocking, as if it were some kind of honorary title she hadn’t earned. People like Monica made it hard to hold on to that professional smile. “I didn’t know you were still in charge. I thought somebody more, you know, important would have the job by now.”