Vampire Zero (Laura Caxton, #3)(34)

An unmarked late-?model car drove up and she squinted through the headlights, trying to see who was inside. There were two occupants, a man and a woman. She was very surprised when she saw them get out of the car—it was Fetlock and Vesta Polder.

The deputy marshal nodded at her, then walked over to talk to the local cop, who was standing guard at the front of the house. Vesta came straight over to Caxton and took her hands. The older woman looked over her shoulder, scanned the trees lining the street as if she expected to see ghosts there. “Astarte has passed,” she said, and it wasn’t a question. “Ordinarily I wouldn’t have come, especially not at this time of day. I don’t like to be away from my home at night, as you know. But I must see her.”

Caxton wasn’t sure what to make of that. It was against every protocol she knew to let a civilian into a crime scene that was still under investigation. Exceptions were made sometimes for direct family members, but Vesta Polder was no kin of the Arkeleys. Vesta wouldn’t explain why it was so important she see the body, either. She just stared into Caxton’s eyes as if trying to hypnotize her.

“Come on,” Caxton said, finally. It was still her scene, until a detective from the local PD showed up, so she was still in charge of who went into the house. She led Vesta inside, warning her not to touch anything, then took her up to the room where Astarte’s life had ended. The widow lay exactly as Caxton had first seen her. The blood on the floor had started to dry in the warmth of the house, but Vesta walked around it with mincing little steps, careful not to get any on her black boots. Caxton knew Polder enough to understand she wasn’t just being squeamish. Vesta moved to the foot of the bed and closed her eyes. Her lips moved, but Caxton couldn’t hear what she might be saying. A prayer, she supposed. When she had finished she remained there, eyes closed, hands held out slightly at her sides.

Caxton wondered how long this was going to take. After a minute or two she cleared her throat and Vesta opened her eyes.

“Judging from the size of that wound I’d say he didn’t hurt her much,” Caxton said, gesturing at Astarte’s arm. “When he killed Angus he was in a real hurry, but here he took his time.”

Vesta nodded in agreement.

“First his brother. Now his wife.”

“Do you know why he killed them?” Vesta asked, sounding as if she already knew but she just wanted to hear Caxton say it out loud.

That was pretty typical for Vesta Polder. She saw all, knew all—or so she wanted people to think. Caxton was pretty sure it was mostly an act, a practiced technique to draw people out and make them give away what they knew. It still creeped her out.

“He made them both the same offer, I think. They could join him and become vampires or they could die on the spot. As to why, I don’t really get it yet.”

“He loved them,” Polder replied. “He loved them but they were human, and to a vampire human life is contemptible. He could not reconcile those two feelings. To resolve that tension he had to either make them like himself, to bring them up to his level, or extinguish them altogether.”

“I got that,” Caxton shrugged. “But vampires see us as prey. As livestock. He didn’t feed on either of them, just tore them up and let them bleed out.”

“Perhaps,” Vesta said, “to Jameson, now, that is affection. He put them to sleep, as one would a beloved pet, instead of making a meal of them like a cow or a pig.” She moved around the side of the bed and leaned over Astarte’s face, close enough that Caxton started to raise a hand in warning. Vesta passed one hand over Astarte’s mouth and then swept her ring-?bedecked fingers together as if she were catching a fly. “She has moved on. Jameson will not be able to raise her as a half-?dead. That’s what I came for. May I close her eyes?”

Again, that was something you just didn’t do at a homicide scene, but Caxton just bit her lip and nodded. Vesta lowered the dead woman’s eyelids gently, with two fingers of her left hand. Then she drew back. She was clearly finished. Before she could go, however, Caxton had a few more questions for her.

“The night’s just begun. I’m worried he’ll strike again.”

“Not tonight,” Vesta said, shaking her head so her blond ringlets bounced on the shoulders of her severe black dress. “This moved him. It affected him, that portion of his heart that remains capable of love. He’ll return to his lair and sulk.”

Caxton couldn’t really imagine Jameson sulking, but she accepted what Polder said. She knew things, somehow, that other people didn’t. It was best not to question how she knew them. “You don’t happen to know where his lair is, do you?”

Polder shook her head again. “That is hidden from me, and from all human eyes. Good night, Astarte,”

she said.

She started to come around the side of the bed as if to leave the room, but Caxton stopped her. “You went out of your way to come here tonight.”

“Astarte was a friend. Someone needed to be here, to do what I have done.”

Caxton had thought otherwise. “Raleigh—back at the fake funeral—Raleigh told me about you and her. She said you and Astarte had a falling-?out or something. Care to tell me what that was about? She said you hadn’t spoken to each other in years.”

“You haven’t guessed already?” Polder asked. She looked away. “I had an affair with Jameson, of course.”