by E. A. Copen
“I’m being safe.”
“When I said go out and form relationships, this isn’t what I meant. Guy of the day isn’t going to give you what you need. You need a support system, Mara. You need people in your life who value you and who are going to build you up instead of bringing you down.”
Mara pushed away from the door. “You have no idea what I need,” she said. Then she stomped across the lot, up the sidewalk and into her apartment, heels of her boots clicking the whole way.
Chapter Four
The Paint Rock police station was on the corner of Main and West streets near the center of Paint Rock. One of the few multi-story buildings in town, it loomed over the courthouse next door. While the courthouse was a building constructed of sandstone and pretty red paint, the police station was a block of cement with a few added windows. There was a big flagpole out front but it stood empty except for the big, black POW-MIA flag. There used to be an American flag up there but, after some protest, the Paint Rock PD decided to take it down.
The reservation was its own sovereign land, gifted to the supernaturals by the United States government. But the government also gifted them high walls, border patrol, and highly trained police officers. There were more guns in the hands of US employees in Paint Rock than in all the rest of the town. Tindall said there were two guns in the town for every man, woman and child. According to him, more than two-thirds of them didn’t belong to residents. I believed him, considering gun crime wasn’t so much of a problem on the reservation.
I parked in the desolate lot only to have Tindall’s black Cadillac pull in right beside me. He must’ve stopped at home, I thought, getting out to greet him. He got out of his car in a huff, looking a lot like an angry rattlesnake, coiled and ready to strike.
“Hey,” I said in the form of a greeting. “Something the matter?”
“Just Maude,” he growled and stuck a cigarette in his mouth, lighting it up. “The more time I spend with the guy, the more I just want to wring his fat little neck. I mean, who the fuck does he think he is, ordering me around?”
“Technically, he’s still the sheriff,” I pointed out. “At least for another few weeks.”
Tindall removed the cigarette from between his lips and cast a wary glance upward. Gray storm clouds had rolled in, but they were staying high enough in the sky that the chance of rain was still pretty low. More likely, the system would move on east and dump all the rain on Dallas.
“What if I win the election?” he asked. “Then what? What’s Paint Rock going to do without me?” He lowered his head. “What are you going to do without me?”
He had a point. For all the good I’d done in Paint Rock, the local cops still didn’t like me much. Tindall was often the only friend I had on the force. They wouldn’t go out of their way to block my investigations or anything, but they didn’t work hard at being nice, either. If Tindall moved up the chain of command and took over as sheriff, Paint Rock would lose one of the best and brightest members of the force. But Tindall could do a lot of good at the county level. Concho County needed a sheriff with some morals, someone who had experience in dealing with the supernatural community. I had to think about the big picture, even if it did make my life harder in the short run.
“We’ll all manage just fine,” I said with a smile. “Besides, it’s not like you’d be leaving. You’d still be around. You just get more responsibility and more work. What’s not to love?”
“And more blame,” Tindall pointed out. He dropped his half-smoked cigarette and stomped on it. “Maude’s press conference should be airing here pretty soon. What do you say we go in and see if we can catch it?”
The portly duty sergeant looked up from her desk when we came in. Ignoring me, she greeted Tindall with a stack of notes in messy handwriting. “Tell your supporters to stop calling the station to donate to your sheriff bid,” she grunted. “And tell ‘em we don’t keep those ugly yard signs here, either.”
“Thanks, Cathy,” he grumbled and stuffed the stack of notes into his pocket.
“You win this, you get yourself a secretary, Tindall. I’m done answering phones for you,” Cathy said with a sour face and sat back down.
Instead of heading for my office, we ambled down a narrow pathway between cubicles and slid into the tiny, twelve by thirteen breakroom. Three other cops were in there and, with the five of us plus the TV, chairs and coffee pots, it made for a tight fit. Still, when the other guys realized it was Tindall trying to press his way into the room, they stepped aside and let him and I go to the front.
The scene on the screen was a familiar one. Someone had set a wooden podium up on a portable stage in front of the Eden Police Department building. A series of flags ranging from Old Glory to the EPD banner hung limply in the background. Ten or so foam-topped microphones waited, strapped to the podium. A gaggle of anxious looking reporters stood behind police line, waiting for the sheriff to appear and address the people of Concho County.
The other half of the screen was similar, depicting another standard press conference setup, except it was at another location. The backdrop of this half was a sprawling, Spanish-style hacienda mansion. A ginger haired, middle aged man with unnaturally fair skin and a strong jaw stood under the cover of an easy up, speaking into the microphone. I didn’t need to read the captions scrolling across the bottom of the screen to know who he was. There was Marcus Kelley, the wealthiest vampire in the American south, CEO of Fitz Pharmaceuticals, media-proclaimed philanthropist and easily the most well-respected and powerful supernatural voice in all of Texas, if not the entire United States. He was also Kim Kelly’s father. Aisling wasn’t the only shady enterprise I’d heard he was connected to, and I was certain Marcus was up to no good. You don’t get as rich as Marcus—or as infamous—without getting a little dirty.
Marcus leaned into the microphone and spoke in a pleasant, southern drawl. “... We have all been the victims of over-zealous police in one way or another. Our mothers, brothers, sisters, children, cousins... Each of us knows someone affected by police violence, by loss, or institutionalized racism. While I applaud those who are pleading their cases in the court systems of this great county and in the nation abroad, I must also lament the corruption of the system. These battles will wage on for years. We need a leader now who is willing to stand up for the rights of the forgotten, the downtrodden and the broken, whose families have been ripped apart by outdated policies and misguided political agendas. The law exists to serve and protect the people, not the other way around.”
He paused amidst cheers. The studio cut to another camera, panning across the faces of a crowd of over a thousand gathered at the gates of the Kelley estate. Some of them I recognized. I’d seen them around Aisling or knew them from Paint Rock. Private security moved among the crowd in black cargo pants and black t-shirts. The outline of bulletproof vests showed underneath their shirts, whose only splash of color was a red fleur de lis over the left breast.
Marcus continued. “Sheriff Butch Maude has made it abundantly clear in his support of anti-fae immigration reform and his strong opposition to the privately funded construction of a temporary housing project for those refugees. He and his supporters have repeatedly blocked investigations into allegations of corruption and their unspoken humans-only hiring policy. Over the last three years, the Eden Police Department has stalled or settled twenty cases where excessive force was alleged by werewolf detainees. And that is to say nothing of the harsh methods of UV interrogation against vampires Sheriff Maude has openly stated he would support.
“My friends, this cannot stand. And that is why, as of this moment, I am endorsing Paint Rock Detective Brian Tindall for Concho County sheriff.” The crowd cheered. Marcus raised his voice to speak above them. “I urge each one of you to turn out to vote and show your support as well. Do not let them turn you away. If you are a legal United States citizen with proper documentation, you are entitled to—and, dare I say it, obligated to—vote, no matter if you’re f
ae, vampire, werewolf, black, white or red. It is time we took this county back from the good old boy system and put someone in charge who actually gives a damn about you! I believe Detective Tindall is that man. Thank you.”
The camera cut away to two commentators in a newsroom who began a lively chatter back and forth. It was barely audible over the clapping echoing through the Paint Rock precinct. One of the cops next to Tindall clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s one hell of an endorsement, Tindall. With him behind you, there’s no way you’re going to lose!”
Tindall sneered. “Damn.”
“What’s wrong?” one of the other guys asked.
Tindall gave me a long look. Both of us knew this was an endorsement he didn’t want. Yes, it would throw the rest of the supernaturals behind him and drive them in large numbers to the polls to fill in the bubble next to his name. Yes, it would mean hundreds, if not thousands, of extra dollars flowing into his campaign in the last few critical weeks. But it also meant he’d have to look friendly with Marcus Kelley, someone I was digging into. Being connected with someone who was so shady was uncomfortable, to say the least.
Such a strong verbal attack on Maude surely wouldn’t go unnoticed, either. Marcus’ words had sounded unifying on the surface, like an attempt to bring all supernaturals together for a single agenda, but, in truth, they were divisive. This could be the nail in the coffin that drove the supernatural and non-supernatural communities apart. Things were already tense. All it would take would be for one person to light a match. Then, everything would explode.
Tindall didn’t have time to answer the other cop before the newscast zoomed in on the other side of the screen. A red-faced and sweating Maude approached the podium in front of the Eden precinct. He adjusted the microphones down a little and they squealed against painful silence.
“Good morning,” he said in a grave tone. “As you may have heard, my deputies responded late last night to reports of a disturbance at the night club known as Aisling. Upon arrival, deputies entered the scene and found two victims, a male and a female. Both were deceased. The county medical examiner’s office has ruled the deaths a homicide. This morning, EPD opened an investigation and began questioning witnesses and collecting evidence. The crime scene does, however, present sufficient evidence that the murders were supernatural in nature and, therefore, our office has turned the investigation over to BSI. Our office has worked tirelessly alongside BSI since its inception and will continue to do so. Given the violent nature of these crimes, however, and the number of other open BSI investigations, this may turn out to be an extended investigation.”
“That sneaky weasel,” I growled. “He’s insinuating I’m not doing my job!”
“Shhh!” the crowd hissed behind me.
“The department has opened a tip line,” continued Maude. “If you have any information regarding the events that occurred at Aisling anytime within the last twenty-four hours, I ask you to call the number now scrolling across the bottom of your screen. No detail is too small. We will pursue any and all leads. In the meantime, I urge each and every citizen to lock their doors. Limit time spent outside at night. If you must go outside, move in pairs. The perpetrator is still out there and we are doing everything we can to bring him to justice. I will now open the floor to questions.”
The reporters went apeshit. One lady, a pretty, dark-haired woman with a mole on her upper lip, pushed to the front of the line and shouted, “Sheriff Maude! How do you respond to Mr. Kelley’s endorsement of your opponent for county sheriff? Will this have any bearing on your investigation?”
Maude shook his head. “I don’t have a response other than to say the club is co-owned by Mr. Kelley’s daughter, and so he has a very good reason to want to shift some blame around before some of it comes his way. My deputies were told security at the club was lax due to Ms. Kelley’s absence last night.”
Another reporter, this one a white haired male, jumped on the line of questioning. “Are you saying she had something to do with the crime?”
“I can’t comment on an open investigation,” Maude said. A man in a suit came onto the stage and whispered something in Maude’s ear. He put his hand over the microphones. When the suit leaned away, Maude nodded and said, “I’m sorry but I have pressing police business. Please direct any and all media inquiries to my office and I’ll draft a response as early as possible.” Maude hurried away from the stage.
I reached out to turn off the little television. “Well,” I said to Tindall. “If there wasn’t open animosity between supernaturals and everyone else, there’s going to be now.”
“This is the L.A. Revelation all over again.”
I turned to look at him. His face had gone white and a droplet of sweat trailed down the side of his face. Los Angeles was Ground Zero for the Revelation, the few weeks of chaos where the rest of the world found out about supernaturals.
It started with the vampires, who were only forced out of the coffin, so to speak, thanks to a high-profile murder case. The defendant used his vampirism as an excuse to commit murder. When the heat got too heavy, the vamps forced the werewolves out to shift attention away from them. That’s when the riots started. It was all peaceful protests at first, marches and picketers with signs outside of restaurants and businesses refusing business to anyone they thought was a vampire or werewolf. No one knows who fired first, but it happened in L.A. Overnight, the protests turned into riots and swept through the city, leaving a death toll in the hundreds.
After that, the fae came forward pre-emptively but only after BSI was already a done deal. A lot of vampires and werewolves were bitter. By coming out last and late, the fae had avoided much of the violence directed at the other two.
“Jesus, Tindall,” I breathed. “Were you there?”
“I was still working the beat. Back then, if you had a badge and a gun and they had enough riot shields, you got one. They told you where to stand and God help you if you moved from that spot. I’ll never forget it. There was this feeling in the air right before everything went to Hell, like a sort of... anger static. Fury so thick you could taste it. It’s hard to explain. I’m kind of getting that same feeling.” He let out a sigh. “Just a few more weeks. We can hold things together just a few more weeks, don’t you think?”
I nodded and patted Tindall on the back. “All the more reason we need to make sure Maude doesn’t keep his office for the next few years.”
He bowed out of the break room and I followed. “So, I heard you had someone detained? You got a suspect already?”
“No,” I answered. “Just witnesses of a sort, though they claim they saw nothing. The one is the last one to have seen our victims alive. Not sure how he was involved with the porno production but his name’s all over the paperwork for it.”
“The same vampires?”
I lifted my pinky finger and said in what I deemed to be a fancy accent, “Italian vampires.”
Tindall grunted. “I gotta say, I don’t envy you in the least. Vampires kinda make me feel sick. Anything that lives by taking life from others...”
“Everything does, Tindall.”
He crossed his arms. “I don’t.”
“Do you eat? Even plants are alive at some point. Something’s dying to keep you alive.”
He scowled at the thought, grinding his teeth.
I thought hard about asking Tindall to help me take their statements. With two witnesses, we could get done twice as fast if I had help. The blood slave might open up and say something if he were separated from his master. Then again, it was more likely Crux would take offense at the suggestion.
“I think I can handle a vampire. You work on putting my team together for me like I asked.”
“You betcha.”
We parted ways at the end of the narrow walkway between cubicles, me going left while Tindall went right. As I closed on the interrogation room, I thought over the line of questions I had for Crux. First of all, I needed the basic play-by-play for the
evening. I needed times, names. Who was in the room and who wasn’t? And, of course, I’d need to get his alibi.
I also needed more information, something telling me what kind of creature was responsible. Last time, going in blind had almost gotten me killed.
If it was some kind of angry spirit I was hunting, I needed to hear about knocking, dark shadows, an unexplained sense of dread, disembodied voices, objects moving by themselves or a general, unexplained oppressive, creepy feeling.
I paused outside the interrogation room and peered through the one-way mirror. Crux was sitting stiffly in the chair while Sven ran a comb through his master’s hair. Well, hairs. Crux had fewer than ten on his whole head but it didn’t seem to matter to Sven. He ran the fine-toothed comb over and over those same ten, fine, white hairs, smiling to himself as he did. Sven hadn’t said a word to me back at Aisling, but I still needed to get a statement from him, too. I hoped he was in a more talkative mood.
Crux looked as sour as ever. He glanced at his Rolex twice while I stood outside, curling his lip each time. I stood outside and made him wait an extra three minutes just because. I don’t like to be rushed.
After a short pause, I finally went over to the door and put my hand on the doorknob. “Here goes nothing,” I said and opened the door.
Chapter Five
As soon as I stepped into the interrogation room, the pleasant smile on Sven’s face faded. He stopped combing Crux’s hair, tucked the comb into his pocket and stood there, still as death. Crux adjusted his suit jacket and pushed away the paper cup of coffee in front of him. A fine white slime floated on the surface.
“It’s about time,” said Crux. “If I’d known it would take this long, I would have waited at the club. At least it didn’t smell like wet dog.”
“Nice to see you, too,” I said to Crux, pulling out the chair opposite him. “Can I get you anything? Freshen up your coffee?”
