The Sin Eater (A F.R.E.A.K.S. Squad Investigation Book 5)

by Jennifer Harlow

  “I could come with you,” Benedict Arnold offers.

  “There’s no need. I just wait in the lobby for an hour or two, then lie in a machine for a few minutes. I’ll bring my Kindle. And actually…I am going to be late!” I leap off the stool and rush to get my purse.

  “I really think I should come with you,” Krista calls.

  “Why?”

  “Because…moral support?”

  “Or because you got in trouble with Connor for leaving me alone yesterday?” I ask.

  Her mouth falls open. “I-I-of course not!”

  “Look, I don’t need or want a babysitter, and I’m thinking you have things you’d rather do than be glued to my side all day in a hospital waiting room. As long as we’re both here when Connor rises who is to say we didn’t spend the day together? I won’t tell if you won’t. Regardless, you’re not coming with me. Enjoy your day.”

  I turn my back on her and walk out. She doesn’t utter a word of protest. I even make it to the garage without encountering another soul to question me. The fates are with me for once. When I pull onto the street I breathe a literal sigh of relief. Now if everything else goes as smoothly, Moon will be in handcuffs by night’s end.

  Quite a few of the F.R.E.A.K.S. cases I worked on began as a missing person’s investigation. Unfortunately since Mariah was an official consort her case falls under vampire jurisdiction. A consort is like an honorary vampire and bound by the same laws and rights as a real vampire. The only times the F.R.E.A.K.S. are allowed to intervene is if a vampire begins killing anyone outside their own species or their acts draw press attention. This case doesn’t meet the criteria. That however does not mean the F.R.E.A.K.S. can’t be unofficially helpful. At least I hope so.

  “Hello?” Carl asks over the phone.

  Carl Petrovsky, F.R.E.A.K. for close to a decade. George recruited him from a psychiatric hospital after poor Carl attempted to cut his own hands off. That may seem crazy to most but not when the offending hands—all his skin really—can tell him your emotions, thoughts, secrets, the limb removal’s understandable. The poor guy can’t be touched, not even hugged, let alone…anything else. I thought psychokinesis was a burden. Despite his own curse, and generally introverted personality, we did manage to become close with our love of books, old movies, and him just being a trustworthy, good, good guy. He even saved me from killing an innocent woman once and never told a living soul or brought it up to me again. Hope I can count on his discretion and aid this time too.

  “Hi, Carl. It’s Bea.”

  There are several seconds of silence on his end. “Uh, hi,” he chuckles. “This is a surprise. How-how are you?”

  “I’m okay. I’m okay. What about you? I heard you guys just finished a case. Are the new recruits pulling their weight?”

  “So far so good. Devin’s a tech wiz, something we’ve been sorely lacking, and Claire, his wife, held her own when we took down the rogue cabal.”

  “It’s always vampires, isn’t it?” I ask with a scoff.

  “Seems that way, no? And on the topic of bloodsuckers…did Oliver make it to San Diego alright?” Carl asks. “We haven’t heard from him since he left.”

  “Yeah, he’s here. He’s fine or was last night when he almost started a fight in the middle of the club.”

  “That sounds like him. You should have seen him about a week ago. He was convinced, dead convinced, something had happened to you. He had George agreeing to let him borrow the jet to get to you when the cabal case came in. George had to all but blackmail Oliver to come with us. And he was a nightmare the whole case. Snapping at everyone. Couldn’t concentrate. I preferred him before.”

  “Before?”

  “When he was just quiet, gone most of the time when he wasn’t in his room playing video games, I think with you.” Shit. I thought it was Nancy most of the time. Weird. “I think there was a whole week where nobody saw him. George had to force him back for a case. He did the work, whatever Chandler assigned him, but barely said a non-work related word to anyone. Not even Nancy. I’ve known him for years and never saw him so…Bea, he didn’t even flirt with Claire. Not once.” Dear God. If his mouth’s moving he’s flirting. I don’t know what to say. Carl fills the silence first. “We all miss you, you know. Wolfe’s fighting with Chandler after every other order. He’s even thought of transferring out. Nancy’s been acting out. Not doing her schoolwork. Talking back. She actually ran away to see that boy Logan in Oklahoma. I think they…I think the Doc put her on the pill. And the job. Jesus, Bea. We all have new scars. Literal scars. I was on light duty for a month after a golem case. Rushmore is gone. They could barely re-attach his arm after that golem literally ripped it off.”

  “Jesus! Is he all right?”

  “He’ll never have full use of it again. His career with the bureau is over. His first replacement Allerdyce lasted one case before transferring out. We’re supposed to be getting two newbies but who knows if they’ll last. I know George has been trying to call you. He talked it over with a couple of us to see if we’d be okay with you coming back. Pretty sure you still have your job. If you want it.”

  My stomach seizes. “I don’t…you guys would trust me? After what I did?”

  “You’d be on double secret probation with everyone, but we know you were in an insane situation, Bea. None of us knows what we’d do if we were in your shoes. It was a dumb decision, but we all know how much it cost you. You won’t make the same mistake or anything close to it again. Plus the newbies are hopeless investigators. And Chandler’s all but become a dictator even during interviews, all bull in a china shop. You were good. Great. A true detective just like Will.” Carl pauses. “He thought so too. Will. When you left at Christmas he told me so after apologizing for acting like an asshole all those months. You impressed him, Bea. No easy feat. Almost impossible if you ask me.”

  I blink back a few tears and wipe the lose ones away. “I miss him.”

  “Then honor him. Keep the good fight alive. Come back. Come home.”

  I sniffle. “You sound like Oliver. He says he’s not leaving until I go with him.”

  “That sounds like him. No doubt he means it too. He took indefinite leave.”

  “Wonderful,” I scoff.

  “Are you in trouble like he thought?”

  “No, I’m…I’m just dating Connor and yet everyone’s acting like I’m sitting on an atomic bomb.”

  “Connor? The vampire who helped us stop your ex?”

  “Yeah. And everyone seems to forget that fact. That, though he had no reason to, he put himself and his people in harm’s way to stop a group of serial killers.”

  “Yeah, fairly sure you were the reason, Bea. Didn’t he also try to convince you into being his mistress by threating to kill you and your family?”

  Why does everyone insist on bringing that up? “Yeah, but I called his bluff.” I don’t want to go down this conversation path again. “And now I’m helping keep his vamps in line. I’m investigating a possible murder now. I know this vamp killed his consort, an eighteen-year-old girl, and I just need to find the evidence.”

  “Ah. And let me guess, you want my help.”

  “All I need is for you to do is check the missing person’s database for this girl. Her first name’s Mariah, I assume spelled like the singer’s. Blonde hair, eighty to a hundred pounds, about eighteen, blue eyes. Check the age range from fifteen to nineteen in case she was lying. And if you could also check the coroner’s offices for San Diego city, county, and every other county within a hundred mile radius for girls, probably Jane Does, matching that description from mid-December to present.”

  “That it?” Carl asks.

  “For now.”

  “You owe me, Bea. I will collect when you come home.”

  I don’t say anything for several seconds. “I’m probably not coming back, Carl. I can’t…I don’t think I have it in me to play hero anymore. I don’t think I want to.”

  “Says the woman sp
ending her free time trying to find a teenage girl she barely knew,” he points out. “Bea, there are certain things about ourselves that no matter how hard we try, how much we may want to change them, they’re just…us. And fighting against yourself is just wasted energy and time when you of all people knows how precious that time is. So stop fighting a pointless battle. You are…a true detective. You are a good person. And a lot of people need you. Not just us. Think of the countless people out there who are alive because you saved them. And think of those out there who will live because of you. It’s a burden, believe me, I know. But it’s also a privilege. Your life means something important, Bea. Just don’t forget that, okay?”

  I turn down Nana’s street and take a deep breath. “I won’t. Thanks.”

  “I’ll call when I’ve finished the searches.”

  “Thank you. Really. I will make this up to you somehow. I gotta go. Bye.” I hang up before I become a blubbering idiot again.

  They want me back. They need me back. It truly never occurred to me they could have problems like that. Rushmore almost lost his arm? Nancy’s running away and having sex? In my year we lost two people, Agent Konrad and Irie. Nancy was a mess after Irie, Agent Wolfe too, but Oliver and I banded together to make them both smile at least once a day. I can’t believe he didn’t do that again. The new recruits should help with firepower at least. They’ll be fine now. Will wanted us to quit anyway. We were halfway out the door. This turmoil was inevitable. Right?

  My body grows heavy with this new emotional baggage. Oh, stop it, Bea. I park my car in the empty driveway and sigh. I can’t think about them now. I have more than reached my limit on guilt. Let me unload the ton marked “Mariah” before I even glance at the newest brick.

  Nana is volunteering at the library as I’d expected so I slip into the empty house unmolested. There are a few goodies I need before I begin the investigation in earnest. I collect my silver nitrate MACE, silver plated handcuffs, lock picking kit, three silver daggers, my Glock, 9mm with holster, my one box of silver bullets, and Bette. Doing this feels wrong without her. I also pilfer Nana’s binoculars, a few bottles of water, and some granola bars. I consider leaving a note but haven’t a clue what to say. Sorry? I’m fine? Don’t worry about me? It’ll have to do. For now. I scribble those paltry words on the white-board on the fridge. I just hope this gesture doesn’t make her worry more.

  With my purse of destruction safely stored in the car, I drive off toward the Premiere Lanes Bowling Alley. I haven’t set eyes on that place since Steven dropped me off all those months ago on our last “date.” Mariah called me, scared out of her mind, begging me to pick her up. I know San Diego well enough to recall approximately where the house was, but it was dark and I was mostly concerned with keeping her calm to recall exactly where I drove that night. I also tried Google but came up empty for an address or any trace of Mr. Lipmann. Hard way it is. Always.

  I waste almost an hour driving up and down suburban streets hoping a house will pop out of me. It had a stucco roof, there was a chain-link fence, and I think it was brown. Of course that describes eighty percent of the houses around here. Okay, this could have been a dumb idea. Connor would have the address but then he’d forbid me from investigating, we’d fight, and yeah. Just keep driving, Bea. Trust yourself. Remember. Half an hour later and still no joy. It’s around here somewhere. I know it. I—

  Oh, hell yes.

  Light brown. Chain link fence. Blacked out windows. A brown ’69 Volkswagen Bug in the driveway. If that hippie douchebag doesn’t live here I’ll eat Bette. I circle the block then park down the hill in front of the house with a “For Sale” sign on it. No nosy homeowners to call the cops or bug me. My car will stick out, but hopefully they’ll just think I’m another realtor or buyer. Hopefully I won’t be here too long. I collect my arsenal, save for Bette, and ready myself. If I do this right I won’t need a thing. I hide the gun under my coat and the rest in my purse. I keep my head down as I move toward the house. No one’s around, no one stops me, not even when I walk through the gate. With the windows blacked out or boarded up, I can’t see inside the house. I circle the house and don’t find a single one to peer inside. I do hear a TV on and plates rattling inside when I reach the backyard. I can’t see through the blackout curtain along the sliding glass door, but I assume the girl from last night must be in there. Fudge. I scurry back to my car and climb inside. Oh heck, I hate stakeouts.

  I definitely did not miss this part of the job. Sitting in a sweltering car, waiting for hours on end. The TV shows make police work seem so interesting. Thrilling. In reality that accounts for about five percent of the time. The rest is this. Long, long spates of boring nothing. Sitting as I am now, staring and willing for that five percent to come. I settle in and switch on an audiobook I brought for this very contingency. This very dull contingency.

  On one case, a succubus in Virginia, Oliver and I went twelve hours, sundown to sun up with nothing to show for it. He was always the best stakeout buddy. We’d talk about the book or podcast we were listening to. He’d tell stories of his colorful past. We’d sing along to the radio and see who could sound the worst. He even gave me his coat to cover myself when I had to pee into a Starbucks cup. He laughed his butt off with that one.

  Half an hour and nothing happens except I eat the granola bar. Moon’s new girlfriend may not leave the house at all today. I don’t even know her name. I—

  My phone rings mid-chew. Carl. “Hi,” I say.

  “Hey. So I did the searches. Negative on bodies matching your description, but a possible on the Missing Child Database. Your phone have photo viewing capabilities?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sending you the picture now.” A picture comes through a few seconds later. She’s a few pounds heavier and far tanner, but that’s her. That’s Mariah. “Bea?”

  “It’s her,” I say.

  “Mariah Celine Wilson, disappeared a year and a half ago from Salton Sea at age fifteen. I pulled her record in Salton. In and out of foster care, arrested for shoplifting, and ran away twice. The latest foster mother reported her missing. No leads, barely any follow up.”

  “At least she has a full name now,” I say.

  “I can contact the police to let them know we had a sighting. They can help.”

  “Not yet. We don’t have enough to bring to anyone yet. Plus this is vampire business. She’s a consort.”

  “A sixteen-year-old?” Carl asks.

  “Remember vampiric laws haven’t caught up with the modern world. If she’s thirteen, she’s fair game. Give me until tomorrow night before contacting them, okay?”

  “Need anything else?”

  “Actually yeah. Run searches on 4562 Vida Ave, Chula Vista. Names, utilities, a phone number would be a lifesaver if you can find it.”

  “Wouldn’t your boyfriend have that?”

  “Um…he didn’t.”

  “I’ll see what I can find. Call you back soon.” He hangs up.

  Mariah Wilson. Sounds like you had a hard time of it even before you fell in love with an abusive psycho bloodsucker. Maybe that’s all you ever thought you deserved. Maybe you thought people showed love with their fists. Poor girl died being bullied. Unloved. Thinking no one cared. Because they didn’t. Well, someone does now honey. I’ll find you. I’ll see you get a proper burial if I can. And I will punish the bastard responsible.

  Another half an hour of nothing, Carl calls me again. “Got your info,” he says. “The house has been owned by Moon Lipmann since 1968, utilities all in his name. There is a listed phone number at that address. Got a pen?” I get one and he gives me the number. “Need anything else?”

  “Not that I can think of right now. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate this. I owe you one.”

  “Buy me Starbucks for a month when you get back,” Carl says.

  “You got it,” I say without thinking. I shake my head. “Thanks, Carl. Bye.” I hang up.

  Okay. How to play this?
I need her gone for at least an hour in a way that’s not gonna cast suspicion on me now or later. Tacoma. Yeah, that ploy worked once, it should again. I do a little more research, and gather all the info I need before dialing the Lipmann number. She picks up on the fourth ring.

  “H-Hello?” I assume the girl from last night asks.

  “Yes, hello, is Mr. Lipmann home?”

  “No, he’s, uh, gone until tonight.”

  “Well, this is Olivia Smythe from California Electric Company. I am calling to inform him that due to months of delinquent payments, we will be shutting off his electricity in one hour.”

  “Wait, what? No, he, like, paid the bill.”

  “That is not what our system shows. However, if you have proof he paid the bills as you said such as canceled checks, you can come down to your local representative branch. If you don’t you can go there and pay with a credit card, cash, check or cashier’s check.”

  “Uh, I have, like cash.”

  “That’s fine. The amount due is five hundred thirteen dollars. Do you have a pen and paper? Here is the address of the office.” I give her an address near the real office building. She’ll think she wrote it down wrong. “Please come in as soon as possible. You can speak to any of our representatives in the office there.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “Have a nice day.” I hang up.

  Now to see if she fell for it. Will taught me that ruse on our third case. Tacoma, Washington. A witch selling love spells and potions. Lucky me, I got to spend hours alone with my crush. We started to get to know one another on that stakeout. Started to become friends. It was so difficult to draw him out at first. Lots of “Can we talk about something else” or “It’s not that interesting,” but eventually he opened up. Even flirted back as his face blushed. Why didn’t I kiss him there and then? I wanted to. So badly. I’d like to think he’d have kissed me back. So much could have been avoided if I’d been brave then. It’s so bizarre how such a tiny decision could impact so much of one’s life and you never know until it’s too late.