Anabelle had moved away from Raina. She was staring at all of us, clutching her purse. I don’t think she understood everything we were saying, but she obviously was not having a good time. One good deed and she was already being punished.
“Can you stand? Why don’t you help me?” Raina asked Anabelle.
“No, let Cassandra help you,” I said.
“Afraid I might eat your newfound friend?”
I smiled. “You’ll eat anything that can’t get away. We all know that.”
Her face tightened, anger flashing through her amber brown eyes. “In the end, Anita, we will see who eats what.” She helped the woman to stand.
Cassandra whispered, “Jean-Claude told me to guard you.”
“Make sure she gets into a cab that really is going to take her home. Then you can follow me around for the rest of the evening, okay?”
Cassandra nodded. “Jean-Claude won’t like it.”
“I’m not too happy with him right now, either,” I said.
“A little help here,” Raina said.
Cassandra sighed, but she took Karen’s other arm, and they helped her through the door. When the door closed behind them, Anabelle let out a long sigh. “What is going on?”
I turned to the lighted mirror, leaning my hands on the vanity top. I shook my head. “It’s too long a story, and the less you know, the safer you’ll be.”
“I have to confess I have an ulterior motive.” I watched her through the mirror, and she looked embarrassed. “I didn’t just help out of the goodness of my heart. I’m a reporter, freelance. A quote from the Executioner would really put me on the map. I mean I could name my price, especially if you explained what just happened here.”
I bowed my head. “A reporter. Not exactly what I needed tonight.”
Anabelle came up behind me. “It was real on the dance floor, wasn’t it? That vampire—Damian, right? He was really going to do her, right there, as part of the show.”
I watched her face in the mirror. She was vibrating with eagerness. She wanted to touch me. You could see her hands fluttering, nervous. It was a big story if I corroborated it. It would serve Jean-Claude right if I did.
Something went through Anabelle’s eyes. Some of the brightness leaked away.
Several things happened almost simultaneously. Anabelle jerked my purse, the strap broke, she took a step back, and drew a gun from an inner-pants holster under her vest. The door opened, and three laughing women entered. The women screamed.
Anabelle looked at the door for just a heartbeat. I drew a knife and turned. I didn’t try and walk those two steps to her. I dropped to one knee and lunged my body like a line with the knife as the point. The knife entered her upper stomach. The gun moved towards me. I used my left hand to sweep the arm away. The shot went wild, cracking the mirror. I shoved the knife upward, under her sternum, shoved it until the hilt met flesh and bone, and jerked the blade up and sideways. Her hand convulsed on the gun and another shot hit the carpeted floor. The silencer made each shot seem muffled, almost anticlimactic.
She sank to her knees, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing. I ran my hand down her arm and took the gun from her. She blinked at me, eyes unbelieving, then she fell abruptly as if her strings had been cut. She twitched twice and died.
Edward was at the door, gun out, pointed. He stared from me to the fresh corpse. He took in the knife still protruding from her chest, the gun with silencer in my hand. He relaxed, pointing the gun at the floor. “Some bodyguard I turned out to be, letting you get dusted in the ladies’ room.”
I stared up at him. I felt numb, distant with shock. “She almost got me,” I said.
“But she didn’t,” he said.
I heard men’s voices shouting, “Police! Everybody stay where they are. We’ll check it out.”
“Shit,” I said softly and with feeling. I laid Anabelle’s gun by her body and sat back on the carpet. I wasn’t sure I could stand right then.
Edward holstered his gun and moved back from the door to join the crowd that was pushing forward to see the show. Just another part of the anonymous throng. Yeah, right.
I sat there beside the corpse and tried to think of something to tell the cops. I wasn’t sure the truth was an option I could afford right now. I began to wonder if I was going to see the inside of a jail tonight. Watching the blood soak the front of Anabelle’s vest, it seemed likely.
17
* * *
I WAS sitting in a straight-backed chair in Jean-Claude’s office at Danse Macabre. My hands were cuffed behind me. They hadn’t let me wash the blood off my right hand, and it had dried to a nice tacky substance. I was used to having dried blood on me, but it was still uncomfortable. The uniformed officers had taken the other knife and found the Seecamp in my purse. They had not found the big knife in the spine sheath. It had been a sloppy search to have missed a knife longer than my forearm, but the uniform that did it had at first assumed that I was another victim. It had shaken him to find out that the pretty little woman was a murderer. Oh, excuse me, alleged murderer.
The office had white walls, black carpet, a desk that looked like carved ebony. There was a red lacquer screen with a black castle done high on top of a black mountain. There was a framed kimono on the far wall, scarlet with black and royal blue designs. Two smaller frames held fans: one white and black with what looked like a tea ceremony painted on it, the other blue and white with a flock of cranes. I liked the cranes best, and I’d had plenty of time to make a choice.
One of the uniforms had remained in the room with me the entire time. They’d drunk coffee and not offered me any. The younger uniform would have uncuffed me, but his partner had pretty much threatened to beat the shit out of him if he did it. The partner was grey-haired with eyes as cold and empty as Edward’s. His name was Rizzo. Looking at him, I was glad I’d put the gun on the floor before he came into the room.
Why, you may ask, wasn’t I at the police station being questioned? Answer: The media had bayed us. Four uniforms had been enough to control traffic and keep the media from mobbing anyone—until they smelled a breaking story. Suddenly, there were cameras and microphones everywhere, like mushrooms after a rain. The uniforms had called for backup and barricaded the murder scene and the office. Everything else had fallen to the cameras and microphones.
There was a homicide detective standing over me—looming, actually. Detective Greeley was just under six feet tall, so broad-shouldered he looked like a big square. Most black people aren’t truly black, but Greeley was close. His face was so dark it had purple highlights. His close-cropped greying hair looked like wool. But black, white, or brown, his dark eyes were neutral, secret, cop eyes. His gaze said he’d seen it all and hadn’t been impressed by any of it. He certainly wasn’t impressed by me. If anything, he looked bored, but I knew better. I’d seen Dolph get the same look right before he pounced on someone and tore their alibi apart.
Since I didn’t have an alibi, I wasn’t worried about that. I’d told my story before they read me my rights. After Greeley mirandized me, all I’d said was that I wanted a lawyer. I was beginning to sound like a broken record, even to me.
The detective pulled a chair around so he was sitting facing me. He even hunkered down trying not to be so intimidating. “Once we get a lawyer in here,” Greeley said, “we can’t help you anymore, Anita.”
He didn’t know me well enough to call me by my first name, but I let it go. He was pretending to be my friend. I knew better. Cops are never your friends if they suspect you of murder. Conflict of interest.
“It sounds like a clear-cut case of self-defense. Tell me what happened, and I’ll bet we can do a deal.”
“I want my lawyer,” I said.
“Once we involve a lawyer, the deal goes out the window,” he said.
“You don’t have the authority to make a deal,” I said. “I want my lawyer.”
The skin around his eyes tightened; otherwise he looked the same, unmove
d. But I was pissing him off. Couldn’t blame him.
The door to the office opened. Greeley looked up, ready to be angry at the interruption. Dolph walked inside, flashing his badge. His eyes gave the briefest of flicks to me, then settled solidly on Greeley.
Greeley stood up. “Excuse me, Anita. I’ll be right back.” He even managed a friendly smile. He was putting so much effort into the act, it was almost a shame I wasn’t buying it. Besides, if he was really being friendly, he’d have taken the cuffs off.
Greeley tried to get Dolph to step outside, but Dolph shook his head. “The office is secure. The rest of the club isn’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Greeley said.
“It means your murder scene, complete with victim, is being flashed on national television. You ordered that no one was to talk to the press, so they’ve been speculating. Vampires run amok is the choice rumor.”
“You want me to tell the media that a woman attached to a police squad is being charged with murder?”
“You have three witnesses that all say Ms. Smith pulled her gun first. That it was self-defense.”
“That’s something for the assistant district attorney to decide,” Greeley said.
Funny how when he was talking to me he could make a deal. Now that he was talking to another cop, suddenly the ADA was the only one who could make a deal.
“Call them,” Dolph said.
“Just like that,” Greeley said. “You want to cut her loose?”
“She’ll make a statement after we get her and her lawyer down to the station.”
Greeley made a rude sound in his throat. “Yeah, she’s real hot for her lawyer.”
“Go talk to the press, Greeley.”
“And tell them what?”
“That vampires aren’t involved. That it was just bad timing that the murder happened at Danse Macabre.”
Greeley glanced back at me. “I want her here when I get back, Storr. No disappearing act.”
“We’ll both be here.”
Greeley glared at me, all his anger and frustration filling his eyes for a second. The friendly mask was gone. “Make sure you are. The brass may want you in on this, but this is a homicide case, my case.” He shoved a finger at Dolph, not quite touching him. “Don’t fuck with it.”
Greeley pushed past him and shut the door firmly. Silence thick enough to walk on filled the room.
Dolph pulled a chair up in front of the desk, next to me, and sat facing me. He clasped his big hands together and stared. I stared back.
“The three women say Ms. Smith pulled her gun first. She ripped your purse off, so she knew where your gun was,” he said.
“I flashed it a little too much tonight. My fault.”
“I heard about you joining the show out there. What happened?”
“I had to police the show a little. The woman didn’t want to play. It’s illegal to use preternatural powers to coerce anyone into doing something they don’t want to do.”
“You aren’t a policeman, Anita.”
It was the first time he’d ever reminded me of that. Usually, Dolph treated me like one of his people. He’d even encouraged me to simply say I was with his squad so people would assume I was a detective.
“You kicking me off the squad, Dolph?” My stomach was tight as I asked. I valued working with the police. I valued Dolph and Zerbrowski and the rest of the guys. It would hurt more than I wanted to admit to lose all that.
“Two bodies in two days, Anita, both of them normal humans. That’s a lot of explaining at headquarters.”
“If they’d been vamps or some other creepie-crawlie, everyone would look the other way, is that it?”
“Picking a fight with me isn’t your best bet right now, Anita.”
We stared at each other for a second or two. I looked away first, and nodded. “Why are you here, Dolph?”
“I handle the media a lot.”
“But you’re letting Greeley talk to the press.”
“You’ve got to tell me what’s going on, Anita.” His voice was quiet, but I knew by the tightness around his eyes, the way he held his shoulders, that he was angry. I guess I couldn’t blame him.
“What do you want to hear, Dolph?” I asked.
“The truth would be nice,” he said.
“I think I need a lawyer first.” I wasn’t going to spill my guts just because Dolph was my friend. He was still a cop, and I had killed someone.
Dolph’s eyes narrowed. He turned to the uniform still leaning against the wall. “Rizzo, go get some coffee, black, for me. What do you want in yours?”
Coffee was coming. Things were looking up. “Two sugars, one cream.”
“Get some for yourself, Rizzo, and take your time.”
Officer Rizzo pushed away from the wall where he’d been leaning. “You sure about this, Sergeant Storr?”
Dolph looked at him, just looked at him.
Rizzo held his hands out in a sort of push away gesture. “I don’t want Greeley riding my ass about leaving you two alone.”
“Get the coffee, Officer Rizzo. I’ll take any heat that comes down.”
Rizzo left, shaking his head, probably at the stupidity of plainclothes detectives. When we were alone, Dolph said, “Turn around.”
I stood up and offered him my hands. He uncuffed me, but didn’t pat me down again. He probably assumed Rizzo had done it. I didn’t tell him about the knife they missed, which would piss him off if he found it later, but hey, I couldn’t let the cops confiscate all my weapons. Besides, I didn’t want to be unarmed tonight.
I sat back down, resisting the urge to rub my wrists. I was heap-big-vampire-slayer. Nothing could hurt me. Yeah, right.
“Talk to me, Anita.”
“Off the record?” I asked.
He stared at me, eyes flat and unreadable, good cop eyes. “I should say no.”
“But,” I said.
“Off the record, tell me.”
I told him. I changed only one thing: that an anonymous call had alerted me to the contract on me. Other than that, it was the absolute truth. I thought Dolph would be happy, but he wasn’t.
“And you don’t know why someone would put a contract out on you?”
“For that kind of money, with a time limit on it, no.”
He stared at me, as if trying to decide how much truth I was telling him. “Why didn’t you tell us about the anonymous phone call earlier?” He put a lot of stress on the word anonymous.
I shrugged. “Habit, I guess.”
“No, you wanted to hotdog it. Instead of hiding out, you came here and played bait. If the hitter had used a bomb, you could have gotten a lot of people hurt.”
“But she didn’t use a bomb, did she.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have said he was counting to ten.
“You got lucky,” he said.
“I know.”
Dolph stared at me. “She nearly did you.”
“If those women hadn’t come in when they did, I wouldn’t be talking to you now.”
“You don’t seem worried.”
“She’s dead. I’m not. What’s to worry about?”
“For that kind of money, Anita, there’ll be someone else tomorrow.”
“It’s after midnight, and I’m still alive. Maybe the contract will be canceled.”
“Why the time limit?”
I shook my head. “If I knew that, I might know who put the hit out on me.”
“And if you find out who put the money up, what will you do?” he asked.
I stared at him. Off the record or not, Dolph was still the ultimate cop. He took his job very seriously. “I’ll turn the name over to you.”
“I wish I believed that, Anita, I really do.”
I gave him my best wide-eyed, innocent look. “What do you mean?”
“Can the little girl routine, Anita. I know you too well.”
“Fine, but you and I both kn
ow that as long as the money is out there, hitters will keep coming. I’m good, Dolph, but no one’s that good. Eventually, I’ll lose. Unless the money goes away. No contract, no more hitters.”
We stared at each other. “We can put you in protective custody,” Dolph said.
“For how long? Forever?” I shook my head. “Besides, the next hitter might use a bomb. You want to risk your people? I don’t.”
“So you’ll hunt the money man down and kill him.”
“I didn’t say that, Dolph.”
“But that’s what you’re planning,” he said.
“Don’t keep asking the question, Dolph. The answer won’t change.”
He stood, hands gripping the back of the chair. “Don’t cross the line with me, Anita. We’re friends, but I’m a cop first.”
“I value our friendship, Dolph, but I value my life and yours more.”
“You think I can’t handle myself?”
“I think you’re a cop, and that means you have to play by the rules. Dealing with professional hitters, that can get you killed.”
There was a knock on the door. “Enter,” Dolph said.
Rizzo came in with a round tray and three slender black china mugs. There were little red coffee stirrers in each one. Rizzo glanced from Dolph to me. He stared at my uncuffed hands but didn’t say anything. He sat the tray on the desk far enough from me that I couldn’t have grabbed him. Officer Rizzo looked like a twenty-year man, and he was still treating me like a very dangerous person. I doubted that he’d have turned his back on Anabelle. If she hadn’t grabbed my purse, she could have shot me in the back. Oh, I’d have seen it in the mirror, but I’d have never gotten my gun out in time. I’d never have let a man, no matter how friendly or how helpful, come up behind me like that. I’d made the same mistake with Anabelle that people made with me. I’d seen a small, pretty woman and underestimated her. I was a female chauvinist piglet. It had nearly been a fatal flaw.
Dolph handed me the mug that held the lightest-colored coffee. It was too much to hope that the cream would be real, but either way it looked wonderful. I’d never met coffee that wasn’t wonderful. It was just a matter of how wonderful it was. I took a hesitant sip of the steaming liquid and made appreciative ‘mmm’ sounds. It was real coffee and real cream.
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