Stormrise

by Knizley, Skye

  IV

  It was three hours later. The local police had come and gone, doing little but opening all the windows, taking statements from the two detectives and, at Raven’s insistence, taking the bedspread for the state lab to process for evidence. The young detective was now going through the purse that had been on the counter, examining each item and placing it in front of her while Levac rifled through the bedroom closet and master bathroom upstairs.

  The purse contained all of the usual suspects: three different shades of lipstick, a small stash of emergency cosmetics and toiletries, a pill case that contained pain reliever, cold medicine, and antacids and a large, expensive wallet thick with credit cards, identification, and a wad of folded cash held with a hair scrunchy.

  Raven laid the cash on the table in front of her and fanned the bills, which totaled nearly one thousand dollars in twenties and fifties, folded as if they had been ironed. She studied the bills for a moment and felt certain they had come from the foil-wrapped packages in King’s freezer. On a hunch, she sniffed at the lipstick and confirmed her suspicion. The feminine scent on both tubes was identical.

  She put everything but the wallet back in the purse and then emptied the wallet of its contents: two of every major credit cards, including three that were black, a keycard with no emblem or markings, a driver’s license declaring the owner of the wallet to be one Victoria Laveau and an employee identification card for Club Purgatory, a nightclub on the edge of Old Town that catered to preternaturals and humans alike. An unsavory vampire named Cornelius “Lius” Felix ran the place like his own personal brothel. He and Raven had exchanged words on a previous case and their dislike was mutual.

  Raven slipped the keycard and employee identification in her pocket, then turned the driver’s license over to study the picture. The woman was cute, with black hair cut into a pageboy style and dark eyes. She looked like a modern Bettie Page. Knowing Lius, he had paid for a ‘makeover’ for Victoria to get the look he wanted. As far as Raven was concerned, the man was one of the vilest creatures she had ever met.

  She was putting the license back in the wallet when Levac returned from his search of the second floor.

  “Find anything in the purse?” he asked, taking a seat next to her.

  “The owner’s full name is Victoria Laveau,” Raven replied. “It looks like she works at Club Purgatory.”

  “You think she was the one killed in the bedroom?” Levac asked.

  Raven shrugged and spread her hands. “I’m not sure. My gut says yes, but without a body it’s kind of hard to determine. The blood could be from anyone. Did you find anything upstairs?”

  Levac shook his head and started searching his pockets and fishing out a Hershey bar. “Not really. There were some clothes in the closet that look like they belonged to our victim, a suitcase full of women’s apparel that belonged to our friend Victoria and a bunch of stomach medication in the bathroom. King must have had an ulcer the size of Texas or something.”

  “That isn’t a lot of help,” Raven groused.

  She gathered up the collection of keys she had found in Victoria’s purse, handed the designer bag to Levac, and walked towards the front door.

  “We’re going home?” Levac held the purse as if it might explode.

  “In a minute,” Raven replied. “I want to check that car outside. I’m sure it belongs to whoever was killed upstairs; maybe there will be something useful inside.”

  Raven stepped out the door and pressed the unlock button on the key fob in her hand. Sure enough, the Honda unlocked and the lights flashed, indicating the car was open. She smiled humorlessly and began a search of the interior, which turned up nothing but a vehicle registration that confirmed the car belonged to Victoria and was registered to her downtown Chicago address and a parking pass for a garage not far from the registered address.

  When her search was complete, Raven locked the Honda back up and joined Levac, who was leaning against the porch railing and watching something down the street. Raven followed his gaze; he was staring at the same pickup truck she had noted when they’d arrived.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  “That old truck,” he replied. “It was there when we arrived and the driver is just sitting inside, chain-smoking.”

  “Smoking? How can you tell from here?” Raven shaded her sensitive eyes against the sun.

  “The pile of cigarettes on the street next to it and the cloud of smoke that comes out the window every now and then,” Levac answered.

  Raven looked at Levac with a new sense of respect. He might be a slob, he might smell like the back room of a fast-food restaurant, but underneath the grime was a decent detective.

  “Maybe we should go have a chat with him,” Raven said.

  “Took the words out of my mouth, Storm,” Levac replied with a lopsided grin.

  Stuffing the wrapper from his latest chocolate bar in his pocket, Levac led the way towards the truck. Raven used his bulk to conceal the fact that she had drawn her Automag, just in case. The pair was less than a dozen paces from the truck when the engine revved and the large Ford lurched towards them. Moving in a blur, Raven pulled Levac out of the way and leapt aside, falling mere inches from the truck’s path. She rolled flat on the pavement and fired a series of rounds into the back of the truck, the thirty-caliber bullets punching neat holes in the truck’s tailgate, but otherwise having no effect. She watched until the truck had vanished around the corner and frowned.

  “Did you see the driver?” she asked Levac, who was staring after the truck.

  “It was a guy, a big one, with too much hair and a leather jacket,” Levac replied. “Wisconsin plate, but I didn’t get the number.”

  “Me either,” Raven said with disgust. “We can have Frost put out an APB for an F350 with bullet holes, but I doubt we’ll get lucky.”

  She ejected the magazine from her pistol and replaced it with one from her jacket pocket before slipping the piece back into its holster.

  “What is that thing?” Levac asked. “An antitank weapon?”

  Raven smiled and helped the larger man to his feet. “It's an Automag III, made by AMT. My father left it to me. His note said I was never to leave home without it, and I never have. It fires the thirty-caliber carbine round, more power than a three-fifty-seven magnum with a little lighter recoil due to the heavy springs inside the slide. My brother Thad makes the cartridges for me.”

  “Frost lets you carry that? What about public safety? If you miss you’re taking someone’s head off!”

  Raven shrugged. “It’s never been a problem for Frost. I hit what I aim at and he knows it. Besides, I’d still carry it even if he didn’t want me to. I’ve seen nine mils bounce off a windshield and ricochet off targets. No way am I letting some thug get away because I didn’t have enough firepower. I’m not having that on my conscience.”

  “Great,” muttered Levac, following Raven back to the Shelby. “My partner is Dirty Harriet.”

  V

  It was late afternoon before the two detectives arrived back at the station house. Raven dropped Levac off to file the day’s report and follow up with the lab on the contents of the gris-gris bag they had found, while she proceeded to Victoria’s apartment.

  The high-rise condominiums were located a mere ten minutes’ walk from Old Town and Club Purgatory. Raven flashed her badge at the garage attendant and parked the Shelby in the spot reserved for Victoria. When she stepped out into the afternoon sun, she paused to gaze at the building ahead. Like many of the structures near Old Town, the building had been remodeled with an eye towards Modern Gothic, complete with gargoyles and false turrets. Raven thought it looked hideous.

  She arrived at the apartment a few minutes later and knocked politely on the door, feeling certain no one would answer. After a few moments of silence, she again made use of her lock picks, making short work of the expensive deadbolt and privacy pin. She entered and locked the door behind her.

  The small ent
ry foyer opened into a narrow galley kitchen, beyond which was a large living room with picture windows that offered a pristine view of the city. A sliding glass door led out to a spacious patio while another door opened into the apartment’s single bedroom and master bathroom.

  Everything was tastefully—and expensively—decorated, from the leather sofa and plush Oriental rug to the Viking range and professional kitchen appliances. Raven was certain she had seen the sofa on Lifestyles of the Rich and Shameless once.

  How does a cocktail waitress afford the rent for this place? she wondered. It has to cost more than I make in a month!

  Curious, Raven entered the living room, pausing to flip through the selection of wedding and fashion magazines on the glass coffee table and take note of the light layer of dust that covered everything. Victoria hadn’t done any cleaning recently.

  Seeing nothing else of interest, Raven turned to the master bedroom, which matched the living room in elegance and expense. An antique-looking, king-sized bed dominated the room, dwarfed only by the series of closet doors that took up the room’s far wall. A door opposite the bed opened into the spacious master bathroom and a desk had been placed under the room’s single window.

  Raven entered and looked around, inhaling the woman’s scent. The feminine aroma confirmed Victoria was the owner of the lipstick she had found in King’s bathroom, which also put her at the crime scene. The woman had worn a lot of candy-scented perfume and the fragrance permeated the apartment. Strangely, there was an undercurrent of a masculine scent, like Old Spice and leather. It was familiar, yet Raven couldn’t place it. Maybe it was something she had picked up in King’s apartment.

  Continuing her search, Raven sat on the bed and rifled through the items on the nightstand. She again found a copious amount of antacid tablets, as well as a variety of other stomach medications. She also found birth control pills in the bottom drawer. Based on the prescription date and the number of missing pills, Victoria had been taking them until around the time King was killed, which seemed to suggest she had vanished at around the same time as the victim. Raven frowned at the pills for a moment before putting them back where she had found them.

  On the desk was a pad of the same type of paper she had found in King’s fireplace, along with a stack of candy-scented envelopes. Out of curiosity, Raven picked up a pencil and ran it over the pad in hopes of revealing the previous note. She was able to read little aside from a handful of words, but she was certain the handwriting was the same. King had received notes from Victoria and burned them, obviously with the intention that no one should see them. The question was, why?

  “More and more puzzles,” Raven muttered. “Just once I’d like an easy ‘I stabbed Neville for what he said about my sister!’ case instead of all the weird ones!”

  With her preliminary examination of the room’s contents complete, she began a search of the closet. The first section contained casual clothing, including tee shirts and jeans, while the second was stuffed with business attire befitting an administrative assistant or other profession, somewhat out of place for a dancer at Club Purgatory.

  The third and final section contained what could only be called club wear. Short skirts, cheeky shorts, tube tops and impossible-to-walk-in high heels, along with trashy lingerie in a variety of colors, filled the closet near to bursting, some of it still with the tags on.

  In the bottom of the closet Raven found a storage box full of photographs, many of which were of King and Victoria at a variety of locations throughout the city, as well as the bungalow in Evanston and on the beach in what Raven believed to be Key West.

  Raven took one of the better photos and slid it into her pocket for future reference and put everything else back where she had found it.

  Her last stop was the master bathroom, which, like the rest of the apartment, was decorated with top-of-the-line fixtures, a large shower and a two-person sunken tub. Raven took a few hairs from a brush she found on the counter in hopes the lab would be able to match Victoria’s DNA to the blood found in Evanston and finished her search by going through the rest of the drawers.

  VI

  By the time she had completed a full sweep of the apartment, a dusky twilight lay like a blanket over the city and her stomach had begun to protest the lack of nourishment. Raven left the apartment again, locking the door behind her, and returned to her car. After a few moments’ consideration, she decided to grab dinner at Tarsi’s, an Italian restaurant not far from Club Purgatory. She was well known to the owners and would get a table with little fuss, even at this hour.

  Tarsi’s, named after the owner Luigi Tarsi, was one of the most popular new restaurants in the city, famous for its homemade pasta and authentic sauces straight from the heart of Italy. Luigi himself spent most days in the kitchen hovering over his pots, stuffing sausages by hand or grinding out fresh pasta, which was part of the reason the restaurant was so popular. The food was truly to die for.

  Raven drove to the restaurant with anticipation, her stomach grumbling the whole way. She parked on the street and slipped several coins into the nearby meter, making sure she had enough credit for a long dinner. While she was doing so, the skin on the back of her neck began to crawl and gooseflesh rose on her arms. She kept one hand on the meter and half turned to scan the street. Though there were several people wandering through Old Town, none appeared to be paying her any mind. She dismissed the feeling as the effects of hunger and walked the two blocks to Tarsi's.

  When Raven entered the restaurant, she was surprised to find Francois Du Guerre talking with the concierge. He favored Raven with his beautiful smile and offered her his hand.

  “Ravenel,” he said in a voice like steel wrapped in silk. “It is good to see you again. You are well, I trust?”

  Raven smiled and accepted the offered hand. Du Guerre raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, his eyes sparkling. The sensation of his soft lips and faint stubble on her hand made her heart skip a beat.

  Heat rose in Raven's face and she fought not to blink under the vampire's gaze. “Yes. Another murder. It’s been an interesting afternoon, to say the least."

  “I heard you are working on a new case.” Du Guerre’s smile widened. “Would you like to share what details you can over dinner? My treat, of course.”

  Surprised, Raven replied, “I’d love to join you, but I can’t disclose many details about the case. Maybe we can discuss something else? Your new club or something?”

  Du Guerre smiled and released Raven’s hand, gesturing instead for the concierge to find them a table. “I understand. Client/patient privilege and all that type of thing. Such a quaint notion the sheep have. I would still like to share dinner with you, if you will join me.”

  “Well, I’m not a doctor, but the idea is similar,” Raven said. “I can’t share the details of my case because it hasn’t been solved yet and no suspects have been brought to trial. Anything I disclose could potentially sway a jury in the future. But it would be my pleasure to join you for dinner.”

  Du Guerre nodded and offered his arm as the concierge returned to guide them to their table.

  During the meal, Raven found herself fascinated by a vampire who could actually ingest solid food. Usually, she was the only one in the family who could enjoy fried ravioli, and it was a refreshing change to share a meal that didn’t include human plasma served in a wine glass.

  When the gelato arrived, Raven was finally brave enough to ask about it.

  “It took some doing,” was Du Guerre’s reply. “I am not of pure blood. When I was Embraced by my sire, I refused to give up some of the pleasures of my human life. One of those pleasures was food. I started with very rare meat and moved up from there, in much the same way humans may build a tolerance for poisons.”

  Idly running a nail along the back of Du Guerre’s hand, Raven smiled. “And now you can enjoy lasagna and fried ravioli without being ill.”

  Du Guerre returned the smile and nodded. “But not as much as yo
ur company. Will you join me for a drink? Or perhaps a walk? It is a beautiful night.”

  “I’d love to, Francois,” Raven said. “Really, I would. But I’m still working on my case and need to stop in at Club Purgatory to ask some questions before I turn in.”

  Du Guerre frowned and set his wine glass aside. “I have not heard anything good about that establishment. It sounds very dangerous, even for one of your talents. Would you allow me to escort you?”

  Raven smiled softly, somewhat surprised at herself. Ordinarily the suggestion that she needed a male escort annoyed her to no end and had, on two occasions, caused her to punch the offending male in the face. Francois’ gentle request, however made her feel warm, like she had just enjoyed a cup of hot chocolate with a spritz of whipped cream.

  “No, thank you,” she said with a trace of reluctance. “It’s police business and I can handle myself. I shouldn’t get a civilian involved in a possibly dangerous situation.”

  Francois nodded again. “As you wish, Ravenel. May I borrow your phone for a moment, then?”

  Raven shrugged and passed over her iPhone, watching as he entered his phone number and address into the registry.

  “I am now no more than a phone call away,” he said, handing the phone back. “Please, feel free to call me, Ravenel. For anything.”

  The way Du Guerre said ‘anything’ made the molten feeling in Raven’s belly spread lower. She had never heard anyone put so much meaning into such a simple word. “Thank you." Her nails still teased the back of his hand. “That means a lot to me, and I don’t take the gesture lightly.”

  Du Guerre’s smile widened and he raised his hand to take Raven’s, his fingers closing over hers. Raven watched him for a moment before pulling her hand back and gathering her purse.

  “I'd better run,” she said, feeling flustered. “This case isn’t going to solve itself. Thank you again for dinner…and everything.”