The Love-Haight Case Files

by Jean Rabe, Donald J. Bingle

  It took him a while to discover which direction was “up,” and he emerged in the basement of Lo He’s Acupuncture, which likewise was being investigated by the police. It was dark outside, and Thomas checked the watch on a passerby: 9 p.m.

  He’d spent hours upon hours under the earth. Hospital visiting hours were over by now, and so the nurses would not want him to disturb Evelyn. Thomas was one to play by the rules.

  But tonight … just for tonight he’d take a page out of Dagger’s book and act like the rules did not apply to him.

  Tonight he had a story to tell Evelyn.

  ***

  Case #3 Habeas Corpse

  Chapter 3.1

  Nika Rondik awoke from her vision with a shiver. It was always the same, a foggy mist clearing to a mélange of images, sounds, words, and sometimes smells, then an abrupt sensation of falling into cold water shocking her awake. She gasped for breath.

  Another vision about Thomas Brock’s law offices—this one about Evelyn Love. Poor girl. Nika had read in The San Francisco Chronicle about the vicious attack on her at the Thai restaurant. But that had been some time ago and hadn’t been preceded by a warning vision.

  Visions were like that—not always timely or helpful, even when you could make out what they were about. This one was a vision of warning, but not of danger—a heart pumping hot red blood, with an irregular beat that eventually slowed, the blood it pumped cooling. A classic sign of unrequited passion or struggles of the heart. Clearly, Evelyn faced conflict and turmoil in her love life. That kind of thing would be useful enough for Nika’s paying clients, but was hardly urgent or concrete enough to get her an audience with a stranger.

  Still, she felt some connection to both Evelyn and her colleagues at the law office. She had to find out why.

  Her phone rang.

  “Hello,” she answered. Who could be calling her this late at night? “Ah, cousin Javor.” That explained the lateness of the call. “Do I know of a good lawyer? Well, not from personal experience, but … yes … yes, I do.”

  O O O

  Although Evelyn avoided the Tenderloin after the sun went down, she made an exception tonight. She’d passed the bar exam and had accepted an invitation to celebrate with friends at the Golden Pumpkin, a trendy vegetarian restaurant—in the heart of the Tenderloin.

  Some said the forty-square-block district in San Francisco got its name because it was the “soft underbelly” by the bay, referring to the graft, vice, and corruption that thrived in the area. Others claimed it was a clever reference to the “loins” of the hookers who prowled the streets. Evelyn preferred a different explanation, that cops had dubbed it the Tenderloin because they earned hazard pay here, which let them afford steak rather than hamburger.

  The restaurant’s spring rolls were marvelous, as was the lemon tofu “chicken” that she was working her way through … all compliments of the restaurant owner, who’d offered the small winter crop of San Francisco Law School graduates a congratulatory free meal this week.

  The verdict was still out on whether Evelyn was enjoying the company, or rather whether she would allow herself to enjoy it. She ran her index finger around the edge of the wine glass. It didn’t hum, not crystal, but then this restaurant reeked of shabby-chic with its out-of-date decor. Goose bumps danced on the back of her neck. Despite the convivial and Zen-like atmosphere, she felt uneasy, like someone was watching her.

  Probably just Constantine.

  Constantine sat directly across from her, playing footsy under the table, an extension of the casual flirting he’d employed in admiralty class—maritime law. She’d done nothing to discourage him then and was debating whether to encourage him now. That’s why she’d come here tonight, right? To flirt back, and in earnest?

  Their group was at the far end of the large pumpkin-orange dining room. The light from the cheap chandeliers made Constantine’s black hair gleam; Evelyn figured he’d oiled it. He was good-looking, a long, heart-shaped face graced with a five-day stubble that passed for a fashionable beard. His eyes were an unnatural bright blue, probably from contacts. She thought the color suited him. His smile was his best feature, and it had tugged her to the restaurant. There were ten others who had picked tonight to use the free meal deal, altogether a dozen young lawyers ready to take on the world. Their conversations were a pleasant buzz of job offers, workload, and future plans that mixed with the music softly playing; she recognized Origen’s “Sequence of Art,” a fusion of classical and new age jazz.

  The place was busy, all of the diners appearing human and under thirty. She’d expected to see a few OTs in the mix. The undead variety was noted to cluster in the Tenderloin. Maybe there were some OTs here after all and she couldn’t distinguish them. Sometimes they looked human enough.

  The feeling of being watched intensified and the goose bumps danced faster.

  “We could go to my place after,” Constantine suggested. “You haven’t seen my digs in Nob Hill. It’s not far, and—”

  Evelyn sucked in a breath. She liked him, she really did. She’d been entertaining taking the friendship further. Lord knew she could use a little romance in her life, especially now with the bar exam behind her. There hadn’t been time for dates the past few years—law school and work occupying nearly all her waking hours.

  Constantine was easy on the eyes.

  She liked to watch him, listen to him—his voice rich like Captain Jean Luc Picard’s of Next Generation fame. He smelled faintly of sweet musk. But now, sitting with him so close and outside the academic and legal atmosphere … now the notion of turning their friendship into something more wasn’t having quite the comfortable feel she’d thought it might. Maybe coming here was a mistake. Or maybe she just wasn’t ready to add another layer to her already complicated life.

  “I have to work tomorrow, Con.”

  The attractive smile faded. “At least you have a job already, Evey, though that little hole-in-the-wall on Haight isn’t much of a firm. You really could do better. Hell, you graduated with a four-point-oh. You could probably get on anywhere you wanted.”

  “Maybe.” In fact, she probably could. But Evelyn wasn’t sure she wanted to work someplace else. She liked the cutting-edge law she and Thomas were tackling, a lot of it OT work. The cases were varied and the clients more than a little interesting. But it hadn’t been lucrative. They were barely getting by.

  The toe of his shoe edged higher on her leg, pausing halfway up her calf. The contact—and the wine—made her giddy. “Have you thought about Brock, Davis & Davis? Brock, Davis & Davis is damn prestigious, Evey.”

  Constantine’s mention of that law firm soured things. The lemon “chicken” suddenly felt heavy in her stomach.

  “Brock, Davis & Brock pays the going—”

  “Brock? Oh. No.” That was the enemy as far as she was concerned.

  “It’s the city’s biggest firm, Evey. Celebrated, influential. I’ve been pursuing them.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “In fact, I have an interview Monday.” He dropped his gaze to his plate, and she saw him cross his fingers.

  Still the feeling of being watched persisted, but Constantine wasn’t the source.

  “I didn’t know, Con.” Her finger stopped its course around the wine glass rim and she stared at his nose, slightly shiny.

  A hint of his smile returned and he raised his head, his voice still a conspiratorial whisper. “I was keeping it a secret, not wanting to jinx it, you know. This isn’t the traditional hiring season, after all. But I’m too excited, had to tell someone … you. I’d interned for them last summer, worked some weekends in the fall, and worked all of January.”

  “I didn’t know that, either.”

  “Yeah, well, I hadn’t exactly publicized it. When I wasn’t Shepardizing their string cites and summarizing deposition transcripts, I wasn’t much more than a glorified errand boy, a step-and-fetch-it that had coffee orders memorized for the two dozen suits on my designated floors.”


  “They do have a lot of lawyers. You’d get lost in the crowd.”

  He threw back the wine in one long swallow and stretched a hand out to touch hers. “At first I’d get lost, and that’s provided they’ll even take me. I know the hours would be awful, the assignments crap in the beginning. That’s the deal with big firms. Eighty hours a week or more. The money would be good, though. Amazing, actually. They start associates at a hundred and sixty thousand. Nobody else pays that around here, not right out of the gate. Hell, that’s as much as the big firms dole out to newbies in Manhattan.”

  Their companions’ conversations drifted to the fore, and Evelyn pretended to be interested in what someone else was saying. Brock, Davis & Davis favored anti-OT cases, and she and Thomas had butted heads with some of their lawyers in court. Constantine was no longer quite so easy on the eyes. He was still talking, and she’d missed some of it.

  “—but I figure it will all be worth it … if I can get on. Put in the impossible hours, do the grunt work, jump through the requisite hoops, get salary bumps, find myself creeping higher on the ladder.”

  Creeping? Creep. That was a word Evelyn would ascribe to a Brock, Davis & Davis lawyer.

  “I have to get up early,” she said. “Work tomorrow.” She pushed back and caught the attention of the others at the long table. “This has been lovely, guys. We should do this again in a few months, catch up.”

  They said their goodbyes as she stood and smoothed at her skirt and dropped a ten on the table toward the tip. There was no such thing as a free meal, right? Constantine got up, too.

  “Evey, is something wrong? Are you okay? Did I say something—”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine, you’re fine. Nothing’s wrong.” But there was something wrong … the notion of Constantine courting Brock, Davis & Davis, coupled with the eyes she still felt on her. Someone was watching her, but she couldn’t tell who, everyone in the dining room seemed engrossed with their own meals and companions. “I really do have to get going. A rain check on seeing your Nob Hill place?”

  He seemed to brighten at that. “Can I at least walk you to the bus stop?”

  “No” was on her tongue, but she nodded. This was the Tenderloin, after all, and though Evelyn had an I-can-take-care-of-myself attitude, she wasn’t stupid. Her wounds from the incident at the Thai restaurant had just barely healed. “I’d like that.”

  “A rain check?” Constantine laughed as they exited the restaurant.

  It hadn’t been raining when they’d gone in, but it was coming down in buckets now. February was one of the rainiest months of the year in San Francisco. A storm could come out of nowhere. She’d worn a light jacket, the temperatures in the fifties. The rain and the late hour made it colder, though. They stood under the awning. She started to shiver.

  “How about you stay dry?” Evelyn suggested. She pointed south. “The bus stop is only three blocks. No use both of us getting drenched.”

  “You sure?”

  Evelyn thought a real gentleman would have argued with her. He would’ve taken her by the arm and forged out into the downpour.

  “Yes, I’m sure. The bogeymen stay indoors in weather like this.” She squeezed his arm. “This really was lovely, a fun evening. Good luck with your interview.” But she didn’t mean the last bit. She hoped he didn’t get the job.

  “I’ll call you, let you know how Monday goes.”

  She heard the restaurant door close. A look over her shoulder confirmed that Constantine had gone back inside. The sidewalk was empty, and the rain was angry—rat-a-tat-tatting against the pavement. Cars cruised by, their tires sluicing up water and making a shushing sound that accompanied the thunder. Evelyn pulled her jacket up over her head and jogged, ungainly in high heels, the neon of the business signs a blur of pink, green, and blue twitching snakes, the music spilling out of a bar and getting lost in the rain and thunder.

  She had one block remaining when she realized someone was following her, feet slamming against the cement.

  A glance revealed it wasn’t Constantine deciding to be chivalrous after all. It was a pencil-thin figure with burning red eyes. In the hazy glow of the streetlights, she noticed he had a big smear of blood on his white shirt.

  Apparently not all of the Tenderloin’s bogeymen were staying indoors.

  Chapter 3.2

  “Crap.” Evelyn ran faster despite her shoes.

  Athletic, she’d often jogged to classes, but running was for pleasure, to feel the welcome burn of exertion crawl through her, the heady adrenalin rush. She always ran to something, hated the thought of running from anything. But a man with glowing red eyes? And in the Tenderloin? She wasn’t stupid. She’d run from that.

  The bus stop was in sight, and that was where she headed. But as she got closer she didn’t see anyone under the small, lighted shelter, and the bus wasn’t there yet. Wait for it? No way in hell. The businesses in this block were either closed for the night or closed indefinitely. A homeless man huddled in a doorway, a half-empty bottle of something cradled in his lap. She didn’t slow her pace to take in any more details.

  A glimpse over her shoulder confirmed the red-eyed man still pursued her. She could stop and confront him, fight him if necessary; Evelyn was more proactive than reactive. She’d dealt worse than she got in the Thai fight. But Dagger McKenzie had taught her well—avoid fights if possible. It was healthier.

  Farther down and across the street she saw the lights of bars and dive restaurants blink invitingly. Evelyn dodged a few cars and cut toward them, accidentally dropping her purse and not pausing to retrieve it. She’d thought she was outdistancing her pursuer, but somehow he’d closed the distance. His iron-strong fingers dug into her arm, pulling her to a stop in the middle of O’Farrell Street. It hurt like hell. It was the arm she’d been shot in during the failed hit on her in December in the Thai restaurant. He pulled her close, grabbing both her arms now and pinning them against her sides, fingers digging in harder when she struggled. Cars passed by on both sides, no one slowing.

  Evelyn twisted so she could look up his face. He opened his mouth, revealing fangs.

  A damned vampire!

  She wasn’t going to be an easy meal. Evelyn brought her heel up, the spike of it driving into his leg. He growled in pain. At the same time she shouted to attract the attention of a passing motorist. She kicked again and thought she saw a few people looking out the window of a bar across the street, one a blue woman with antennae. Shouted once more, hoping someone would hear her or call the cops if nothing else.

  The vampire’s voice was deep, but his words were muffled by the rain and by the hammering of her heart.

  “Please,” she thought she’d heard him say.

  She put all her strength into an attempt to twist out of his grip, then she felt herself dragged roughly back to the sidewalk. The cars were slowing now, the gawk factor taking hold. But not one of them stopped.

  “Help!” she hollered. “Call the police!” She knew a smattering of self-defense, was strong, but her efforts were nothing against the unnatural steely grip of the vampire.

  She tripped on a raised patch of cement and he caught her, forcing her to walk close to the darkened buildings where the night and the gloom might hide them from passersby.

  His breath felt cold against the back of her neck. Despite the deluge she could smell him—oddly sweet, like he’d been dipped in basil, something to cover up the stench of death. Would he kill her here, or in some alley? Would her body be found? People went missing from San Francisco. Why the hell had she let Constantine’s smile bring her to this risky neighborhood?

  A siren! She heard a siren. Someone had called the cops.

  She shouted again, no words, just a sustained howl meant to attract attention. She paused to take a breath. He was pushing her across an intersection. She saw the sign for the Golden Pumpkin, saw someone coming out.

  She sucked in a breath and shouted: “Police! Call the—”

  Evelyn bri
efly felt pressure on her neck, than the blackness smothered her.

  Chapter 3.3

  She woke in a restaurant kitchen, a big towel around her shoulders, her purse—which someone had retrieved—hanging on a peg near the back door. Her neck ached, and she reached her fingers up, expecting to find puncture wounds, but there were none. She should bolt for the back door, grab her purse and flee, call someone on her cell phone … or let common sense kick in and take a good look around.

  “Evelyn Love, correct?” It was the vampire who’d kidnapped her on the street.

  His charcoal gray hair was shoulder-length and plastered against the sides of his face. His clothes dripped on the floor, evidence that she hadn’t been unconscious long. The red stain on his white shirt had faded considerably. The stain was a mere pink suggestion now, not blood, maybe a red sauce from something being prepared by one of the cooks.

  The kitchen was busy around them. A quartet of men in long aprons readied meals—vegetarian, an assortment of vegetables, a variety of fruit, blocks of tofu, and bowls of pasta were arranged around the work area. There were dishwashers, waitresses going in and out. She took a closer look. The waitresses had color to them and were breathing, certainly appearing human. But the four cooks were anemic-looking, all boasting a scholar’s complexion that bordered on albino. And when they opened their mouths to talk to each other, she saw fangs.

  All of the cooks were vampires.

  “Evelyn Love—” The rain-drenched vampire drew her attention. He was pale, his eyes watery, and the pupils black pinpoints. His eyes had glowed red outside. Despite his undead pallor, he was rather striking and looked to be in his mid- to late-fifties. “I am very sorry if I hurt you. My strength, sometimes I—”

  “Damned right you hurt me.” She’d have bruises the size of grapefruits by morning.

  “But you were screaming, wouldn’t listen, and—”

  She stood, a dozen emotions flitting through her mind: curiosity, anger, still a pinch of fear wisely remained. Anger was the strongest, though. Almost reflexively, she put her hands on her hips. “Kidnapping, assault, you—”