When Vamps Bite (Bedlam in Bethlehem Book 1)

by Nicole Zoltack

  My jaw clenches so tightly pain radiates to my ear. I’m powerless to help her, and the perp got away. I clench my fists, fingers slick with her blood.

  My flashlight only reveals so much, but I can’t see any evidence at in the dark. God willing, forensics can nab a clothing fiber or some hair.

  Gingerly, I brush her hair aside and shine the light on her neck. I’m shocked to see a huge, jagged mark. Two actually, roughly the same length, maybe two inches across. Nah, a little smaller.

  Sirens sound in the distance. Music to my ears, even if my stomach is dancing to a sickening beat, one of death, remorse, and guilt.

  When my buddies in blue arrive, I’m all set to help them canvass the area and set up a grid. They’re brutal, though. Not a one will let me assist since I’m a witness. They even have me ride downtown in a car, up front at least.

  Everything’s a blur, and I can’t even tell you how sore my throat is getting from rehashing the events repeatedly. I tell them everything, every last detail. I didn’t see much of his face, just that his teeth were too long. No distinguishing marks. No tattoos, at least none that were visible. A dark trench coat with dark pants, maybe black or a deep blue.

  It’s the disappearing part they don’t understand. How could he have up and vanished?

  That’s disturbing by itself but combined with the knowledge that he was biting her really unnerves me. Had he drunk her blood?

  The whole thing seems like… a vampire attack. Which, I know, believe me I know, is crazy. Vampires aren’t real.

  “That’s it,” I murmur, disgusted, enraged.

  Frankie Lybrand, who’s already bald despite being thirty-two, looks up from his notepad. “What’s it? You ready for a sketch artist?”

  I wave his suggestion away. “The guy. The perp. He thinks he’s a vampire.”

  “Clarissa.”

  Gah. I hate that condescending tone.

  “I know that you think he was biting her—“

  “Because he was,” I insist.

  “Did you see her neck? Afterward?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see a bite mark there?”

  “No, but…” I think furiously. “He might’ve dragged his teeth, and—“

  “Dragged his teeth?” he repeats in the most skeptical sounding voice ever.

  “You know.” I lift up my arm and pretend to bite, dragging my mouth toward my wrist. “There wouldn’t be a nice, even bite mark if—“

  “I’ll make a note to ask Henrietta about it.”

  Henrietta Goldersnatch. The Medical Examiner. She gets a little too excited when bodies come, from what I hear. I haven’t had the chance to cross paths with her much. Travis and I get more of the sting operation cases rather than the drug deal gone bad and dead druggies.

  “Thanks,” I mumble, but it’s clear he’s not listening to me.

  A shiver runs through me. They took my coat, and I’m not sure where it is now.

  “Hey, what’s going on?”

  Travis’s familiar raspy voice has me blinking back sudden hot tears. What the heck? I blink them gone and give him a hug.

  “Clarissa here saw a vampire attack.” Frankie smirks.

  You know what? He and Mercedes would make the perfect sarcastic power couple.

  “A what?” Travis’s bushy eyebrows descend over his eyes like thick caterpillars.

  “A guy attacked a woman,” I explain. “He was biting her neck. There was blood everywhere.”

  “A vampire… Clarissa… How much did you have to…” Travis glances at Frankie and then away.

  “Have to… have to drink?” Frankie taps his pen against his chin. “You were off duty?”

  “Yeah,” I say crossly. “I told you that.”

  “You didn’t tell me you were… That’s why you were walking? Had too much to drink?”

  I can’t help shooting daggers at Travis. Why did he have to open his big trap?

  “I don’t drink to excess…” I stress. It’s not like I’m slurring. I’m not stumbling, and it’s been, what, an hour and a half at least since I finished my last drink. Maybe even two hours ago. “My vision and mind aren’t impaired.”

  Frankie scratches his bald head with his pen.

  Travis places a hand on my shoulder. It’s smothering, not comforting.

  Before he can say anything, I jerk to my feet. “Are you done questioning me?”

  Frankie gapes at me. “You should go over to the, ah, a sketch might be good. Yes, that would be good. Then, ah, then you can go.”

  I glare at him but agree and do my absolute best not to snipe at the sketch artist. I so badly want to get out of here that I cooperate as best I can. Honestly, that isn’t saying much, unfortunately.

  Travis has hung around, and I’m grateful, even if I don’t wanna talk. So much for ice cream. As soon as I get home, I’m crawling into bed.

  He opens the front door for me, and a gust of cold wind chills me to the core.

  Wait a sec. Where’s my coat?

  It takes me a good twenty minutes to track it down. Luckily, blood swabs have already been collected, so I can take it. It makes me a little squeamish to put it on. So much blood, and it’s nothing like the amount of blood on her clothes. I wonder if Henrietta is gonna pay attention to how much blood the Jane Doe lost. As far as I know, she didn’t have ID on her. We’ll have to wait a few days to see if anyone files a missing person’s report. As sick as it is, I kinda hope that the amount of blood in her body can only be explained by his drinking it. Not by the amount soaking her clothes and the ground and my coat.

  Travis offers to drive me home, and I accept. No more walking for me tonight. Not that I’m a scaredy cat. I just want to get home as quickly as possible.

  We’re only two blocks away when Travis glances over. “Were you when it all went down?”

  “Was I what?”

  “Were you still feeling buzzed?”

  “Travis—“

  “Had to ask.”

  “I know what I saw.”

  “I’m not denying that there’s a neck wound, but for the perp to think he’s a vampire… It’s a little too much to handle.”

  “You know guys are sickos. Look at Bundy and Gacy and—“

  “Those guys were serial killers.”

  “Yeah, well, this guy got away, didn’t he?”

  “There’s no guarantee we won’t nab him.” He looks at me again.

  “Yeah, right,” I mutter.

  In my gut, I know it’s not gonna happen. We aren’t gonna find him. I’ve never felt like this before, like a bottomless pit of despair.

  Chapter 4

  Before work, I head over to City Dry Cleaners and Tailor near Lehigh University. When I hand the lady behind the counter my coat, she hesitates, clearly startled by the sight of it. With a grimace, she accepts the coat with her fingertips to avoid touching the blood.

  “I’m a police officer,” I explain, embarrassed.

  “Ah.” She smiles then, visibly relieved.

  But while she’s happier, I’m still provoked and disgusted. It’s freezing out today, colder than normal, and this jacket I’m wearing just won’t cut it. I have a jean jacket, this one, and my winter coat. That’s it. My best friend has a gazillion coats, but I never saw the point, until now.

  To say I’m in a foul, rotten mood as I enter the precinct is an understatement.

  Travis immediately comes over. The compassion in his eyes has me staring at the dirty floor. With the sheer amount of people tramping about in here any given day, it’s impossible to have clean floors.

  “We got it,” he says excitedly. “Ricky Bones finally cracked and spilled the beans. He’ll testify, and he even gave us a time and a place. Tonight. Off East Boulevard. Marlon and Mercedes are getting us a warrant as we speak. How’s a stakeout feel?”

  Ricky Bones is a weasel of a man. Thin to the point of looking emaciated, all skin and bones, he reminds me of a snake, a harmless one at that. He’s alway
s sniffing, and his lips are colorless. I knew when I brought him in a week ago that it would pay off. I’ve been waiting for this, but honestly, the wind’s been blown out of my sails. I’ve never felt this way before. Yeah, I do have talent when it comes to sniffing out goons.

  In my career, I’ve only let two guys get away compared to the hundreds I’ve helped to lock up. But this feels personal. A man, a butcher of a man, killed a woman right in front of me, while I stood by, helpless to save her. She died on my watch, off-duty or not. I was there.

  And I failed her.

  If we don’t hunt down that guy… The look in his eye, that bloodstained grin… he’ll do it again.

  If he hasn’t already.

  Travis has been talking.

  I nod as if I heard every word. “Yeah. Let me know when we roll out.”

  He gives me a strange glance, but I scurry over to my workstation and start to do some digging. Recent missing persons, any unsolved murders for the past couple of years, searching for hints about bodies with neck wounds.

  Of course, I come up with missing persons. Every major city has them, and Bethlehem is no exception. Yet none resemble our Jane Doe. The lieutenant of Criminal Investigations Bureau will only be able to keep this under wraps for so long. I’m pretty sure through the haze of last night that the media showed up.

  Unsolved murders? That’s another yes, but not one of them resembles this case. A runner found in a ditch who had trace roofies in her system. A hit and run that killed the driver. Five others. Depressing when you think about it. Seven people’s lives were cut tragically short, and we hadn’t done enough to honor them by bringing their killers to justice.

  As for neck wounds, there have been a few reports of animal attacks. Weird. It’s not like you’re gonna see a bear or mountain lion or anything like that wandering the city. Okay, maybe one might wander in, but it wouldn’t attack unless provoked or sick. A squirrel or opossum, maybe, but nothing that can explain these marks. The slash is deep and gory, too ragged on the borders to be from a blade.

  I push back my chair, the legs scraping against the tile, intent on seeking out Henrietta.

  Travis appears, sipping coffee. He hands me a second cup. “Whatcha looking at?”

  “Just looking around.” Crap. I thought I closed out of everything.

  “Looking at that?” He leans forward before pulling back, his upper lip curling back in disgust. “That’s why I won’t ever go into homicide. You sure you really want to leave me for that?”

  “Yes,” I say quietly.

  “You wound me.”

  “Well, maybe if you would realize that I don’t do coffee…” I place it untouched on my desk.

  “You looked like you could use a little pick-me-up.”

  “A scone would do that. A Danish. And not that fake garbage you get at a gas station. Something from a bakery, warm from the oven, not too sweet, with the glaze all melty…”

  He laughs but makes no move to claim his seat. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re high maintenance.”

  “Do I demand that you bring me breakfast every morning? No? Well, then?”

  My heart isn’t in our teasing, though. I’ve known Travis for years. We went through the academy together, and he’s like a brother to me. We’re so close that I’m in his wedding party. His soon-to-be wife is a gem. She’s not a bridezilla at all, but she’s also taking her time planning the wedding. Who knows when I’ll find out what hideous color my dress will be.

  I’ve been to enough weddings over the years to tell when the bride is truly in love. She’ll just glow. It sounds cheesy, but it’s real, I’m sure of it. When I haven’t seen that glow, the couple has either separated or divorced or there have been rumors of cheating.

  I’ve already seen Ali glow around Travis. They’re meant for each other. He adores her, and she dotes on him. It’s kinda sickening how much they love each other. And it’s not as if this is the honeymoon phase that will blow over. Nah. They’ve already been through sickness. She’s a breast cancer survivor. They had to deal with tragedy when his father had a heart attack while driving them to the airport for a vacation. They’re stronger because they’re together. If Hallmark ever made a movie about their love story, it would actually be one I’d watch.

  “If anything, you’re too low maintenance. You never ask for anything. You’re too much of a loner, Clarissa.”

  “No such thing. Besides, I have you.”

  “I’m Ali’s.”

  “And there’s Samantha.”

  “Your best friend who is as much of a workaholic as you are.”

  “She has to be. A personal trainer trains and trains and trains. Her body and her client’s. If she’s not fit as a fiddle, no one would hire her. Did I tell you she started to take—“

  “My point is, Clarissa—“

  “Ready to head out?” Mercedes flounces over. “Geez. Did you sleep at all last night? You know, they make medication to help with that.” She taps a finger against her cheek. “Oh, right. I forgot that we get drug screened. Wouldn’t want to ruin that track to detective now, would we?”

  I never removed my jacket, too cold to, so I stand. “Let’s get this over with.”

  There’s a reason why those stupid cop movies don’t show a lot from stakeouts. They’re boring. You sit. You wait. You watch. You wait some more. You bide your time. You yawn. You sleep. You do anything to pass the time, even listen to your partners sing loudly and off-key. The guys just can’t sing. At least Mercedes can, somewhat.

  “Come on,” Travis urges. “Sing with us.”

  “There’s something wrong with a person if they don’t join in for ‘Bohemian Rhapsody,’” Mercedes scoffs.

  “Including the opera part.” Marlon leans forward. The two of them are in the back seat of our van.

  I groan. “I hate singing.”

  “Must be tone deaf.” Mercedes flops back into her seat, and I can see her smug expression through the rearview mirror.

  “Long story.” Not one I care to share.

  You see, mom used to always sing to me. Always. It wasn’t until I was five and someone cringed when she sang that I realized she wasn’t a good singer. I didn’t care. We sang duets all the time.

  And then my mom put me in a talent show a year later. I sang “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” I won.

  My mom got it in her head that I was a musical prodigy. She forced me to take singing lessons. But not just any singing lessons.

  She made me take opera.

  I hated every second of it. So I haven’t sung much since she let me quit after fighting her for a year about it. I don’t even sing Christmas carols. I’ll whistle, but that’s about it.

  The next song, “Radioactive,” is catchy at least, so I whistle along to it.

  Not good enough, according to Mercedes.

  Commercials come on, so Travis flips through stations.

  “Oh.” Mercedes rumbles through her purse. She chucks something at me. “Here.”

  Concealer. Still in the package.

  “I grabbed the wrong shade last week. Convenient for you. It’ll help with those bags beneath your eyes. Aren’t you gonna put it on?”

  “How generous of you.” It kills me to not have a hint of sarcasm in my voice. Her condescending attitude is really grating on me.

  I glance at Travis and mouth, “See why I want out of vice?”

  He shrugs.

  Dutifully, I pull down my visor, flip open the mirror, and slide on some concealer. Huh. It really is my shade.

  “No, no, no.” She sighs. “Don’t you know how to be a girl? Turn around.” Mercedes yanks the concealer from my hand and dabs it beneath my eyes, lightly. Then she uses her pinky finger to dab some more and slowly rubs it in. “There. Now you don’t look so ghoulish.”

  I turn back around and glance at the mirror. She knows her makeup. My bags are gone. My brown eyes look a little dull, though, and my blond hair is kinda limp. I’m just not with it to
day.

  “Thank you,” I say sincerely.

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Maybe she’s not so bad after all. Maybe I misjudged her.

  “But don’t come to me for advice about your hair. I would have no idea how to work with that nest.”

  Yeah, I so didn’t misjudge her.

  An awkward silence develops, putting me on edge. Doesn’t she realize what a witch she’s being? Doesn’t she care how she’s perceived? It’s one thing to be confident and not care what others think of you. She takes it to a whole other level, though.

  “Let’s recap our plan again,” Marlon suggests.

  See? Now that’s one of the things I appreciate about him. He’s thorough. But we have gone over everything four times already.

  Mercedes smiles, a little patronizingly if you ask me. “I think we have everything down, Marlon. Don’t worry.”

  Marlon ignores her and rehashes it. We’ve been working on cracking this drug ring for months now. Ricky Bones is kind of a middleman. He’s smart, which is why he’s managed to avoid us for so long. Slick like an eel. Slippery like a snake.

  Bringing him down, even I’ll admit it, had been a fluke. I’d been driving to my best friend’s place when I spied him sneaking around in the shadows. I tailed him and witnessed a deal go down. Now, it’s not advised to go in without backup. Using a wire would’ve been better. Instead, I grabbed a hat from the back seat and sunglasses and used my cell to record our conversation. It freaked me out to leave my gun behind, but I knew he would frisk me, and he did. Despite my nerves, I managed to convince him I was a rich bitch who needed a score and now.

  As soon as my cash and his drugs were exchanged, I knocked him around and cuffed him. Not exactly easy as pie, but it went down smoothly. Okay, yeah, so Vice/Intelligence Detective Sergeant Howard Bernardo did slap me on the wrist for it. Regardless, I brought Ricky Bones in.

  Now we’re waiting to see if some of the big guns, namely Hank the Tank and Slammin’ Sammy, are here. We do have a warrant, so we can go in, but Bernardo wants us to sit and wait an hour before going in. He’s hoping we’ll see one of the big wigs. Then we’ll call in the other units on standby a few blocks away.