Anita Blake 11 - Cerulean Sins

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  All the joking was gone; Zerbrowski was very serious all of a sudden. "And?"

  "They caught a picture of a man matching the neighbor's description with the two women last night. They walked right past the store window." He opened the folder. "I took the liberty of getting a still made."

  "And passed it to all of your men," Merlioni said.

  "No, detective, this is the only copy, and I brought it here first."

  Merlioni looked like he would have argued, but Zerbrowski cut him off. "I don't care who solves this, as long as we get this guy."

  "I feel the same way," Bradley said.

  I didn't exactly believe Bradley. Last time we'd talked, his little division had been in jeopardy of being disbanded, and their cases given back to the Investigative Support—read Serial Killer—Unit. Bradley was one of the good guys, he really did care more about solving crimes than career advancement, but he also cared about his new unit. He felt strongly that the feds needed one. I agreed with him. So why was he handing over the only copy of the picture? Sharing made sense, simply giving it to us didn't.

  "What do you think, Anita?" he asked me.

  I glanced down at the photo. It was black and white, pretty good quality actually. Two women were laughing up at the tall man in between them. The brunette on the left matched some of the pictures downstairs. I hadn't asked the name of the woman who owned the house. I hadn't wanted to know. Not knowing had made it easier to go into that bathroom and paw through the remains.

  The other woman looked vaguely familiar. "Wasn't the woman in a group picture downstairs? It looked like it was taken at a party."

  "We'll check," Zerbrowski said.

  "What about the man?" Bradley asked.

  I looked at the man in the picture. The man that might be our killer or might be at the bottom of the pile of bones in the bathtub was tall, broad-shouldered. Straight brown hair was pulled back into a long ponytail that one of the women was tugging on, playing with. The face was high cheek-boned, handsome. He wasn't like Richard handsome, but they reminded me oddly of each other, both tall, both broad-shouldered, both classically handsome. But there was something in this man's face even through the film that creeped me out.

  It was probably knowing that the two women were only hours away from being butchered. It was probably my imagination, but I didn't like the look on the man's face when he glanced up and spotted the camera. I realized that that was what the look was, why it looked strange.

  "He spotted the camera," I said.

  "What do you mean?" Zerbrowski asked.

  "Look at his face, he didn't like being on film."

  "He probably knew what he was going to do to them," Merlioni said, "don't want to be seen with the vics before the murder."

  "Maybe, probably." I kept looking at his face, and I thought it was familiar.

  "Do you recognize him?" Bradley asked.

  I stared up at him. His face was empty, guileless, but I didn't believe the innocent look. "Why would I?"

  "Well, he is a shape-shifter, if he's our man, I thought you might have seen him around."

  Bradley was lying, I could feel it. Even I wasn't tactless enough to accuse him of it to his face, but I was saved from having to come up with something to say by my cell phone ringing. I'd kept it with me today, hooked on the back of my belt, just in case Musette and company didn't go quietly out of town. Call me silly, but I just didn't trust them.

  "Hello."

  "Is this Anita Blake?" It was a woman. I didn't recognize the voice.

  "Yeah."

  "This is Detective O'Brien."

  Strangely, with all the vampire politics and the new murder I hadn't given much thought to the internationally wanted terrorist Leopold Heinrick. "Detective O'Brien, good to hear from you, what's up?"

  "We identified the two pictures you pulled."

  "Really, I'm impressed, the photos weren't that good."

  "Lieutenant Nicols, you met him once, he picked them out."

  It took me a second to place the name. "The lieutenant that was in charge at Lindel Cemetery."

  "Yeah, that's the one. He picked out the same two pictures that you did, and since the two of you have only met once…"

  Before she could finish, I said, "The bodyguards, the freaking bodyguards. Canducci and…"

  She said, "Balfour."

  "Yeah, that's right. I can't believe I didn't remember them."

  "You saw them once at night, Blake, and from what Nicols says, the widow was putting on quite a show."

  "Yeah, but still. Did you bring them in for questioning?"

  "No one knows where they are. They quit their job at the security agency the day after you saw them. They'd only worked there for about two weeks. All the references they gave are leading to dead ends."

  "Shit," I said. I glanced down at the picture that Bradley was still holding down where I could see it. I suddenly knew why that picture looked vaguely familiar. He was another of Heinrick's known associates. Or he looked amazingly like one of them. But I just didn't believe that coincidence would stretch that far.

  I looked up at Bradley. He was still patiently holding the picture down where I could see it, lower than either of the other two men needed it. Maybe he was being polite, or maybe not. He met my gaze, and he gave me blank face. Cop face.

  "What if I told you that I'm looking at a picture of one of the other known associates of Heinrick, and he's in town, too?"

  Bradley's face never changed. Zerbrowski's and Merlioni's did. They looked surprised. Bradley didn't.

  "How did you get the picture?"

  "Long story, but he's wanted in connection with some murders here in town."

  "Which man?"

  "I think he was the only one with longer hair. I don't think it was back in a ponytail like it is here, but it was definitely shoulder length."

  I heard papers rustling. "I've got it." I heard more papers rustling, then a soft whistle. "Roy Van Anders. He is a very bad man, Blake."

  "How bad?"

  "Strangely, we got files just today about Mr. Van Anders. Crime scene photos that would turn your stomach."

  "A lot of blood, not a lot of body left?" I asked.

  I could feel Zerbrowski tense beside me.

  "Yeah, how did you know?"

  "I think I'm at a crime scene right now that's Van Anders's work."

  "You're on that lycanthrope murder, right?"

  "Yeah."

  "There's nothing in his record that says he's anything but human. He's just a sick son of a bitch, who likes to rape and kill women."

  "Did anybody question how he dismembered the bodies, or where the rest of them went?"

  "I haven't read through everything yet, but no. Most of his crimes were in countries where we're lucky to have gotten any pictures at all. Very low tech, very little money to do sophisticated crime work."

  "How sophisticated do you have to be to figure out the difference between tools and teeth?"

  "A lot of serial killers use teeth, Blake." She sounded like she felt she had to defend the honor of some far away police.

  "I know that, O'Brien, but, oh, hell, it doesn't matter. What does matter is that he's here in our town, right now, and we aren't low tech, and we do have at least a little money to track down the bad guys."

  "You're right, Blake. Concentrate on the here and now."

  "Do we have enough to question Heinrick and his pal now?"

  "I think we might. We can make a case that Heinrick knows about his pal's hobbies. That would make him an accessory before the fact, if not more."

  "I'll be down there as soon as I can get out of here."

  "Blake, this is not your case. You're one of the potential victims. I think that makes you too close to everything to be objective."

  "Don't do this, O'Brien, I've played fair with you."

  "This isn't a game, Blake, this is a job. Or do you want credit for everything?"

  "I don't give a fuck about credit. I just want
to be there when you question Heinrick."

  "If you get here in time, but we ain't holding the party up for just you."

  "Fine, O'Brien, fine, you're the detective in charge."

  "Nice of you to remember that." She hung up on me.

  I said a very heartfelt, "Bitch!"

  Zerbrowski and Merlioni had eager expectant faces, but Bradley didn't. He could do cop face, but he wasn't an actor. I filled them in, and Zerbrowski was pissed at O'Brien, not for excluding me, but for not even bothering to consider contacting a member of RPIT.

  "She's got them in lockup for what, following you around? We've got four murders, maybe more." He looked at me. "You want a ride in a car with sirens and lights, so that we can fucking get there before she does something to wreck our case?"

  I liked the 'our case,' and I liked that he asked me along. Dolph probably wouldn't have, even if he hadn't been mad at me.

  I nodded. "I'd love to go riding in and wave jurisdictional flags in her face."

  He grinned. "Give me ten minutes to give everybody their marching orders, then meet me downstairs. We'll borrow a marked car. People always get out of the way faster for a marked car." He was out the door and down the stairs humming to himself.

  Merlioni went after him, saying, "Who has to stay here with the tub o' death cleanup?" I don't think Merlioni wanted to be included in the cleanup, not even to supervise.

  Bradley and I found ourselves alone. It was unheard of for a fed, two feds I guess, to be left alone at a murder scene like this. Most locals hated the feds, and the feds hated them right back.

  I looked up at Bradley. "Now that I've made all the connections you wanted me to make, tell me why you really came down here."

  He closed the manila envelope and handed it to me. "To solve a crime."

  "Solving these crimes would add to your unit's clout. Last time we spoke you needed that clout."

  He was looking at me carefully.

  "Are you here officially, Bradley?"

  "Yes."

  I stared into his bland face. "Are you here officially just as an FBI agent?"

  "Don't know what you mean."

  "You told me once that I'd come to the attention of some of the less savory branches of our government, the spooks, I think you called them. Is Van Anders a spook?"

  "No government in their right mind would want an animal like this in their country."

  "Talk to me, Bradley, talk to me, or the next time we meet I'm not going to trust you like I do right this minute."

  He sighed and suddenly looked tired. He rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "These murders were brought to our attention. But I'd seen crimes like this before. In a different country, in a place where the government was more worried about staying in power than protecting helpless women." There was a look in his eyes, something faraway, and pain-filled.

  "You said you got out of that line of work."

  "I did." He looked very steadily at me, no cop eyes now. "Men like Van Anders were one of the reasons I couldn't keep doing it. But when certain people found out that Van Anders might actually have been let loose within the confines of the United States, they weren't happy. I have a one time permission to help things along here."

  "What's the price tag on this help?"

  "Heinrick will be escorted out of the country. They'll never put a name to the second man he was taken in with. It will all disappear."

  "Heinrick is a suspected terrorist. You think that they'll just let him walk?"

  "He's wanted in five different countries that we have strong treaties with. Who do we give him to, Anita? Better to just let him go."

  "Don't you want to know why he was in town? I know I want to know why he was following me."

  "I told you why these kind of people would want you."

  "So I can raise the dead for them. A political leader here, a few zombie bodyguards there," I tried to make a joke of it, but Bradley wasn't laughing.

  "You know the man you found nailed to his living room wall?"

  "Yeah."

  "He knew Heinrick and Van Anders, and he felt that they were too extreme. He left and he hid, but not well enough."

  "If it was an execution, why make it look like some sort of ritual murder?"

  "So it wouldn't look like an execution."

  "Why did they care?" I asked.

  He shook his head. "It was a message, Anita. They wanted him dead, and they wanted him dead in such a way that it would be sensational enough to make headlines. They wanted his death out there for all the others like him, like me, that left."

  "You don't know this for sure, Bradley."

  "Not all of it, but I know that everyone involved wants Van Anders caught, and Heinrick gone."

  "What about the others?"

  "I don't know."

  "Are they gone for good, or should I still be worried?"

  "Be worried, Anita, I would be."

  "Great." Something occurred to me. "I know this is all off the record for you. Well, I've got one thing off the record to ask you."

  "I can't promise, but what is it?"

  I gave him Leo Harlan's name, and a general description, because it's not that hard to change your name. "He says he's an assassin, and I believe him. He says he's here on a sort of vacation, and I believe that, too. But St. Louis is suddenly lousy with internationally wanted bad guys, and I'd be curious to know if my client is tied to them somehow."

  "I'll check around."

  "If he comes up on any of your hit parades, I'll avoid him, and refuse to raise his ancestor. If he doesn't, I'll do the job."

  "Even though he's an assassin?"

  I shrugged. "Who am I to throw stones, Bradley? I try not to judge people more than I have to."

  "Or maybe you're getting more comfortable with murderers."

  "Yeah, all my friends are either criminals, monsters, or cops."

  That made him smile.

  Zerbrowski yelled from downstairs. "Anita, yo, we're out of here."

  I gave Bradley my cell phone number. He copied it down. I ran for the stairs.

  56

  O’Brien had started the interrogation before we got there. People in St. Louis didn't seem to understand that sirens and lights on a police car meant get the fuck out of the way. It was almost as if the police car with all flags flying made a gawkers' block around us. The drivers were so busy trying to figure out why we were in such a rush that they forgot to get out of the way.

  I had never seen Zerbrowski so angry. Hell, I wasn't sure I'd ever seen him angry. Not for real. He'd raised enough of a fuss to drag O'Brien out of the interrogation, but she kept saying, "You can have him when we're through with him, Sergeant."

  Zerbrowski's voice had crawled down so low it was almost painful to listen to it. That dragging, careful voice held enough heat to make me nervous. O'Brien didn't seem impressed.

  "Don't you think, detective, that questioning him about a serial killer that's already butchered three, maybe four people, takes precedent over questioning him about following a federal marshal?"

  "I am questioning him about the serial killer." A small frown formed between her eyes. "What do you mean three, maybe four?"

  "We haven't finished counting the pieces at the last crime scene. There may be two victims."

  "You can't tell?" she asked.

  He let out his breath in a loud humph of air. "You don't know anything about these crimes. You don't know enough to be questioning him without us," His voice shook with the effort not to start screaming at her.

  "Maybe you can sit in, sergeant, but not her." She jerked a thumb in my direction.

  "Actually, detective, technically, you can't exclude me from the interrogation now that Heinrick is a suspect in preternatural crimes."

  O'Brien looked at me, a blank, unfriendly stare. "I excluded you just fine before, Blake."

  "Ah," I said, and felt myself smiling, I couldn't help it. "But that was when Heinrick was a suspected terrorist, and guil
ty of nothing more than illegal weapons violations, very mundane stuff. And nothing that my federal marshal status puts under my jurisdiction. As you pointed out earlier I'm not a regular federal marshal. My jurisdiction is very narrow. I have no legal status on nonpreternatural crimes, but on preternatural crimes I have jurisdiction all across this country. I don't have to wait to be invited in." I know I looked smug when I finished, but I just couldn't seem to help myself. O'Brien was being pissy, and pissiness should be punished.

  O'Brien looked like she'd bitten into something bitter. "This is my case."

  "Actually, O'Brien, it's everybody's case now. Mine, because federal law gives me the jurisdiction. Zerbrowski, because it's a preternatural case, and that means it belongs to the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team. Truthfully, you have no jurisdiction on the murders. They didn't happen on your turf, and you wouldn't even have known that Heinrick was involved if we hadn't shared information so freely with you."

  "We played fair with you," Zerbrowski said, "play fair with us, and we all win." His voice was almost normal. He'd lost that frightening bass.

  She pointed a finger at me, rather dramatically, I thought. "But it'll be her name in the paper."

  I shook my head. "Jesus, O'Brien, is that all this is about? You want your name in the headlines?"

  "I know that cracking a serial murder could make me a sergeant."

  "If you want your name on this case, fine," I said, "but let's worry more about solving the case than who's going to get credit for it."

  "Easy enough for you to say, Blake. Like you said, you don't have a career in law enforcement. Getting credit for this won't help you, but you'll still get the credit."

  Zerbrowski pushed away from the wall where he'd been leaning. He touched the files on the edge of the table. He opened one just enough to pull out a photo. He half-slid, half-threw the picture across the table at O'Brien.

  It was a splash of shape and color. Most of the color was red. I didn't look too hard at it. I'd seen the real deal, I didn't need a reminder.

  O'Brien glanced down at the picture, then looked again. She frowned, and almost reached out for the photo, then stared harder. She concentrated on the image. I watched her try to make sense of what she was seeing, watched her mind rebel at making sense of it. I saw the moment she saw it, on her face, in the sudden paleness of her skin. She sat down slowly in the chair on her side of the table.