BiteMarks (6 page)

“
Thanks.”

“
Anytime.”

“
What are you drinking then pretty boy? No let me guess a white wine spritzer?”

“
A pint of Becks actually.”

He waves me towards the bar.

“
Are you sure that's wise at your size? I don't want to have to fish you out of if you fall in, how about a half?” 

“
Get the drinks in and stop stalling you big daft bastard, I'm parched.”

I do as I'm told, and when I return to the table he doesn't waste any time.

“
Investigation. Talk.”

I take a sip from my fresh pint, buying time even though I've already thought my response through.

“
You know that I'm a Goth right?”

Marcus gasps, hands on cheeks in mock surprise. 

“
Your terrible secret is out.”

“
Shut up. Well, I have a number of acquaintances who share the same taste in music and fashion too. Some of them have a particular interest in the vampire aesthetic, which means that the current investigation into alternative lifestyles puts them under the spotlight.”

“
And by extension you too, right?”

“
Right.”

“
There's no offense in being interested in vampires, mate.”

“
True, but our mutual employer is not renowned for its tolerance of peoples private lives.”

“
Just ask your mates not to give your name if they're spoken to then.”

“
It's not quite that simple, but I think I'll be all right now anyway.”

He sits back in his chair and takes another swallow of beer, swirling the straw colored liquid in the glass and looking into its depths as if they might hold the answer to some pressing question.

“
You're only telling me some of it, but that's progress so I'll settle for now. How likely is it that this investigation is going to cause you problems?”

“
I don't honestly know. I guess it depends on how thorough they are.”

“
Well, why don't we try to catch the fucker first then? After all, from what you're telling me you've got contacts which gives us a good head-start and I've got the looks, charm and intellect to keep us out in front.”

“
We'd be risking our careers.”

“
I reckon yours is at risk anyway, and I just need to start shouting about racism and homophobia and they'll run a mile. So what do you say?”

“
Let's do it.”

“
Right, looks like we're going back to yours to outline what we know and what we need to know then.”

“
Are you trying to seduce me?”

“
In your dreams. I just want a nose around the bat-cave, maybe a peep at your cloak and coffin.”

“
Get your coat then love, you've pulled.”

After two hours of brainstorming and draining my best malts, we'd managed to ascertain that our suspect was a white male with large fangs and a hatred of women, which probably meant a previous criminal record. He probably lived locally since he'd been on foot when he approached the girls and also when making his escape. It was possible that he traveled by bus, but not likely since he'd have been spattered in blood and therefore rather conspicuous. In short we had nothing that a reasonable intelligent pair of chimps couldn't have figured out on a fag break, and we were a long way from picking up any kind of scent.

“
What kind of city is it where we can't immediately find a nut-case with vampire teeth and a complete lack of self control?”

“
They should use that in the tourist literature. Half the problem is that CID haven't released a full description, just white male with sharp nails who likes to bite.”

“
Where would you get teeth like that?”

“
You can buy fangs in several of the fetish shops down in Hockley, you just use a soft dental putty to hold them in place and then take them out when you're done .... hang on.”

“
What?”

“
I've just realized something important.”

“
That you're exceptionally drunk?”

“
Yes, but it's about the teeth too. Wait there.”  I get to my feet a little unsteadily, remembering that neither of us has eaten anything to soak up the drink, and head for my bedroom drawers. I retrieve the small leather case, opening it up and applying small amounts of adhesive from the tube to the perfect white fangs inside. I slip them into place over the top of my own incisors, re-entering the lounge; Marcus' expression is unreadable in the low light.

“
Watch.” I bite into my own arm, steadily applying pressure until eventually the veneers shift out of place. 

“
See? The skin's not broken. These are the sort of thing that you can buy for playing at vampires, but they're decorative. No use if you genuinely want to bite someone with them unless you can get a much stronger adhesive.”

“
What does that have to do with anything?”

“
It tells us that our guy isn't playing at this, he's either sharpened his own teeth with a file or had cosmetic dentistry to enhance the size and shape of his teeth. Since we know that he's been described as having large fangs I'd guess at the latter, filed teeth would be smaller. We've got a starting point.”

“
That's wonderful. Just one question though.”

“
What?”

“
What about you?”

“
I just go to lots of fancy dress parties.”

Chapter 5

I drive a metallic black Skoda Octavia VRs with black alloys and tinted windows. What can I say? I'm secretive but not always subtle. It handles well, is more than fast enough for my needs, and I don't really give a shit what jokes people still like to tell. Ghost sits up in front, hanging his head out of the passenger side window and allowing the wind to whip his ears and jowls around, his eyes closed in a state of doggy bliss.

“
Stop drooling down the side of the car you mutt. I'll end up having to clean that off later.”

He ignores me, nose twitching with the thousands of deliciously interesting aromas that are carried past on the breeze.

“
You're starting to smell again, hound, I can feel a bath coming on for you soon.”

He pulls his head back in to give me a dirty look, then closes his eyes and sticks it back out of the window to resume his sniffing.

With Marcus having finally left in the early hours to go and sleep off the rest of his hangover, and plenty of time on my hands, I'd decided to take a short trip out into the countryside to let Ghost stretch his legs and to blow away a few cobwebs. As the cityscape gives way to fields and trees, the dog soon cottons on and starts to make the soft urgent squeaking sounds that signal his growing excitement.

I step on the accelerator now that the traffic is sparse, enjoying the low roar of the engine and the invisible shove that presses me back into my seat. My thoughts are flitting on autopilot. D.I Karen Cobb, what was all that about? I know flirting when I see it, and I know how useful she would be as an ally too. Have I said too much to Marcus? Do I actually care?

I imagine how Karen would feel beneath me, stripped literally and figuratively; can't help but think about how she would carry the delicate scent of that familiar perfume that wafts around as she moves, would she taste of the same subtle sweet musk?

I fidget in my seat, aroused. It's been a while since I had sex with anybody at all, and I've grown accustomed to using the false intimacy of vampire meets as a substitute for the act instead. I resolve to put the situation right as soon as possible. Perhaps me and Karen could settle down together, vampire and vampire hunter in perfect matrimonial bliss;
could I just drink a little of your blood from time to time darling? It's just a small idiosyncrasy of mine.
Then again, perhaps not.

We reach our destination, and I slip a lead over the dog's head in an attempt to stop him from climbing all over me in his haste to exit the car. The area is heavily forested, mainly pines that make the air sap heavy and fragrant, with miles of forestry commission footpaths for joggers, dog-walkers and exhibitionists to use. It is breathtakingly beautiful, meditatively quiet, with only the occasional sounds of birdsong and the snapping of twigs to spoil the quiet, but I'm not here for the view or the possibility of naked company, this place has other significance for me.

I allow Ghost to slip his lead as soon as we're away from the car park, and he sets off in pursuit of a lone squirrel crossing the path up ahead. The dog is swift and silent when hunting, but not wily enough to catch the wiry squirrels that live here, who grow up learning to evade passing dogs of every variety. The squirrel chatters loudly at him once lodged safely up a tree, rebuking or taunting, it's hard to tell which, then self-consciously grooming itself in a shard of sunlight that pokes through the foliage. 

Ghost charges back towards me, tongue hanging down, exhilarated and smiling, dripping thick white drool from both jowls. His tail beats a steady rhythm, and he veers off to one side at the last moment before we would impact, dropping his nose to the floor to follow another scent of interest.

The regular pad of my footfalls on soft sandy earth is metronymic, my spiraling thoughts hypnotic.  I drift between realms; past, present and future; the different faces I wear merging into one indistinct mask. I've been acting for so long, telling fragments of truth mingled with lies that I wish were true, that I can barely remember who or what I am anymore.

A couple of miles in, at the very top of the incline, the trees retreat back from the path, allowing the morning sun to fall on forlorn grass banks, and off to one side a hollow in the ground. I find the hollow and sit down, waiting for revelation and welcoming the seclusion; Ghost roams freely, amusing himself in an undergrowth wonderland.

It might be hard for an outside observer to see why these surroundings are of special significance to me; but if I could take you there just before the sun sets on a mild breezy evening, then you might appreciate the magical isolation of the place. You could watch with me the amber polka dots of street lights snapping awake like demonic nocturnal eyes, framing the dull gray bones of a distant suburbia, as the rising wind weaves secret patterns in stray tassels of our hair.

That the familiar curves of the hollow match perfectly the lean contours of my body could be taken as a measure of my need for regular solitude. I fantasize that this place has served as refuge for a thousand other lost and lonely souls over the millennia. An image of their respective slim frames, eroding more and more of the hillside over the years is firmly imprinted on my mind; a kind of eternally evolving organic sculpture, a wordless epitaph for others to observe when the artists are long forgotten. I have never seen another soul up here, but then this space is slightly removed from the well-worn tracks, and anyone seated up here would be well aware of the approach of others in plenty of time to leave unseen if they preferred their own company.

I come here for the open space and the illusion of freedom, subtle mind tricks making the air up here seem more nourishing, less stifling than the city vapor and therefore easier to breathe. I am as ever caught up in the minute details, dismissively aware that the air up here is no different to the air that I breathe daily, down amongst the other wounding wounded.

The ground is dry and warm under my palms as I lay on my back enjoying the feeling and closing my eyes against the glare. The insides of my eyelids are red and orange, the air redolent with crushed herb smells of pine and calm, swallows utter their strange mechanical chirps as they boomerang overhead catching breakfast.

I think I can remember reclining here years before, alone but comfortable with that fact at first, picking out fiery dragons and vengeful Gods amongst the capricious folds of the silent freight-rushing clouds overhead. Later I would stare at the distant movement of self-absorbed people walking the nearest streets by daylight, and further away cars lurching a slow conga through the congested chaos of the suburban town center. 

I occasionally wondered what it would be like to have omnipotent powers, to be able, should I choose, to crush the scenes of everyday inconsequence without a second thought. Closer to my vantage point are scattered groups of trees, oases in farm constructed deserts, the wise old giants separated from their kin by ruthless and indiscriminate human need.

I'm drifting now, fighting the urge to fall back into the void and losing the battle...

* * *

She shudders when I produce the sterile surgical knife, but with anticipation not fear. We both believe that she has nothing to fear from me. I try hard to steady the slight tremors of my hand, not wanting to reveal how nervous I am, even though we both know that this is our first time – that she is to be my first 'donor'.