Evil Dark (21 page)

  Rachel let go of my hand and sat back. "Thanks for indulging me, Stan."

  I stared at her. "What did you just do?"

  She gave me an enigmatic smile. "Nothing of consequence. Just helped you relax a little, that's all."

  I looked at her a little longer. The smile remained in place. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you, Rachel."

  "What's that?"

  "Why do you wear glasses for reading? Can't you magic up some twenty-twenty vision for yourself?"

  "Don't I wish," she said. "No – unlike the black variety, white magic cannot be used for the benefit of the practitioner – at least, not directly. It only allows us to serve others."

  "Oh. I was wondering. Well, I've gotta get going."

  She nodded. "Of course. Say hi to Karl for me."

  "Yeah, I will." I walked to the door, then stopped and turned around.

  "Rachel?"

  She gave me raised eyebrows. "Yes?"

  I wanted to say something about what she'd just done, but no words came out. After a moment I just said, "Goodnight, now."

  "Goodnight, Stan."

 

When I got back upstairs, Karl was talking to his computer – or that's what it looked like. I sat down at my desk and looked over at him.

  "So now they're all standing there," he said to his monitor. "Mom, Dad, the three kids, Grandma, the family dog, and a parakeet. They're all naked, dripping sweat and God knows what else. So the talent agent, who's looking a little stunned, says, 'That's quite an act you've got there. What do you folks call yourselves?' And Dad steps forward and says–"

  I figured it was time to clear my throat, so I did. Karl looked up, and I said, "What's going on?"

  "Oh, Stan, you're back – good. Hey, we're in luck. That lady I was telling you about? Not only does she still work for Chicago PD's Spook Squad, I caught her at her desk. Come on around – bring your chair."

  I rolled my desk chair around to where Karl was sitting. As I'd figured, he was using the Sky-Cape media spell that allows people to talk to each other face-to-face online.

  Looking at Karl's monitor, I could see a woman sitting at her own computer. The room behind her looked not very different from the one we were in.

  "Stan, meet Roz Pavlico," Karl said. "Roz, this is my partner, Stan Markowski."

  "Pleased to meet you, Stan," she said. Detective Pavlico looked to be about forty, with brown hair worn short and a round face. She had a hard look about her, but then I've yet to meet a female cop who doesn't. Funny how I never notice that on male cops – maybe because I take it for granted.

  "Likewise, Roz – or do you prefer Detective Pavlico?" Even though Karl had introduced us by first names, I thought I'd ask. Women in this job can be touchy about respect, maybe because of all the shit they have to take from male cops.

  "Roz is fine," she said. "Karl tells me that you're interested in a guy who we like for a series of killings."

  "Have there been more since you talked to Karl about the guy at that conference?" I asked.

  "Three or four. We're pretty sure he travels around a lot, although Chicago seems to be his home base."

  "So you know who's doing it, but you have no evidence to nail him?"

  "Yeah, you know how it is with guys like this. People talk to us but refuse to get on the stand, or witnesses disappear before a grand jury can be convened. And every witness who goes missing, or who's found dead, makes the next witness that much more reluctant."

  "You were telling me that this dude seems to specialize in supes?" Karl said. Interesting how he continues to use that word, although some supernaturals consider it a slur.

  "That's right," Roz said. "Vampires, mostly, although we've found his trademark on a couple of trolls and an ogre. A few humans as well."

  "This guy took down an
ogre
? With a
knife
?" Karl sounded impressed, and I didn't blame him.

  Roz nodded. "Looks that way. Around here, he's pretty much regarded as a bamf."

  "As a
what
?" I'd never heard the word before.

  "Bamf," Roz said. "B-A-M-F. Stands for Bad Ass Motherfucker."

  Karl gave a snort of laughter. "Sounds appropriate," I said. "So, what is this bamf's name, anyway?"

  "Neil Charles Duffy," she said. "He's known locally as 'Duffy the Vampire Slayer'."

  "Cute," Karl muttered. Clearly, he didn't think it was.

  "Any chance you could send us a copy of this vampire slayer's file?" I asked her.

  "I'll have to check with my boss," Roz said, "but he'll probably be cool with it. Anything that gives somebody a shot at nailing Duffy is fine with us. If you guys manage to take him down, we'd probably chip in and send you a bottle of Scotch, or something."

  "Thanks, we appreciate it," I said. I gave her my email address and we said our goodbyes. Karl touched a button to deactivate the spell, and the monitor went dark. I stood up and wheeled my chair back where it belonged.

  "Think she might be persuaded to send a bag of AB plasma along with the Scotch?" Karl asked.

  "If she doesn't, I'll buy you one myself," I told him. I glanced at the wall clock and said, "We've got about an hour before we knock off. You got anything to do – paperwork or something?"

  He gave me half a smile. "When
don't
I have paperwork?"

  "Why don't you work on that for a while? I want to give Lacey Brennan a call."

  "Oh, you mean about the–"

  "The woman in the snuff film, yeah. The resemblance looks too close to be coincidental, although I hope I'm wrong."

  "I hope you are, too," Karl said. "I like Lacey – but even if I didn't…"

  "Yeah, I know."

  "Sure, Stan, go ahead. If I run out of forms to fill out, I can always play Angry Bats for a while."

  "I think I'll call her from outside. Get some air at the same time."

  Karl looked at me for a second, then nodded. "Sounds like a good idea."

  I went down to the parking lot. Since we were between shifts, I had the place to myself. I got in my car and called the number for the Wilkes-Barre Supe Squad. On the second ring I heard, "Occult Crimes Unit – how may I help you?"

  "Hi, Sandy. It's Markowski again."

  "Good evening, Sergeant – or morning, as the case may be. You still lookin' to talk to Detective Brennan?"

  "That's right. Is she available?"

  "Yep, she's sittin' right at her desk. Hold on just a sec."

  There was a click, and a few seconds later Lacey's voice was in my ear. "Hey, Stan."

  "Hi, Lacey."

  "So, two vamps are in some bar, having a blood together. And in walks this human chick – and she is
hot
. Know what I mean?"

  "Sure," I said. I knew better than to interrupt – I'd just have to endure.

  "She goes over to the bar and orders a drink. One of the vamps is married, and scared of his old lady besides, so he's out of the running. But the other one's single and something of a stud, as vamps go. So the married one says, 'Get a look at that, will ya? Go on over and buy her a drink, man.' And the other vamp gives this chick the once-over and says, 'Nah, I'll pass.' The married one says, 'How come? She's
gorgeous.'
The other vamp shrugs and says, 'She's just not my type'."

  "I don't get it," I said, although I did. "Ohhh, you mean 'type' as in
blood
type. Hey, that's pretty funny, Lacey." It's an unspoken rule between us that I never laugh at Lacey's supe jokes.

  "Yeah, whatever," she said. "What's up, Stan? You're not in the hospital again, are you?"

  I'd picked up a bad concussion a few months back while saving the world from a race of super-vampires, and Lacey had come over to visit me a couple of times. She'd also sent a few smutty get-well cards, but she doesn't have some kind of a thing for me. Probably.

  "No, I'm fine, Lacey. But I want to ask you something kind of unusual."

  "It's shaved bare, except for a little landing strip of hair just above. That what you wanted to know?"

  For Lacey, the concept of
too much information
doesn't really exist.

  "Uh, no," I said, "but thanks for the image. This is something serious – potentially, anyway."

  "Now you've got me intrigued," she said. "What is it, Stan?"

  "Do you have a sister?"

  After a brief silence she said, "Yeah, I have two. One older, one younger. I'm in the middle. Why?"

  "Do either or both of them live in the area?"

  "Sarah's been in Oregon for years, but Mary Beth lives in Exeter someplace."

  "She's the older one, right?"

  "Yeah, but how do you know that? What's going on, Stan?" I could hear a thread of unease running through her voice now.

  "Maybe nothing. It's hard to say yet. Listen, Lacey, um, your sister, Mary Beth. Have you seen or heard from her lately?"

  "We're not close. I get a card at Christmas, that's about it. And I'm not answering any more questions until you stop fucking around and
tell me what this is all about, Stan
."

  "All right," I said. "It's like this: we've come into possession of a video recording which shows a woman being… murdered. And I'm pretty sure it's real, not some fake shit for the pervs to drool over."

  "Sweet Christ," Lacey said softly.

  "The woman in the video… she bears a resemblance to you. A pretty strong resemblance, actually. In fact, when I first saw it, for a couple of seconds I thought…" I had to stop and clear my throat. "But then Karl pointed out to me – you remember Karl."

  "Yeah, sure. Go on."

  "Anyway, Karl pointed out that the woman in the video appeared to be older than you, and a bit heavier – maybe twenty pounds or so. She also had a scar on one leg."

  "Oh, dear God. Dear Jesus God." It was almost a whisper.

  "We don't have any way to ID the victim, apart from the video. There's no, uh, body that's been found, so far. So, since I thought it was possible that there was some kind of family connection–"

  "How did she die?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "You fucking heard me." Her voice was like flint. "
How did she die
?"

  "Lacey, there's no need for this. We don't even know if the woman is–"

  "Stan, I want you to listen to me very carefully. I'm going to speak slowly, and I want you to get every word. Understand?"

  "Sure." What else was I gonna say?

  "If-you-ever-want-even-the-slightest-chance-of-gettingin-my-pants-from-now-until-the-day-you-retire-you-will
tell me how she died
."

  For me, getting into Lacey's pants wasn't quite the Holy Grail she seemed to think it was. Or maybe she assumed that was all any man would want from her. I wasn't moved as much by a desire to do her someday as I was swayed by the passion behind her words. That, and the knowledge that if I didn't give her what she wanted, she would probably never talk to me again – and that would hurt a lot more than being denied her charms.

  All this went through my mind in a second or so.

  "All right, Lacey. But I promise it'll only add to your pain. It's gonna put images in your head that you'll wish had never got there."

  "That's my problem. Tell me."

  "She died hard, Lacey."

  "Somehow, I figured that. Tell me. All of it."

  So I did.

  I tried to pretend that I was giving a deposition to a grand jury or coroner's inquest. I tried to describe what had been done to the victim in proper sequence, to the best of my recollection. I tried to be cold and clinical, neither adding unnecessary details nor leaving anything out. I tried not to pay attention to Lacey's breathing and the other small sounds she was making. I tried to do all those things, and the only one I failed at was the last one.

  At some point, Karl came out of the building and headed for his car. He saw me on the phone and waved, to let me know he was going home. I nodded, but didn't stop talking to Lacey.

  "And then she became unresponsive," I said finally, my voice flat as a corpse's EKG, "even to flame from the blowtorch. From this I concluded that the woman had expired. The video ended shortly thereafter."

  It was a cool evening, but I hadn't turned the heat on in the car. Still, I was sweating buckets.

  Now that my "deposition" was finished, I didn't know what else to say, so I sat there and listened to the sound of Lacey quietly crying. Finally she spoke, in a voice that sounded like she was being choked. Maybe, in a sense, she was.

  "Thank you, Stan. That must have been very… difficult for you."

  "It was a lot more difficult for you – I know that. I only did it because you wanted me to, Lacey – and it had nothing to do with getting into your pants someday. Nothing."

  "I-I believe you, Stan. Thank you."

  What was I supposed to say now?
You're welcome
?
I told you so
? I decided to keep my mouth shut, a decision I should make more often.

  Eventually, Lacey managed to say, "I have to go now, Stan. I will always remember that you did this for me."

  "Lacey – you're not about to do something stupid, are you?"

  "No… nothing like that. I am going to sign out early, and tell them I'll be taking a vacation day tomorrow. Then I'll go home, where I will proceed to get very, very drunk. I'll talk to you in a few days, Stan."

  "Lacey, if there's anything…" I let my voice trail off.

  "I know, Stan. I know. Gotta go. Bye now."

  "Bye, Lacey."

  Sometimes I hate my job, my life, and the world I live in. I wondered if Rachel had a potion for
that.