Incubus Dreams (66 page)

“You guys were getting pretty cozy on the dance floor, but then he's living with you now, isn't he?”

“Somebody talks too much.”

“Hey, I'm a trained detective, I detected that you're shacking up with a stripper who's what, seven years younger than you?”

“As the detective in charge at the scene, shouldn't you be solving this murder?”

“I'm thinking. Teasing you always helps me think.”

“Glad to hear I inspire you. What are you thinking about?”

“I'm thinking that I want to talk to Avery Seabrook before he gets executed. If he's part of the other murders, then I want the names of his friends. If he did this by accident, then I think we need to know that, too. If you're right, and the church isn't teaching basic vampire 101 safety to its members, then we've got hundreds of potential accidental deaths walking around out there tonight. That ain't good.”

“Legally, we can't do anything to force the church to change its teaching methods. Separation of church and state, and all that.”

He nodded. “I can't, and Federal Marshal Blake can't, but Anita Blake, sweetie to the Master of the City, might.”

“Are you encouraging me to encourage someone else to put undue pressure on an upstanding member of the community?”

“Would I do that?”

I nodded. “Yep.”

“My head's sore,” he said, “I give up. How the hell do we catch a vampire and hold him for questioning without getting anyone else killed?”

“He's only two years dead, Zerbrowski. He's not that big and bad.”

He glanced down at the body. “Tell that to her.”

He had a point.

“If this was an accident, then he might, just might, run to the church for sanctuary or absolution, or whatever.”

“What if it wasn't an accident?”

“Then he's off joining up with his killer friends, and I have no idea where to start looking for him. We know his hunting ground is across the river in the clubs.”

Zerbrowski nodded. “Sheriff Christopher, who you met, is putting all his men on alert. The Staties are helping out, trying to keep it low profile.”

“You're not going to keep it out of the media much longer.”

He shrugged. “I know.”

“So if extra people are patrolling the clubs, then we can check out the other theory.”

“The church,” he said.

I nodded.

“I'll talk to Abrahams, let him know what's up. You go outside and make nice with Arnet.”

“Zerbrowski . . .”

“Do it, Anita, I don't have time to baby-sit any more feuds. You've got less than five minutes to fix this. I'd go outside and get started if I were you.” He had that strange un-Zerbrowski-like tone to his voice again. Not hostile, but no room to debate. It was a voice that expected to be obeyed, and strangely, I did. At least I went outside. I had no idea how to fix things with Arnet. You can't fix something until you know what's broke. I couldn't believe she was that pissed about not being able to date Nathaniel, and if it wasn't that, I was clueless. Yet another interpersonal relationship that I had no clue about. Was it just me, or are people really this confusing?

A
GLANCE OUT
the partially open door didn't show Arnet. There was a forest of uniformed officers, plain clothes, and the coroner's wagon complete with coroner waiting to take the body away. We were still waiting for the crime lab, CSU. It was rare for me to arrive on the scene this soon. I peeled off my bloody gloves at the door, but no one had set up a trash bag for debris. I ended up holding the gloves between two fingertips by a clean edge. Awkward, but I couldn't just drop them.

The newest dectective on the RPIT payroll came around the door frame with an open, but empty trash bag in his gloved hands. His name was Smith and I'd met him once at a crime scene long ago when he was in uniform. It had actually been one of the very first times I'd met Nathaniel. Smith had been comfortable enough around the lycanthropes that I'd remembered it. Remembered it enough to tell Dolph. Apparently, Dolph had remembered it, too. Seeing Smith in plain clothes had been a reminder that Dolph didn't really think I was evil, and might even still value my opinion.

He smiled at me. “Looks like I'm just in time.” He held the bag open so I could drop the gloves in.

I smiled back. “The nick of time.”

Zerbrowski yelled, “Smith!”

Smith moved toward Zerbrowski with the bag still in his hands. He was the newest detective on the squad, and that meant he was their version of a grunt. It wasn't as bad as being a uniformed rookie, but it was still low man on the totem pole. I walked outside without waiting to see what Zerbrowski wanted Smith for. Not my problem. No, my problem was waiting outside.

I actually expected Arnet to be somewhere in the hallway with all the extra personel, but she wasn't. I went down the stairs and out the glass doors of the little entryway. She had taken Zerbrowski literally, or maybe she really needed the air. The October night was soft, warmer than last night, but still cool enough to feel like autumn. The air tasted like it was time to go somewhere and pick apples.

Arnet was sitting on the curb. The halogen light was bright enough that her pantsuit still looked the same shade of brownish burgundy that it had in the apartment. I would have looked sickly in the color, but it brought out highlights in her short hair that you didn't see when she wore black or navy. She had her arms around her knees, not exactly clutching them, but obviously not happy even from a distance.

I took a deep breath, let it out, and kept walking toward her. I so didn't want to do this. I stopped short of her, and said, “Is this seat taken?”

She jumped and glanced back at me. She scrubbed at her face, trying to hide tears. “Oh, great,” she said, “just great. You catch me crying. Now you must think I really am a loser.”

She hadn't said I could sit down, but she hadn't said I couldn't either. I decided to take it, and sat down. Close enough to talk privately without being overheard, but not so close that I invaded her personal space more than I could help it. Sitting down on the curb, I was happy that I was wearing jeans, jogging shoes, and a T-shirt. They were perfect curb-sitting clothes.

“What's wrong, Arnet?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“Okay, why are you mad at me?”

She glanced sort of sideways at me. “Why do you care?”

“Because we have to work together.”

“You know, almost any other woman would have led into this conversation. Chatted a little.”

“Zerbrowski said I had less than five minutes. I don't have time to chat.”

“Why less than five minutes?”

“We're going on a road trip.”

“Do you know where Avery Seabrook is?”

“No, but I thought of people to ask.”

She looked away from me and shook her head. “And how did you come up with people to ask? Not through police work.”

I frowned, but she couldn't see it. “What's that supposed to mean?”

She licked her lips, hesitated, then said, “I could work for years as a cop on this kind of crime, and I wouldn't have your insight into the monsters.” She looked at me sideways again, but this time she held the look. “Do I have to fuck the monsters to be as good at this as you are?”

I gave her wide eyes. “Please tell me that you are not this pissed just because I'm dating Nathaniel and you don't get to.”

“I saw you at the club last night.”

There was a time in my life where I would have said, Guilty Pleasures, but the time when I would volunteer information was past. “What club?” I asked.

Her eyes were suddenly cop eyes, maybe a little more hostile than they needed to be, but cold and looking at me as if she could see into my head. It was part lie and part truth. She didn't know as much as that look seemed to say, but she probably knew more than I wanted her to.

“Don't play games, Anita.”

Oh, goody we were going to have a fight on a first-name basis. “I'm not very good at games, Jessica, so I don't play them much.”

Her hands gripped her knees tighter. I think to keep from gripping me. “Fine, Guilty Pleasures. I saw you at Guilty Pleasures last night.”

My face showed nothing, because she'd given me plenty of time to brace for it. I just blinked at her and had a slight smile on my face. Pleasant, empty, on the outside. Inside I was thinking hard. How much had she seen at the club? How much did she remember? Had she been there for Primo's part of the show?

I almost said, I didn't see you, but stopped myself. I wasn't going to help her fill in any blanks. “So, you saw me at Guilty Pleasures. I'm dating the owner.”

She looked away then, off toward the parked cars and beyond that a news van. The uniform that was still putting up yellow crime scene tape to help block off the parking area paused and looked at the van. Would someone warn Zerbrowski?

Arnet turned and yelled, “Marconi, go tell Zerbrowski we've got a news van.”

Marconi said, “Shiiit,” with real feeling to it, and went for the entryway.

Great, it was like all I had to do was think and someone else did it for me. Cool. I would try to use this power only for good.

She looked back at me. “How can you be dating him and Nathaniel at the same time?”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

If looks could have hurt me, that one would have. “That's not an answer, that's an evasion.”

I sighed. “Look, Jessica, I don't owe you an answer to that particuliar question. Who I date, and why, or how, is none of your business.”

Her hazel eyes got dark, almost solid brown. I realized it was her eyes' version of going black with rage. “I thought I'd go down and see Nathaniel without you there. I thought maybe if you weren't there to interfere . . .” She looked away then, stared out at the parked cars and the gawkers being kept back by the uniforms. Stared at them as if she were really seeing them, which I doubted. It was just somewhere for her eyes to go, while she talked.

“But you were there. Oh, my God, were you there.” Her voice broke, not
with tears, but with emotion. I didn't understand this depth of emotion from her.

“You're acting like I stole Nathaniel from you. You never dated him. Hell, when you met him, he was already living with me.”

She looked at me then, and it was unnerving to see the anger, because I didn't understand it. “But I didn't know that. You let me believe that he was just your friend. He let me believe it.”

“Nathaniel likes to be nice to people.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“Look, Arnet, sometimes Nathaniel flirts without really meaning to. I think it's like an occupational hazard.”

“You mean because he's a stripper.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“I didn't know what he did for a living until the wedding reception. I should have known he was some kind of hustler.”

That pissed me off. “He isn't a hustler.”

“The hell he's not. I've got a friend in juvie. He was picked up for prostitution twice before he hit fifteen. Male prostitution,” she said the last like it made it all somehow worse.

I hadn't actually known he'd been picked up for it, but I didn't give her that. “I know what Nathaniel was doing before he got off the streets.” Which was sort of true and sort of not true, but not completely a lie.

“Did you save him? Did you see him and take him home? Are you his sugar mama?”

“Sugar mama. You made that up. That's not really a word.”

She had the grace to look embarrassed. I almost got a smile out of her, but she fought it off. “Whatever you want to call it. Are you? Is he your . . .”

I didn't help her. If she was going to say it, I wanted her to say it. “My what?” I asked, and my voice was a few octaves lower, cold, clear. It was a voice that, if you knew me, you might worry when you heard it.

If Arnet was worried, it didn't show. “Gigolo,” she said. She threw the word in my face like it was something solid and hurtful, as if she'd thrown a fist at me.

I laughed, and she didn't like it.

“What's so damned funny? I saw you on stage with him, Blake. I saw what you did to him. You and that vampire of yours.”

I gave her wide eyes then, because I finally thought I had a glimmer of why she was so pissed at me. “Are you under the impression that I whisked Nathaniel off the streets as a child and made him my boy-whore?”

She looked away then. “When you say it like that, it sounds stupid.”

“Yeah,” I said.

She turned back to me, still angry. “I saw what you did to him last night. You chained him up. You hurt him. You humiliated him in front of all those people.”

It was my turn to look off into the distance, because I was trying to think how to explain without explaining too much. I was also wondering if I even owed Jessica Arnet an explanation. If we didn't need to work together, and I hadn't been afraid she'd share what she'd seen with the rest of RPIT, I might not have explained anything, but we did work together, and I didn't want her version getting around the squad room. Not that my version was going to be that much better if it got spread around. At their core, most policemen are closet, or not so closet, conservatives.

How do you explain color to the blind? How to explain that pain can be pleasure to someone who isn't wired that way? You can't, not really, but I tried anyway.

“It took me a long time to understand what Nathaniel wanted from me.”

She looked at me, horrified. “You're going to blame him? You're going to blame the victim?”

This was not going to go well. “Have you ever met someone who's been blind from birth?”

She frowned at me. “What?”

“Someone who's never seen color, ever.”

“No,” she said, “but what does that have to do with Nathaniel?”

“You're blind, Jessica, how do I explain to you what blue looks like?”

“What are you babbling about?” she asked.

“How do I explain to you that Nathaniel enjoyed being on stage, that he sort of forced the situation on me?”

“
You're
the victim, please, you weren't chained up.”

I shrugged. “I'm saying there was no victim on stage last night, just a bunch of consenting adults.”

She was shaking her head. “No, I know what I saw.”

“You know what you would have felt if it had been you chained on stage and treated like that, and you're assuming that because that's how you would feel, that that's how everyone would feel. Not everyone feels the same way about things.”

“I know that. I'm not a child.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

She stood up then and stared down at me, her hands in fists at her sides. “I am not acting like a child.”

“You're right, you're being way too judgmental to be a child.”

Zerbrowski called, “Anita, we need to roll.”

I stood up, brushed off the back of my jeans, and yelled, “I'm coming.” I looked at Arnet and tried to think of anything that would make this better. Nothing came to mind. “Nathaniel is my sweetie, Jessica, I would never hurt him.”

“I saw you hurt him,” she said, and she sort of threw the words at me like she had the word
gigolo
.

“He doesn't see it that way.”

“He doesn't know any better,” she said.

I smiled and fought the urge to give one of those laughs that is half nerves and half exasperation. “You want to save him. You want to ride in and save him from a life of degradation.”

She didn't say anything, just glared at me.

“Anita, we need to go, now,” Zerbrowski yelled. He was standing in the open door of his car.

I glanced back at Arnet. “I thought Nathaniel needed saving once, too, needed me to fix him. What I didn't understand is that he isn't broken, well, not more broken than the rest of us.” And that was probably more truth than I owed Detective Jessica Arnet. I left it at that, and jogged for Zerbrowski's car. He asked me how it had gone with Arnet. I told him it could have gone better.

“How better?” He asked as we eased past the news van and a crowd of gawkers.

“Oh, like the Valentine's Day Massacre could have been a better party.”

He gave me a look. “Jesus, Anita, it isn't enough that you and Dolph are pissed at each other, you've got pick a fight with Arnet?”

“I didn't pick a fight with either of them. You know I didn't pick one with Dolph.” We were easing past the tape and barriers that the uniforms had moved for us. The television crew had the camera pointed straight at us. Great. I resisted the urge to give them the finger, or something else equally childish.

“I shouldn't have said that about Dolph. I know you didn't start that.”

“Thanks.”

“What's eating Arnet?”

“If she wants you to know, she'll tell you.”

“You're not going to tell your version first?”