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his hand. I took it. He barely touched my hand, as if afraid to squeeze. A lot of men did that, but at least
he offered to shake hands; most don't bother.
"I'm Sheriff St. John. You must be Anita Blake. Sergeant Storr told me you'd be coming." He glanced at
Larry. "Who's this?"
"Larry Kirkland."
St. John's eyes narrowed. He stepped fully into the hallway, closing the door behind him. "Sergeant
Storr didn't mention anyone else. Can I see some ID?"
I unclipped my badge ID. He looked at it and shook his head. "You're not a detective."
"No, I'm not." I was mentally cursing Dolph. I'd known it wouldn't work.
"How about him?" He jerked his chin at Larry.
"All I have on me is a driver's license," Larry said.
"Who are you?" the sheriff asked.
"I am Anita Blake. I am part of the Spook Squad. I just don't happen to have a badge. Larry is a
trainee." I fished my new vampire executioner's license out of my jacket pocket. It looked like a glorified
driver's license, but it was the best I had.
He peered at the license. "You're a vampire hunter? It's a little early for you to be called in. I don't know
who did it yet."
"I'm attached to Sergeant Storr's squad. I come in at the start of a case instead of the end. It tends to
keep the body count down that way."
He handed back the license. "I didn't think Brewster's law had gone into effect."
Brewster was the senator whose daughter got eaten. "It hasn't. I've been working with the police for a
long time."
"How long?"
"Nearly three years."
He smiled. "Longer than I've been sheriff." He nodded, almost as if he'd answered a question for himself.
"Sergeant Storr said if anybody could help me solve this, it was you. If the head of RPIT has that much
confidence in you, I'm not going to refuse the help. We've never had a vampire kill out here, ever."
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"Vampires tend to stay near cities," I said. "They can hide their victims better that way."
"Well, no one tried to hide this one." He pushed the door open and made a little arm gesture, ushering us
in.
The wallpaper was all pink roses, big old-fashioned cabbage roses. There was an honest-to-God vanity,
with a raised mirror and everything, that looked like it might be an antique, but everything else was white
wicker and pink lace. It looked like the room for a much younger girl.
The girl lay on the narrow bed. The bedspread matched the wallpaper. The sheets twisted up
underneath her body were jellybean pink. Her head lay on the edge of the pillows, as if it had slipped to
one side after she was laid on them.
The pink curtains fanned against the open window. A cool breeze crawled through the room, ruffling her
thick black hair. It had been curled and styled with hair gel. There was a small red stain under her face
and neck where the sheets had soaked up some blood. I was betting there was a bite mark on that side
of the neck. She wore makeup not nearly as well applied as Beth St. John's, but the attempt had been
made. The lipstick was badly smeared. One arm hung off into space, the hand half-cupped as if reaching
for something. The nails were shiny with fresh red nail polish. Her long legs were spread-eagled on the
bed. There were two fang marks high on her inner thigh not fresh, though. Her toenails were painted to
match her fingers.
She was still almost wearing the black teddy she'd started the night in. The straps had been pushed
down her shoulders, exposing small, well-formed breasts. The crotch had been ripped out, or was one of
the ones that snapped open, because the bottom was pushed up nearly to her waist until the teddy was
little more than a belt. With her legs spread wide, she was completely exposed.
That, more than anything, pissed me off. He could have at least covered her up, not left her like some
whore. It was arrogant and cruel.
Larry was standing across the room at the other window. It was open too, spilling cool air into the room.
"Have you touched anything?"
St. John shook his head.
"Have you taken any photos?"
"No."
I took a deep breath, reminding myself that I was a guest here and had no official status. I could not
afford to piss him off. "What have you done?"
"Called you, and the state cops."
I nodded. "How long ago did you find the body?"
He checked his watch. "An hour ago. How did you get here so fast?"
"I wasn't ten miles away," I said.
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"Lucky for me," he said.
I looked at the girl's body. "Yeah."
Larry was hugging the windowsill, gripping it with his hands. "Larry, why don't you run down to the Jeep
and get some gloves out of my bag?"
"Gloves?"
"I've got a box of surgical gloves in with my animating stuff. Bring the box."
He swallowed hard and nodded. Every freckle stood out on his face like ink spots. He moved very
quickly to the door and shut it behind him. I had two sets of gloves in my jacket pocket, but Larry
needed air.
"This his first murder?"
"Second," I said. "How old is the girl?"
"Seventeen," he said.
"Then it's murder even if she consented."
"Consented? What are you talking about?" There was the very first hint of anger in his voice.
"What do you think happened here, Sheriff?"
"A vampire climbed in her window while she was getting ready for bed and killed her."
"Where's all the blood?"
"There's more blood under her neck. You can't see the mark, but that's where he drained her."
"That's not enough blood to kill her."
"He drank the rest." He sounded a little outraged.
I shook my head. "No single vampire can consume the entire blood supply of an adult human in one
sitting."
"Then there was more than one," he said.
"You mean the bites on her thighs?"
"Yeah, yeah." He paced the pink shag carpet in quick, nervous strides. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]