Bloody Bones (12 page)

“Do you have silver bullets?”

“I can get some.”

“Do it, and find me a shotgun and silver ammo for that too. Is there a Catholic or Episcopalian church around here?”

“Of course,” he said.

“We need some holy water and holy wafer, the host.”

“I know you can throw the holy water on the vampire, but I didn't know you could throw the host.”

I had to smile. “They aren't like little holy grenades. I want the host to give to the Quinlans so they can put one at every windowsill, every doorsill.”

“You think it'll come for them?”

“No, but the girl invited it in, only she can revoke the invitation, and she's dead. Until we get the bastard, better safe than sorry.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “I'll go to the church. I'll see what I can do.” He went for the door.

“And, Sheriff?”

He stopped and turned to me.

“I want that court order in my hands before we leave. I'm not going to be up on murder charges.”

He nodded, sort of nervously, head bobbing like one of those dogs you see in the backs of cars. “You'll have it, Ms. Blake.” He left, closing the door behind him.

I was left alone with the dead girl. She lay there pale and
unmoving, growing colder, deader. If her parents had their way, it would be permanent. And it would be my job to make it happen. There were schoolbooks scattered beside the bed, as if she had been studying in bed before he came. I pushed one of the book covers closed with my toe, careful not to rearrange it. Calculus. She'd been studying calculus before she put on her makeup and black teddy. Shit.

12

W
HILE WE WAITED
for the court order, I talked to the family. Not my favorite thing to do, but necessary. This hadn't been a random attack, which meant they probably knew the vampire, or had known him before he died.

The living room continued the pastel theme, blue predominating. Beth St. John had made coffee. She'd shanghaied Larry into carrying up a tray. I guess she didn't want to see the body again. Couldn't say I blamed her. I'd seen bloodier murder scenes, a lot bloodier, but each death has its own peculiar poignancy. There was something very piteous about Ellie Quinlan stretched across her pink candy sheets, and I hadn't known her. Beth St. John had. Made it hard.

The family sat huddled on the white sofa. The man was broad, not fat, but square like a linebacker. He had short black hair that was going nicely grey at the sideburns. Very distinguished. His complexion was ruddy, not tanned, but colorful just the same. He was dressed in a white dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck, but sleeves still sporting their cuff-links. His face was very tight, immobile like a mask, as if underneath something entirely different was going on. He looked calm, composed, but the effort thrummed along his skin. Anger glittered in his dark eyes.

His arm was around his wife's shoulders. She leaned into him crying softly, eyes closed as if that would make it better. Her eye makeup had smeared in long, multicolored
steaks like an oil slick down her cheeks. She had thick black hair done in some short, complicated style that looked too stiff to touch. She wore a long-sleeved, button-down blouse with a delicate flower pattern on it, pink predominating. Her slacks were a matching pink. Her feet were bare except for dark hose. A delicate gold cross and wedding rings were her only jewelry.

The boy was only about my height and slender as a willow. He hadn't hit his growth spurt yet, and it made him look younger than he was. His face had that soft, perfect skin that said he'd never had a pimple and shaving was a distant dream. If the girl was seventeen, he had to be at least fifteen, maybe sixteen. He could have passed for twelve. A perfect victim, except for his eyes and the way he held himself. Even in the midst of grief with the lines of tears drying on his face, he looked sure of himself, self-possessed. His eyes held a quick intelligence and a rage that would hold the bullies at bay.

His hair was the perfect black of his father's, but it was baby fine, probably the natural texture of Mrs. Quinlan's before she styled it to death.

A little black poodle was in his lap. It had barked like a machine gun, rat-a-tat-tat, yip-yip-yip until he'd picked it up and held it. A soft growl tickled out of its curly jaws.

“Hush, Raven,” the boy said. He petted the dog as he said it, thus rewarding the growling. The dog growled again; he petted it again. I decided to ignore it. If the poodle got loose, I figured I could take it. I was armed.

“Mr. and Mrs. Quinlan, my name's Anita Blake. I need to ask you a few questions.”

“Have you staked the body yet?” the man asked.

“No, Mr. Quinlan, the sheriff and I agreed to wait twenty-four hours.”

“Her immortal soul is in jeopardy. We want it done now.”

“If you still want it done tomorrow night, I'll do it.”

“We want it done now.” He was holding his wife very tight, fingers digging into her shoulder.

She opened her eyes and blinked at him. “Jeffrey, please, you're hurting me.”

He swallowed hard and loosened his grip. “I'm sorry, Sally. I'm sorry.” The apology seemed to take some of the anger out of him. The lines in his face softened. He shook his head. “We must save her soul. Her life is gone, but her soul remains. We must save that at least.”

There had been a time when I believed that, too. Down to my toes I thought all vampires were evil. Now, I wasn't so sure. I knew too many of them who didn't seem that bad. I knew evil when I felt it, and that wasn't what they were. I didn't know what they were, but were they damned? According to the Catholic Church, yes, they were, and so was the girl upstairs. But then, according to the Church, so was I. I'd become Episcopalian when the church declared all animators excommunicates.

“Are you Catholic, Mr. Quinlan?”

“Yes; what difference does that make?”

“I was raised Catholic. So I understand your beliefs.”

“They are not beliefs, Miss . . . What is your name?”

“Blake, Anita Blake.”

“They are not beliefs, Miss Blake. They are facts. Ellie's immortal soul is in danger of eternal damnation. We must help her.”

“Do you understand what you're asking me to do?” I asked.

“To save her.”

I shook my head. Mrs. Quinlan was looking at me. Her eyes were very intent. I was betting I could cause a little family disagreement.

“I will put a stake through her heart and chop off her head.” I left the fact out that most of my executions were done with a shotgun now, at close range. It was messy and you needed a closed coffin, but it was a lot easier on me and a quicker death for the vampire.

Mrs. Quinlan started to cry again, huddling against her husband. She buried her face against him, smearing makeup on his clean white shirt.

“Are you trying to upset my wife?”

“No, sir, but I want you all to realize that two nights from now Ellie will rise as a vampire. She'll walk and talk.
Eventually, she'll be able to be around you. If I stake her, all she'll be is dead.”

“She is already dead. We want you to do your job,” he said.

Mrs. Quinlan wouldn't look at me. Either she believed as strongly as her hubby, or she wouldn't fight him. Not even for her daughter's continued existence.

I let it go. I could stall for twenty-four hours. I doubted that Mr. Quinlan was going to change his mind. I had hopes for Mrs. Quinlan.

“Does the poodle always bark at strangers?”

They all three blinked at me like rabbits caught in headlights. The change of subject was too abrupt for their grief.

“What has that got to do with anything?” he asked.

“There is a murderous vampire out there somewhere. I'm going to catch him, but I need your help. So please just answer my questions as best you can.”

“What does the dog have to do with it?”

I sighed and sipped my coffee. He had just found his daughter dead, murdered, raped, I'm sure he'd told himself. The horror of it cut him some slack, but he was beginning to use it up.

“The poodle barked its head off when I came to the door. Does it bark every time a stranger comes to the house?”

The boy saw what I was getting at. “Yeah, Raven always barks at strangers.”

I ignored his parents and talked to the most reasonable person in the room. “What's your name?”

“Jeff,” he said. God, Jeffrey Junior, of course.

“How many times would I have to come to the house before Raven stopped barking at me?”

He thought about that, rolling his lower lip under, really thinking about it.

Mrs. Quinlan sat up, a little apart from her husband. “Raven always barks when someone comes to the door. Even if she knows you.”

“Did she bark tonight?”

The parents frowned at me. Jeff said, “Yeah. She barked like crazy until Ellie let her in her room just after dark. Ellie
let her in, then a few minutes later Raven came back downstairs.”

“How'd you find the body?”

“Raven started barking again and wouldn't stop. Ellie didn't let her in. Ellie always lets her in. I mean, I'm not allowed in her room, but Raven gets to go in even when Ellie wants her privacy.” He made that last word sound like he usually said it with a lot of eye-rolling.

“I knocked at the door and she didn't answer. Raven was scratching at the door. It was locked. She locked her door a lot, but she wouldn't answer.” A tear escaped from his wide eyes. “I went and got Dad.”

“You unlocked the door, Mr. Quinlan?”

He nodded. “Yes, and she was just lying there. I couldn't bear to touch her. She's unclean now. I . . .” He was choking on tears, trying so hard not to cry that his face was turning purple.

Jeff came and put his arm around his dad, leaning against his mother, the poodle still gripped in his other arm. The dog whined softly, licked the makeup from Mrs. Quinlan's face. The woman looked up and gave a choked laugh, petting the curly fur.

I wanted to leave. I wanted to let them huddle together and grieve. Hell, the death was so fresh, they hadn't gotten to grieving yet. They were still in shock. But I couldn't leave. Sheriff St. John would be back with the warrant, and I needed as much information as I could get before we braved the darkness.

Larry was sitting in the corner in a pale blue chair. He was being so quiet you'd almost forget he was there. But his eyes were eager, noticing everything, filing it all away. When I first realized he damn near memorized everything I said and did, it was intimidating. Now I counted on it.

Beth St. John came into the room with a tray of sandwiches, coffee, and soft drinks. I didn't remember anybody asking for them, but I think Beth was needing something to do besides sit here and watch the Quinlans cry. Me, too.

She set the tray on the coffee table between the couch and the love seat. The Quinlans ignored it. I took a fresh mug of
coffee. Grilling grieving families always goes down better with caffeine.

The group huddle broke up. The poodle was transferred to the wife's arms, and the two men sat on either side of her. Jeffrey and Jeff looked at me with identical eyes. It was almost eerie. Genetics at work.

“The vampire had to be in the room with Ellie when she let the dog in at full dark,” I said.

“My daughter would not have let in her murderer.”

“If she was eighteen, Mr. Quinlan, it wouldn't be murder.”

“Being made a vampire against your will is still murder, Miss Blake.”

I was getting tired of everyone calling me “Miss,” but the grieving father could do it a few more times. “I believe your daughter knew the vampire. I believe she let him in willingly.”

“You are crazy. Beth, go get the sheriff. I want this woman out of my house.”

Beth stood up uncertainly. “David's gone to get some things, Jeffrey. I . . . Deputy Coltrain's upstairs with the body, but . . .”

“Then get him down here.”

Beth looked at me, then back to him. She gripped her small hands together, almost wringing them. “Jeffrey, she's a licensed vampire hunter. She's done this a lot. Listen to her.”

He stood up. “My daughter was raped and murdered by some soulless, blood-sucking animal, and I want this woman out of my house, now.” If he hadn't been crying at the same time, I'd have been pissed.

Beth looked at me. She was willing to stand up to him if I needed her to. Mucho points for her. “Has anyone you know vanished or died recently?” I asked.

Quinlan squinted at me. He looked confused. The change of subject again was just too abrupt. I was hoping I could distract him from throwing me out long enough to learn something.

“What?”

“Has anyone you know gone missing or died recently?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Andy's missing,” Jeff said.

Quinlan shook his head again. “That boy is no concern of ours.”

“Who's Andy?” I asked.

“Ellie's boyfriend.”

“He is not her boyfriend,” Quinlan said.

I caught Jeff's gaze. The look said it all. Andy had been a boyfriend, and dear old dad hadn't liked him one little bit.

“Why didn't you like Andy, Mr. Quinlan?”

“He was a criminal.”

I raised my eyebrows. “In what way?”

“He was arrested for drug abuse.”

“He smoked some pot,” Jeff said.

I was beginning to wish I could just go off and talk with Jeff. He seemed to know what was going on and wasn't trying to hide it. Trick was how to manage it.

“He was a corrupting influence on my daughter, and I put a stop to it.”