Taste of Grief (Just One Bite #3) (6 page)

So far they had six new bodies, six used needles, six people
who supposedly never touched cocaine in their lives. They were all cut with the
same anesthetic in the same ratio, so Lizbeth and Alexar decided there must be
one dealer out there. The problem was they hadn't found anyone alive who could
pinpoint the source. Judging by the purity they'd decided there were only a
couple of links in the chain: the dealer who sold it and the manufacturer the
dealer bought it off of. Hell, for all they knew the manufacturer was the
dealer and they only had one asshole selling this particular cut, Lizbeth
thought as she checked for time of death.

"What time did the call come through?" Lizbeth
asked, snapping her gloves off and tossing them in the bag the crime scene unit
had for that purpose. The body's temperature was 95.6 degrees, a drop of about
three degrees. Judging by the temperature outside, she decided the body had
been there only about an hour prior to their arrival. There was no stiffening
of the corpse, no signs of rigor mortis, and no lividity- or blood settling to
the back of the body- present either. Lividity normally sets in around three
hours after death, so she felt confident in her estimate of time of death.

"The call came in at 2:45 a.m." Alexar replied,
checking the notepad he kept in the breast pocket of his suit jacket. He
flipped through the pages, read the temperature gauge over her shoulder, nodded
once and made note of it before putting the pad and pen back into his pocket.

"So the body hadn't been there long before the call
came through- a few minutes, maybe fifteen at the most," Lizbeth mused out
loud. She turned to Alexar. "We know almost nothing, and that's what's
bothering me most about these cases. Bethany Beach never had a drug problem,
not like this, until the tainted heroin arrived a few months ago. Now we have
six bodies in less than a month, and I'm going to group this one in and make it
seven. The first six had no history of drug use that anyone could confirm, and
now we have a bunch of new users dropping like flies. Do you think this is a
coincidence? Because I don't- I think this is murder."
 
Lizbeth stomped over to her car and leaned
against it.

Alexar trailed after her, leaned against the car next to
her, and tamped out a cigarette. He put it into his mouth but didn't light it.
Instead, he worried at it with his upper lip as he twirled his lighter in his
other hand. "I thought it myself, until this case. And maybe you're right.
Maybe its murder, but this guy doesn't fit."

"How can you say that?" Lizbeth demanded.
"He's a perfect fit." She turned slightly so she could glare at him.

Alexar ignored the look, knowing she was angry about all the
deaths, not at him personally. "I checked the body before you came, after
the photographer got done snapping her pictures. He has needle marks all over
his one arm. Some are scarred over, but two of them are recent- one midway down
on his forearm, the other right in the bend of the elbow. He may be a new user,
but he's still a junkie regardless. I think we should treat this one as
unrelated, but keep it in mind just in case."
 

Lizbeth shook her head, refusing to be calmed. "Okay,
so we've got one who may be a junkie, but that doesn't mean this is his drug of
choice. For all we know he does fit. We can't dismiss the possibility."

"No, we can't, but neither can we just automatically
call them murders. They're all unattended deaths so we treat them as homicides,
but don't just decide that's what they are and call it a day. They may be
accidental overdoses, Lizzie." Alexar lit his cigarette, blowing perfect
smoke rings into the air as some of the tension left his body.

Lizbeth eyed Alexar speculatively. "Give me one of
those," she said, nodding at his cigarette.

"You don't smoke," Alexar protested, even as he
held the pack out towards her.

Lizbeth drew one, lit it, and exhaled a smoke ring of her
own. "I quit once, true, but things change. I might as well roll with
it."

Lizbeth was tired and frustrated as she finally walked in
the door that evening. It was only 7 p.m. so she hadn't worked too late, but
since she'd left so early in the morning she'd more than put in her time that
day. Traffic was hellish, and she just wanted food and sleep. The yelling in
the parlor eliminated that possibility. With a groan, she dropped her
briefcase, kicked it bad-temperedly, and headed towards the noise.

"I do not want that in my house. You will get it out-
now," Diandra shouted. She was standing toe to toe with Adrian, yelling up
into his face. At only 5'5" she looked like an angry pixie when compared
to his 6'1" frame.

Adrian stood calm in the face of her anger, arms casually
crossed over his chest. "This is part of who I am, and you agreed to
accept that. I will not remove it, nor will I take it down and box it up,"
he retorted.

Lizbeth sighed and walked into the chaos. "What the
Hell is the problem?" she asked, running her fingers through her hair in
exasperation. She took note that RaeLynn was nowhere around, so Diandra must
have already put her to bed for the evening.

Diandra spun towards the sound of her voice, the look on her
face a mix of relief and stubbornness. "Oh, good, you're here. He has some
sort of satanic worship thing set up in his room and I want it taken
down." She grinned smugly at him- she was certain Lizbeth would take her
side and make him get rid of it.

"You mean his altar?" Lizbeth asked. At Dia's
startled expression she shrugged. "Yes, I knew he was planning to set up
an altar in his room and I told him I was fine with it. Adrian's not hurting
anyone with his religion. If he was Buddhist would you refuse him the right to
worship as he chose?"

"No, but," Diandra said, but Lizbeth cut her off.

"Exactly, so why are you so against what he's doing? He's
willingly offered up his blood to you so you can feed, RaeLynn adores him, so
what has he done that's so evil?" Lizbeth didn't wait for an answer.
"Maybe if you let him explain his altar to you, what each item on it is
for, and what it represents, you'll be more understanding. I listened as he
explained, and there's nothing wrong there. If nothing else, perhaps he's
providing more protection for our home and family, did you ever consider
that?" Diandra looked at her blankly, stunned at the vehemence in Lizzie's
tone. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get my dinner and go to bed.
I'm exhausted. You need to work this out with him, Dia, because you're in the
wrong."

Lizzie walked over and kissed her stunned lover and then
turned to Adrian. "Ooh, do I get a kiss too?" he asked, batting his
eyes. She punched him in the shoulder and headed for the kitchen. "You can
kiss my ass," she called over her shoulder.

"Bring it back here then," he hollered back to
her, laughing as she put one hand behind her back, raising her middle finger at
him in answer. He and Diandra could hear the microwave door open, heard the
clatter of stoneware, and then the slamming of the door as she found her food
still warm. Then she was back, thanking him for dinner as she headed upstairs
with it. She was determined to eat while she took a bath. Perhaps it wasn't the
best idea, but she didn't want to prolong the time until she could collapse
onto her side of the bed and sleep until morning.

Adrian and Diandra were quiet- him because he was amused by
Lizbeth's behavior, and her because she was stunned by Lizzie's support of
Adrian. It was the last thing she'd ever expected from her, and she couldn't
help feeling a little betrayed.

Diandra had gone to the deck to settle herself. She came
back in, flushed from the heat, her face raw from the wind blowing sand into
her face, rubbing it, chafing it, like elemental sandpaper. She felt calmer,
more reasonable, and felt even more so when standing on the coffee table was a
tall goblet of blood. Guilt slapped her in the face, much more painful than the
sand had been. This man had been nothing but kind to her, good to her little
family, and she kept condemning him at every turn. Lizzie was right to question
her. What the Hell was her problem? She picked up the goblet and drank it down
like medicine. Although it normally tasted of strawberries and honey to her,
today it was bitter. She knew it was an illusion cast both by her feelings of
regret, and his frustration at the time that he bled for her. She would swear
she tasted tears as well. She knew blood tasted of the emotion of the donor,
but the most she'd ever tasted was the fear of people who were scared of
needles, and occasionally pain if the needle was inserted improperly. Adrian
was the first one to donate to her directly, and the emotional pain she tasted
in his blood made her feel worse than she had before.

Slowly she set down the empty goblet and went looking for
Adrian. She found him in the kitchen, working methodically to bake a batch of
cookies. A lump filled her throat to see that he took no joy in his work as he
usually did. Knowing that was her fault, she gently touched his shoulder. He
flinched, but did not turn to look at her. She sighed, but took a deep breath
and began speaking.

"I was wrong, once again," she said quietly. He
tensed slightly but said nothing. "I keep judging you on your religion,
and that's not fair of me. I'd like to make up for that. I would like to see
your altar and have it explained to me, if you don't mind." She dropped
her hand back to her side.

Adrian turned, fixing her with a solemn look. She again felt
that searching sensation, as though he was reading her mind, and then he
smiled. "You truly mean it. You feel guilt, and curiosity, and you mean
what you said."

Diandra grimaced. "Yes, I mean it. I also mean it when
I tell you that the whole 'reading' thing skeeves me out, FYI."

Adrian laughed, his head thrown back with genuine delight.
"Oh, you're so much fun. How is it any worse than what you can do?"
he asked. When she merely cocked her head to the side waiting for him to say
more he continued. "You actually read minds. People's thoughts, every
thought and every emotion are yours for the taking if you but wish to know it.
I only read emotions, intent. I don't know their thoughts- I just know whether
people are good or bad at heart."

Diandra heard the sincerity in his voice and felt ashamed.
Was this really how people felt about her? Was she really that intrusive? She
tried hard not to walk around just randomly reading minds and talking into
them. She only bothered when people were pushing their thoughts too hard in her
direction. Was she wrong to do so? Maybe they deserved more privacy than that.

She stopped the cyclic pattern of her musing when she felt
Adrian's hand on her arm. She locked eyes with him- lilac to those green ones-
and he spoke. "The fact that you doubt whether it's ethical or not means
you do not abuse your gifts. If you abused them then you would simply shrug off
my words and be done with it," he said gently.

Diandra nodded, though her movements were a bit wooden.
"Will you teach me about your religion?" she asked. "Will you
show me your altar?"

Adrian smiled at her, and it was warm and amused. "I
will do so, but not tonight. Tonight you're tired- I can see it in your eyes.
Why not go join Lizbeth in bed? I'll clean everything up down here and retire
for the night myself. Is that all right?"

Diandra measured her feelings against his words and decided
he was right. She said good night, and followed his suggestion. Stripping down
for the night, she climbed into bed beside her sleeping lover, kissed her
shoulder, and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

When Lizbeth arrived at work the next morning the latest
OD's toxicology reports were in, along with his medical records. She walked
into Alexar's office and slapped them down on the desk in front of him,
victorious. "He's a match. The latest body is a match for the other six
after all. The drug in his system was the same drug- same potency, same
everything. It's preliminary findings, sure, but so far it's a perfect
match."

Alexar glared up at her out of tired eyes. He wore the same
rumpled clothes he'd had on yesterday, and a blanket lay rumpled on the couch
in his office. His desk was a mess and his coffee, normally black and steaming,
was cold with several rings around the inside of the mug, implying it was cold
and had sat for God only knew how long. "What about the medical records?
The others had never used- this guy had previous marks up and down both arms.
He's not a newbie."

"Ah, but he was," Lizbeth corrected. She flipped
open his medical records and laid the toxicology report out as well. "He
was a very sick man. He'd been through multiple hospitalizations because of
Hepatitis C. He'd apparently received a blood transfusion in the late 80's and
contracted it. He had a liver transplant a few years ago, and he's still being
monitored. The marks on his arms are from all the testing he's had to deal
with."

Lizbeth put the toxicology report on top of the medical
records. "This shows no other drugs in his system but for his
anti-rejection medication and a steroid to help prevent organ rejection. He was
clean, Alexar."

He leaned forward, running his fingers through his already
tousled hair. "Okay, so we're up to seven. Seven bodies, nothing in
common. They didn't work the same job, visit the same gym, nor did they have
the same doctor, nothing. Their ages were different, their race, even their
marital status varied. So what do we do now?" He took a sip of his cold
coffee, grimaced, and set the mug on the corner of his desk, far out of his
reach.

Lizbeth walked to his coffee maker and started a fresh pot.
"Maybe we're going about this the wrong way. Maybe instead of
cross-referencing the victims like we've been doing we should be looking into
the cocaine distribution. Maybe bring in all known coke dealers, shake them, and
see what they know."