This Case Is Gonna Kill Me (6 page)

Suddenly the heel on my right shoe broke. I pitched toward the floor, but I managed to throw out my hands to keep from face-planting. The gray-and-brown body flew over me. The massive fur-covered form hit the metal doors of the elevator, and they popped open. Not a lot, but it was enough to allow the werewolf to fall through.

I heard an almost human cry of terror. One hand scrabbled at the edge of the hole, then there was a rapidly receding wailing cry. I lay panting on the floor for a few more seconds, then cautiously crawled over to the sprung doors and looked down.

The werewolf had rolled snake eyes. Service lights threw shadows down the long, empty shaft. The heavy cables that pulled the elevator were vibrating softly. I could picture that falling body, hands reaching out desperately to grip the cables, trying to stop the plunge down seventy stories.

I hoped he’d gone splat.

*   *   *

“You were incredibly lucky, miss.” The speaker was Lucius Washington, a NYPD homicide detective.

It was almost two a.m. I was seated in the conference room on the seventy-third floor sipping a hot tea spiked with a bit of brandy from Shade’s office, and wrapped in a coat someone had left in coat check back in the winter. It was July, but I was freezing. Shade stood just behind my chair, and he kept rubbing my shoulder when I shuddered. It wasn’t actually helping, because he was a vampire and his hand was really
cold
.

Lieutenant Washington was African-American, tall, and slim in that way runners and swimmers are slim. His skin was the color of rich caramel and there was the hint of an epicanthic fold to his warm brown eyes. He also had a voice like dark velvet. The overall impression he projected was calm. It was incredibly comforting after the chaos on the seventieth floor.

After the werewolf had taken a swan dive down the elevator shaft, I had managed to get back to my office and my cell phone. It was horrible, because there was no way to avoid going past the mess of blood, muscle, and viscera that had once been Chip. After my call to 911, I’d called my dad. It had taken him a few minutes to understand because I was crying so hard. After making Soothing Daddy Noises he asked if I’d called the police. I said I had. Then he asked, “Linnie, is Shade likely to bring in a Hunter?”

The strangeness of the question had broken me momentarily out of my shock. “No, why would he?” And then I shrieked at him, “I know what killed Chip! It was a werewolf! I saw him kill Chip!”

“Miss?”

“Huh? What?”

“I said, you’re lucky to be alive.”

“Yes, I know.” I lifted up my foot and looked at the ragged tear where the heel of my shoe had been. “I think I must have weakened my shoe when I almost fell off my chair. I caught myself on the heel.”

Nothing changed in Lieutenant Washington’s expression, but I had a feeling he thought I was an idiot if I could fall out of a chair. I hurried to explain. “I have this weird ball chair. Not a normal chair … It can be … tippy.”

Tippy? Tippy?
Now he
knew
I was an idiot. I stared up at him and wished the floor would open up and swallow me.

“That’s okay. Whatever the cause, it’s a real good thing your heel broke. It saved your life.” I shuddered and took another sip of tea, and Washington laid a hand lightly on my wrist. His touch was a good deal warmer and more comforting than Shade’s. “Any idea who the wolf might have been?” he asked.

I shook my head. “He wasn’t exactly wearing ID.”

Washington gave me a strange look. I pressed a hand to my forehead as if I could squeeze out the headache that was forming behind my eyes and push back the dumbass remarks that fluttered on my tongue like maddened butterflies.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I don’t mean to be flippant, but that may be the only thing that’s keeping me from retreating into gibbering hysteria.”

“That’s okay,” he said again. “People deal with stress in different ways. There is no right way. Now, do you think the wolf was after you, or Mr. Westin?”

“I’m not sure. I think Chip.”

Washington stood. “I better get downstairs and see what Forensics has for me,” he said to Shade.

But something in our exchange finally jump-started my traumatized brain cells. “Wait,” I called before he reached the door. Washington looked back. “The big case we’re working on involves werewolves.”

“What kind of case?” Washington asked.

A page in The Code of Professional Responsibility concerning lawyer/client confidentiality came floating past my mind’s eye. I had probably said too much already, but what the hell, in for a penny, in for a pound. “It’s an estate dispute between our clients and Securitech.” I figured he would have heard of Securitech. A lot of cops and military went to work for them after they retired.

I was right, because Washington gave a soundless whistle and wrote it down. The policeman left. I looked up at Shade. He was frowning at me.

“You shouldn’t have mentioned the case.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But the filings are public record, and it’s been going on almost as long as I’ve been alive. And it doesn’t seem to be high on the priorities list with Ishmael, McGillary and Gold. And Chip’s been murdered, which I think should reset the table.”

“You’ve pulled Securitech into a police investigation. Someone will leak it to the press, and Gunther, Piedmont, Spann and Engelberg will accuse us of dragging Securitech into a sordid murder purely in an attempt to damage their client’s reputation with the arbitrator.”

“Shade, don’t you care that Chip’s been killed?”

“Of course—”

But before he could say more there was a preemptory knock. Without a pause the door opened. A gaggle of partners trooped in, led by Gold with McGillary a step behind. The lesser partners marched behind like mourners at a New Orleans funeral. Ryan was among them, and he gave me an encouraging smile.

Gold strode up to me. Shade again laid his hand on my shoulder, and he and Gold glared at each other. I was between them, and as the tension sparked I felt like a small, squeaking rodent trapped between mastodons.

Gold loomed over me. “What do you know about this?” He had curly black hair, intense black eyes, and a powerful build, and if he hadn’t been dead his face would probably have been brick red.

Shade interposed himself between us, and his tall, lean form seemed fragile next to Gold’s bulk, but there was nothing timid in his expression. McGillary, hovering on the outskirts of the confrontation, looked like he wished he were invisible, which would be tough given his carrot-colored red hair.

“Leave her be,” Shade said.

“I demand an answer,” was Gold’s response. “Chip worked here for twenty-eight years. Then she arrives, and this happens.”

“No way are you blaming this on me,” I shot back. I was still shaky, but this amount of ’tude after what I’d been through was starting to piss me off. “I just graduated in May, and while Yale is cutthroat, it doesn’t usually produce enemies who want to
kill
you!” I realized I had stood up, and was shouting at him. Gold blinked at me and actually took a step back. I raged on.

“No, that wolf had to be after Chip. If I hadn’t run out of the kitchen when I heard Chip scream, he might not have known I was there. I could have just hidden until it was all over. And it has to be about one of his cases, because I’m pretty damn sure a werewolf didn’t attack him because of his kid’s soccer games, or because he and his wife liked to play bingo at church on Wednesday nights. And … and Chip didn’t deserve to die like that.” And suddenly I was wailing like a lost five-year-old.

It struck me that I had transitioned from raging harridan to sniveling child in the space of about three seconds. They probably thought I was certifiable.
Way to go, Ellery. Way to impress your bosses.
My knees turned to rubber and I sat back down. And suddenly I was horribly aware that I had vampires on three sides of me, and I couldn’t retreat because I was trapped in a chair.

“She has the right of it,” I heard Shade say as if from a great distance. “Chip was my
súbdito de casa
. I will see justice done.”

My mind provided the translation.
Subject or servant of the house.
And in that moment I had a total understanding of the relationship between the vampires and the humans. Despite having been fostered in a vampire household where I felt like I belonged, I was hit with the disheartening thought that Mr. Bainbridge probably described me that way to his guests.
“Yes, Linnet is a delightful little thing. My súbdita de casa.”

“We need to discuss how to handle this,” Gold said, and then the three partners were gone, and I began to cry again. Mostly for Chip, but some of the tears were for me. Someone laid a hand on my shoulder. I squeaked, jumped, and looked around. Ryan was standing next to my chair.

“Let me take you home,” he said softly.

“I can take a cab—”

“No.” He got a hand under my arm, and helped me to my feet. We made our way slowly toward the door. “And for what it’s worth … I think you’re absolutely right. It had to be something Chip was working on.” He paused and looked down at me. “Don’t you dare come in tomorrow…” He broke off and checked his watch. “Today. You stay home and get some rest.”

We rode down the elevator and stepped out into the lobby. It had become a crime scene too. Yellow tape blocked the door. There was a lot of blood behind the security officer’s desk, and a few random splashes on the marble walls. There was no security guard present. Just a black body bag with a human-sized bump. Evidence techs, dressed in white jumpsuits with booties covering their shoes, were taking swabs and samples. One of them lifted the tape to allow us out of the elevator and guided us around the edge of the lobby, where there was no blood.

We stepped through the front doors, and an explosion of light struck my tear-sore eyes. Light glinted off the lenses of television cameras, transforming them into cyclopean monsters. The fourth estate had arrived; in force and with a vengeance.

“Who died?”

“Was it a werewolf?”

“Was it a vampire ritual?”

“How did you survive?”

“I hear you killed the attacker.”

“How?”

Ryan put his arm around my shoulders and stiff-armed the ravening hoard.

“Ow!”

“Jesus Christ, guy!”

“Back off!” Ryan roared, and such is the power of the vampire that they obeyed.

A limo was idling curbside. A driver jumped out and yanked open the back door. I tumbled in, my entrance speeded along with a boost from Ryan. The door fell shut with a heavy clunk, cutting off the hysterically shouted questions. The car shot away, merging quickly into the flow of traffic on Park Avenue. I yanked my blouse back up onto my shoulder.

Ryan took my hand and stroked the back of it like a man gentling a terrified horse. “Sorry about that. If I’d known they’d already arrived, I would have taken you out the back way.”

“It’s okay.” Exhaustion dragged at my muscles, and it felt like my bones had disappeared. “I’m going to get blood in your nice car.”

“Don’t worry about that. Stephenson will clean it. Let’s just get you home. What’s your address?”

I gave it, and the driver turned past Columbus Circle so he could get on the right side of the park, then headed uptown.

“Your condo is closer, sir,” the driver called back.

Ryan cocked a questioning eyebrow at me. “What do you say? You want to go to my place?”

I shook my head. “I really just want to be alone.”

Ryan backed off immediately. “I understand. Let’s just make sure there’s nobody waiting at your place.”

The thought chilled me, and I almost reconsidered his offer. But I had no clothes, and I wanted to throw away the ones I was wearing.

“Would you check the place for me? In case it was about me and not Chip,” I quavered.

“Of course.”

At three thirty a.m. there wasn’t much traffic—for New York. We reached my building in fifteen minutes. The driver unlimbered a tire iron from the trunk, and we all rode up in the elevator.

Ryan and Stephenson checked all three rooms and the closet while I waited in the hall. There were no werewolves lurking.

After they left, I jammed every stitch of clothing I had been wearing into a garbage bag. Wrapped in a robe with slippers on my sore feet, I padded down the hall to the garbage chute. Returning to my apartment, I filled the old claw-footed tub to the rim with the hottest water I could stand and crawled in. But I still smelled Chip’s blood even after I’d washed my hair three times and frenziedly scrubbed my body with a loofah. When my toes and the tips of my fingers looked like pink, wrinkled raisins, I finally got out. Just before I climbed into bed, I called my dad, but he didn’t answer.

My dreams were filled with blood.

4

I slept into the afternoon and woke up feeling like I hadn’t slept at all. In addition to dreams about rivers and fountains of blood, I’d spent the night running—first from the werewolf and then from a Hunter. Unlike most dreams, these didn’t fade. I staggered into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face.
Thanks, Dad, for letting one of those faceless, slug-like creatures invade my psyche.

The hairbrush caught in the snarls in my hair, formed by my desperate thrashing. Padding into the kitchen, I opened the fridge and immediately choked on bile. I closed it and retreated into the living room. It was probably time to turn the cell phone back on. I snagged it out of my purse and turned it on. It chimed, indicating new voice mail. I tapped on the phone icon and saw the number 36 floating over the voice mail icon.

The phone rang even as I was staring at it. I almost answered, but I stopped myself when the caller ID read
Inquirer
. I let it ring. A few seconds later, the number of voice mails changed to thirty-seven. The phone rang again.
New York Post
.

Hugging my robe tight around me, I started pacing. The phone kept ringing. I realized my feet hurt. I settled on the couch and studied my toes. They were bruised and swollen, and my baby toes had raw places where my shoes had rubbed off the skin. While I undertook the podiatry investigation, the phone rang another three times.