Bloodlines (The Guardian of Empire City Book 1) Page 6

  I eyed her disheveled appearance and offered her my umbrella.

  “No thank you, Detective,” she replied, gesturing with a smile. “I enjoy the water. It cleanses both body and mind.”

  “Uh, sure.”

  Deacon chuckled. He stepped around the crime scene as if it were a mine field.

  “I have already examined the ground, and the walls to either side,” the Vellan said with mild reproach, joining Deacon beneath the canopy. “Their policemen are correct. There is no trace of blood.”

  “Yeah,” Deacon grunted. “But you ain’t got the first fucking clue what you’re looking for.”

  The Vellan frowned but didn’t respond. Instead, she produced a thick handkerchief from one of the heavy coat’s inner pockets. She wiped at her neck, cheeks and brow with fastidious care, the movements precise and economical. The wreckage of her made-up face transformed into something less freakish and more, well, alien. Her face bore no wrinkles, almost piquant, like a fox. Across her forehead, down her cheeks, and along the sides of her neck were elegant markings, her familial tattoos, reverent inscriptions denoting her lineage and standing among Vellan society. It was their version of a fingerprint, a kind of artistic genetic code.

  It was bad juju to cover them up too.

  First the hair, and now the tattoos.

  Curiouser and curiouser, eh, Alice?

  “The wound described in the report, as well as the images provided, indicate a blood spray of a certain volume, angle and distance,” the Vellan said, her tone cool. “I find it remarkable that no such spray occurred, nor any presence of blood on the ground.”

  “That’s why they call it a ‘mystery’,” Deacon replied easily. “If everything in life were that simple, y’all wouldn’t need cops.”

  “Such is my point. I do not believe—" she began.

  “Whoa, people.” I held up both hands. “This is my crime scene, and, no disrespect ma’am, you aren’t ECPD. So, before I let you contaminate things any further, I need to see your credentials.”

  Besim held my gaze but didn’t blink. She folded the handkerchief into a neat square and returned it to the coat’s inner pocket. Then she produced a silver shield akin to the one I had on my belt, offering it to me. I stared at it hard.

  “Will this suffice, Detective?” she asked mildly, one sculpted eyebrow quirking higher than the other.

  Well, of course she has a fucking badge.

  “I am assisting William with this investigation,” she continued, unperturbed. “He felt my knowledge would be of use to you. It was my understanding he made you aware of this arrangement at your meeting earlier today.”

  “Well, William neglected to mention a few things.” I glared at Deacon, who ignored me.

  “Then I must apologize to you, Detective Holliday.” She stiffened, a troubled frown creasing her face. “It was not my intent to insult or intrude. If I have caused—"

  “Are you two done yet?” Deacon demanded. He peered up one wall. “This fucking rain is really pissing me off.”

  Stepping under the canopy, I knelt near the holo-outline. I opened my bulky metal case to remove a larger version of the p-scanner. Dropping the umbrella, I waved the business end of the scanner over the ground in a slow arc, noting the readout. I spent several minutes maneuvering the device in wider arcs from the outline, outside of the canopy, along both walls for several feet, and then further along the alleyway in both directions. The alleyway extended the length of the two buildings, spilling out onto another street across from which was a Metro station.

  I returned to find the others at the opposite end of the alleyway admiring a small security camera attached to one wall.

  “The scanner is no replacement for CSI, but for what it’s worth, it confirmed no trace of blood,” I said. “And the rain obliterated any quality footprints.”

  Something else occurred to me.

  “An anonymous caller alerted ECPD. But with weather like we’ve had the past few days, how could anyone see anything? Uniforms arrived in time and almost nabbed our killer. I know our response time is fast, but that’s impressive even for the guys downtown.”

  “Somebody must’ve heard something,” Deacon said, frowning at the camera. “Bill’s got officers canvassing the tenants of the bank and apartments. Maybe it was one of them.”

  “Maybe,” I answered, unconvinced.

  I surveyed the walls, noting the presence of the closest windows with the best vantage point. Then I glanced at the camera. There was scoring around its housing, but I couldn’t tell if it was rust, or something else.

  “I’m going to check the other end to see if there’s a twin to this one,” I said.

  I trotted back and found another with the same discoloration. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

  “It’s the same,” I said as I walked up to them, and pointed at the device. “See that? It looks fresh, like a lightning strike. It didn’t storm last night. Something fried the circuits in both boxes. I need to see the bank’s security footage.”

  We walked around the corner to find Grissom with a cup in hand, drenched and more miserable than before. We exchanged a few words, then made our way to the bank’s entrance. I felt bad for the kid. The rain wasn’t letting up. Hopefully, someone would relieve him soon.

  The three of us were quite the sight strolling into Empire City Savings and Loan. Several customers gawked openly, and a few gave us a wide berth as they exited the building. I didn’t blame them. Bedraggled as we were, I expected the bank’s security to escort us out before I could show them my badge.

  We were midway across the lobby when Besim was manhandled by a short, middle-aged woman in a dark business suit. The two embraced, somehow managing it without looking too awkward. As they disengaged, the woman fawned over the Vellan.

  “Doctor Saranda!” she gushed. “What a delightful surprise!”

  Besim smiled, her face transforming from cold and aloof to beatific in the blink of an eye. Color appeared in her cheeks, and her economical mannerisms became languid and relaxed. Even her mismatched clothing somehow seemed to match, as if her fashion sense was in tune with her sudden mood change.

  “Darlene!” Besim crooned. “It has been too long. You look fantastic! How is Edward?”

  The two wandered away, chattering happily with their arms linked.

  I stood there blinking several times.

  “What just happened?” I asked.

  The two settled into Darlene’s office, carrying on like old sorority sisters. Their laughter flittered out in tinkling bursts. The banker stood up to close her door.

  “Saranda’s got a lot of friends,” Deacon replied, amused by my reaction. “She don’t look it, but between her music and other business interests, she’s loaded.”

  We tracked down the bank’s head of security, a portly man in a cheap suit named Bines. After questioning him and several of his technicians, they confirmed that something had overloaded the exterior cameras, including the one in the parking garage they shared with the apartments above the bank. Bines handed me a microdrive with last night’s footage, we said our goodbyes, and returned to the main banking floor.

  We rescued Besim from the tearful clutches of the banker. After several embraces, a blubbery farewell (on the part of Darlene), and vague promises for get-togethers in the future (also by Darlene), we exited the bank.

  “I trust your meeting with the security director went well?” she asked politely. Gone was the lively and ebullient musician, replaced by the demure, analytical doctor.

  “It’s a start,” I replied, but didn’t elaborate.

  I was annoyed and had no interest in answering any questions from our “consultant.”

  On the walk back to the pod, a quick check with EVI confirmed Besim’s authorization to be on board. I tossed the umbrella onto the floor with a scowl and crashed in a command chair. Rubbing my face a few times with both hands, I turned to Deacon. He gave me the microdrive, then lit up another smoke. Besim sat
next to me, hands folded in her lap. Ignoring her, I plugged the drive into the control console.

  “Detective, while I process the data, I have completed collating the decedent’s pertinent information,” EVI informed me.

  An instant later, Vanessa Mallery’s online history appeared in my eye.

  I reviewed it, but nothing leapt out. Vanessa was an active participant within the online community. I presumed her position as an analyst at Hughes Advertising required a high level of social immersion as well. But none of the interest groups were unusual, nor did it appear she was involved in anything controversial.

  Vanessa owned a modest savings account, student loans, small amount of credit debt, no liens or criminal record. She paid her taxes, owned a brownstone, but no car. She wasn’t outwardly religious or political, nor did she follow any e-Sports. Vanessa enjoyed live acoustical music, followed several artists, and hosted a website devoted to her paintings. Her work consisted of seascapes, and to my untrained eye, she was talented.

  There were no excessive purchases or deposits, although she owned a cat. I found several receipts from Pet Depot and Butters Animal Hospital in Bay Ridge. And then there was Armin’s Coffee House. Six receipts from there in the past three weeks. Perhaps a connection between the killer and one of those places? My money was on Armin’s, because, well, coffee, and the fact the coffee shop was located a couple of Metro stops from the crime scene.

  “Anything useful?” Deacon asked. A thick haze shrouded him.

  I instructed EVI to increase the pod’s air filtration and halted the information stream.

  “Vanessa was a boring girl,” I said, then recounted what I’d seen. “We’ll go to Armin’s after we interview the eyewitnesses.” I turned my full attention on my unwanted consultant. “And as for you, let’s get a few things straight.”

  She met my hostile stare with a placid one of her own.

  “Of course, Detective,” Besim said in a matter-of-fact tone before I could continue. “You wish for me to remain out of the way. I am not to handle, or otherwise jeopardize the investigation because of my inexperience. You expect me to maintain a low profile, as much as someone of my…distinctiveness…is able. You will listen to my opinion, but only when asked, and solely out of respect for William, your commanding officer. Have I omitted anything?”

  “Yeah.” My smile was unpleasant. “Try not to get killed.”

  Besim inclined her head.

  “Review complete,” EVI announced.

  “Patch it through here, please,” I ordered aloud.

  The front windshield turned opaque, then lit up with the bank’s recorded security feed.

  “The images produced insufficient data,” EVI said over the pod’s speakers as we watched the black-and-white footage. “I did not detect any obfuscation or alteration. Sunday, at 9:58 PM, the cameras in the alleyway were disabled. At 10:23 PM, the cameras in the parking garage were disabled in the same manner. There is a shadow depicted in the parking garage footage. It is of indeterminate size and shape. The flash which followed its appearance before the camera was disabled is a result of an overload to the internal wiring systems of the camera. The cause of the overload is unknown. Do you require anything further?”

  I heaved a heavy sigh.

  “No, EVI, we’re good for now. Thanks.”

  The windshield became translucent once more.

  “Looks like our vampire has spooky powers over technology,” I remarked dryly.

  Deacon’s smile was grim. Somehow, that didn’t make me feel any better.

  Chapter 7

  “A suggestion, Detective?” Besim asked solicitously, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Sure,” I grunted.

  “The Empire City Savings and Loan security team will remove the damaged cameras, and perform a physical examination of its internal parts,” she said. “They will determine the root cause as an external disruption field, similar in scope, but not in magnitude, to an electromagnetic pulse. They will provide such findings to the Empire City police in due course, several days from today. In my opinion, that information will prove useless given the supernatural circumstances surrounding Vanessa Mallery’s murder.”

  “First off, that’s not a suggestion,” I grumbled. “And B, how the hell do you figure the cameras were shut down by a disruption field?”

  “A casual observation, then, based upon my assessment of the damaged cameras in the alleyway.” Besim smiled faintly, tilting her head like a bird. “Something external destroyed the camera circuitry. I presumed you had also arrived at the same conclusion, and merely visited with the security director to corroborate your findings.”

  Deacon flicked some ash, watching the two of us with amused eyes.

  Realization dawned on me.

  “That’s why you didn’t accompany us downstairs,” I said, bristling with annoyance. “You assumed we’d discover it ourselves.”

  “I did not wish to intrude upon your investigation.” Her smile faded. “It is my place to defer to your investigative experience first, and then reveal my theory in the security of this police pod. Since I do business with Darlene and the bank, I recused myself so as not to be a distraction.”

  I sucked in a deep breath and held it, trying hard to maintain my composure. “Okay, fine. What’s your suggestion?”

  “Given the lack of evidence, and the report from the eyewitnesses stating a vampyr perpetrated the murder, perhaps it would be wise to consult with an expert on the occult?”

  “A what?” I blinked.

  “Vampyr,” she repeated slowly. “In the lexicon I employ, it is an alternative pronunciation of the word used to describe the creature that murdered Vanessa Mallery.”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” I retorted. “Besides, we still need to speak with the eyewitnesses. According to the EMT report, both were high on goldjoy. They probably hallucinated half the shit they saw.”

  The consultant inclined her head again.

  “That is also true, but my own study of goldjoy has shown the hallucinations are exacerbated significantly by external stimuli. What is seen is merely an enhanced version of the reality. In this case, what the eyewitnesses saw resembled a vampyr, whether it was in fact the creature itself, or someone masquerading as such.”

  “You’ve researched goldjoy?” I asked.

  “One of my business interests involves consultations with various pharmaceutical entities in both the American enclaves as well as the European Bloc,” she explained. “Several of my clients have asked me to replicate goldjoy, but I have been unsuccessful.”

  “You manufacture narcotics?” I spluttered, staring at Deacon.

  He shrugged.

  “I am many things, Detective,” Besim said primly. “One of them involves the development of patented formulae for the pharmaceutical industry. I have assisted in the manufacture of human health aids and vitamin supplements, among others. Goldjoy resembles these products on a microscopic level. However, it also contains significant differences which I have been unable to reproduce. It was my belief that the goldjoy formula could be altered to remove both its narcotic and addictive effects. I had harbored hopes to develop it into something that would prove beneficial for your people.”

  “Well, then I guess Rumpelstiltskin is glad you won’t be muscling in on his business,” I said.

  Besim regarded me. “Rumpelstiltskin?”

  “The mysterious criminal mastermind behind goldjoy,” I grumbled, and moved to the beverage station to refill my mug. “It’s the name Narcotics gave him because of the drug’s coloration. They’ve been after him for years. He’s like a ghost. No one knows who he is, or what he looks like. He has eyes and ears everywhere, and who knows how many cops on the take.”

  “That is not very encouraging,” Besim replied with a troubled frown.

  “The eyewitnesses?” Deacon prompted between puffs.

  I had EVI pull up their profiles on the windshield display.

  “Well, isn’t
that convenient?” I remarked dryly. “Tony Marrazzo lives in a unit above the bank.”

  “I believe the word is serendipitous,” Besim supplied.

  “Whatever.” I read through his profile. “He’s a sales exec for Wrigley-Boes Pharmaceuticals. You know anything about them?”

  “They are an international operation specializing in fitness, and health and beauty enhancers and supplements,” Besim replied. “Their marketing focuses on a more organic approach to healthy lifestyles, claiming their products are all-natural. Several of my clients are competitors.”

  I nodded, sipping at my coffee.

  “Okay EVI, please contact Mr. Marrazzo and let him know we’re on our way,” I said. “In the meantime, let’s go check out the parking garage. Judging by the recording we just watched, it looks like our perp exited through there. Maybe we can backtrack his movements and pick up something.”

  I downed the rest of my coffee in one gulp and belched in satisfaction.

  “I don’t know what I would do without this stuff,” I proclaimed, raising the empty mug as if it were a championship trophy. Coffee always improved my mood. I was by then only mildly annoyed with our consultant.

  “I could recommend a few organic supplements that provide the same stimulus as Protogenesis caffeine without any of its detrimental effects,” Besim offered.

  “Nah,” I said while grabbing an umbrella. The hatchway popped open with a hiss of expelled air. “The detrimental effects are what I’d miss the most.”

  Besim smiled as she and Deacon exited the pod. At least she had a sense of humor.

  We walked half a block to the parking garage. A steady stream of rainwater flowed along the grooved drain and merged with the lazy drizzle outside. The garage was an oblong concrete box with low ceilings and poor lighting. It contained seven levels connecting the bank and the apartments, as well as a partially-broken metal door leading to a very fragrant stairwell.

  We came to the first camera wedged into a corner by the exit ramp, providing a commanding view of the lane, various empty parking spaces, and the door. No surprise, the casing bore the same discoloration as those from the alleyway.