Jason already has his lighter up and open before I realize I’ve snuck a cigarette between my lips. I lean over to light it in the wavering orange flame, and then he flicks it shut and stows it back in his breast pocket.
“Very attentive, boy,” I say after a long draw.
Jason shrugs. “You always light up before we arrive on a scene.”
“You sure you want to be a detective? You’d make a great chauffeur.”
I only catch him rolling his eyes when we pass under a streetlight.
“I’m sure. You can’t scare me away now.”
“And you’re sure you want this case as your first? To be honest, boy, this one even turns my stomach.”
“I’m sure, Detective Carter.” There’s a hard edge to his voice. Determination, at least, I can understand.
My first case had been a jewelry heist, before I was SCD. Typical urban werewolf crime, grand and impersonal. They always went for money crimes: banks, museums, jewelry stores. Vampires tended towards gang crimes: drive-bys, smuggling, extortion. Stereotypes, you know the drill. Occasional vampires jumping armored trucks or werewolves shooting up a nightclub. Nothing like this.
This case is all too gruesome for anyone’s first, let alone Jason. Jason Sangredo, twenty-five years old and only two years out of the academy on Peligor, who should still be smacking petty thieves on the hand. Jason who cried the first time he read over the details of a homicide case. Jason, who reminds me of my…well, who could have been my son. Not that anyone should have to be in this line of work.
Victim is a twenty-two year old shadow-scale dragon, identified as Vilat K. by name. The body was discovered, already dead, discarded behind one of the local gay bars by a bartender taking out the trash. Corpse shows signs of rape, gang mark crudely carved into chest, face and genitals mutilated. Not the first murder in the neighborhood this month, but it’s the first mutilation in a long time.
A long time, really, since anything like this. Jason has been lucky up until now SCD got thrown cases at all. All routine follow-ups on crimes largely covered by whatever district precinct was closest. Nothing for us to really sink our claws into. Not that I want anything like that for Jason, but it’s his life. Some of us choose SCD, some of us fall into it.
“We’re here,” he says.
The car shudders itself to a glide in front of the bar. I sidle out of my seat and glare up at the gaudy neon sign of The Blue Belle, a neon pink body that flashes just so to look like the figure is grinding a pole, and make note of the boarded-up windows of the surrounding neighborhood. No other witnesses most likely. Two police officers stand between a crowd of press and the taped-off alleyway. Jason and I flash our badges. Local precinct really only threw us this one because of the mutilation.
My hand quickly finds the space between Jason’s shoulder blades when he stumbles back at his first glimpse of the body. Beneath my hold, I can feel his muscle tense and his body start to morph, the same primal urge to shift and run as far as possible I feel in my bones. The stink of gore and blood makes the bile rise in my throat, but nonetheless I step around Jason and do my duty. The secret of experience is growing to hide it all, but still I can feel the urge to shift behind my skin like a bad case of sunburn. I’m sickened everytime I catch the corpse out of the corner of my eye, as I’m forced to consider who would do something like this. I’ve seen a handful of cases like this. Jason will get used to this too, and that sickens me as much as the murder. No one should have to get used to this.
“Hey,” I say. His eyes are dead when he looks up at me, but his features have returned to normal. “Don’t forget to take photos.” I gesture as if I’m clicking the shutter on the camera hanging from his neck. He nods but doesn’t immediately grab it. He’s shocked, I know. This could have easily been him.
Back at the station, Jason excuses himself to the bathroom. I don’t blame him. I want to go home and cry about this over a strong drink too, but we have a job to do. I plug the camera into the computer to upload the photos. The body, front and side view, with and without flash. Blood splatter. The weapon supposedly used, tossed lazily just behind the dumpster, forensics pending. Square shot of the gang mark. I freeze there. It’s familiar, a recent case probably. I search through some recent mugshots. Jackpot. Saren Liter, forty-two years old, member of local Black Laquer gang, arrested as a recent suspect in a rape just a couple blocks from the same nightclub. And he has that same gang mark tattooed on his arm. That’s a lead then. Jason’s first real interrogation. I crack the bathroom door.
“Hey, boy,” I call, “Hurry up, you have a lead.”
I hear a loud sniff and a muffled reply.
“Huh?”
Another sniff. “Go without me, Detective.”
“No can do. This is your case, remember?”
I hear one of the stalls open and shut, and the water starts to run. Hand dryer goes off. Jason opens the door the rest of the way, his eyes bloodshot and his face still wet. I turn to head towards the car.
“How do you deal with it, sir?”
I pause and turn back to look Jason in the eyes.
“We catch the son of a cur who did this. That’s your solace.”
And then I’m walking to the car again, Jason’s meek footsteps following behind. It’s a short drive to the county jail, or short enough at least I don’t light a cigarette. The sun is just coming up as we pass through the gates. We’re out of the car and through the first checkpoint within the blink of an eye. Never really carried a gun in my line of work. Detectives always have the grueling work, guessing motives and questioning suspects. Cops get to have all the fun, finding suspects and shooting criminals. Probably should remember to at least throw it in the glovebox instead of gathering dust in my office desk. We make it through the second checkpoint and into the interrogation room. While a corrections officer goes to fetch Liter, I debrief Jason again on procedures.
“We presume guilt before innocence with suspects like this. As far as we care, Liter is the perpetrator. Secondly, all we have is words. No matter how much this young punk of a vampire infuriates you, keep your cool or the gig is up.”
“I’ll do my best, detective.”
“No. You’ll keep your cool, boy. No doing your best, you’ll do what you have to.”
“Yes, sir.”
Just then, the door opens, and Liter is led into the room in restraints and a mouthguard. He looks more scraggly than his mugshot, stubble on his chin and bags under his eyes. He sits down almost robotically. The guard points to the mouthguard and raises an eyebrow. I nod.
“I don’t know what more…” Liter spits, wiping the line of drool that follows the gag away off his chin. He looks up and his face contorts when he locks eyes with me. “What do you want, mutt?” He looks at Jason and sniffs loudly a couple times. “Yuck, and the big dog has a puppy.” LIter grins at Jason. “You don’t stink as much as your grown-up here, but all you dogs smell alike.” He rolls his eyes and sneers at me. “What is he here for, to see what real men look like?”
I see Jason’s hands curl into fists under the table.
“Actually, we’re here about a new case—”
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“Wasn’t me. I’ve been in here ever since, I don’t know, you caught me.”
“Right, right,” I continue, “Doesn’t mean you couldn’t have called a hit from here.” I pull out a print of the carved gang mark. “Recognize this?”
Liter clicks his jaw shut, glancing once at the photo and not looking back. The loose clothes the prison has him in crinkle slightly as he shifts his weight back. Honestly, he reeks like rotten meat, and I can see Jason’s nose start twitching out of the corner of my eye.
“What are they feeding you in here, Soren? You stink like you haven’t had a drink in months.”
The vampire grimaces. “I haven’t had a drink in months. You think they’d feed me, what, other prisoners? Dumbass.”
“Animal blood?”
“Vegetable strain, actually. Not that you actually care. Almost a crime itself if you ask me. State has got it down to a science now, how long they can keep us off the good stuff before we just shrivel up.”
I slide the picture forwards again.
“That’s your mark, isn’t it, Liter?”
He just grimaces and nods his head.
“Then what’s it mean?” Jason pipes up.
Liter flicks his gaze to Jason and scoffs. “You’re all bark and no bite, pup. You’d get chewed alive out there if it weren’t for the mutt here.”
Jason slams his hands on the table and pounces to his feet. His hands slowly begin to shift to paws as his nails dig into the wood, and I can see the canines in his scowl start to lengthen. Liter just laughs.
“Nice try, pup, but you can’t hurt me in here, else I’ll be seeing you behind the bars with me.”
I go to put a hand on Jason’s arm, but he takes a sharp exhale and plops back into his seat before I can.
“Let’s put it this way then, leech.” There’s venom on the last word. “You’re the only one we know with that mark. That means you’re the primary suspect until we find the real killer. I’m sure the judge would love to add thirty years to your sentence for conspiring to homicide.”
Liter sighs and then chuckles. “Oh yeah,” he says and looks at me, “You’re teaching this pup something at least, detective.”
“Something. The mark?”
Liter leans forwards in his chair.
“I want a favor. And I want to stay anonymous.”
“No one will know about it from our lips,” I say.
He looks to Jason who nods and grunts. Liter sighs again.
“I don’t know that I can give you much.”
“Give us whatever you can. The favor?”
“Blood. Even just one measly rat. Please. I’m going crazy here. Something.”
“No promises. We’ll see what we can arrange. The mark?”
Jason takes notes as Liter talks. Eden River Syndicate. Anonymous members, all wear masks. Mix of species, even some humans. Only the leader knew member identities. Meeting place was never the same, spread all over the country.
“You’re not wrong, Liter,” I say, “You’re giving me nothing to go on.”
“All I know is we have the mark, part of the initiation.”
“And you’ve done crimes like this before?” Jason asks.
“No, not quite like this. Murder, sure, what good crime syndicate doesn’t? But nothing like this.”
Jason taps the pen against his notepad, clicking the point a couple of times to fill the silence.
“That’s all I’ve got, mutt, sorry.” Liter shrugs.
“Then we’ll keep in touch.” I motion to the guard by the door that we’re done.
Liter is hauled back up and moved to the door.
“Don’t forget,” he says, turning his head to avoid the gag being replaced, “Blood.”
The guard leads the vampire out, and I turn to Jason. I raise an eyebrow at him when he meets my gaze and nods in return. He thanks the guards for their time on the way out, and we return to the car. The drive back to the station is just as quiet as the drive to the prison. I make a quick note on my phone to call the warden the next morning. No use making false promises right now. We’re already back in the office, and I’m reviewing the vague notes we got off Liter, when Jason finally speaks.
“So what now, sir?”
“Your case,” I say without looking up, “What do you think we should do?”
He doesn’t answer at first, choosing instead to get up and pace in front of the window. It’s midnight by now, and the lights of the city outside seem dim compared to our lamps reflecting off the glass. Jason stops finally and crosses his arms to look out. The notes prove more annoying than useful, and I join him at the window. The lights balance as I get closer, and I stare out at the city’s nightlife.
I'm not old enough to remember when this city was still all vampires. Before my grandfather, before the Night Republic, before all of this. When we were all separate races on separate planets trying desperately to forget the others existed until another skirmish in an endless war would bring everything sharply to focus again. Lights flash on the street below, a police quad chasing some manual driver weaving between the cars minding their own business as they meander to their destinations.
A pity, I think, that a couple miles west I could be on a ship that’d take me halfway across the galaxy before the next day is up, and still the vampires insist on these slow things inside city limits. Something about not being used to the high speeds of modern convenience. A small price, I suppose, for peace. Or as damn close to it as we can get.
“I guess,” Jason finally says, “We should start by seeing if the system has anyone else with that mark. We can send out bulletins to each precinct to check their databases and screen incoming criminals.”
“As good a place to start as any, but I have to ask: where does that leave you?”
Jason chuckles. “That’s where I’m stuck right now. What am I meant to do?”
“Your case,” I repeat.
“What’s that thing you always say, sir? ‘Waiting is the worst crime, but the most necessary step’?”
“Something like that.”
“Then I guess we’ll just have to wait, as much as it kills me to sit down while the killer is still out there.”
“Might as well ride home with me then. I think you need, and deserve, a strong drink right about now, and maybe some hardy food. Case isn’t going anywhere.”
“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all night.”