T HAT night, it was the same drill after the team got the news about the most recent Vampire Killer murder: a visit to the crime scene featuring a few ineffective object readings by Stoned Kiko, plus a team meeting that came to nothing.
The murderer hadn’t made any more mistakes this time out than the last, and since Kiko had been too medicated to give them any psychic edge, the team would just have to wheedle information out of their LAPD and coroner’s office sources—not that the officials had been experiencing much luck in their own investigations. Still, relying on others meant Limpet and Associates would have to wait, and Dawn was weary of it.
Sure, Breisi had arranged another clandestine appointment at the morgue during tonight’s witching hour. But that seemed as far away as Christmas to a kid.
It was only nine AM, and Dawn was driving to Kiko’s from the newest yellow-taped crime scene, which was near Jessica Reese’s apartment. Because of Dawn’s weaker-than-usual disposition—one look in a mirror had shown a slightly pale complexion that had quietly freaked her out even more—she was headed back to catch a nap and drink more orange juice. She’d been slamming it for the last few hours, and it seemed to help a little, bringing her to the point where she felt decent enough to deal with everything that was going on: a new murder, the old murder, last night’s party craziness, the fight with The Voice…
Dawn gripped the wheel a little harder. Things were still tense between her and the boss. In fact, when Breisi had said that he wanted Dawn to report to the office right away, Dawn had flat out refused. Like she would go over there and set herself up to fall under The Voice’s spell again.
No way. Even if he wanted to “check her over” because of last night’s possible roofie scandal, she’d only go back with the others in a few hours since she didn’t trust herself alone with him. Then they’d all be putting their heads together about what the police had turned up about the new victim.
Annie Foxworth was her name—a mousy teacher who’d died in the same vampire way as Jessica Reese, even though the two women didn’t share any connections that would reveal something about the killer’s appetite for choosing a certain kind of victim. In fact, the reportedly modest Annie and the more boisterous Jessica didn’t seem to have much in common at all, so far.
So what was the link? And, most important, why hadn’t a Friend been able to stop the newest murder during their assigned surveillance last night?
Maybe that issue was the scariest: the ever-increasing unreliability of the spirits. They were supposed to be keeping tabs on most of the suspects, but the Friends had already been spread so thin that a lot of the regulars had gone unwatched last night: Sasha Slutskaya, Matt Lonigan, the patrons of the Cat’s Paw, and most of the Tomlinson family. Or, to be more accurate, only one Friend had been assigned to the Tomlinsons, and when Marg had left the motel to sneak out and loiter in front of the Beverly Center’s Hard Rock Cafe to smoke cigarettes, that had left the rest of the brood unsupervised.
But another scenario bothered Dawn even more. What if the killer was someone they were totally unaware of, someone the Friends couldn’t watch?
And that led to an ever pricklier consideration: was one protective Friend even enough to guard the team members themselves anymore? Would they all have to move into the Limpet house for security on their off hours?
Shoving aside the dire possibility, Dawn pulled into a grocery store parking lot, thinking she’d pick up more juice before she got to Kiko’s.
As her engine rattled to a stop, she undid her seat belt, absently checking her deep, buttoned pockets for her ATM card. She didn’t do purses, and even a wallet was a stretch.
While riffling, she found her driver’s license and garlic spray, which she’d spritzed on before getting to the crime scene. Then she got to the crucifix and the holy water vial. But…her card?
She searched every pocket, every inch of her car before finally admitting that it must’ve spilled onto the driveway back at Jac’s. Great, this was her reward for trying to get out of the girl’s house in record time. So much for a clean getaway.
Well then. There was, like, a buck in the dashboard and she’d tossed a wad of dollar bills onto Kiko’s kitchen counter before weaponing up last night and going to Annie Foxworth’s place. She’d been trying to make room for her throwing stars and whip chain and had thought an ATM card—which she’d assumed was in her jacket—would be sufficient. Dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
She had to go back to Jac’s. No choice unless she wanted to tango with her bank, and who had time for that kind of crap?