A blotch of red appeared on either side of the chief constable’s face. I guess the chief constable wasn’t used to having his own logic thrown in his face.
“Very well,” he said. “But be brief—and don’t touch anything.” The chief constable gave me a hard look before turning around and leading us to through the clusters of officers.
Andre squeezed my shoulder, his way of comforting me. I appreciated the gesture. The chief constable could be a frightening man, and I’d have to deal with him alone later.
We moved around the other individuals who were involved with the crime scene. My nostrils flared as the smell of decomposing flesh intensified.
Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Now that Andre had convinced the chief constable that I should be here, tossing my cookies (literally) would be a huge faux pas.
“Put these around your necks while you’re here.” Chief Constable Morgan handed both Andre and me lanyards with temporary badges clipped to them.
I strung the badge over my neck as he continued to talk. “Our victim here was a junior at Peel Academy and a Druid priestess-in-training,” Chief Constable Morgan said as we came up to the body. “We aren’t sure why she was out here in the middle of nowhere, but we think she may have been blessing the dead. There are some ancient Viking burials nearby.”
The chief constable stopped and we spread out from behind him. “Here she is. Lillian Dubois, victim number three.”
As soon as I glimpsed the victim, I had to put a palm to my mouth to physically keep my food down. Like the others her neck was torn open. Only the decomposition of this body seemed further along than the others.
Echoing my thoughts, Andre said, “This death is not recent.”
“No, we think she may have died sometime last night. The area is so isolated that no one came across her until early this evening when the farmer who owns this land was herding his animals back to his barn.”
I felt a tap on the shoulder and a man in his twenties handed Andre and me a pair of latex gloves.
“Thanks.” I tugged the gloves over my clammy hands, small tremors running through my fingers. I doubted I’d ever get used to death, despite the fact that I was becoming one of the undead.
Andre crouched down, and I had to give him serious credit for not grimacing at the smell or sight of the victim. His eyes moved the length of the body.
“Well?” Chief Constable Morgan asked. “Do you still maintain that the killer could be something other than a vampire?” The question seemed a whole lot like a dare, like he wanted Andre to rise to his bait.
Andre appeared to be unfazed by his tone. I needed to learn how to do that.
“I do.” Andre rubbed his chin, still studying the body. How the gesture managed to look sexy in spite of fact that he wore a latex glove was beyond me. “There’s something about these victims that just isn’t quite right.”
I snuck a peek at the victim to try to see what Andre meant, and I immediately regretted it. Not only was her body bloated and discolored, she’d been positioned the most grotesquely of all the victims.
Arms and legs were bent at the joints to form right angles. I no longer knew if the killer we were looking for was a religious fanatic, because the body recreated a symbol, alright. But that symbol was a swastika.
***
I stood up and moved away from the victim, desperate to put some distance between the body and me. The chief constable flashed Andre a superior look as I passed him. At this point, I didn’t give a damn. The only thing I cared about was keeping dinner down.
I pushed through the crowd of people swarming the area. Among them I noticed Maggie chatting with Caleb’s father, Byron. Her eyes widened and his thinned as I strode by them.
The further away I moved from the crime scene, the better I felt. I kept walking even after I passed the halogen lights, until the smell of death was only a faint scent on the wind.
I hugged myself and sat down on the bright green grass. I gazed at the night sky above. I wondered what god would craft such a cruel life for us humans. For me, for Andre, for Lillian and the other victims.
This isn’t God’s doing, a small voice at the back of my mind whispered.
I felt that invisible cord that connected me to Andre build on itself, so I wasn’t surprised when a few minutes later Andre sat down next to me.
He didn’t say anything; neither of us did. He removed his latex gloves and took my hand, his thumb drawing circles along my skin.
Eventually, I looked over at Andre. He stared up at the night sky as well. The storm had passed and the stars shone brightly from above. “They’re very beautiful tonight,” he said. “You can’t always see them from this island.” His tone of voice made me think that the Isle of Man was not a place he considered home.
“Do you live here on a regular basis?” I asked.
His gaze fell until it rested on me. “Now I do.” His meaning was clear. He was here because I was.