He shrugged good-?naturedly. “You’ll have to follow Justice Department guidelines. The paperwork is a bear. But you can hire somebody to fill out forms for you.” He turned slightly away from her and looked down into the bathtub again. “Also, you’d be working for me.”
“But I’d still be lead on the investigation,” she said, needing to make it clear. He smiled. “Of course. Like I said before—you’re the one who’s going to bring him down. I’ll just be there in the background to provide help when you need it. I’m not even a field agent, just a desk jockey. This is not my kind of thing, to be honest.”
“Yeah,” she said.
“I’m sorry?”
She reached into his cupped hand and took the pin. “Yeah, I’m in. Anything that helps me get him. What do I have to do? Swear an oath on a Bible?”
He beamed at her. “I think we can skip the formalities. I think this is going to be a very profitable relationship, for both of us.” He shook her hand and the two of them walked out of the bathroom and back out to the parking lot. The sun was an orange disk on the horizon, carved into pieces by the black branches of dead trees.
Caxton scratched at her head—her hair felt greasy and thick—and started walking toward her car.
“Alright, Fetlock. Get your fiber people down here as soon as possible,” she said, while pinning the star to the lapel of her jacket. “Who knows? Maybe they’ll turn something up. I’m going back to headquarters to tell my Commissioner about this. He ought to know.”
“Special Deputy,” Fetlock called as she yanked open her door.
At first she didn’t recognize her new title. “What?” she asked.
“Maybe—since I am your boss now—you could refer to me not as ‘Fetlock’ but as ‘Deputy Marshal.’”
Caxton bit her tongue before she could say what she thought of that. She had no great love for the Marshals Service. She’d been a state cop too long to ever really trust the Feds. If all he wanted was a little respect, though, she figured she could give him that much. “Of course,” she said. “Please get your fiber people here as soon as you can, Deputy Marshal. Is that better?”
“It’s good enough for now,” he said.
She was already climbing in her car and driving away.
Vampire Zero
Chapter 14.
The silver star felt weird on her jacket. She’d never worn a badge before—Pennsylvania state troopers never did. It was part of their oath that their good conduct was all the badge they needed. Well, she supposed she would get used to it.
There were a million things to do. The first order of business was to go take a nap. Her house was too far away, so instead she headed to the state police barracks on Cocoa Avenue in Hershey, the closest place she could think of. The academy was there—the place where she’d taken countless training classes—and she knew the place well enough to feel safe there. The trooper on early-?morning desk duty showed her to a ward room with a narrow little cot and a buzzing Coke machine. It wasn’t uncommon for troopers to show up and use the spare bed. Troop T, the turnpike patrol, worked weird hours and very long shifts and were encouraged to keep themselves sharp by taking occasional naps. The desk trooper asked no questions as he sorted out a blanket and foam pillow for her, though he stared openly at her new star. When she refused to follow his gaze he eventually just told her to sleep tight and left her alone.
She switched off the lights, but the Coke machine filled the room with a baleful red glow. She ignored it, lay down on the cot with the pillow still in her arms, and was asleep before she could even think of covering herself with the sheet.
Four hours later her eyelids popped open and she was awake. Her body creaked and moaned when she sat up, protesting that it needed more sleep, but her brain knew better. She glanced down at her watch and saw it was just after noon. Half the day gone and she had accomplished nothing. Well, she’d been upgraded to an honorary Fed, but that didn’t feel real yet, not at all. She turned in her pillow and her neatly folded sheet and headed back to her car. There were a lot of people she needed to notify of her new employment status—including the Commissioner of State Police and, more important, Clara. As she drove toward Harrisburg, fighting with herself to stop yawning so much, she reached for her cell phone, only to find that its battery had died sometime during the night. Worrying that she might have missed some important call, she plugged it into her car charger. Instantly the phone chimed at her. She had new messages—a text message and at least one new voice mail message. Exactly as she’d feared.
Caxton looked at the text message first—and dropped the phone. When she picked it up again and stared at the words on the screen, she felt her blood run cold.
’Twas a nice service, Laura.