“Sure,” Hannah said. “Get off my crime scene.”
Monica got behind the convertible’s wheel and pulled away with an insolent squeal of tires that was probably meant as a middle finger, but Hannah didn’t much care. She was used to disrespect. When she felt it was necessary, she drew the line, but Monica didn’t matter enough to deserve the effort. Hannah had already forgotten her before the smoke faded from the tire scratch.
She walked back to the place where a girl named Lindsay had silently hung on to her life alone, waiting for someone to come save her. All that blood, dried on the pavement. Vamps must have known she was down and bleeding. Why not check it out?
It was a really good question. One that deserved an answer.
Hannah documented the scene with meticulous care, took all the necessary samples, and logged the evidence.
And then she went to ask Oliver some questions at his coffee shop, Common Grounds.
? ? ?
Eve Rosser—no, Eve Glass these days; hard to get used to that—was on duty, and was her usual Goth-chipper self. Hard to tell under all that dyed-black hair, pale makeup, and abusive eyeliner, but she was a pretty thing. Not delicate, no—strong. Had to be, growing up in Morganville. She’d taken her fair share of trouble around here, survived, and even thrived; Hannah respected that. As usual, Eve had nothing but a bright smile for her as she approached the counter.
“Chief! Hang on a sec, let me think—how about a corretto? I just learned how to make it.”
“Doesn’t that come with a shot of booze?”
Eve’s dimples deepened. “Why, Officer! I think it might.”
“Then I’m going to have to pass, and I won’t even cite you for attempted bribery. How about just a straight-up coffee?”
“One of these days, I’m going to expand your horizons, Chief—see if I don’t.” Eve got out a chunky white mug with the Common Grounds logo and poured from a carafe in the back. “Here you go. Hot and black.”
“Thanks. I’m going to need to talk to Oliver.”
“Don’t we all? Because it’s payday and he’s nowhere to be seen, and I’d really like my sweaty, coffee-scented, pathetically small check.”
“He’s not here?”
“Nope. Hasn’t been in all day. It’s weird. He’s usually here, or at least calls.” Eve shrugged. “Guess he’s busy.”
Hannah sipped her coffee and thought for a while in silence. Oliver being oddly busy—not to mention being all up in her crime scene business—was something that gave her pause. Not going to learn anything sitting around drinking Colombian, she thought. She idly scrolled numbers on her cell phone, considering, and then selected one and dialed.
Three rings. One more than courtesy, but at last, the line picked up, and the head vampire Amelie’s cool, calm voice said, “Chief Moses. I’m surprised to hear from you.” The implication was pretty clear that mere human cops didn’t have the Founder’s permission to call up to chat.
“This isn’t a social call,” Hannah said. “Did you send Oliver to dig around in the assault of a human girl?”
The pause was long, which was suspicious, but it also didn’t tell her much. Amelie’s silences were never telling, just ominous. “Oliver’s business is none of yours,” she said. “And I know nothing about this girl.”
“Then how about this? The girl was down and bleeding, and no vampires came to check it out,” she said. “Must be a good reason why.”
“Must there?” Amelie had a gift for sounding completely uninterested; had to give her that. “I’ll have to look into it.”
“Isn’t that what you’ve got Oliver doing right now?”
Silence. Deep, dark, uninformative silence. And then Amelie said, “Thank you for your call. Do let me know how I may assist you in the future.” The same disconnected, disinterested tone, and then dead air.
Hannah wasn’t sure if she’d burned a bridge or built one, but either way, she’d taken her best shot. She put the phone back in her pocket and glanced up. Eve was staring at her. She quickly looked away to wipe down the bar.
“So who was it? The girl, I mean.”
“Lindsay Ramson.”
“Oh shit!” Eve put her hand to her mouth in obvious dismay. “I know her. Is she going to be okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was it . . .” Eve mimed fangs in the neck, the universal sign for the most common kind of injury in Morganville. Hannah shook her head.
“I don’t know what it was,” she said. “But damned if I’m not going to find out. You see Oliver, you tell him to call.”
She counted out dollars, and Eve didn’t argue; they’d had that battle before over paying for things, and as police chief, Hannah didn’t like to be beholden to people like Oliver, even for so much as a free cup of coffee.
She threw in a tip for Eve, which the girl tucked into her shirt with a nod.
“Be safe,” Eve said.
Hannah let a snort express her scorn for that thought, and left for the hospital.