Tandy muttered, “Odd that both were called.”
Having both the forensic pathologist and the ME on-site was a rare event under any circumstances, TV and films notwithstanding. “What does it mean?”
“At a guess, it implies that the crime scene is so bad, or so weird, that the top brass are needed personally to handle the body at the scene and direct the evidence collection.”
“If it’s weird, then PsyLED should be there,” I said. But the phones didn’t ring.
I drank too much coffee and ingested too much chatter that told me nothing, but in my rooty gut I had a feeling that the girl—the body—was Raynay Blalock.
The coroner’s van arrived. KPD set up a live-feed camera and Tandy put it up on the screens. More lights lit the scenes.
A woman in a white Tyvek uni with mask and gloves stepped into a ditch. We got a view of the body from the camera on her suit. I looked away.
“Someone from PsyLED needs to be there,” Tandy said.
“Yes,” I said. “And the officers at the scene had to know that. They didn’t contact us.”
“I’ve got their names and the name of the investigator who showed up first. Detective Emery Hamm.”
He punched in a number on the official line and Occam answered, “What’s up?” his voice carrying over the speakers in the conference room. He sounded groggy. Voice rough. The way a man did when he was waked from a deep sleep. Something warmed in me at the sound and Tandy sent me a look that said he had picked up on my reaction. I looked back at the screens, finding them suddenly fascinating.
“Hate to wake you, Occam,” Tandy said. “We have an incident. Deceased human female, vamp bites, and no one in PsyLED was notified. Nell shouldn’t handle it alone. Rick’s in his cage.”
“Is it the girl who went missing today?”
“Unknown.”
“Is Margot Racer on scene?” Occam asked. “She was in charge of the abduction earlier,” the werecat said, suddenly sounding alert.
“No. So far as we’ve been able to detect, she wasn’t notified either.”
“Already tarred with the brush. I’ll call her. Send the particulars to my cell. I’m on my way in five.”
“Copy that. Info going out now.” The connection ended and Tandy activated additional screens overhead as the officers and investigators on scene sent active video to their headquarters, something that would not have happened only a year past. Tech was making everything at crime scenes an instantaneous matter of record. Because of the same changes in tech, Tandywas also able to put up shots of the crime scene as they were uploaded to the coroner’s files and local law enforcement. All of which was supposed to be “eyes only” and encrypted.
I didn’t ask how Tandy got access to all the info. I also didn’t study anything too carefully. There were parts of being an investigator that I would never get used to, and seeing crime scenes involving children, even children who were seventeen and older, children I had once been accustomed to viewing as adults of marriageable age, was one of them.
Within an hour, Occam and Margot Racer were an active part of the investigation, though the conversation when the two special agents met with Detective Hamm was off the record. Hamm left the scene; minutes later a tentative ID went on record. The body was believed to be that of Raynay Blalock. Preliminary COD was exsanguination. She had been drained of blood from multiple vampire bites. PsyLED and the FBI were now lead on the case.
I wanted to contact Yummy. I wanted to track down every single aligned and rogue vampire in Knox County and fill them with silver, but I was bound by laws and protocol and, as probie, governed by Tandy, who levered a look at me each time I thought about investigating on my own or contacting Knoxville’s vampires. He was right. I wasn’t a private citizen, so I stayed put until I received orders otherwise. If a Knoxville vamp killed the girl, if that was even halfway provable, that vampire would be judged and punished by Ming.Punishedin this case being a vamp euphemism meaning killed true-dead. If the vampire or vampires who had killed Blalock were Ming’s enemies, then... I didn’t know what happened in that case, but it still wouldn’t be me who dealt with it. Occam called in to HQ and discussed the lack of official communication with Tandy, who called the sheriff and complained. Again.
At four thirty, I peeked in on Rick, who was sleeping too hard, his breathing fast, too deep, his chest heaving up and down, as if he was chasing prey or racing for his life. The moon had risen around three a.m., and I wondered if the moon had affected his sleep. I decided that waking him would be dangerous and left him sleeping. I checked my plants again, this time looking for dead leaves, letting my mind wanderthrough bits and pieces of information and memories, alighting on this or that, to no specific purpose.
As daybreak began to gray the world outside, a white female walked up to the exterior door and knocked. Tandy adjusted the camera to get a good look at her face. It was Loriann Ethier. From New Orleans. Tandy’s hands flew over the keys as he determined how she’d gotten here, and he said, “She took a red-eye direct. Go wake up Rick. Occam’s on his way. The others will be here in half an hour.”
“What abouther?” I asked, staring at the screen with Loriann’s face on it.
“She can wait until Rick says to invite her up.”
Almost as if she had heard the words, Loriann looked into the camera, pointed to the side, and walked into the coffee shop that had opened at five for the morning’s business. Coffee’s On had the best coffee in the city, though I might be prejudiced. I was a regular. The security video from Coffee’s On appeared on the next screen. I looked at Tandy, who wore a defiant expression. “JoJo’s work. We have an in for Yoshi’s Deli’s security cameras too. In case someone goes after the neighbors.”
“And do they know we’ve invaded their privacy?”
Tandy might have flushed just a bit, though it was hard to tell in the darkened room.
“We’re too kind,” I murmured, indulging in unfamiliar sarcasm. I shook my head and went to wake Rick, who was sleeping better as dawn approached. With a thick, darker-than-once-before fingernail, I tapped on the cage, the tone both woody and metallic. Rick rolled over, the motion all cat, lithe and languid, in contrast to his wrinkled clothing and scruffy, unshaven human face. “Nell,” he said. He seemed in control.
I unlatched the cage and said, “You have a visitor. Loriann Ethier is in Coffee’s On.”
