Chapter 3
Beca's POV
I pull up to the scene, flashing my badge. Stepping out of the car, I survey my surroundings, going through and making the usual observations for everyone I see. My gaze lands on a dark haired officer who's staring down at the body. I make my way to him, ignoring everyone else.
"What happened?" I ask the detective. He turns to me, meeting hazel eyes with dark grey ones. His dark eyebrows lift as he trails his eyes up and down my body. With a smirk, he looks away.
"How'd you know I'm the one you need to talk to?" His question is meant to catch me off guard, but I'm used to it.
"Your posture and clothes. Most everyone here is wearing either police issued uniforms or EMT ones. You have on a suit with a dark jacket. Not much of one for being original."
"That all?"
"Nobody is approaching you. Instead, you were just standing here looking at the body. Thinking of different scenarios, theories on what exactly went down. Everyone else is working on cleaning or taking samples and photos. It's obvious you're the one in charge."
"So what you're saying is I'm a lazy copy cat who isn't approachable?" I nod and shrug which makes him laugh. "I think I like you. Detective Jesse Swanson. Sorry about the interrogation. I've heard stories about you and wanted to see what was true."
"You and everyone else. So, what happened?" I turn my attention to the body and turn off any emotions. I can't afford to let those get the best of me. A man covered in blood is curled up on the ground, his face buried in his chest. His clothes are ripped to shreds, but from what I can see, there's no wounds on his skin.
"Do you mind?" Jesse shakes his head and I snap on a pair of gloves. I ease the man's body apart, hoping to get a good look at his face but unfortunately, it's unrecognizable.
"What the hell?" Jesse mutters from behind me. "What could've done that?" I study the mauled face, eyes gouged out and shrug.
"It looks like a werewolf did it." Jesse lets out a breath of air at my answer. "But it wasn't."
"What? Why?"
"Look at the neck," I point to two thin punctures at the base of the neck, right next to the jugular.
"Vampire."
"It looks like a vampire killed this man and then made it look like a werewolf did it."
"But?" Jesse watches me expectantly.
"But it doesn't make sense. I've never heard of a vampire who would rip someone's face apart and take out their eyes. Or rip up the clothes but not touch the skin."
"Could be a rebel vampire? One who got tired of the system?"
"No. What I meant was, vampires typically don't like to get their hands dirty." I smile grimly at Jesse who throws one back at me.
"So what the hell killed this man and why?" I look back down at the body.
"I don't know but I'm going to find out."
…
"What do you mean you haven't figured it out yet?" Reed shouts. I stand next to Jesse in Reed's office, both of us tense. Jesse practically radiates fear so I do all of the talking.
"I mean that it's not an easy open and shut case. There's too many unanswered questions. We still haven't gotten the M.E.'s report back yet and when we do, we will have an answer as to who this man is and how the hell he died."
"From what you told me," Reed slams his hands on his desk, "all evidence points to a vampire cover up. What the hell is so difficult to figure out?"
"The M.O. doesn't fit in with a usual vampire killing. They're clean, neat and generally don't kill."
"That doesn't mean that one won't, Mitchell."
"I know that, but it just doesn't add up. Give me some time." Reed sighs and looks at Jesse.
"You too?" Jesse nods and Reese growls. "Fine, but we're doing this my way. Once the identity of this man is figured out, you will come to me. Understood? We'll figure out what to do from there. I have a feeling I know who he is and if I'm right, we're all screwed."
…
"John Lee Smith, cause of death, wooden bullet to the heart," I tell Reed, 3 hours later. He curses and looks away, contemplating.
"Damn. We'll have to get in contact with the vampire unit."
"Excuse me? The vampire unit?" Reed rolls his eyes, annoyed.
"Yes Beca. If you had read your history books, you would know that there are different branches to this organization. One of them is a unit of vampires who are given extensive background checks and training to assure that they will do what they are supposed to. Same for the other branches."
"What are the other branches?" Reed turns away and grabs a book off the shelf before tossing it at me. I catch it and read the title. National League of Supernatural Hunters and All That Comes With It.
"That will tell you what you need to know. Now, I have a car waiting to drive you to their headquarters."
"What about Swanson?"
"He's human and on a need to know basis. We'll keep him in the loop, but we will not put him in danger that he's not properly trained to deal with."
"So who do I talk to in the unit?"
"Gail Abernathy is the head of it. You will speak with her and be cooperative. This man that was killed? John Smith. He was a part of the unit. The head to be exact. With his death, Abernathy has taken over. Now get out of my sight and Agent Mitchell?"
"Yes?" Reeds sharp eyes glare daggers that hit me, piercing my skin with a sting.
"Don't screw up." Nodding, I leave and go to the car that he has been waiting for me. If it wasn't for my horrible sense of direction, I could probably drive. Or Reed just doesn't trust me. It took a lot for me to convince him to let me get my license. The winning argument was that I could either teach or catch criminals. Of course he didn't want me to spread my bad manners onto the next generation of agents so he pulled a few strings. Then he surprised me by getting a car that wasn't agent protocol. Probably to let everybody know just how different I am.
"Here you go, Agent Mitchell." The driver says and I thank him. Throwing him a twenty, I climb out and gape at the building before me. It looks more like a mansion than a business building. Flowers rest on vines which hook around the building, more beautiful looking than overgrown. The doors, which I step up to, are huge with lion handles. When I use one to knock, the door slowly opens, revealing a rather eccentric lady.
Her blond hair is pulled up and on top rests a hat covered in feathers. Her dress is long and so colorful it makes my eyes hurt. When I finally force my eyes off the dress, I look at her face which is stunning even though she wears no makeup as far as I can see. She smiles and gestures for me to come in, jewels catching the light with every movement. Grimacing, I step inside.
In front of me is a winding glass staircase, leading up to the next floor. I bend my head back to look at the chandelier above me and the woman laughs.
"Beautiful, is it not?"
"Very," I manage to say, overwhelmed by the complexity of it all. I'm so used to the bland building that I've worked in, lived in my whole life. This... this is something totally different and I like it.
"Let's head into the kitchen, get something to drink and talk business." I follow the flowing, colorful dress into the kitchen and have to physically shut my jaw. The kitchen is huge, with sparkling cabinets and marble counters. The island is long and has stools on one side. Behind that is two huge doors which remain open showing me that the dining room lies there. A long table with a dozen chairs is there, glasses and plates set. The woman follows my gaze.
"Dinner will be soon so I had the table set early. Now, sit down. We have much to discuss."
"Are you Gail Abernathy?"
"Hmm. Oh yes. That's what they usually call me." Gail grabs two glasses and pours some wine into each. "This okay?"
"Yeah," I tell her.
"You know, I remember when you had to wait till a certain age to do much. Like getting your license, drinking alcohol. Now, you can be pretty much any age. Just walk into a bar and order a shot of whiskey or a beer."
"As long as you have the right amount of money," I join in and she beams.
"Exactly." The government got so wrapped up in the discovery that the supernatural exists, that they stopped caring about age limits. Only on limiting the supernatural.
"So what do they call you?" Gail hands me a glass and I take a sip. Sweet.
"Did my boss not say?"
"There are many things that Reed Mitchell had to say to me, but your name was not one of them." Of course.
"Figures. My name is Beca Mitchell. I'm sure he told you what I'm here about." A sad look comes into Gail's eyes, making me focus on them. There's always that dark pit in vampires eyes, but contrary to popular belief, they feel just like we do. Some vampires just choose to blank out. Those aren't the dangerous ones though. It's the ones who feel. The ones who let fury take over everything else and will stop at nothing to get their way.
"Yes, John Smith. We heard earlier today about his unfortunate demise. He was a good man. The kids were devastated."
"Kids?"
"That's what I call everybody who's younger than me." She laughs. "Speaking of them, they should be down soon. Would you like to stay for dinner, Beca? I'm sure the kids would love it. You might be able to answer some of their questions about John as we all have so many."
"I would love that."