Marks frowned but stepped back from the car. His hand hovered around his body as if he had a sudden desire to touch his gun, but didn't want to appear spooked. I wondered what had been in Olaf's eyes when he spoke those mild words. Something not mild, that I was certain of.
The uniformed cop had detected something in Marks. He stepped closer to his lieutenant, one hand on the butt of his gun. I didn't know what had changed in Olaf, but he was suddenly making the cops nervous. He hadn't moved. Only his face was turned towards them. What was he doing with just his facial expression that had them so jumpy?
"Otto," Edward said softly, so that the sound didn't carry outside the car. But as he had in the house when he said, Olaf, that one word carried a menace, a promise of dire consequence.
Olaf blinked and turned his head slowly towards Edward. The look on his face was frightening, feral somehow, as if he'd let down his mask enough to show some of the madness inside. But as I looked at him, I thought this was a face to deliberately frighten people, a sort of tease. Not the real monster, but a monster that people could understand and fear without thinking too hard.
Olaf blinked and looked out the far window, face bland and as inoffensive as it got.
Edward turned the car off and handed his keys to Bernardo. "In case you want to listen to the radio."
Bernardo frowned at him, but took the keys. "Gee, thanks, Dad."
Edward turned back to the police officers. "We're ready to go when you are, Lieutenant." He opened his door as he said it. The door swinging open made Marks and the uniform take a step or so back.
I took it as my cue and got out on my side. It wasn't until I came around the front of the Hummer in full sight that Marks finally paid attention to me.
He stared at me, and his face was harsh. He could manage not to show outright hatred in his face, but he couldn't manage neutral. He didn't like me being here. He didn't like it one little bit. Who had twisted his tail in a knot hard enough to force him to let me back on board?
He opened his mouth as if he'd say something, closed it, and just started walking towards the house. The uniformed officer followed at his heels, and Edward and I trailed behind. Edward had his good ol' boy face on, smiling and nodding to the police officers, the emergency workers, everyone and everything in his path. I just stayed at his side, trying not to frown. I didn't know anybody here, and I'd never been comfortable greeting strangers like long-lost friends.
There were a lot of cops outside in the yard. I spotted at least two different uniforms, enough plainclothes to open up a discount men's store, and some plainclothes detectives that stood out. I don't know what they do during FBI training that is different from anywhere else, but you can usually spot them. The clothes are slightly different, more uniform, less individual than with regular cops, but it's more an aura about them. An air of authority as if they know that their orders come straight from God and yours don't. I used to think it was insecurity on my part, but since I'm rarely insecure, that can't be it. Whatever «it» was, they had it. The Feds had arrived. That could speed things up, be a big help, or slow things to a crawl and fuck up what little progress had already been made. It depended almost entirely on how the police in charge got along with each other, and how protective everyone was of their turf.
These crimes were gruesome enough that we might actually see some cooperation between jurisdictions. Miracles do happen.
Usually, when there's a body on the ground, the police of whatever flavor are inside at the scene walking on the evidence. But there were too many people out here. There couldn't possibly be that many more inside the house. The house was big, but not that big.
Only one thing would keep them out in the New Mexico heat. The scene was a bad one. Gory, piteous, frightening, though no one will admit out loud to that one. Pick an adjective, but the police milled around the yard in the heat with their ties, the women in high heels on the loose gravel. Cigarettes had appeared in a lot of hands. They talked in small hushed voices that didn't carry above the crackle of radios. They huddled in small groups, or sat alone on the edge of cars, but not for long. Everyone kept moving, as if to remain still was to think and that was a bad thing. They reminded me of the horse nervously running in circles.
A uniformed police officer was sitting at the open doors of the ambulance The emergency medical technician was bandaging his hand. How had he gotten hurt? I hurried to catch up with Marks. If he were the man in charge he'd know what had happened. Edward just fell into step behind me, no questions, just following my lead. He had ego problems with me sometimes, but on the job there was nothing but the job. You left the shit outside the door. You could always pick it up on your way back out.
I caught up with Marks on the long narrow wraparound porch. "What happened to the uniform that's getting his hand bandaged?"
Marks stopped in mid-stride and looked at me. His eyes were still a hard, pitiless green. You always think of green eyes as being pretty or soft, but his were like green glass. He had a big hate on for me, a big one.
I smiled sweetly and thought, fuck you, too. But I'd learned lately to lie even with my eyes. It was almost sad that I could lie with my eyes. They really are the mirror to the soul, and once they go, you are damaged. Not beyond repair, but damaged.
We stared at each other for a second or two, his hatred like a fine burning weight, my pleasant smiling mask. He blinked first, like there'd been any doubt. "One of the survivors bit him."
My eyes widened. "Are the survivors still inside?"
He shook his head. "They're on their way to the hospital."
"Anybody else get hurt?" When you ask that at a scene where vics are down, you almost always mean other cops.
Marks nodded, and some of the hostility drained from his eyes leaving them puzzled. "Two other officers had to be taken to the hospital."
"How bad?" I asked.
"Bad. One nearly got his throat ripped out."
"Have any of the other mutilation vics been that violent?"
"No," he said.
"How many vics were there?"
"Two, and one dead, but we're missing at least three other people, maybe five. We've got a couple unaccounted for, but other guests heard them talking about a picnic earlier. We're hoping they missed the show."
I looked at him. He was being very helpful, very professional. "Thank you, Lieutenant."
"I know my job, Ms. Blake."
"I never said otherwise."
He looked at me, then at Edward, then finally settled his gaze on me. "If you say so." He turned abruptly and walked through the open door behind him.
I looked at Edward. He shrugged. We followed Marks in, though I noticed we'd lost the uniformed officer somewhere in the walk across the yard. No one was spending more time inside than they had to.
The living room looked as if someone had taken white liquid and poured it down to form the sloping walls, the curved doorways leading away into the house, the freeform fireplace. There was a bleached cow skull above the fireplace. A brown leather couch wrapped a huge nearly perfect square in front of the cold fire. There were pillows with Native American prints on them. A huge rug that looked almost identical to one of Edward's took up most of the center of the floor. In fact the entire place looked like an updated version of Edward's place. Maybe I still hadn't seen Edward's sense of style. Maybe this was just a type of southwestern style that I'd just never seen. There was a large open section that had been a dining room area. The table was still there. There was even a chandelier formed of what looked to be deer antlers. There was a pile of white, red-soaked cloth to one side of the table. blood was seeping out of the bottom of the cloth bundle, leaking across the polished hardwood floor in tiny rivulets of crimson and darker fluids.