We all looked at him.
He nodded toward the body. “Maybe one of Vittorio’s people put her out of her misery.”
“Or maybe they got tired of her screaming,” Olaf said.
We looked at him then; I think anything was better than looking at the body. Olaf was still staring at the body. If it bothered him, it didn’t show.
“Or maybe she passed out from the pain, and it wasn’t fun anymore,” Shaw said.
“You don’t pass out from this,” Bernardo said. “You don’t sleep. You don’t rest. You don’t do anything but hurt unless they can get enough drugs in you, and even then, sometimes the pain overrides it.”
“You talk like you know,” Shaw said.
“I had a friend that got burned bad.” He looked away so that he wasn’t looking at any of us. Whatever experession was on his face, he wanted to keep it to himself.
“What happened?” Shaw asked.
“He died.” Then Bernardo walked away from us. This time he walked farther, pushing his way through the crowd, until he found a piece of alley to lean against. It put him closer to the reporters, who started shouting out questions when they saw his badge and the gloves on his hands. He ignored them all, just closing his eyes and leaning back. Whatever he was seeing, or trying not to see, cut out anything they could shout at him.
“Is he right,” I asked Olaf, “you never stop screaming or pass out?”
“I do not know,” Olaf said. “I do not like fire.”
I realized that though it didn’t seem to bother him to look at the body, he wasn’t enjoying it the way he had the bodies in the morgue. He liked blades and blood, but not fire. Good to know, I guess.
I turned to Shaw. “We need to see the other photos, the other victims. Especially the last two.”
He looked at me, frowning. I was getting a lot of that in Vegas. “There’s nothing in the reports from St. Louis that you guys actually saw Vittorio. How do you know he’s burned?”
I fought to keep my face even, empty, not to widen even my eyes, because I had forgotten. I knew Vittorio’s fate from a letter from his lady love, who had left him after St. Louis, afraid for her life and her new lover’s life. She hadn’t been able to deal with his madness anymore. She’d even helped us in St. Louis, putting the bodies where’d we’d find them sooner, trying to leave clues. The letter had come to Jean-Claude, as Master of the City. It had never occurred to me to share it with the cops.
Jean-Claude had checked with the vampire council about Vittorio and had it confirmed. But again, I hadn’t shared it with the police. It hadn’t seemed important then.
I thought about what to say now. “I asked some of my vampire informants if they had any background on him.” Even to me it sounded lame.
“What else did your vampires tell you?” Shaw said, and disbelief was firm in his voice.
“Just that the holy water burns are bad enough that he’s probably unable to perform sex, so he puts all that energy into this.”
“The vampires told you that?” This from Thurgood. She gave good disdain. The alley’s shadows couldn’t hide the scorn, or maybe it was just that with the short hair you could see it clear and hard. Or maybe I was just being overly sensitive.
“No, they told me the burns are bad enough he can’t function. I made the logical leap about what that kind of anger might do to someone who was going to have to live forever in a body that damaged.”
“You should leave the profiling to the professionals, Blake,” Shaw said.
“Fine, but I’ve told you what I know.”
“Why isn’t it in the notes on the case?”
“Because I didn’t find it out while the case was going on. In fact, for a while they said the case was closed.”
“You told me why you were the only one who believed you hadn’t killed Vittorio in that condo in St. Louis.”
“No one we killed was powerful enough to be him,” I said.
Shaw stepped close, looming over me. “You know what I think, Blake? I think you saw Vittorio. I think you saw him face to face. I don’t think you learned any of this from your vampire friends. I think you learned it in person.”
“Then why isn’t he dead?”
“You’re so sure you could kill him?”
“Fine, then why aren’t I dead? Because I promise you this, Shaw, if we met face to face, it would be one or the other.”
“Maybe he was one of your vampire lovers.”
I looked down at the ground, trying not to get angry.
“You aren’t going to deny it, then?”
I finally looked up and didn’t try to hide that I was pissed. “I’ve tried to be a good sport here, but I’ve already told you, if reports are accurate, then he’s not capable of sex. And trust me, if I’d seen him, I’d have tried to whack his ass.”
“Intercourse isn’t possible, but a girl as busy as you are should know there are other things you can do.”
Thurgood and Morgan came up by Shaw. Thurgood said, “Sir, why don’t we step back a little.”
Edward touched my shoulder, which meant I’d probably made some involuntary movement toward him. Edward leaned over and whispered, “File a complaint.”
I nodded. “Do you want me to file an official complaint for sexual harassment? Is that what you want?”
“File and be damned, but you know more than you’re sharing with the humans, Blake.”
“Even if that’s true, Sheriff,” Morgan said, now actually standing between us, “this isn’t the way. We have reporters watching us.”
Shaw glanced back, then forward. “I was willing to believe the rumors weren’t true until I saw you hand in hand with one of Max’s weretigers and then kissing his son, also a weretiger. You claim that you just met him, and just met Gregory Minns, but no one, no one, makes friends that fast. You managed to convince some of my best men that you’re telling the truth. But I know”-he hit his big chest hard-“you fucked at least one of Bibiana’s guards, maybe more. I know that you’re no more human than the things that tortured that girl.” He pointed dramatically at the body.
What he’d just said was wrong, odd. “Which guard did I fuck?” I asked, watching his face.
He seemed to hear himself and shook his head. “How do I know, all cats are gray in the dark,” he said.
“How do you know I fucked anyone when I went to visit Bibiana?” I asked.
He fought to put his cop face back on, but it was shaky around the edges. “You came out holding hands with one of her tigers.”
“Crispin’s a stripper, like you said, not a guard. If you’re going to accuse me in front of the other policemen, you need more proof than just me holding hands with someone.”
“Maybe your reputation precedes you, Blake.” He made it mean, but it lacked a certain edge.
I was pretty sure I knew now why Shaw had gone from distrustful to hostile, and it wasn’t just issues with his wife. He’d heard tapes from our visit to Bibiana, which meant that someone had the apartments bugged. It had to be federal of some flavor, and they’d let Shaw hear just enough to smear my reputation to hell.
I tried to hear what it might have sounded like if all you had was the sound with Domino and Crispin and the rest. Would it sound like sex? Maybe. It would if that’s the interpretation you wanted to put on it. You often find what you’re looking for if that’s all you look for; expectation becomes truth.
Bernardo had come up behind us all when it looked like it was going to get interesting. He’d heard, so he got to say, “What flavor of Fed are you friends with, Shaw?”
Morgan and Thurgood had moved back from him, as if he were suddenly contagious, and maybe he was. Some Fed had let him listen in to an ongoing investigation, and he’d just spilled the fact that they had successfully bugged Max’s home to people that Shaw thought had fucked their people and were maybe more on their side than the cops.
“Shaw,” Morgan said.
Thurgood just stood there, hands at her sides, not quite looking at him, as if that would make it better. If you don’t see it, then it didn’t happen, maybe.