Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 6-10 - Laurell K. Hamilton [687]
“Special Agent Franklin, this is Ted Forrester and Anita Blake.”
He shook hands with Edward, but didn’t answer the Ted smile with one of his own. He turned serious eyes to me. His hand was enough longer than mine that shaking was a little awkward, but we managed. But it was somehow an unsatisfying handshake as if we still didn’t have the measure of each other. Some men still use a handshake as a way of sizing you up.
“How long have you been in the house, Ms. Blake?” he asked.
“Just got here,” I said.
He nodded as if it were important. “Bradford has painted a glowing picture of you.” There was something in his voice that made me say . . .
“I take it you don’t share Bradford’s opinion of me.” I smiled when I said it.
He blinked and looked startled, then his shoulders relaxed just a touch, and a very small smile played across his lips. “Let’s say I’m skeptical of civilians with no special training coming into a crime scene.”
I raised eyebrows at the “no special training.” Edward and I exchanged glances. The Ted face was slipping, letting some of his own natural cynicism leak into those blue eyes, that nearly boyish face.
“Civilians,” he said softly.
“We don’t have badges,” I said.
“That must be it,” he said, voice still soft, and vaguely amused.
Franklin frowned at us. “Are we amusing you?”
Bradford stepped between us almost literally. “Let’s let them look at the scene, then we’ll decide things.”
Franklin’s frown deepened. “I don’t like it.”
“Your objection has been noted, Franklin,” Bradford said, and there was a tone in his voice that said he’d had enough of the younger man.
Franklin must have heard it too, because he smoothed his perfect tie once more and led the way towards the dining room. Bradford followed him. Edward looked at me, asking a question with his eyes.
“I’m coming,” I said. Once I’d tried being more macho than the police. Nothing phased me. I was heap-big-vampire-slayer. But lately, I just didn’t give a crap. I didn’t want to do this anymore. It was almost a shock to realize that I really didn’t want to be here. I’d seen too many horrors in too short a space of years. I was burning out, or maybe I’d already burned out and hadn’t realized it.
Panic tightened my stomach into a hard knot. I had to get it under control. I had to separate myself from the task ahead, or I was going to lose it. I tried to take a few calming breaths, but the smell came thick on my tongue. I swallowed, wished I hadn’t, and stared at the tips of my shoes. I stared at the ends of my Nikes as they touched the fringe of the dining room rug until the knot in my gut eased, and I felt calm. There was still a soft flutter in my chest, but it was the best I could do.
Agent Franklin said, “Ms. Blake, are you all right?”
I raised my eyes and saw what lay on the table.
32
I LET OUT a low, “Wow.”
“Yes,” Bradford said, “wow is good.”
The table was pale natural pine, a pale, almost white wood. It matched the walls and the rest of the decor and made a dramatic showpiece for the thing on the table. Thing, it, no other pronouns would do. Distance, distance, mustn’t think that this was once a human being.
At first all I could see was the blood and pieces of meat. It was like a jigsaw puzzle with pieces missing. The first thing I was sure of was the neck. I could see the broken edge of the spine sticking up above the flesh of the neck. I looked around for the head, but none of the blood-covered lumps was the right size. But there was a leg nearly perfectly whole, only ripped away from the hips, but it was intact. It had not been disjointed. Once I saw that, I found a hand lying on its back, fingers cupped as if cradling something.
I bent closer, hands in my pockets because I’d forgotten my own surgical gloves back in St. Louis. How unprofessional of me. I leaned over the hand and I wasn’t smelling the stink anymore. I wasn’t thinking