Sweet Last Drop Page 2
“You don’t know whether or not she had a boyfriend,” I pushed.
He sighed. “I don’t know. Her father never mentioned her having one.”
“Does she have a best friend? Or is she particularly close to one of her sisters?”
“You’re not letting this go, are you? You’re gonna poke at wounds and make them fester over what is clearly an animal attack.”
“You brought me here knowing my propensity for questions. I’m just doing my job.”
Walker crossed his arms. “And what’s that?”
“To face the facts and find the truth.”
“This was an animal attack,” Walker repeated, but he sounded exhausted.
“Yes, and I’m sure she sincerely loved taking walks at dusk,” I said, trying to pump sincerity into my voice. “But I’m also sure that’s not the whole truth. She told someone the real reason for taking nightly sunset strolls, and that’s the person I need to interview.”
The crunch of gravel groaned from around the bend in the road. Walker shifted his gaze and waved to the approaching van behind me.
“You can’t just knock on strangers’ doors and start asking questions like you do in the city. They don’t know you here. They’ll clam up.”
I stared at him for a long moment. “But they know you. Since it’s a case you’ll be working on, maybe you can help me interview witnesses while I’m in town.”
Walker shook his head slowly, but when he met my gaze, a wide smile crept over his features. “You’re relentless, DiRocco.”
“Only with things that matter,” I said.
A car door slammed, and Walker stepped forward to greet the person behind me. As Walker passed he leaned down, and the heady spice of his cologne made me want to lean in.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he whispered.
* * * *
Walker greeted Berry with a back-pounding, handshake-hug. When he stepped back to introduce me, I shook Berry’s hand, looked up to meet his gaze, and kept looking up. Berry was a ruddy, solid man whose family life and career choice had replaced what had probably been a promising future in professional basketball. Most people towered over me, but Berry was exceptionally tall, made only taller-looking by his string bean-like appendages. By his slight hunch, I’d wager he was just as aware of his height as I was of mine. He was kind and quiet as he handled Lydia’s remains, but despite Walker’s claim that animal attacks were a common occurrence upstate, Berry had obviously not grown accustomed to witnessing such carnage.
Lydia had been lovely, with wide doll eyes and wavy, light brown hair. Her face and upper chest were relatively intact; I could still see past the few lacerations across her cheeks and shoulders to the person she’d been before the attack. The rest of her, however, hadn’t fared as well.
From her upper chest down, Lydia’s remains were scattered in ragged parts, detached organs, and indecipherable pieces. Long shreds of tissue still connected her left arm to her shoulder, but Berry found the marker for her right arm further into the woods. Her abdomen had been raked by claws, spilling her intestines. They stretched in a long, tangled pile next to the unnatural angle of her left leg. The jagged break of her shin tore through the skin just under her knee. Nothing remained of her right leg except shreds of muscle and tendon. If a scrap of skin had survived, I couldn’t see it beneath all the blood.
The sight made Jillian stir inside my mind. I could feel her struggle on the opposite end of the mental twine connecting us; she hadn’t fed in weeks, not since I’d entranced her to save Dominic from her betrayal. She and her partner, Kaden, were supposed to have been executed for their crimes against the coven, for their crimes against me, but despite Dominic’s assurances that their sentences had been carried out, I could still feel her.
One last, frayed thread still connected our minds, and she wouldn’t let go.
The sweltering burns over Jillian’s body singed mine, as if we were imprisoned inside an oven, roasting in its confinement. I could feel her rage, as searing as the surrounding heat, as she envisioned and reveled in the thought of Dominic’s slow and gruesome death.
Examining Lydia’s remains was disturbing on many levels, with or without or without Jillian stirring my thoughts, but worse than the brutality of Lydia’s injuries was my reaction to them. Gazing at her blood made my throat convulse in a dry, scratchy swallow. My skin itched from the inside, like I’d resisted a hit and needed a fix, except instead of narcotics, I’d found a gruesome crime scene. God help me, there shouldn’t have been anything here to resist.
I glanced at Walker and Berry to see if they’d noticed my distraction. With Lydia center stage, no one was looking at me.
Berry placed two fingers on her neck, but it was a perfunctory measure. Lydia didn’t have a pulse. We could see through the right side of her neck and the shredded tissue of her esophagus to the glistening stacks of her spinal column. Her blood was not pumping. Berry glanced at his watch briefly and stood.
“Time of death, 2000 hours.”
Walker let a moment pass before he spoke. “How would you like to start?”
Berry cleared his throat. “I have a container as well as the body bag. Let’s get as much of her as possible on the gurney and go from there.”
Although some of Lydia was still whole and recognizable, not much of her parts were still attached by sturdy tissue. Walker and Berry lifted her upper body, left arm, torso, and left leg into the body bag in one smooth motion, but mid-move, half of her palm and three fingers fell to the ground. Walker picked up the fallen appendage and placed it gently in the container with her other severed body parts, but watching a piece of her physically detach from the whole was somehow worse. Berry couldn’t stomach it. He left for a five-minute break, which Walker and I both encouraged him to take, but honestly, I just wanted to finish as quickly as possible and get the hell out of the woods.
If Berry had been a cop, his squeamishness would have been poked and prodded at by his fellow officers until they had either razzed it out of him or he found a new occupation—I’d witnessed Harroway’s interaction with some of his new partners and experienced it several times myself from covering cases with him and Greta. Luckily for Berry, he wasn’t a police officer, and Walker and I would give him all the time and support he needed. Unfortunately for Walker’s animal attack theory, people don’t lose their cookies over scenes they witness regularly. Animal attacks might be more common here than in the city, but something was obviously different about Lydia’s attack, something which—despite Walker’s misgivings—I intended to find out.
Forty-five minutes later, Lydia was safely transported into the back of Berry’s van. Berry turned to shut the back doors, and I could see the dread in his expression at the thought of having to reopen them at the morgue. Walker was scanning the ground for anything we may have missed, so before I lost the opportunity for a one-on-one with Berry, I sidled up to the van and slammed one of the doors shut for him.
“Thank you, ma’am. I’m much obliged,” Berry said in the same slow, warm drawl as Walker. He slammed the other door shut, so it latched into mine.
“You’re welcome. Walker’s a good friend, and I’m happy to help.”
Berry adjusted his John Deere baseball hat. “I heard the two of you survived a dangerous case in the city. Something about a gang war?”
It had actually been Jillian leading the vampire uprising, but until I figured out how to reveal the existence of vampires without subjecting everyone to their mercy, I just nodded. “Something like that.”
“I heard he was glad to have you around then, so we are certainly glad to have you here now.”
“Thank you.” I took a deep breath. “Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”
Berry smiled. The movement creased and cracked every plane of his weathered face. “I can’t say that Walker didn’t warn me.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Did he?”
“Yes, ma�
�am, he did.”
“Whatever you say can be off the record, if you’d prefer.”
Berry’s smile widened. I hadn’t thought that his face could further wrinkle, but it did. I couldn’t help but smile back. “Ask your questions, Miss DiRocco,” he encouraged.
“Just ‘DiRocco’ is fine.”
He nodded.
“How long have you been a coroner?”
“Goin’ on twelve years now. My daddy was the coroner and his daddy was the coroner before him. I grew up in the business and wouldn’t have it any other way. People in this town often fill in their parents’ shoes, and I wasn’t much of an exception, I suppose. And proud of it.”
I nodded. “It sounds like you enjoy your work.”
“In general, yes. There’s a lot of great folks in town, and helpin’ their loved ones pass, helpin’ them grieve, has been more than a business. It’s my life’s work.”
I shared his smile and then deliberately made my face somber, knowing that he wouldn’t appreciate my next line of questions. “In all your twelve years of experience, how many animal attack victims do you suppose you’ve had to pronounce dead?”
Berry’s smile wilted. “Little more than a dozen, likely.”
“Just over one per year then?”
“I’d have to check our records to be certain, but I’d say that sounds about right.”
“Do animal attack victims usually sustain such severe injuries, or would you consider Lydia’s injuries exceptionally severe?”
Berry crossed his arms. “Now, Miss DiRocco—”
“DiRocco is just fine.”
He shook his head. “If Walker thinks Lydia was attacked by an animal, than she was attacked by an animal.”
I opened my mouth, but Berry held up his hand.
“To you that may sound presuming, but to me, it’s a testament to Walker’s abilities and fine work ethic. I know without a doubt that Walker will research the tracks, determine the animal, and find it. If he determines the tracks are not animal, he’ll tell us that, too.”
I nodded. “I understand. I feel the same assurance about Walker’s work ethic from my brief time working our case in the city, and you’ve been working together for years.”
Berry nodded with me.
“I’m not asking you to question Walker’s professional opinion. I’m asking you to give me yours. In your twelve years of experience as coroner of Erin, New York, do Lydia’s injuries resemble the dozen or so other animal attack victims you’ve pronounced dead and their injuries?”
Berry sighed. “No, they don’t.”
“What’s different about Lydia?”
“Her injuries are far more severe. Typically, an animal feels threatened, is protecting her young, or has rabies. In any of those circumstances, the victim may sustain a life-threatening injury, such as blow to the head. Once the victim is unconscious, the threat is neutralized, and the animal goes on its way. Signs of a struggle are sometimes visible and can be substantial, like cuts, bruises, and bites. But Lydia—” Berry’s voice caught. He shook his head.
I touched his shoulder softly. “I know.”
He cleared his throat. “She was torn apart.”
“I’m sorry. I—” I opened my mouth to find a delicate way to ask my next question, but Berry met my gaze. His eyes were red and shone from his welling tears. I reminded myself that these weren’t my people. My acquaintance with Walker might encourage their friendliness initially, but if I made grown, weathered men cry after every interview, no one would want to talk to me, about the investigation or otherwise. My next question wasn’t an end-all anyway, so I swallowed it. “I’m very sorry. It’s especially hard when they’re so young.”
Berry nodded.
Walker returned empty-handed from scanning the scene. I bid Berry a final thank you for his time, and Berry pounded Walker’s back in that same rough handshake-hug they’d greeted one another. One look at Berry’s watery, flushed expression, however, was enough for Walker. He narrowed his eyes on me over Berry’s shoulder. I blinked back, exuding unperturbed innocence the best I could considering the circumstances, but the moment we were tucked in the privacy of his Chevy pickup, Walker exploded.
“What the fuck was that?”
I matched his glare with an admonishing look of my own. “You said I could interview the coroner, did you not?”
Walker opened his mouth.
“When you brought me here you knew full well I’d ask questions,” I said before he could answer. “Apparently, you even warned people. I’m good at what I do because people connect with me. I become a person to talk to, a person to confide in, but if you warn people that I’m a reporter, it only makes me one thing: a reporter. And people don’t open up to reporters.”
“I warned them for good reason! Berry was crying, for heaven’s sake!”
“My questions didn’t make him cry, Walker.”
“I saw him! He—”
“But it wasn’t my questions.”
He ran his hand roughly over his face. “I know.”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Walker raised an eyebrow.
I smiled. “Not about my questions. I’m sorry about Lydia.”
He nodded. “Me too.”
Walker started the ignition and followed Berry’s van through the narrow gravel road out of the woods. Outstretched branches slapped the windshield and scraped against the side doors as we dipped and popped in and out of man-sized potholes. I winced in sympathy for his tires. The road could hardly be considered a road, even for Erin, and I remembered from Walker’s brief tour of the town this morning that it led somewhere specific.
“What’s at the end of this drive?”
Walker’s jaw tightened.
“If we drove deeper into the woods would we—”
“You can’t let it go, can you?”
I blinked. “I’m just making conversation.”
Berry pulled out onto the paved road, and his arm lifted from the window frame in a backhanded wave. Walker waved back, turning right out of the woods.
He sighed. “The trail leads to Gretel’s Tavern. It’s not technically a road. It’s his driveway.”
“His?”
“Buck McFerson.”
I opened my mouth to push my luck with another question, but a shadow moved on the edge of the tree line up ahead.
We still had a few hours of daylight. The sun’s rays streamed across the expanse of the road and dappled in glowing spots over the median and into the woods, but on the inner edge of the woods, where the tree line darkened from its leafy canopy and sunlight couldn’t quite reach a shadow within the shadows, two glowing orbs blinked through the leaves.
“Walker, there’s—”
“Don’t start,” he snapped. “I’d like to escape from work sometime during the day, and preferably with you, but if you can’t separate church from state, then—”
I squeezed my nails into his bicep. “There’s a vampire up ahead.”
Chapter 2
Walker’s muscle flexed under my hand. He stared ahead for a moment, and I knew the moment he caught sight of its reflective eyes. Walker’s hand tightened in a trembling vise around the steering wheel. “We can’t catch a fucking break.”
“The sun hasn’t set. How is it out?”
“She keeps to the shadows.” Walker took his foot off the gas and sighed. “Daylight doesn’t impede her or her abilities anymore as long as she avoids direct sunlight.”
I glared at Walker’s speedometer. “Why are we slowing down? Do you know her?”
“Of course I know her.” His grip on the steering wheel creaked. “There’s an old train overpass up ahead.”
“Walker, I don’t think stopping is the best—”
“Bex can’t withstand direct sunlight without bursting into flames, but she’ll make short work of us if we cross into the shadows under the overpass.”
“So speed up! What could she possibly accomplish in the few seconds we’re under the overpass?”
His jaw clenched. “This truck is fairly new. I don’t want her denting its grill again.”
I blinked. “She’s done this before?”
“If we don’t stop on our own, she’ll make us stop.”
I shook my head, both aggravated and impressed. As per my usual experience in dealing with vampires, Bex left us with very few choices, all of which ended in her favor. “She chose this position to deliberately block us, knowing you would stop.”
“Or hoping I wouldn’t.” Walker flipped up the center console. “Take your pick.”
I peered into the console’s depths and shook my head in appreciation of its contents. “You’re certainly prepared,” I said, hefting a familiar item in my palm. It looked like a pen, but when I clicked the top mechanism, a wooden stake sprang from its tip.
“Always.”
“This one’s new,” I commented, picking up a men’s Invicta skeleton wristwatch. It seemed like a simple watch, but nothing in Walker’s arsenal of weapons was ever what it seemed.
He grinned. “One of my newest, actually. The hands detach from the watch on a pressurized spring and fire from the twelve like little spears.” He pointed to the tip of one of the watch hands. “The arrowhead design of the watch hands anchor the shot in place, or at least, I’m hoping it will. Once shot, the spear should be impossible to remove without creating more damage.”
“Let me guess… silver?”
“It’s effective. Why deviate from what works?”
“Very true.” I placed the watch back into its holder in the console. “I think I’ll just stick with my silver nitrate,” I said, reaching into my jacket to pull out the spray I always carried with me, but my fingers slipped through a hole in my right pocket. “Shit.”
Walker raised his eyebrows.
“I had spray with me this morning.” I abandoned my pocket and tightened my hand around the pen-stake. “Maybe I should hang on to this after all.”