“Been spraying ‘em?”
“Yes.”
“Seeing any apparitions? Blond girl’s faces?”
“Not in two days.” It was true, and no waywas Liddy going to mention seeing the word Help hours earlier in thesteamy shower stall. The something strong in her was kicking harder, straining topull her back up.
Paul’s arm went to the end table besidehim. Under the Victorian glass lamp he found the DVD of Charlie Bass’s VampireIsland.
“What’s this?”
“Bought it for a lark.” She wanted to soundconfident; saw again her exchange with the friendly young assistant at Pete’sOld Books, and the memory cheered her. “See? No fear here of things that gobump in the night.” Paul looked worriedly at her, so she added, figuring anykind of talk helped ease further tension, “In the store they said themovie’s sweet, actually - and sad. Charlie played a guy who didn’t want to be avampire, but he was surrounded, threatened. Showed his talent in his struggleagainst onrushing tragedy.”
The change of subject seemed to work alittle. If all else failed, even a lousy cable show was better than thissilence.
“Let’s see.” Paul rose slowly, stiffly, wentto the flat screen, pushed in the DVD and started it.
Liddy turned off the lamp and they watched.A glowing distance shot of some desert island came into view as music swelled; thenthere was Charlie, lying wet on a beach like a castaway just washed to shore. Creditsrolled. A stranger approached, friendly and concerned-looking – kinda likeBen Allen, Liddy caught herself thinking and squashed it, her heart hurtingfrom negativity.
“I googled the movie,” she said, trying tokeep up her lame patter. “Charlie lost thirty pounds filming it.”
Paul shifted and said nothing, his face stilltight in the dimness.
Charlie was hungry? asked the stranger onthe beach. Come meet our hostages. Hostages? Ten minutes in Charlie found outwhat that meant and was horrified. Fifteen minutes in someone jumped him, andin a scene of horrible, bloody struggle sank his fangs into Charlie’s neck. Hewas now a vampire too - but a good vampire, protesting, begging. He escaped andtried to hide but they were everywhere and he was starving, worse and worse, hisface going skull-like with dark, sickly shadows under his eyes, literallywasting away on the screen. He begged and pleaded…
…and Paul got up. “It’s stupid,” he said, goingto the window.
Liddy exhaled in defeat. Nice try. He wasstill seriously upset and - face it, she thought; we both are.
Now what?
She switched off the movie, couldn’t standthe silence, turned on the TV. The news was on. Excited coverage of a dark,floodlit street blazing with police and emergency vehicles, the voiceoverdescribing the stunning capture of terrifying serial rapist and killer, RayGruner. Then came a close up, and Liddy caught her breath at the familiar face andswinging blond ponytail helping get Gruner into a police car. The cameratightened its focus on the alert, pretty face as the voiceover said, “…DetectiveKerri Blasco, instrumental in building the months-long case against Gruner,also in the news as the only police officer still investigating the case ofmissing coed, Sasha Perry.”
Paul turned from staring out the window. “Blasco,”he said dismally. “Your friend?”
Liddy blinked at the screen, feeling a pingof joy as she remembered Kerri smiling, listening kindly that night in thepolice station; remembered too their conversation when she’d called to identifySasha’s ear stud. She’d been upset and crying. Kerri had been comforting, hadtaken time, reassured her.
Call if anything, she said.
Right now this second, Liddy wanted to runinto the studio or the bathroom, lock the door and call her, tell her about seeingSasha just three hours ago. Her heart started pounding…she was bursting to call…andthen she stopped, remembering that no one else seemed to have seen Sasha;remembering too the damned front door she could have sworn she’d locked…and hadn’tbecause there it was again, before her eyes popping open at just a touch, creakingfurther open into darkness…
Self doubt tore at her. Push to remembermore, she decided, some further detail - maybe even sleep on it, let the wineand Nicki’s martini finish wearing off. They were crazy busy now anyway, thecops. Calling could wait…
The news had switched to a pet foodcommercial.
Liddy switched off the TV, turned the smalllamp back on, and went to Paul.
33
Jubilation! The placesounded like the roof was going to blow off, with voices pitched high and glassesclinking and odd bursts of laughter penetrating the general commotion. Theywere at Haley’s Bar, on West 45th, with more cops and reportersstill running in, the reporters squeezing through with their cameras and askinghow did it feel, this great success?
Bleeping bleeping great, they got withgrins over and over – okay, edits required - but the pictures would still look fantasticon the morning news after they re-ran the blazing night scene of Gruner’scapture. Reporters looked around for more celebrants to interview. A lot ofthem were still watching the overhead TVs, but they’d seen it before, cable wasrunning the capture non-stop, and they went back to their cheers and huggingand back-slapping. Oh, this was fun.
Pushing her way to the bar, Kerri waved tovarious members of her team. Pints were raised to her. Alex slid his beer toher and she raised his glass back. A female reporter reached her, thrust outher mike and asked excitedly how she felt. Kerri’s flushed face turnedthoughtful.
“We’re all relieved, naturally,” she said,giving Alex back his pint. He turned from the reporter to talk to Buck Dillonand Jo Babiak. “My team,” Kerri intoned, “and over fifty members of the policeforce worked hard.” She hesitated. “We’d like to think the city is now a saferplace, and it is but there’s always more. There are so many crimes.”
“Speaking of which,” the reporter pressed -she was caked with makeup and loud – “You are the last officer to devote yourpersonal time to the Sasha Perry case. Have you made any progress there?”
“’Fraid I can’t comment, thank you,” Kerrysaid, politely dismissing, turning back to Alex and the others. A few minutesof glad, weary exchange passed between them, then Jo Babiak glanced out to thecrowd and said, “Hey, Hank’s here.”
Happy Henry Kubic, the bespectacled FBIpsychiatrist who’d done a profile for them on Gruner and
