“Shewent straight. Worked retail. Retired fifteen years ago or so. Sheled a very quiet life.”
“Andyou said she doesn’t have any family? She never married, had kids?”
“No,she didn’t. I think her will has me listed as executor. I can startmaking arrangements.”
Sherested her pen again. “Do you think she was lonely?”
“Idon’t know, Detective. She never told me.” He thought she probably was,at least some of the time.
“Well,I’ll dig up what I can in the police records, but I’m not sure we evenhave anything going that far back. When was that murder trial shetestified in?”
“1947,”he said. “The man she testified against was Charles Blake. Hegot a life sentence.”
Sheshook her head. “That still blows my mind. And I suppose you’ll tell meyou remember it like it was yesterday?”
Rickshook his head. “No. Even I know that was a long time ago.”
Infact, he had to think a moment to remember what the Helen of that timehad looked like—young, frivolous, hair in curls, dresses hugging herframe. When he thought of Helen, he saw the old woman she had become.He didn’t even have any strong feelings about the change—it was justwhat happened. His mortal friends grew old and died. He preferred thatto when they died young.
Manyof his kind didn’t bother, but Rick still liked being in the world,moving as part of it. Meeting people like Helen. Even if it meantsaying goodbye more often.
Hardin’sgaze turned thoughtful. “If I were immortal, I’d go see the world. I’dfinally learn French.”
Rickchuckled; he’d never learned French. “And yet vampires tend to stay inone place. Watch the world change around them.”
“Soyou’ve been here for five hundred years?”
“Nothere in Denver, but here in the west? Yes. And I’ve seen some amazingthings.”
“Alot of murders?” she asked.
“Afew,” he said.
Sheconsidered him a long time, pondering more questions, no doubt. In theend, she just shook her head. “I’ll call you if I need any moreinformation.”
“Ofcourse you will.”
Shesmirked at that.
Thepolice were in the process of sealing the house as a crime scene.Yellow evidence tags were going up, marking spots in the kitchen—theteacup, the table, spots on the floor, the counter. Yellow tape,fluttering in a light breeze, decorated the front porch. Time for Rickto leave, then. Now and forever. He paused for a last look around theliving room. Then he was done.
Hedrove, at first aimlessly, just wanting to think. Then he headed towardthe old neighborhoods, the bar on Colfax and the garage on Champa. Theshadows of the way they’d been were visible—the outline of a façade,painted over a dozen times in the succeeding years. Half a century’sworth of skyscrapers, office complexes, and high-end lofts had risenand fallen around them. The streets had widened, the pavement hadimproved, the signs had changed. The cars had changed, the clothingpeople wore had changed, though at this hour he only saw a few youngmen smoking cigarettes outside a club. None of them wore hats.
IfCharles Blake was even alive, he’d still be in prison. Did he haverelatives? An accomplice he’d hatched a plan of revenge with? Rickcould call the Department of Corrections, talk them into releasing anyinformation about Blake. Just to tie off that loose end and finishHelen’s story in his own mind.
Orhe could let Detective Hardin do her job. Hardin was right, and Helen’ssixty-year-old criminal life probably had nothing to do with her death.It might have been an accidental shooting. Some gang misfiring on adrive-by. Anything was possible, absolutely anything. Hardin didn’tneed his help to find out what.
Timeto let Helen go.
Hebrought her to Arturo’s.
Arturowas the Master vampire of Denver, which meant he made therules, and any vampire who wanted to live in his territory had to liveby those rules. And Rick did, mostly. What he didn’t agree to wasliving under Arturo’s roof as one of his dozen or so minions. Instead,Rick kept to himself, lived how he wanted, didn’t draw attention, anddidn’t challenge Arturo’s authority outright, so Arturo let him havehis autonomy. A lot of the other vampires thought Rick waseccentric—even for a vampire—and he was all right with that. In themeantime, Arturo’s was the one place in the city Blake would never findHelen.
Arturoowned the squat brick building east of downtown. The ground floorhoused a furniture dealer who did sporadic business, but his real workwas deflecting attention from the basement. Underground, away fromwindows and sunlight, the city’s vampires lived and ran their littleempire.
Hewalked Helen the dozen blocks from Murray’s bar to the furniturestore, his arm protectively across her shoulder. She huddled againsthis body, glancing outward fearfully. Blake would never find them, notthe way he moved, casting shadows, pulling her into his influence. Butshe didn’t know that.
Inthe back of the furniture shop, a concrete staircase led down, belowthe street level, to a nondescript door. Rick knocked.
“Blakewon’t find you here,” he said.
“Itrust you,” she said. She was still looking up the stairs, as if sheexpected Blake to appear, gun in hand.
Whathe really ought to do was put her on a train back to whatever townshe came from. Tell her to find a good husband and settle down.Instead, he was bringing her here, and she trusted him.
Thedoor opened, and Rick faced the current gatekeeper, a young woman in astraight silk dress ten years out of date—not that she would notice.Estelle hadn’t been above ground during most of that time.
Helenstared. To her, Estelle would look like a girl dressing up in hermother’s cast-off clothes, the skirt too long and the neckline too high.
“Hello,Estelle. I just need a room for a couple of nights.”
“IsArturo expecting you?” she said, looking Helen up and down, probablydrawing conclusions.
“No.But I don’t think he’ll mind. Do you?”
Pouting,she opened the door andlet them in.
Thehallway within was carpeted and dimly lit with a pair of shaded bulbs.
“Ishe in his usual spot?” Rick asked over his shoulder.
“Sure.He’s evenin a good mood.”
Helenlooked to him for an explanation. He just guided her on, through thedoorway at the end of the corridor and into a wide room.
Theplace hadthe atmosphere of a turn-of-the-century lounge, close and warm, densewith subdued colors and rich fabrics, Persian rugs and velvet wallhangings. One of Arturo’s dozen minions, Angelo,
