thought Sean’s comment was unbelievable, but today had passed unbelievable hours ago. “You’re the chief of police.” Fin walked around the side of the massive gunmetal gray desk, wondering how they had ever gotten it in the building. The office must have been built around it. “Get out of that chair. Get in your police car. Drive to the coroner’s office and see what needs to be seen.” His gaze flickered to the computer monitor on the desk. Solitaire . He looked back at the thickset man in the office chair. “Uncle Sean, you have to.”
The chief rose slowly. “If I have to go, then you have to go with me. I can’t do this. I…I don’t like dead people.”
“For sweet Mary’s sake, Uncle Sean. You’re a vampire. You suck people’s blood to survive. How can you—”
“Not human blood,” he interrupted, holding up his finger as he walked from behind his desk. “I don’t do that anymore.”
“Let’s go, Uncle Sean. We’ll take your car.”
“You…you can’t drive?”
“No, Chief. I don’t have a car. I’m a foot patrolman. Not a real policeman, remember?” He held the office door open for him. “I don’t even have a gun.”
Sean halted in the doorway, looking up earnestly at his nephew. “I could get you a gun.”
“I’m not sure that would be all that wise right this minute,” Fin said cynically, under his breath. If he had a gun, the question was, who would he shoot first, his uncle or himself?
The thought was moot, of course. Neither would die, no matter how many .45 caliber bullets ripped through their flesh.
Perpetual life sucked sometimes.
“Technically,” Dr. Caldwell explained, “the young man died of exsanguination.”
They stood in a narrow hallway outside the exam room where the ME had performed Colin Meding’s autopsy. His was the first human autopsy Dr. Caldwell had done in at least a hundred years. The only bodies brought here anymore were those of sept members. With sept members in high political places, the town had been able to keep their own medical examiner, even when other small towns gave them up, and thus keep their secret. Sept members’ bodies were brought here, declared legally dead, then transported to the funeral home a block down the street. Joseph Hillbert, Clare Point’s only undertaker, had never embalmed a body in his life. It was another front to keep up appearances. He simply prepared vampires for their ritual wake and then their rebirth, which always came three days after their death.
“The blood loss due to the trauma to his neck, specifically to his carotid artery, is what killed him,” the doctor continued. Patrick, sporting a short white beard and kind eyes, was dressed in blue scrubs and looked like a TV doctor. “I’m a little rusty on my human anatomy, but I would suspect he lost consciousness before his throat was slit and he bled out in minutes.”
“He lost consciousness?” Fin asked, confused.
“Come and see the body. It’ll make sense to you then.”
Fin glanced at Sean. The police chief seemed more interested in the seascape hanging on the wall than what the doctor was telling them. “We haven’t found a weapon so far,” Fin said. “Any thoughts on what we’re looking for? I’m guessing a knife, obviously, but serrated, smooth? Big? Small?”
“I’ve got to do some reading on the Internet, but I’d have to say small-sized blade, smooth cutting edge. There was nothing unusual about the wound except that it appeared…” He hesitated. “Precise.”
Precise . Fin didn’t like the sound of the word. It conjured up other words he disliked even more. Experienced. Premeditated .
“What about the rest of the body?”
“Nothing stands out.” Dr. Caldwell moved toward the closed door to the autopsy room. “There was evidence that he engaged in some form of sexual activity close to the time of death.”
“Some form of sexual activity?” Fin questioned, not feeling as if he had time for
The chief rose slowly. “If I have to go, then you have to go with me. I can’t do this. I…I don’t like dead people.”
“For sweet Mary’s sake, Uncle Sean. You’re a vampire. You suck people’s blood to survive. How can you—”
“Not human blood,” he interrupted, holding up his finger as he walked from behind his desk. “I don’t do that anymore.”
“Let’s go, Uncle Sean. We’ll take your car.”
“You…you can’t drive?”
“No, Chief. I don’t have a car. I’m a foot patrolman. Not a real policeman, remember?” He held the office door open for him. “I don’t even have a gun.”
Sean halted in the doorway, looking up earnestly at his nephew. “I could get you a gun.”
“I’m not sure that would be all that wise right this minute,” Fin said cynically, under his breath. If he had a gun, the question was, who would he shoot first, his uncle or himself?
The thought was moot, of course. Neither would die, no matter how many .45 caliber bullets ripped through their flesh.
Perpetual life sucked sometimes.
“Technically,” Dr. Caldwell explained, “the young man died of exsanguination.”
They stood in a narrow hallway outside the exam room where the ME had performed Colin Meding’s autopsy. His was the first human autopsy Dr. Caldwell had done in at least a hundred years. The only bodies brought here anymore were those of sept members. With sept members in high political places, the town had been able to keep their own medical examiner, even when other small towns gave them up, and thus keep their secret. Sept members’ bodies were brought here, declared legally dead, then transported to the funeral home a block down the street. Joseph Hillbert, Clare Point’s only undertaker, had never embalmed a body in his life. It was another front to keep up appearances. He simply prepared vampires for their ritual wake and then their rebirth, which always came three days after their death.
“The blood loss due to the trauma to his neck, specifically to his carotid artery, is what killed him,” the doctor continued. Patrick, sporting a short white beard and kind eyes, was dressed in blue scrubs and looked like a TV doctor. “I’m a little rusty on my human anatomy, but I would suspect he lost consciousness before his throat was slit and he bled out in minutes.”
“He lost consciousness?” Fin asked, confused.
“Come and see the body. It’ll make sense to you then.”
Fin glanced at Sean. The police chief seemed more interested in the seascape hanging on the wall than what the doctor was telling them. “We haven’t found a weapon so far,” Fin said. “Any thoughts on what we’re looking for? I’m guessing a knife, obviously, but serrated, smooth? Big? Small?”
“I’ve got to do some reading on the Internet, but I’d have to say small-sized blade, smooth cutting edge. There was nothing unusual about the wound except that it appeared…” He hesitated. “Precise.”
Precise . Fin didn’t like the sound of the word. It conjured up other words he disliked even more. Experienced. Premeditated .
“What about the rest of the body?”
“Nothing stands out.” Dr. Caldwell moved toward the closed door to the autopsy room. “There was evidence that he engaged in some form of sexual activity close to the time of death.”
“Some form of sexual activity?” Fin questioned, not feeling as if he had time for
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