Bound to Shadows Page 0,8

gulp of coffee anyway as a tall brunette sauntered into the room. Her clothes looked expensive and there was a lot of gold around her neck and wrist, which set her apart from the others I'd interviewed. But just like them, she plunked down with a decided lack of elegance, shoved her long legs out in front of her, and crossed her arms.

"It's taken you long enough," she said, voice tart and not in the least bit slurred. She had to be the only non-drinker in the place. "None of us had anything to do with that beheading, so this is all just a waste of time."

"I apologize for the delay," I said, picking up my vid phone and setting it to record again. "Once you answer a few questions, you're free to go."

She grunted, but it wasn't a happy sound.

"For recording purposes, can you please tell me your name and address?"

"Is it legal for you to record without asking me first?"

"Yes."

She sniffed. "My name is Mandy Jones, and I live at 14 Lytton Street, Elwood."

Meaning I'd finally found our anonymous caller - and it had only taken me half the damn morning. "How long have you been here at the club, Mandy?"

She shrugged and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a wrist littered with bite marks. "I finished work and came straight here, so most of the night."

"And you haven't left at all?"

She shook her head. "I was about to leave when your lot locked us in."

I picked up my coffee and took a drink. It was vanilla and cinnamon rather than hazelnut, but it was still better than regular coffee. I wondered if Starke had raided his personal stash, because I couldn't imagine them serving it in the bar. It was too up-market for this sort of establishment.

Mandy didn't seem to notice the drawn-out silence. She didn't fidget, either, just continued to glare at me.

Either she was a very good actress, or she actually had nothing to hide.

"Then how did you know there was a beheaded body out in the parking lot if you never left the club?"

"Because he paid me to call."

Meaning this case wasn't as straight forward as it seemed. Why was I not surprised? "Who paid you to call?"

She shrugged again. "He was tall, blond haired, and green eyed. The eyes were contacts though."

I raised my eyebrows. "How can you be so sure?"

She waved a dismissive hand. "I'm an optometrist. I know these things."

Maybe she did. But why would this guy - whether he was the killer or someone else - have paid someone else to make the call? And if it had been the killer, why call at all? That made no sense.

"He gave me five hundred dollars to make that call," she continued. "I wasn't arguing."

Five hundred dollars seemed like overkill to me, and I wondered if it were deliberately done to attract interest. Although why would a killer want to bring attention to his crime? Unless, of course, he was one of those freaks who liked notoriety. "And did you get the cash?"

"Sure." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. "I made him pay me first."

"Did it cross your mind that you might have been taking money from a killer?"

She frowned. "Of course he wasn't the killer. There was no blood on him."

I didn't bother pointing out the obvious flaws in that logic. I mean, it wouldn't have been hard to change clothes before he came into the club. I reached out telepathically and scanned her memories. Images flitted - insubstantial wisps of faces and fangs mixed in with resonance of pleasure. She'd talked to several men over the night, and had taken enjoyment from many more. I withdrew, then asked, "Was there anything else about him that stood out? Anything odd?"

She was shaking her head even before I'd finished. "He was average. It was his eyes that made me remember him."

"Do you think you'd remember enough about him to work up an image?" Given what I'd seen in her mind, I doubted she'd remember more than what she'd already said, but it was worth a shot.

"Maybe." She wrinkled her nose. "I'm not much of an artist, though."

I smiled. "We'll send someone over to you. All you have to do is describe what you remember."

"That I can manage," she said, nodding.

"Do you know a man named Grant Haven?" I couldn't help adding.

She shook her head. "Why? Is he the one who lost his