I unclipped my badge ID. He looked at it and shook his head. "You're not a detective."
"No, I'm not." I was mentally cursing Dolph. I'd known it wouldn't work.
"How about him?" He jerked his chin at Larry.
"All I have on me is a driver's license," Larry said.
"Who are you?" the sheriff asked.
"I am Anita Blake. I am part of the Spook Squad. I just don't happen to have a badge. Larry is a trainee." I fished my new vampire executioner's license out of my jacket pocket. It looked like a glorified driver's license, but it was the best I had.
He peered at the license. "You're a vampire hunter? It's a little early for you to be called in. I don't know who did it yet."
"I'm attached to Sergeant Storr's squad. I come in at the start of a case instead of the end. It tends to keep the body count down that way."
He handed back the license. "I didn't think Brewster's law had gone into effect."
Brewster was the senator whose daughter got eaten. "It hasn't. I've been working with the police for a long time."
"How long?"
"Nearly three years."
He smiled. "Longer than I've been sheriff." He nodded, almost as if he'd answered a question for himself. "Sergeant Storr said if anybody could help me solve this, it was you. If the head of RPIT has that much confidence in you, I'm not going to refuse the help. We've never had a vampire kill out here, ever."
"Vampires tend to stay near cities," I said. "They can hide their victims better that way."
"Well, no one tried to hide this one." He pushed the door open and made a little arm gesture, ushering us in.
The wallpaper was all pink roses, big old-fashioned cabbage roses. There was an honest-to-God vanity, with a raised mirror and everything, that looked like it might be an antique, but everything else was white wicker and pink lace. It looked like the room for a much younger girl.
The girl lay on the narrow bed. The bedspread matched the wallpaper. The sheets twisted up underneath her body were jellybean pink. Her head lay on the edge of the pillows, as if it had slipped to one side after she was laid on them.
The pink curtains fanned against the open window. A cool breeze crawled through the room, ruffling her thick black hair. It had been curled and styled with hair gel. There was a small red stain under her face and neck where the sheets had soaked up some blood. I was betting there was a bite mark on that side of the neck. She wore makeup not nearly as well applied as Beth St. John's, but the attempt had been made. The lipstick was badly smeared. One arm hung off into space, the hand half-cupped as if reaching for something. The nails were shiny with fresh red nail polish. Her long legs were spread-eagled on the bed. There were two fang marks high on her inner thigh--not fresh, though. Her toenails were painted to match her fingers.
She was still almost wearing the black teddy she'd started the night in. The straps had been pushed down her shoulders, exposing small, well-formed br**sts. The crotch had been ripped out, or was one of the ones that snapped open, because the bottom was pushed up nearly to her waist until the teddy was little more than a belt. With her legs spread wide, she was completely exposed.
That, more than anything, pissed me off. He could have at least covered her up, not left her like some whore. It was arrogant and cruel.
Larry was standing across the room at the other window. It was open too, spilling cool air into the room.
"Have you touched anything?"
St. John shook his head.
"Have you taken any photos?"
"No."
I took a deep breath, reminding myself that I was a guest here and had no official status. I could not afford to piss him off. "What have you done?"
"Called you, and the state cops."
I nodded. "How long ago did you find the body?"
He checked his watch. "An hour ago. How did you get here so fast?"
"I wasn't ten miles away," I said.