Blood Lines

$12.73 in assorted change, and a half-eaten bag of cheese balls. Now I ask you, what kind of weirdo carries all that in her purse?"
    It took Dave a moment to find his voice. "No ID?" he managed at last.
    'Not a thing. Not so much as a Visa statement. Probably pitched it just before she got picked up. They do sometimes, but you know that."
    'Yeah." They did sometimes. He didn't think they had this time. "Who do they say belongs to all this?"
    'They don't. But I can find out for you." She started down the hall. "Come on, there's a terminal in here we can use."
    He followed blindly. He knew exactly what kind of weirdo carried all that in her purse.
    'Dave? Detective-Sergeant Graham? Are you listening to me?"
    'Yeah. Sorry." Except he wasn't. He couldn't hear anything over Celluci's voice saying, " Then they've already got her ."
    'Fitzroy? Celluci. I'm assuming that if you'd managed to find Vicki last night you'd have changed your message to let me know." And if you found her and didn't change the message , the tone continued, I'm going to rip your head off .
    "Stay put tonight. At least until I call. I'm going to try to get into her apartment and have a look around-no one disappears without leaving some kind of evidence-but after that we need to talk. We're going to have to work together to find her." The last statement landed like a thrown gauntlet even through the tiny speaker of the answering machine.
    In spite of everything, Henry smiled. You need my help, mortal man. Time you admitted it .
    'Hi, Henry, it's Brenda. Just a reminder that we need Love's Labor Lashed , or whatever you've decided to name it, by the fifteenth. We've got Aliston signed to do the cover on this one and he promises no purple eye shadow. Call me."
    'Celluci? Dave Graham. It's quarter after four, Tuesday, November third…"
    It was now six twelve, eight minutes after sunset.
    '… Call me the instant you get this message; I'll be home all evening." His voice grew strained, as though he couldn't really believe what he was saying. "I think I've found her. It isn't good."
    Henry's fingers closed around the chair back and with a loud crack the carved oak splintered into a half dozen pieces.
    He stared down at the wreckage without really seeing it. This man on the phone, this David Graham, knew where Vicki was. If he wanted the information, he would have to take the message to Michael Celluci.
    The police in the unmarked car were easy to avoid. They appeared to have little interest in the job they were doing and paid the shifting shadows just back of the sidewalk no attention at all. As for getting into the apartment itself, well, he had a key. The door opened quietly before him and closed as quietly behind. He stood silently in the entryway and listened to the life that moved about at the end of the hall. The heartbeat pounded faster than it should and the breath was short and almost labored. The blood scent dominated, but fear and anger and fatigue layered over it in equal proportions.
    He walked forward and paused at the edge of the living room. Although it was very dark, he could see the kneeling man clearly.
    'I have a message for you," he said, and took a perverse pleasure in the sudden jump of the heartbeat.
    'Jesus H. Christ," Celluci hissed, surging to his feet and glaring down at Henry. "Don't do that! You weren't there a second ago! And besides, I thought I told you…"
    Henry merely looked up at him.
    Celluci pushed the curl of hair back off his forehead with a trembling hand. "All right, you have a message." His eyes widened. "Is it from Vicki?"
    'Are you ready to hear it?"
    'God damn you!" Celluci grabbed the lapels of Henry's leather trench coat and tried to drag him off his feet. He couldn't budge the smaller man although that took a moment to sink in. "Damn you!" he swore again, anchoring his grip more firmly in the leather. "If it's from Vicki, tell me!"
    The pain in the detective's voice got through where anger alone wouldn't have and shame followed close behind. What am I doing ? Almost gently, Henry pulled Celluci's hands off his coat. She won't love me more for hurting you . "The message was from Dave Graham. He wants you to call him at home. He says he thinks he's found her."
    One breath, two, three; Celluci groped blindly for the phone, the darkness no longer a protection but an enemy to be fought. Henry reached out and guided his hands, then moved quickly to the extension in the bedroom as he dialed.
    'Dave? Where is