Blood Price

through, ripped away. That was what had been missing; the incongruity that had been nagging at her for over a week now. Where was the front of Ian Reddick's throat?

    ". . . so will you?"

    Vicki slowly surfaced from memory. "Let me get this straight. You want me to find Ian's killer, working under the assumption that it really is a vampire? Bats, coffins, the whole bit."

    "Yes."

    "And once I've found it, I drive a stake through its heart?"

    "Creatures of the night can hardly be brought to trial," Coreen pointed out reasonably but with a martial light in her eye. "Ian must be avenged."

    Don't get sad, get even. It was a classic solution to grief and one Vicki didn't altogether disapprove of. "Why me?" she asked.

    Coreen sat up straighter. "You were the only female private investigator in the yellow pages."

    That, at least, made sense and explained the eerie coincidence of Coreen showing up in the office of the woman who'd found Ian's body. "Out of all the gin joints in all the. . . ." She couldn't remember the rest of the quote but she was beginning to understand how Bogart had felt.
    "It wouldn't be cheap." What am I cautioning her for? I am not going vampire hunting.

    "I can afford the best. Daddy pays me a phenomenal amount of guilt money. He ran off with his executive assistant when I was in junior high."

    Vicki shook her head. "Mine ran off with his secretary when I was in sixth grade and I never got a cent out of him. Times change. Was she young and pretty?"

    "He," Coreen corrected. "And yes, very pretty. They've opened a new law practice in the Bahamas."

    "As I said, times change." Vicki pushed her glasses up her nose and sighed. Vampire hunting. Except it wouldn't have to be that. Just find whoever, or whatever, killed Ian Reddick.
    Exactly what she'd be doing if she were still on the force. Lord knew they were under-manned and could use the help.

    Coreen, who had kept her gaze locked on the older woman's face, smiled triumphantly and dug for her checkbook.

    * * *

    "Michael Celluci, please."

    "One moment."

    Vicki tapped her nails against the side of the phone as she waited for the call to be put through. Ian Reddick's throat had been missing and Celluci, the arrogant shit, hadn't thought to mention whether it had been found or if the other bodies were in the same condition. She didn't really care at this point if he wasn't speaking to her 'cause she was bloody well going to speak to him.

    "Criminal Investigation Bureau, Detective-Sergeant Graham."

    "Dave? It's Vicki Nelson. I need to talk to Celluci."

    "He's not here right now, Vicki. Can I help?"

    From her brief experience with him, Vicki knew Dave to be, if possible, a worse liar than she was. And if he couldn't lie convincingly for important things he certainly couldn't do it just to protect his partner's ass. Trust Celluci to get out before the heat came down. "I need a favor."

    "Shoot."

    The wording became crucial here. It had to sound like she knew more than she did or Dave might clam up and retreat to the official party line. Although, with luck, the acquired habit of answering her questions could last around the department for years. "The hunk of throat missing from the first body, did anyone ever find it?"

    "Nope."

    So far so good. "What about the others?"

    "Not a sign."

    "Not even last night's?"

    "Not yet anyway. Why?"

    "Just sitting here wondering. Thanks, Dave. Tell your partner from me that he's a tight-lipped horse's ass." She hung up and stared at the far wall. Maybe Celluci had been holding the information back to ensure he had bargaining power in the future. Maybe. Maybe he quite honestly forgot to tell her. Ha! Maybe pigs would fly, but she doubted it.

    Right now, she had more important things to consider. Like what kind of creature walked off with six square inches of throat as well as twelve pints of blood?

    The subway roared out of Eglinton West toward Lawrence and, with the station momentarily deserted, Vicki strode purposefully for the workman's access at the southern end of the northbound platform. This was now her case and she couldn't stand working with secondhand information. She'd see the alcove where the killer allegedly disappeared for herself.

    At the top of the short flight of concrete stairs, she paused, her blood pounding unnaturally loudly in her ears. She had always considered herself immune to foolish superstitions, race memories, and night terrors, but faced with the tunnel, stretching dark