Blood Price

bat?"

    "Fuck the bat! Those bastards found a witness and didn't see fit to let us know!"

    "But we were heading out to St. Dennis this morning. . . ."

    "Yeah," Celluci shrugged into his jacket and glared Dave up out of his chair, "but we're heading down to the paper first. A witness could blow this case wide open and I don't want to piss away my time if they've got a name."

    "A name of someone who sees giant bats," Dave muttered, but he scrambled into his own coat and followed his partner out into the hail. "You think it really could be a vampire?" he asked as he caught up.

    Celluci didn't even break stride. "Don't you start," he growled.

    "Who is it?"

    "It's the police, Mr. Bowan. We need to talk to you." Celluci held his badge up in line with the spy-eye and waited. After a long moment, he heard a chain being pulled free and two-no, three-locks snapped off. He stepped back beside his partner as the door slowly opened.

    The old man peered up at them through rheumy eyes. "You Detective-Sergeant Michael Celluci?"

    "Yes, but . . ." Surely the old man's eyesight hadn't been good enough to read that off his ID.

    "She said you'd probably show up this morning." He opened the door wider and moved back out of the way. "Come in, come in."

    The detectives exchanged puzzled looks as they entered the tiny apartment. While the old man relocked the door, Celluci looked around. Heavy blankets had been tacked up along one wall, over the windows and the balcony door, and every light in the place was on. There was a Bible on the coffee table and a water glass beside it that smelled of Scotch. Whatever the old man had seen, it had caused him to put up the barricades and reach for reassurance.

    Dave settled himself carefully on the sagging couch. "Who said we'd be here this morning, Mr. Bowan?"

    "Young lady who just left. In fact, I'm surprised you didn't pass her in the parking lot. Nice girl, real friendly."

    "Did this nice, real friendly girl have a name?" Celluci asked through clenched teeth.

    The old man managed a wheezy laugh. "She said you'd react like that." Shaking his head, he picked a business card off his kitchen table and dropped it into Celluci's hand.

    Leaning over his partner's shoulder, Dave barely had a chance to read it before Celluci closed his fist.

    "What else did Ms. Nelson say?"

    "Oh, she seemed real concerned that I cooperate with you gentlemen. That I tell you everything I told her. Course I had no intention of doing otherwise, though I've got no idea what the police can do. More a job for an exorcist or maybe a pri. . . ."A yawn that threatened to split his face in half cut off the flow of words. "S'cuse me, but I didn't get much sleep last night. Can I get either of you a cup of tea? Pot's still hot." When both men declined, he settled himself down in a worn armchair and looked expectantly from one to the other. "You going to ask me questions or you just want me to start at the beginning and tell it in my own words?"

    "Start at the beginning and tell it in your own words. " Celluci had heard Vicki give that instruction a thousand times and had no doubt he was hearing her echo now. His anger had faded into a reluctant appreciation of her ability with a witness. Whatever mood Vicki had found him in, she'd left Mr. Bowan well primed for their visit. "Use your own words, we'll ask questions if we need to."

    "Okay." Mr. Bowan rubbed his hands together, obviously enjoying his second captive audience of the morning in spite of his fright of the night before. "It was just after midnight, I know that 'cause I turned the TV off at midnight like I always do. Well, I was on my way to bed so I turned off the lights, then I thought I might better step out on the balcony to have a look around the building, just in case. Sometimes," he confided, leaning forward, "we get kids fooling around in the bushes down there."

    While Dave nodded in understanding, Celluci hid a grin. Mr. Bowan, no doubt, spent a great deal of time out on his balcony checking out the neighborhood . . . and the neighbors. The binocular case on the floor by the armchair bore mute witness.

    Last night, he'd barely stepped outside before he knew something was wrong. "It was the smell. Like rotten eggs, only worse. Then there it was, big as life and twice as ugly and so close I could've reached out and touched it-if I was as senile as my daughter-in-law seems to think I am.
    The wings were spread out seven or eight feet." He paused for