Blood Trail

because Carl Biehn walked in on whatever it was his nephew was doing to Peter. During the fight, Mark Williams stepped in one of his own grisly little bits of ironmongery. Out of grief, or guilt, or God knows what, Carl Biehn shot himself. Unfortunately, at some point during the fight, the can of kerosene got knocked over."
    The light slid across the body. It was evident that Mark Williams had died in great pain, the mark of Henry's fingers still apparent on his neck. Vicki couldn't find it in her to be sorry. The only thing she'd felt for Mark Williams in life had been contempt and his death hadn't changed that. As soon feel sorry for squashing a cockroach, she thought, setting the can down beside the corpse and tipping it over.

    "What about Carl Biehn?"

    "Leave him alone. Let him lie where he chose." She walked back along the light to the table and picked up the lantern. The dancing flame made patterns against the darkness that continued to dance in her vision after she looked away. "Also unfortunately, at some time during the fight, the lantern shattered."

    The force with which the lantern hit the floor eloquently expressed the emotions that lurked behind her matter-of-fact tones.

    The kerosene in the shattered reservoir caught first, and then the path Vicki had poured.
    "Take a good look, Mike, Stuart. This what you saw when you arrived." She took a deep breath and peeled off the gloves, shoving them down into the depths of her bag. "Plus Peter's body, lying naked on the table. The two of you rushed in, grabbed Peter, and got out. The flames were then too high for you to go back. Now, I suggest we get out of here, as this barn is ancient, tinder dry, and likely to go up in very little time."

    With a hungry woosh, Mark Williams' clothes caught, the burning kerosene outlining his body in flame.

    She paused at the door, her hand dropping from Celluci's guiding arm, and looked back. A splash of orange had to be fire climbing the surface of the north wall. They couldn't stop it now, even if they wanted to. She wondered for an instant just who they were, then squared her shoulders and went out to talk to Colin and Barry by their car.

    "When we arrived," she told them, "Celluci and Stuart had Peter lying out on the grass. The barn was burning. Forget everything else. You put Peter in the car, called in the fire, and headed back to town, picking Rose up on the way."

    "But what about ..." Barry didn't sound happy.

    Vicki stood quietly, waiting. She couldn't see his face but she had a good idea of what must be going through his mind.

    She heard him sigh. "There isn't any other way, is there? Not without exposing the wer and ..." She heard Henry in his pause, heard him decide not to voice his suspicions. "... other things."

    "No, there isn't any other way. And don't let anyone get a good look at your boot."

    She watched their taillights pull away, saw them speed down the highway, then turned and walked back to the three men - the vampire, the werewolf, and the cop - outlined in the flickering flames from the burning building. There would be ash and not much more remaining when the fire burned out.

    As though his turn had now come to read her mind, Celluci said dryly, "If they sift the ashes, any competent forensic team could poke a thousand holes in your story."

    "Why should they investigate? With you and me and two of the local city police on the scene, I think they'll be happy to take our word for it."

    He had to admit she was likely right. Three cops and an ex-cop with nothing to gain from lying - and covering for a family of werewolves would not likely occur to anyone - they'd wrap it up and write it off and get on to something they could solve.

    "Still, there are a lot of loose ends," Stuart said thoughtfully.

    Vicki snorted. "Police prefer loose ends. Wrap it up too neatly and they'll think you're handing them a package." The night was sultry, without a breath of wind, and the barn was now burning brightly, but Vicki hugged her arms close. They'd won, she should feel happy, relieved, something. All she felt was empty.

    "Hey." Henry wished he could see her eyes. All he could see were the flames reflected on her glasses. "You all right?"

    "Yeah. I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

    He reached out and slid her glasses up her nose. "No reason."

    She grinned, a little shakily. "You'd better get going. I don't know how long it'll take the fire trucks and the OPP to get out here."

    "Will you be back to the