Skin Trade (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter 17)

Chapter 19

THEY HAD FINISHED undressing the body when Memphis walked me back inside the room. It lay bare and very unalive. It looked like a body now, without the clothes, and the wounds like bright tears on the skin.

From across the room I could see that the groin was bloody. I couldn't tell how bad the damage was from here. I didn't really want to know how bad it was, but as usual I had to see it all. Crap.

Rose either had taken all the pictures he needed or was too shocked to take them. He stood there, with his camera forgotten in his hands. The other two techs were no better. Dale had busied himself with something at the cabinets. Patricia went to stand by Rose and turned her back.

"Anyone who needs to leave can do so," Memphis said.

Dale went for the door without a word. "They were friends," Rose said, and that was enough.

"Patricia," Memphis said, "do you need to go?"

"No, doctor, no, I'll stay. I didn't know him as well as Dale did, and there are some of the... I did know some of them better. I don't want to work on them, so I'll stay." She turned around, pale, lips thin, but a determined look on her face. She'd do.

"Rose?" Memphis asked.

"I'm okay, doctor. It's not that I knew him. I'm being all wimpy about the wound. Sorry." He nodded. "Sorry, I'll do better." He raised the camera back up and started snapping.

I walked around the body so I could see the wound closer. Not that I wanted to see it, but it was an odd wound. Of course, once I was on the other side, I could see the inside of the right thigh clearly. Someone had sliced it open from groin to almost knee. The femoral artery would have been toast. You bleed out from that in fifteen, twenty minutes tops. You can save yourself if the wound is low enough for a tourniquet and medical help is coming. But whoever sliced him up didn't want him saving himself with first aid.

Whatever he might have been once as a man, now he was just bloody, but... the genitalia were intact, or looked it. The only way to be certain was to touch them and see, and I didn't want to know that badly. I had to peer a lot closer than I wanted to, but I was right, the wounds didn't actually go across the genitalia, more around them. "When are you going to wash the blood away?"

"Yes," Memphis said, "we'll be able to see those wounds more clearly when we've finished cleaning the body, but we wanted you to see it first."

I looked up at him. "Why?"

"You're our shapeshifter expert," he said.

"You have shapeshifters in Vegas," I said.

"We do, but they wouldn't be allowed near a lycanthrope kill."

"Yeah, same at home, so you have to make do with me."

"If half your reputation is real, Marshal Blake, we aren't making do."

I looked away from his too-intense eyes. He wanted me to solve this. He wanted me to help them catch the thing that had killed their people. I wanted to help, but I hated that feeling of pressure. The sensation that if I missed the clue there was no backup. I thought about calling Edward in, but wasn't sure I could call in part of my backup without getting the rest of it back. I was done with Olaf for the day if I could manage it.

I peered as close to the wounds as I could. "It looks like the claws were driven in around the groin, deep, but straight in and out, no tearing." I stood up and gestured at the thigh wound. "Not like that."

"Was it more than one shapeshifter?" Rose asked.

It was a good question. "Could be, but I don't think so. This up close and personal, there just isn't room for two to fight. I'm not discounting it, but all these wounds are so debilitating that once it happened, there wouldn't be any need for two shapeshifters to fight this man."

"His name was Randall Sherman, Randy," Memphis said.

I shook my head. "No names in the morgue. I function because it's a body. I'm sorry that he was your friend, but I can't think of him that way and do my job."

"I thought you had to have a name to raise the dead," Patricia said.

"Yes, but none of these bodies will be able to be raised."

"Why not?" Patricia asked.

"Murder victims tend to go after their murderers, first and foremost. They maim or kill anything that gets in their way, including innocent civilians."

"Oh," she said.

I stared down at what was left of Officer Randall Sherman and cursed Memphis for giving me a name. I don't know why it can make such a difference, but suddenly I looked at him, not at a body. I noticed that he was tall and athletic, and had spent a lot of time staying in shape. He was probably on the other side of thirty, but it had been a good early thirty. All that work, to be strong, to be fast, to be the best, and some monster comes by and is stronger, faster, and better, just because of a disease in its blood. No amount of weight lifting or jogging would ever make a human being the equal of a shapeshifter. So unfair, so true.

"What kind of hair did you find on the body and clothes?"

"We found human hair, but no animal hair," Memphis said.

I looked at him.

"Yes," he said, "you can look surprised. I've seen two other shapeshifter kills, and we found a lot of animal hair at both. You can't get this close to someone and not shed on them, but this shifter cleaned the body of hair so we wouldn't know what it was."

I shook my head. "Not necessarily, doc. You can police your brass, but not the little bits and pieces of your body. I saw the crime scene. It was a hell of a fight, and there was no time to clean up like that."

"Then what did the creature do? Did he wear a suit?" He touched his own suit.

"I doubt it," I said, "but a really powerful shapeshifter can do a partial shift."

"I know a manwolf or mancat form," Memphis said.

"No, I mean the really powerful ones can shapeshift just the hands into claws, and the feet. I saw a werewolf climb the side of a building like that."

"That was one of your cases?"

"I don't know what you mean by that, but I saw the bastard do it."

"He used claws to shove into the building?" Patricia asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Wow, shades of Spider-Man," Rose said.

"More Wolverine," I said, "but the principle's the same."

"He got away," Memphis said.

"Temporarily," I said.

"How did they catch him?" Patricia asked.

"I got them to approve werewolves to track the rogue werewolf, then I killed him."

"What do you mean you killed him?" she asked.

"I mean, I walked up to him and put a bullet between his baby blues."

Her mouth made a little soundless O. Rose said, "Just one bullet?"

"No," I said.

"Back to the case; you can listen to war stories from the marshal after we've caught our man."

"Sorry, doctor," Patricia said.

"Sorry, doc."

"So you think we have a very powerful shapeshifter that did this."

"I'm pretty sure, and that means that it's a very small pool of suspects. There aren't that many shifters in any city that can do it. Maybe five in a large animal group. Maybe one in a small."

"Do you think the shapeshifter cut up the other men?"

"No, it's almost like whatever did it had multiple arms. An arm for every blade."

"Do you know any preternatural creature that has multiple arms, Marshal?"

I thought about it. "There are a lot of mythologies with many-armed creatures, but none native to this country. And frankly, Dr. Memphis, none that I'm sure are real and in existence today."

"So hard to tell fact from fiction when we live in a world where myth is real," he said.

"Some of it's extinct," I said.

"Whatever killed Randy Sherman wasn't extinct," he said.

I felt that unpleasant smile curl my lips and was glad it was hidden behind the half mask. I wouldn't want to scare the civvies. "We'll work on making it extinct."

"You'll need a warrant of execution," Memphis said.

"Four dead police officers. One obviously dead by wereanimal attack. Getting the warrant won't be the problem."

"I suppose so," Memphis said, not like he was entirely happy about it.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

"It's just that I signed the petition that they took to Washington to try to get the Domestic Preternatural Endangerment Act repealed. I believe that the warrants for your job are too broad and violate human rights."

"You're not alone."

"Now, all I want is for you to get the bastards that did this; I don't care that the warrant is based on bad law. So that makes me a hypocrite, Marshal Blake, and I'm not used to thinking of myself that way."

"You've seen vampire and shapeshifter victims before," I said.

He nodded. "Not here, though. Vegas has one of the lowest rates of murder by preternatural means of any city in the United States."

I widened my eyes. "I didn't know that." In my head I thought, Max and Bibiana run a very tight ship. Out loud I said, "Is this the first person you knew who died like this?"

"No, first friend, though. I guess if I really believed my convictions, that wouldn't make a difference."

"Emotion always makes a difference," I said.

"Even for you?" He looked at me when he asked it.

I nodded.

"I've heard the screams when the executioner has to stake the vampire during the day. They beg for their lives."

"Everyone on death row is innocent, doctor; you know that."

"It doesn't bother you then?"

I had to look away from that searching gaze. The moment I had to look down, I forced myself to meet his eyes and said the truth. "Sometimes it does."

"Then why do it?"

Was it mean to say the next? I couldn't tell anymore; maybe it was just true. "I'm sorry for your loss, doctor, I truly am, but this moment is a perfect example of why I do my job. Look at what they did to your friend. Do you want that to happen to someone else's friend, husband, brother?"

His face hardened, and it was back to the original hostile look. "No."

"Then you need me to do my job, doctor, because once a shapeshifter crosses the line this badly, they almost never go back. They get a taste for letting the beast out. It feels good to them, and they will do it again unless someone stops them."

"You mean kills them," he said.

"Yes, kills them. I want to kill the shapeshifter that killed your friend, before it kills someone else."

It was his turn to look away. "You've made your point, Marshal. If you need it, I'll sign off that a shapeshifter did this, because it's true."

"Thank you, doctor."

He nodded. "But the way DPEA is written, you don't need me to sign anything, do you? You just need to call Washington, and they'll fax you the warrant."

"Contrary to popular media, we do have to assure them it's preternatural in origin."

"Assure them, but not prove beyond the shadow of a doubt."

"Shadows of doubt are for courts, doctor."

"This shapeshifter is never going to see the inside of a courtroom, is it?"

"Probably not."

He shook his head. "They offered to let someone else work on Randy, but it's the last thing I can do for him."

"No, it's not, Dr. Memphis. You can help me gather enough evidence to get a warrant and hunt his killer down."

"And see, there you go, Marshal, right back at my moral dilemma."

I didn't know what to say to that; I had my own moral dilemma to work on, and I didn't know Memphis well enough to tell him I was beginning to have doubts about my job, too. I did the only thing I could think of; I went back to work.

"I am sorry for your loss, but can you let me see the personal effects I missed?" In my head, I added, when I let Olaf run me out of the room, but I kept that part to myself. It was humiliating enough without sharing. I was thinking better without him in the room. I hadn't realized just how much he was throwing me off my game until he was gone. Division of labor would not leave me alone with him again, I promised myself that.

In a plastic baggie was a silver pentagram. "Was he Wiccan?"

"Yes," Memphis said, "does that matter?"

"It may be why the shifter ate his face off first."

"Explain," Memphis said.

"If I'm right, then Sherman was saying a spell, and the shifter stopped him."

"There's no spell against lycanthropes, is there?" Rose asked.

"No," I said, "but there are spells that impact other preternatural entities. Spells are almost exclusively for noncorporeal beings."

"Like ghosts," Patricia asked. She'd been so quiet in her corner of the autopsy suite that I'd almost forgotten her.

I shook my head. "No, not ghosts. You just ignore them. But spirits, entities, demons, and other things like it."

"You mean like the devil," Patricia said.

"No, my bad, I shouldn't have said demon. What I mean is something that is more energy than physical, sort of."

"Whatever wielded the knives was very physical," Memphis said.

"The knives were very physical, but if Sherman thought a spell could help against them, then maybe whatever was using them wasn't."

"I don't understand," Rose said.

"Nor do I," Memphis said.

I hated trying to explain metaphysics. It always came out wrong, or at best confusing. "I'll need to talk to Sherman's coven, or at least his high priestess, but if he was any good at the magic side of his faith, then he wouldn't have wasted breath on something that wouldn't help save them."

"Randy was very devout, and very serious about his faith," Memphis said.

I nodded. "Okay, I'll still want to talk to his priestess, but for right now, I need to see if I can figure out what animal flavor did this."

"There are no nonhuman hairs, Marshal," Memphis said.

I nodded. "I heard."

"It will take time to analyze the claw marks."

"That may not help you that much anyway, not in this modified form. We know we're looking for a smaller person."

"What do you mean, Marshal?"

"When a shapeshifter makes the claws come out, the hand gets bigger than human-normal. Marshal Jeffries was able to palm the marks on the chest. He's a big guy, but his hands aren't as big as a shapeshifter's when it's in half-man form. That means we're looking for someone who isn't that tall, or has smaller hands."

"But you just said that the hands get bigger," Patricia said.

"Yes, but there's a limit to how much bigger. If you take two people who are both the same animal, but one is six feet with large hands, and the other is five feet with small hands, when they both shift, the animal form will be larger than their human form, but the smaller man will still be a smaller shapeshifter than the larger man. It's a mass ratio thing."

"I've read widely on shapeshifters, Marshal, and I've never read where anyone has written that up."

I shrugged. "I know shapeshifters, doctor."

"All right, then we're looking for a smaller man."

"Or woman," I said.

"You really think a woman did this?" he asked.

"I've seen shapeshifters of both sexes do some pretty amazing things, so yeah, this damage doesn't rule out female."

"You said you're going to try and figure out what animal did this. We've got swabs for DNA, and we may get lucky, but if the lycanthrope was in human form except for the claws and teeth, as you maintain, then the DNA may come back human."

"There should be some of the virus in the DNA," I said.

"Yes, and in a few days we'll have it back."

I shook my head. "We don't have a few days."

"I'm open to suggestions, Marshal."

"I told you, I'm carrying lycanthropy; that means that sometimes I can smell things people can't."

"You're going to try to smell what kind of animal it was."

I nodded.

"But," Patricia said, "if the shapeshifter was in human form, then won't it just smell human?"

"No," I said, "once you know what you're smelling, there's an under-taste." I shook my head. "I can't explain this, but I want to try."

"I would be eager to see you try," Memphis said.

"I'll have to take the mask down."

"That's against protocols."

"I may get my breath, saliva on things, but I can't catch anything from the... Sherman."

"If it will catch this creature days early, then do it."

I looked at the objects and tried to decide what would be the piece of clothing or equipment that the lycanthrope had gotten the closest to. I looked at it all in the baggies, and finally settled on the throat/ear microphone getup. It had actually been damaged by the teeth.

"I need one of you to unbag and make sure that the chain of evidence doesn't get fucked up."

"Your smelling something won't be admissible in court, not even with this many officers dead," Memphis said.

"No," I said, "but I'm not looking for court proof. I'm looking for a clue as to where to go to find people to question. That's all we can hope to get from this."

"If you smell a certain animal, then you'll go talk to that local group," he said.

"Yes," I said.

He came over and carefully unbagged the evidence. I took the mask down and leaned forward. I closed my eyes and called on that part of me that wasn't quite human anymore. I could visualize the beasts inside me: wolf, leopard, lioness, white and yellow tiger. They were all lying in the dark shadows of ancient trees that had been the visualization for my inner place since a certain very ancient vampire had messed with me. Marmee Noir, the Queen of All Vampires, had given me the tigers in a bid to control me. So far, I was still ahead; so far.

I called, gently, to the beasts, and felt them stir. I could keep them from trying to physically manifest now. I could call them as energy. I tried that now. I needed to scent something. I called on wolf. She came trotting to my call, white with her black markings. I'd done some research and knew that her markings meant the strain of lycanthropy was probably from the far north, someplace cold. You had more white wolves where you got more snow.

My skin ran in goose bumps, and I lowered my face toward the piece of technology. The first smell was death. The wolf growled, and it trickled out my lips.

Memphis said, "Are you all right, Marshal?"

"I'm all right; please don't talk to me while I do this."

The smell of plastic was sharp, almost bitter. The wolf didn't like it. Underneath that was sweat, fear, and she did like that. Fear and sweat meant food. I pushed the thought back and concentrated. I needed more. I smelled Sherman, the scent of a man, and that he still smelled of the soap and shampoo he'd used that day. It was like peeling the layers off an onion. I think if I'd been a wolf I could have smelled all of it, and interpreted it, but my human brain was slow.

I felt my nose touch the felt piece, and thought, What animal did this? I smelled saliva, and it wasn't the same scent as Sherman. Though my mind couldn't interpret how it was different, it just was. I needed the scent of the animal, not the person. I gave myself over to the wolf, to the feel of fur and pads, and... there. The faintest whiff of something not human.

I followed that faint scent the way you'd follow a path that you found in the woods. A path that was barely there, lost in weeds and small trees. I pushed my way through that narrow opening, and suddenly the world was full of... tiger.

The tigers inside me rushed up, roaring. I stumbled back from the evidence, the scent, Memphis. I fell on my ass on the floor, with the wolf running for cover and the tigers snarling inside my head. Once this would have meant the tigers trying to take over my body, tearing me apart from the inside out, but now I could keep it lower key.

Someone grabbed my arm, and I looked up. What was this plastic man? I looked past the faceplate and found him human, and soft, and knew that all that education, all that determination, was nothing before claw and fang. I had to try twice to speak, "Room, give me room."

He let me go, but just knelt back. I looked at him and the other two. Patricia was afraid, and that made the tigers roil inside me, happy kitties. Fear means food.

I pushed to my feet and stumbled for the door. I had to get away from them. I should never have tried this without Edward here to make sure... make sure it didn't get out of hand.

"I need air, that's all. Don't touch me." I made the door and stumbled outside. I ended up on my knees on the floor, leaning against the wall, trying to shove the tigers back into the safety zone. They didn't want to go. They'd smelled another tiger, and it excited them.

Edward spoke from a little distance. "Anita, you all right?"

I shook my head, but held a hand palm out, to say Stay away. He did. "Talk to me," he said.

My voice came breathy, but it came. "I called on a little furry energy to try and get a clue."

"What happened?"

"I don't know what killed the others, but we're looking for a weretiger that's probably under six feet in human form, or has abnormally small hands. This one is powerful enough to be able to do claws and teeth only, with no fur and no other outward change."

I felt Olaf and Bernardo close, before I looked up and saw them. Edward kept them back, which was probably just as well.

"Only the most powerful can do that," Edward said.

"Yeah," I said.

"You learned all that from smelling?" Bernardo said.

I looked up, and was pretty sure it wasn't a friendly look by his reaction. "No, I learned most of that from the body, but tiger was smell." I looked past him to Olaf now in his black assassin gear, stripped of the hazmat suit. I pointed a finger at him. "I couldn't think with you in there with me. I didn't know how useless you make me until you weren't there."

"I did not mean to make you work less efficiently."

"You know, I believe that. But from now on you work with someone besides me. No more alone time on the case."

"Why is being alone with me so distracting?" he asked, and his face was neutral enough.

"Because you scare me," I said.

He smiled then, a little curl of lips, but his caveman eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

I stood up then, and Edward was smart enough not to help me. "You know, big guy, most men who really want to date a woman don't want her afraid of them."

His smile faltered a little, but not much. He looked puzzled for a moment, then the smile returned larger and more satisfied. "I am not most men."

I gave a sound that might have been a laugh, if it hadn't been so harsh. "Well, that is the fucking truth." I started stripping off the protective gear.

"Where to?" Edward said.

"We visit the weretigers."

"Aren't they the animal to call of the Master Vampire of Vegas?" he asked.

"Yep."

"So we go visit the Master of the City and his wife."

I nodded. "Yep, Max and his wife, the queen tiger of Las Vegas. Though the actual title is Chang and her name. Chang-Bibiana, in this case."

"Wait," Bernardo said. "Are we walking in there and accusing one of their tigers of killing a police officer and helping massacre three more?"

I looked at Edward; he looked at me. "Something like that," I said.

Bernardo looked unhappy. "Can you please not get me killed until after I've had a date with Deputy Lorenzo?"

I smiled at him. "I will do my best."

"To get us all killed," he said.

"Not true," I said. "I always do my best to keep us alive."

"After you endanger us all," he muttered.

"You whine like a baby," Olaf said.

"I'll whine any way I damn well please."

Memphis came out and asked, "Marshal, are you well?"

I nodded. "I'm fine."

"What animal did you sense?"

Did I lie, or tell the truth? "Tiger."

"Our Master of the City will not like that."

"No, but truth is truth."

"You will need a warrant to enter their home."

"We had this talk already, Memphis. We'll call up and have one faxed to us, but I think I'll try just asking for a visit first."

"You think he'll just let you waltz in and accuse his people of murder?"

"I think Max told Sheriff Shaw to invite me to come play and that I'd sort things out."

Memphis's eyes went wide. "Did he now?"

"So I'm told."

"It doesn't sound like our master."

"No, it doesn't," I said, "but if he invited me, why wouldn't he want to help me sort things out?"

"You won't get in without a warrant. The Master of Vegas is old-time mob; it makes him cautious," Memphis said.

"We'll apply for several," Edward said.

Memphis looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"We have a lycanthrope kill confirmed. Nevada still has varmint laws on the books. We'll be able to get a warrant of execution on the lycanthrope that did this."

"But you don't have a name for the lycanthrope," Memphis said.

Edward smiled, I smiled, even Bernardo smiled. Olaf just looked sinister. "You know we don't need a name. The warrant will read a little vague. I keep forgetting about the varmint laws in the western states; it makes it actually easier to get a vague warrant for a shapeshifter than for a vampire," I said.

"I still believe it's a legal excuse for murder," Memphis said.

I stepped close to the doctor, and he held his ground. "Randall Sherman was your friend, not mine. Don't you want his murderer caught?"

"Yes, but I want to make sure it's the right weretiger, not just the one that pisses you all off."

I grinned at him, but could feel it was more a snarling flash of teeth. The tigers were still a little close. "If you don't like the way I do my job, then file a complaint. But in the dark when the big bad monsters come to get you, you always want us. You see us standing here. You know what we are, what we do, and it makes you feel uncivilized. Even with your friends on gurneys in the morgue, you flinch. Well, we don't flinch, doctor. We do what the rest of you are afraid to do"-I leaned in close and whispered-"we'll be your vengeance, doc, so you can keep your lily-white hands clean."

He stepped back as if I'd struck him. "That's not fair."

"Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want vengeance for what it did to your men? Look me in the eye and tell me you don't look forward to weighing their murderer's liver on a scale?"

His eyelids flickered behind his glasses. He opened his mouth, closed it, licked his lips. He finally said, "You are a hard woman, Blake."

I shook my head. "No such thing as a hard woman, Memphis, just soft men." With that, I turned, and the others followed me. We went for the doors, and a phone, and a judge who would give us warrants.

Edward said, "What did the doctor do to piss you off that badly?"

"Nothing, absolutely nothing."

"Then what's with the super bitch act?" Bernardo asked.

I laughed. "Who was acting, Bernardo, who the fuck was acting?" The tigers swirled inside me, happy that I was angry, looking forward to more anger, more emotion. They wanted out. They wanted out so badly.