Cerulean Sins (47 page)

O'Brien shook her head and ran for the door. Everyone was leaving. Some would go to the hospital. Some would go to the crime scene and see if they could help there. Some would go sit with the families of the downed officers. But everyone would go. If you really wanted to commit a crime in any city, wait until there's an officer-down call, everyone drops everything.

I'd go to the scene of the crime. I'd try to help figure out what went wrong. Because something had gone very wrong if Van Anders had taken
out an entire squad from the Mobile Reserve. They're trained to handle terrorists, hostage situations, drugs, gangs, biochemical hazards; pick your nastiness, and Mobile Reserve can handle it. Yes, something had gone terribly wrong. The question was, what?

I
'
D SEEN ENOUGH
of Van Anders's handy work to be prepared for the worst. What I saw in the hallway wasn't even close to his worst. Compared to the other crime scenes, it was almost clean. There was a uniformed officer standing next to the window at the end of the hallway. The window was almost completely free of glass, as if something large had been thrown through it. I turned away from the thought of one of the city's finest plunging to his death. Other than the window, there wasn't much else.

A sprinkling of blood on the pale brown carpet in the hallway. Two blood smears on the wall looked almost artifical, overly dramatic on the off-white walls. That was all. Van Anders hadn't had time to enjoy himself. One officer was dead, maybe two, but he'd just had time to kill them. He hadn't had time to cut them up. I wondered if that made him angry? Did he feel cheated?

There was a trickle of police in the hallway, but the sound of voices from the open door of the apartment was as murmurous as the sea. A sorrowful, angry, urgent, confused sea.

The apartment was pristine, untouched. There had been no fight inside. All the trouble had started and ended in the hallway.

Detective Webster had come up with me. He was still in the doorway, because there wasn't room to walk into the room. Every homicide has more cops than you think it needs, but I'd never seen a crowd like this. It was nearly wall-to-wall people like at a party, except that every face was grim, or shocked, or angry. No one was having a good time.

Zerbrowski had called my cell phone in the car on the way there.
Everybody was wanting answers, answers about the monsters, answers that he couldn't give, because he didn't fucking know. His quote, not mine.

I debated on whether to yell for Zerbrowski or call him back on his cell phone. I don't usually mind being short, but this time I couldn't see through the crowd, and I sure as hell couldn't see over it.

I glanced at Webster. He was damn near six feet. “Can you spot Sergeant Zerbrowski?”

Webster suddenly looked even taller. I realized that he'd been slumping, artfully, the way some tall people do, especially if they got tall early and didn't like it. Standing with his shoulders back, and trying to gaze across the crowd, he was at least six one, maybe an inch more. I'm usually a pretty good judge of height.

“He's on the far side of the room.” He suddenly seemed to shrink, shoulders rounding, almost like his spine compressed before my eyes.

I shook my head, and said, “Can you get his attention?”

He got a mischievous grin on his face, a look that Zerbrowski and Jason had made me dread. “I could put you on my shoulders, then he'd spot you.”

I gave him a look that wilted the grin into a smile. He shrugged. “Sorry.” But it was the kind of sorry I'm used to, the one Jason always gives when he's not sorry at all.

Either Zerbrowski is more psychic than I thought, or he was trying to get away from the man who was dogging him. It was one of the Mobile Reserve officers in full combat black, body armor still in place, but he'd lost his helmet, his mask, and his eyes were wild. The whites kept flashing like a horse's when it's about to bolt.

Zerbrowski saw me, and the look of relief on his face was so pure, so happy, that it almost scared me. “Officer Elsworthy, this is Anita Blake, Marshal Anita Blake. She's our preternatural expert.”

Elsworthy frowned, blinking a little too rapidly. It was as if it took longer than it should have for the words to filter through and have meaning. I'd seen enough shock to know the symptoms. Why wasn't he at the hospital with the rest of his squad?

Zerbrowski mouthed, “Sorry,” to me.

Elsworthy blinked at me, his brown eyes didn't even look like they were focusing, as if what he was seeing was somewhere inside his head. Shit. A moment ago he'd been yelling at Zerbrowski, now he was staring at things that we couldn't see. Probably reliving the disaster. He was pale, and there was a light dew of sweat on his face. I was betting he would be clammy to the touch.

I put my face close to Zerbrowski, and spoke low, “Why isn't he at the hospital with the others?”

“He wouldn't go. Said he wanted to ask RPIT how the hell a werewolf can grow claws when it's still in human form.”

I must have reacted to the question, because Zerbrowski suddenly gave me a look through the rims of his glasses. “I told him it wasn't possible for a shifter to gain claws while still in full human form. Was I wrong?”

I nodded. “A shifter has to be really powerful to be able to do it. I've only known a handful that could do partial change while they pretty much looked human.”

Zerbrowski lowered his voice even more, “It might have been good to know that before they busted in on Van Anders.”

“I thought a minimum of one person from each squad went down to Quantico for the big preternatural class and lecture.”

“They did.”

I gave him a disgusted look. “I don't go around assuming that I know more about the monsters than the freaking FBI.”

“Maybe you should,” Zerbrowski said softly.

The way he said it took the heat out of my words. I couldn't really get angry with Elsworthy standing there blinking like an innocent come to slaughter.

“Is it hot in here?” Elsworthy asked.

Actually, it was, too many people in too small a space. “Detective Webster, take Elsworthy out into the hall for a breath of air, would you?”

Webster did what I asked, and Elsworthy went without a single complaint. It was as if he'd used up all his anger before I got there, and now all that was left was the shock and the horror of it all.

Zerbrowski and I stayed in our little corner. “What went wrong?” I asked.

“I've been yelled at by Elsworthy, but even better, Captain Parker. He's waiting at the hospital for me to get my ass down there and explain to him how the hell Van Anders was able to do what he did.”

“What exactly did he do?”

Zerbrowski dug his ever-present notebook out of his jacket pocket. The notebook looked like it'd been rolled in the dirt, then stepped on. He ruffled through it until he got to the pages he wanted. “Van Anders cooperated completely when they came in. He seemed surprised and didn't know why anyone would want to arrest him. He was handcuffed, patted down, and the two tactical officers, Bates and Meyer, led him out into the hallway, while the rest of the squad reformed and made sure the rest of the apartment was clear.” He glanced up at me. “Standard procedure.”

“So when did it stop being standard?”

“Then it gets a little confused. Meyer never came back on the radio, at all. Bates started yelling, officer down, and something about, he's got claws.
Elsworthy and another officer got out the door in time to see Van Anders clear enough that they both swear he had claws but was in full human form.” Zerbrowski gave me a look. “Truthfully, I was ready to think Elsworthy, and . . .” He turned a page of his notebook, “Tucker, were seeing things.”

I shook my head. “No, it's possible.” I shook my head again and fought the urge to rub my temples. I had a headache starting. “The lycanthropes that I've seen do this, the claws just whip out. It's like having five switchblades suddenly appear. There wouldn't have been anything for the officer, Bates, was it? to see.”

“Meyer, Bates is still alive.”

I nodded. Names were important. It was important to remember who was dead and who was alive. “Van Anders stabbed Meyer. When the claws shot out of his fingertips, he used them like knives.”

“Apparently Kevlar doesn't stop lycanthrope claws,” Zerbrowski said.

“Kevlar isn't made to stop a stabbing attack,” I said, “the claws acted like blades.”

He nodded. “Van Anders used the officer as a shield, held him on his claws like a . . . puppet, is what Elsworthy finally said.”

“He should have gone to the hospital with the others,” I said.

“He looked fine when I got here, Anita, honest. I don't blame them for not forcing him to go.”

“Well, he doesn't look fine now.”

“We can give him a ride to the hospital when we go.”

I looked at him. “Why do I think that we are going to the hospital for more than just a show of moral support?”

“You're just perceptive as hell tonight.”

“Zerbrowski,” I said.

“I told Captain Parker that I'd be right along once Marshal Blake showed up.”

“You bastard.”

“He's asking questions about the monsters that I don't have the answers to. Maybe Dolph would, but there is no way I want him to be here. We managed to quiet down the worst of what happened in the interrogation with your furry friend, but if Dolph loses it in a public setting . . .” He just shook his head.

I agreed with him. “Fine, I'll go with you to the hopsital and see if I can answer the captain's questions.”

“Ah, but first ya gotta see this.” He was actually smiling, and it wasn't a place for smiles.

“See what?” I asked suspiciously.

He turned without a word and led the way down the hallway towards the empty window. Webster had taken Elsworthy in the opposite direction so
that they stood as far from the window as the hallway allowed. Good for Webster.

When we were close enough, my eyes started looking at something besides the window. There were two neat bullet holes in the wall near the window at the end of the hallway. Mobile Reserve's weapons can go fully automatic at the flick of a switch, but they're trained to do it one bullet at a time. With two officers down, and a monster on the loose, they'd remembered their training.

Zerbrowski motioned the uniform back, so we had some privacy. There was almost no glass on the carpet, because it had all gone outside.

“Did Van Anders throw someone through the window?”

“He threw himself,” Zerbrowski said.

I stared at him. “We're twenty stories up, even a werewolf isn't going to walk away from that kind of fall. It may not kill him, but he'll be hurting.”

“He didn't go down, he went up.” He motioned me closer to the window.

I didn't like the window. It had a very low sill, almost low enough to step through. That gives a better view, but without glass in the metal frame, there was nothing but empty air between me and a very big fall.

“Careful of the glass, and don't look down. But trust me, Anita, it's worth leaning out just a little, and looking up. Look at the right side of the window.”

I placed a hand against the wall and found a place in the metal that was glass free so I could get a grip. The air was beating against me, like eager hands ready to snatch me away. I'm not afraid of heights, but the idea of falling from them, well, that I'm afraid of. I fought the almost irresistible urge to look down, because I knew if I looked down I might not be able to look out the window at all.

I leaned out, very carefully, and at first I didn't understand what I was seeing. There were holes in the side of the building, all the way up, as far as my eyes could follow. Small holes at regular intervals.

I eased myself back in, carefully, watching for glass as much as a fall. I frowned at Zerbrowski. “I saw the holes, but what are they?”

“Van Anders did a Spiderman on them. The sniper and observer were set up on the opposite side of the building. There was nothing they could do.”

I felt my eyes go wide. “You mean the holes are where he shoved his hands into the building, and climbed up?”

Zerbrowski nodded, and he was smiling. “Captain Parker was screaming that he didn't know werewolves could do that either.”

I glanced back at the window. “Captain Parker isn't the only one that didn't know. I mean they have the strength, but they get cut and scraped and break bones even. They may heal quickly, but it hurts them.” I looked
up at the ceiling as if I could still see the upward march of holes. “Being shot would have hurt like hell.”

Zerbrowski nodded. “Will he need to see an emergency room, a doctor, something?”

I shook my head. “I doubt it. If he's strong enough to do a partial change, then I'll have to assume that his healing abilities are on the high end. If they are, he'll be healed within a couple hours, maybe less. If he changes form, when he's human again, he'll be good as new.”

“They've put the word out to all the emergency and urgent care places, just in case.”

I nodded. “Can't hurt, I guess, but I don't think you're going to catch him that way.”

“How are we going to catch him, Anita? How do you catch something like this?”

I looked at him. “Did you ask the upper brass what they thought of using werewolves to track him?”

“They vetoed it.”

“I think you might find them in a more receptive mood now.”

“You think your friends will be nice on a leash for me?”

“I was really thinking I'd been holding the leash.” My phone rang, and the sound made me jump. I flipped it open, and it was a voice I didn't recognize. I don't talk to the chief of police all that often.

I did a lot of yes, sir, and no, sir. Then the phone was buzzing, and I was left with Zerbrowski staring at me. “Were you talking to who I think you were talking to?”

“They've issued a court order of execution for Van Anders.”

Zerbrowski's eyes were wide. “You are not going after him alone.”

I shook my head. “I hadn't planned on it.”

He looked like he didn't believe me. I actually had to give him my word I wouldn't try to pop Van Anders without backup. I'd have backup. The police chief had told me over the phone that they'd go along with the werewolf tracking idea. I'd have backup—if I could persuade Richard to give them to me.

I asked for some plastic evidence bags and raided Van Anders's dirty clothes drawer. I used gloves, not to keep my scent off them, but because I didn't want to touch anything that had touched Van Anders's body. I sealed the clothes in the bag, and hoped it would be enough to help the werewolves track him. We'd come back and start around the foot of this building. Van Anders might have climbed up, but he had to come down somewhere.