The City Beneath (20 page)

Walker had killed Jolene to protect humans from vampires. Dominic had healed her corpse to protect vampires from humans, and I'd write a false version of her death to protect my credibility, career, and all three of our secrets because the truth wouldn't protect anything except for my pride.

I took out my pen and notepad, feeling disillusioned. Who had been there to protect Jolene from all of us?

 

“And you're certain that you only saw two people in the alley?” I asked. I was interviewing my fourteenth witness of the night, a Mr. Thomas Sitter. Thomas was in his late fifties and had the doughy bulk of an ex-high school lineman turned accountant. He had extremely thick glasses that pressed uncomfortable-looking dents into the sides of his face, but the eyes behind the glasses were kind and scared. I tried to be kind in return, but my patience was frayed. Everyone's account of last night's crime scene was different, which was common with eyewitness testimony, but I knew that not one testimony was accurate.

“No, I'm not sure,” Thomas said, wincing as if admitting uncertainty was painful. “It was dark, so I couldn't distinguish their faces. A woman was crying and pleading for help. There was gunfire, and one of them ran back into the alley.”

“Was there anyone else nearby?”

“No, not that I could see, but like I said, it was dark. I'm really not sure if someone else was there.”

“But no one else came out of the alley?” I pushed.

Thomas shook his head. “There were only two people. One was shot, and the other ran. But it was so dark, Ms. DiRocco, I'm not even sure if the woman was shot or if she ran. I just couldn't tell for certain.”

I sighed and crossed out Thomas's name on my list of witnesses to potentially quote. It seemed impossible, but Dominic and his coven had indeed found every witness. Granted, I had only interviewed fourteen out of the hundred or so—give or take a dozen—who may have seen the attack, but I suspected that when I did, the pattern would continue. The vampires were able to alter everyone's memory, not with the same memory, but with an enhanced account of their already existing inaccurate memory.

Eyewitness testimony was always questionable at best. Dominic was simply enhancing the inaccuracies in each person's memory, so between darkness, shadows, fear, time frame, and a million other details and distractions, everyone was unsure of when and what they had really witnessed. I still couldn't comprehend how the vampires knew whom to attack, how they were able get to everyone so quickly, or how no one found the bodies until sunrise, but having already interviewed thirteen other witnesses besides Thomas, I couldn't deny what the vampires had done. However they had accomplished it, no one remembered the truth.

“Is something wrong?” Thomas asked. He rubbed the back of his knuckles with his palm.

“Not at all. You've been extremely helpful.” I offered my hand, and he stopped rubbing his to shake mine. “Thank you.”

He nodded and lumbered away.

“DiRocco, do you have a moment?”

Thomas had supposedly called for an ambulance. I'd check with Dispatch to confirm his story, but I had a sneaking suspicion that a record of his call would exist to corroborate his story whether or not he'd ever dialed 911. I rubbed my eyes. There must be at least one witness that Dominic had missed. He couldn't possibly have tampered with all of them.

And what would I do with a witness, even if I found one?
my conscience balked.
Quote him in my article and expose him?
I rubbed my eyes harder.

“Cassidy?”

I turned. Greta stood behind me. Her expression was stern, but when she saw my face, her expression slipped slightly. A deep crinkle etched between her eyebrows.

“Greta,” I began, unsure how to navigate between the case and her loss. “I'm so sorry about Jolene.”

“Where were you last night at eight p.m.?” she asked, ignoring my condolences.

“That's what I've always liked about you, G,” I said, taking her cue. “You call it like you see it. But that doesn't mean that you're seeing the full picture.”

“The picture you're painting is the one I'm looking at. Carter thinks that you're being blackmailed. He thinks that you solved this case and that you're backing down because of what you found.”

“Carter didn't want me scooping deeper into this case, so he got exactly what he wanted. Nothing.” I sighed. “I don't care what Carter thinks, anyway. What do
you
think?”

Greta crossed her arms. “I think you've finally dove deep into waters that even you can't swim through.”

“I'm a shark,” I said, crossing my arms, too. “I can swim through anything.”

“Listen, everyone knows you're relentless. We all know what you're capable of, both in the field and professionally, and that's how I know that you know more than you're telling Carter. You solved this case, damn it, and for the first time since I've known you, the first time in your entire career I'll bet, you're not going to publish it. The people responsible for these murders aren't just sharks, they're monsters, and you can't fight them alone. Tell me what's going on, DiRocco. You can blow off Carter all you want, but I'm not letting this go until you let me help you.”

I sighed. “Since when did you and Carter become such close friends?”

“Since when did you ever let a story go unwritten?”

“Since my story hit a wall. There's nothing to go on, G. My leads ran dry, I didn't solve the case, and I've got nothing to write.” I tapped my recorder against my palm twice, ending the conversation. “So if you'll excuse me, I've got a story here I need to cover.”

Greta's expression turned to slate. “I'm not dropping this, DiRocco. I'd prefer my answers come from you, but if you don't tell me now, I'll get them later from someone else. And by then, I can't guarantee that I'll see the picture you want me to see, let alone in the light that you want me to see it.”

I could feel the burning pressure of tears behind my eyes. I swallowed and tried to breathe past the mistrust I heard in her voice. She wouldn't get answers from anyone else because no one else remembered the truth, but that wasn't the point.

“I'll ask you one last time,” Greta said. Her voice was calm and deliberate and resolute. “Where were you last night?”

“If you must know,” I said, just as deliberate. “I was with Walker at my apartment last night.”

Greta's eyebrows rose. “Will he corroborate that?”

“Of course,” I said, trying to keep my expression bland, as if men frequented my apartment regularly.

Greta waited a moment. She stared me down with the weight of her distrust and uncanny perceptiveness. I mirrored her expression, but my heart ached from the effort.

Eventually, Greta crossed her arms. “Jolene deserved better than this.”

I nodded. It took me a long moment before I could set aside enough emotion to speak. “Yes, she did.”

“If you're not going to talk to save your career or yourself, you should talk for Jolene and for all the other innocent bystanders caught in the cross fire. It's too late for Jolene, but we can save the next one. It's our duty to save the next one.”

“If I could, I would help, but—”

Greta lifted her hand. “I know. You were with Walker last night.” She shook her head, disgusted. “When you're ready to talk, you know who to call.”

Greta turned on her heel and strode away from me at a hard clip. I didn't chase after her. My stomach churned into a deep knot, and I knew in the same, hard place that I knew everything, that she wasn't turning back.

I resumed my interviews, but Greta wasn't the only friend who suspected the worst of me. Meredith knew something horrible was happening. She looked askance at me a few times while she finished her shots. Unlike Greta, she didn't demand any answers. I suspected that Meredith held her peace because if she confronted me and my secrets, she'd have to confront her own, and she still hadn't come to terms with her “mugging” and foggy memory. It might have made me a worse friend, but I appreciated her blind eye for once, and in return, I held my peace, as well.

I finished the article with plenty of time to spare, feeling disheartened about my work and disgusted by my participation in both the reality of Jolene's death and the portrayal of her death to the public. Carter approved the piece with his usual gusto, unconcerned if I was having a crisis as long as my writing was on point. Meredith left for sushi after we made it to print, but I stayed behind for the second night in a row. She didn't seem surprised, and she didn't try to coax me into coming along. I think she needed her space, too.

Instead of enjoying the last few hours of daylight safety with Meredith like I should have, I stared at my monitor, trying to think of what I could have done differently last night, so Jolene might have lived. My mind was as blank as the Word document staring back at me. That damn cursor taunted me with its constant, unforgivable blinking. It killed me that I couldn't spotlight the truth for the city, and with every pulse, the cursor screamed at me,
Vampires, vampires, vampires!

Frustrated, I did the only thing I could think to do, the only thing that I truly wanted to do even if I couldn't publish it. I clicked on the drafts folder on my desktop to start my article, “The City Beneath: Vampires Bite in the Big Apple.” My fingers danced over the keys with fervor, the words and sentences and paragraphs bursting out of me like a break in a dam after having contained my secrets so tightly all day. For once in my writing career, it didn't matter if I couldn't take the glory. I had a story pressure-cooking inside of me that needed release, and it didn't matter that this article wouldn't be contending for a Pulitzer. This was more than prizes and recognition and career advancement. This was the truth.

I was just finishing the second to last paragraph when my phone rang. “Ms. DiRocco, a man is here to see you,” Deborah said. Her voice scowled. “He says that he had an appointment with you yesterday, which needed to be rescheduled. Do you have time to squeeze him in now?”

I saved and closed the document midsentence, my heart pounding like a pogo stick through my throat. I checked the time, having lost track of the hours while writing about the very thing I was so terrified to confront. The computer's clock glowed an even five thirty. I still had several hours until sunset. I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand and thought of the silver jewelry still in the box back at my apartment.

“Ms. DiRocco?”

A shuffle and a loud screech sounded outside the door.

“Cassidy?” a man shouted. The doorknob rattled.

“Sir, you cannot just pound your way in without permission,” Deborah said, sounding outraged.

“Trust me, ma'am, I have permission.”

I rolled my eyes and found my voice. “I know who you're referring to, Deborah. Please, allow Mr. Walker to enter.”

The door suddenly opened, and Walker strode inside, carrying a plastic bag. Deborah followed close behind.

“Told ya.” He winked at Deborah, and she looked scandalized.

She switched targets, dismissing Walker as insufferable, to focus on me. “If I knew your schedule more thoroughly, I would be able to screen your visitors more efficiently.”

I bit back a smirk. “Don't worry, Deborah, I think you're doing a wonderful job.”

“Right.” She frowned. “Thank you.”

Walker placed a hand on her shoulder, easing her out the door. “And
thank you
for showing me in. You've been mighty helpful.”

“You're welcome,” she said, frowning harder. She knew when she was being dismissed. She slammed the door behind her on the way out.

“Touchy,” Walker drawled, jerking his thumb in Deborah's direction. “You get a lot of unscheduled callers?”

I shrugged. “More than usual lately. How are you?”

“I've been better,” he said, sitting across from me. “I was interrogated by the police today.”

“What? Why?”

“To corroborate your alibi last night.”

My face heated, and the triple hit of embarrassment, shame, and exhaustion overwhelmed me. I covered my blazing face in my hands. “I'm sorry.”

“Consider yourself corroborated, but the next time I spend the night, I'd like to actually remember the experience.”

I glanced up, and Walker winked.

I sighed deeply, sat up in my chair, and faced him squarely. “Thank you. I appreciate you covering for me.”

“It's the least I could do, after last night,” he said.