Even White Trash Zombies Get the Blues

Page 7

I swallowed hard, then fixed Allen with a hard look. “How long has the surveillance been messed up?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “A couple of days, to judge by the recorded data.”
“And how many people know about this?”
He flicked a glance around the room. “Probably no one. I do only because we tried to access the recording from tonight and couldn’t.”
A tiny bit of tension left my body. “Then why the hell would I make up a story like this if I knew that the surveillance video would prove me wrong?”
The sour expression on Allen’s face deepened, but I could see I’d scored a point. And to judge by the nods of others in the room, I wasn’t the only one. The mood in the room seemed to shift, to my intense relief.
Ben cleared his throat. “Angel’s not stupid. And right now we have no other information. I say we go on her statement unless and until we get any reason to think otherwise.”
I shot him a look loaded with gratitude. A hint of a reassuring smile twitched the corner of his mouth, just for an instant.
Dr. Duplessis sighed and sat in the chair at the head of the table. “This whole situation is distressing. After consideration, I’m inclined to believe that Angel was the victim of a prank—some sort of frat boy hijinks—since I find it hard to believe that there could be any nefarious purpose to stealing the body of an elderly security guard.” He shook his head while I gritted my teeth. Frat boy hijinks? There wasn’t a university within fifty miles of Tucker Point.
“Right now, I’m grateful that no one was hurt,” he continued, giving me what was probably meant to be a warm and caring smile. And perhaps it really was, but I was too wound up at the moment to believe it.
Captain Pierson gave me a measured look. “How about if Detective Roth and I speak to Miss Crawford on our own for a few moments.” He glanced to the coroner. “To get a coherent statement without so many onlookers, you understand.”
Dr. Duplessis seemed only too pleased to be given an excuse to leave. “Yes, of course. Let’s all clear out and let the police do their job.”
Within a minute the room had emptied—with Derrel giving my shoulder a comforting squeeze and a worried look on the way out—leaving only the three of us. I trusted Ben, but the captain scared the crap out of me, and not only because I had no doubt that he knew my criminal history. He had ice-blue eyes that seemed to take in everything, and I had a feeling he wasn’t the type who could be misled easily, if at all.
He took a seat across from me and laced his fingers together on the table. “Miss Crawford, I want you to tell your story again, please. With your permission, I’d like to record your statement.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
Ben pulled out a small digital recorder and set it on the table. “S-E-P-S-O case number twelve dash four nine six three one,” Ben rattled the words out. “Detective Ben Roth and Captain Jeffrey Pierson interviewing Angel Crawford.” He gave me another slight smile, then sat back.
“Miss Crawford,” Pierson said, “please tell us in your own words what happened tonight.”
I did. Again. Detailed the whole goddamn thing, the whole three minutes of it—or however long it lasted. And then Pierson asked me to go through it again, but this time he kept stopping me and asking me to clarify points, or he’d repeat parts back to me to make sure he had it right. Sometimes I had to correct him. By the fourth or fifth time I went through it, I was absolutely certain that I’d changed my story or was starting to imagine parts of it. And I was hungry. Oh fucking lord, was I ever hungry. Why the hell hadn’t I chugged some brains before calling 911? Why on earth had it mattered that I not heal up the cuts? It sure hadn’t helped them believe my story. I kept my hands clasped in my lap since I was terrified that my fingernails would start falling off, just from the stress.
“Look,” I finally said, “I think it’s important that this whole thing seemed…professional.”
Pierson lifted an eyebrow at me. “Professional bodysnatchers?”
I fought back the urge to scowl at him. “No. I mean, the guy wasn’t nervous at all. He was calm and cool, and the whole thing seemed almost rehearsed. I mean, with how smoothly he pulled it off.” I shrugged. “He was waiting for me, and if the fucking cameras had been working you could have seen that. I came straight from the death scene, so somehow he knew I was heading here with the body. He didn’t have long to prepare, and it was fucking flawless.”
Ben tapped his chin. “Tell us again what he said.”
God. This would be like the fourth or fifth time. “He said, ‘The body. Open the cooler and give it to me or I’ll kill you.’ But he said it super calm-like. I mean, like he was asking about the weather.”
“Did he have any sort of accent?” Pierson asked.
I thought for a second. “No. No accent at all.”
Ben let out a soft snort. “Well, that in itself tells us a lot in these parts.”
“Right,” I said, straightening. “He didn’t sound like he was from around here.”
Ben jotted some notes onto the pad in front of him. “You said he wore a mask, but is there anything else you can tell us about him? How tall was he? Eye color? Build?”
I rubbed at my eyes. “Um, his eyes were dark. I mean, not blue. I guess brown or dark hazel? And he was taller than me, but that doesn’t take a whole lot. Well built. I mean, like definitely in shape. Not pudgy.”
Ben scraped his chair back and stood and motioned to me to do the same. I complied, and he stuck his finger out in a fake gun. “About my height? Or taller?”
“Taller, definitely.”
Ben looked over to the Captain, who stood without asking. He was at least a head taller than Ben. “His height?”
I felt self-conscious as all hell, but I went ahead and stood in front of him. I didn’t ask him to pretend to hold a gun on me though. That would have just been weird as shit.
“Not quite as tall as him,” I told Ben, returning to my side of the table. “About somewhere in between.”
“All right then,” he said with a smile. “It’s a start.”
I didn’t think it was much of a start, but I wasn’t about to say anything.
Pierson leaned forward and clicked the recorder off. I looked up at him warily.
“Thank you, Angel,” he said, surprising me with the use of my first name. “We appreciate your help.”
“Do you believe me?” I asked him bluntly.
He pushed his chair back in. “I do not believe you are attempting to deceive me,” he said with a tight smile, then gave Ben a nod before moving to the door. But he stopped with his hand on the doorknob and turned back to me. “One more question, if you don’t mind.”
“Yeah?”
“You didn’t say anything about being afraid that he would shoot you,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “Why is that?”
“I, um, was just shocked more than anything.” A cold hard knot began to form in my belly. I wasn’t stupid—I could see how my apparent lack of fear could possibly be read as my being somehow involved.
“Of course,” he said. He gave me an understanding smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s a good thing you were able to keep calm. The last thing any of us want is another body.”
I gave a stiff nod. I didn’t really trust my voice at the moment.
Pierson opened the door, but before he could exit Marcus slipped in and made a beeline for me. “You okay?” he said, gaze sweeping over me as if to check for himself that I was free of pesky bullet holes. “I just heard about the holdup.”
“I’m fine,” I said, feeling absurdly self-conscious. I thought for an instant he was going to lean in and kiss me, but he apparently thought better of doing so in front of the others. Instead he simply gave my arm a squeeze. Over his shoulder I could see the Captain eyeing him with a slightly narrowed gaze. But to my relief, Pierson continued on out, with Ben right behind him. “I’m fine,” I repeated as the door swung shut. “It’s cool.”
“Good to know,” Marcus said. He gave a sigh of relief, then pulled me into a hug. I allowed myself to relax against him. “You need to eat more,” he murmured. “Weird shit is going on, and now’s not the time to be at less than full strength.” He pulled back and held my shoulders while he looked intently into my face. “I know you’re trying to ration your supply, but I can always help you out if you get into a bind.”
“I know. I was just about to. And you’re right.” He’d always been more than willing to share, but I’d decided shortly after we started seeing each other that I would only hit him up for brains if I had no other choice. I didn’t want to be dependent on him—or anyone. “Look,” I said, “there was something weird about that dead security guard.”
“Weird how?”
“Well, he had a fractured skull, and I was pretty hungry, but I couldn’t smell his brains.”
A frowned tugged at his mouth. “Are you sure? Maybe it wasn’t fractured enough for you to be able to tell.”
I shook my head. “It was fractured. Trust me. I could see pieces moving around under the scalp. And back at the lab I was hungry enough to smell brains in living people.” Hell, I still was. The little bit that I’d chugged in the van had been more than used up during this whole incident.
The troubled expression on his face deepened. “I don’t know, Angel. You shouldn’t let yourself get so hungry—it affects your thinking and judgment.”
I tamped down my growing irritation. “Yeah, I know that, but it wasn’t so bad before the holdup. I had some in the van on the way over. I think stress burned a bunch up.”
He shoved a hand through his hair. “The only reason I can think that you wouldn’t be able to smell the brains is if he was a zombie. But that’s not possible. He was definitely dead-for-real. The paramedics ran a strip on him and everything.”