Crimes by Moonlight

Death of a Vampire by Parnell Hall

Sergeant MacAullif was less than pleased. That wasn’t surprising. Less than pleased was his default position, the attitude he usually affected whenever I walked into his office. Which was hardly fair. I’d done him a favor once, and he’d gotten me out of a tight jam now and then, and when you added it all up, it wasn’t like we’d hurt each other much. Except the time he threw me up against my car, or the time he tried to push me through a wall. If the truth be known, I think his ritual expression of disgust was no more than that, a ritual expression, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing, except that everything was fine, everything was normal, everything was par for the course. If MacAullif ever seemed glad to see me, I’d be worried.

Only this time he had cause.

“A vampire?” MacAullif said.

There is no way I can do justice to the skepticism, sarcasm, and mistrust with which MacAullif managed to imbue the word.

“That’s right.”

“You want me to find a vampire?”

“I’d be relieved if you could. I’m afraid he might be dead.”

“Aren’t vampires already dead?”

“Good point. I see you’re up on vampires. That will help.”

“I’m not up on vampires,” MacAullif said through clenched teeth. “I was ridiculing the notion.”

“I noticed.”

“What are you really here for?”

“I’m a private investigator. I don’t have the resources of the police department.”

MacAullif sighed. “Oh, hell.”

“Can you trace a guy for me?”

“Is he a vampire?”

“I refuse to answer on the grounds that it might subject me to ridicule.”

“Who is this vampire?”

“Morris Feldman.”

“Not Valmont? Or Count Gootsagoo? Or whatever?”

“Sorry.”

“Who is he? Aside from the obvious.”

“That’s what I’d like to determine.”

“What makes you think he’s dead?”

“His girlfriend hasn’t heard from him.”

“You think someone killed him?”

“That’s a possibility.”

“How do you kill a vampire? Silver bullets?”

“That’s werewolves.”

“Cloves of garlic?”

“That’s French bread.”

“Come on. How do you kill a vampire?”

“Stake through the heart.”

“Of course.”

MacAullif opened his desk drawer and took out a cigar. His doctor made him give up cigars; still, he liked to play with them in times of stress. I’d seen him play with them a lot. “Who hired you?”

“The girlfriend.”

“Who’s she?”

“Debbie Dwyer.”

“Why does that name sound familiar?”

“She runs an escort service. You’ve probably patronized it.”

He leveled the cigar. “You want me to do this or not?”

“She’s a college student at Columbia University.”

“What’s she studying?”

“Pre-law.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Not at all.”

“How’d she get involved with a vampire?” MacAullif made a face. “Geez, I can’t believe I asked that question.”

“She’s a goth.”

“What?”

“You know. She wears that white and black makeup, looks like death warmed over.”

“From that you conclude she’s a goth?”

“Not a rough deduction.”

“It is with your track record. I think it’s safe to assume she’s something else entirely, and you misdiagnosed it. How’d you get mixed up with her?”

I flashed back to my first meeting. Which seemed somewhat appropriate when dealing with a vampire, not to be fettered with normal time constraints. Not that vampires can time travel. At least as far as I know. Even so.

It was almost a week since she had walked into my office. I was surprised to see her. First, because she looked like she did. Second, because I don’t get a lot of walk-in clients. The Stanley Hastings Detective Agency primarily services the law firm of Rosenberg and Stone. Richard Rosenberg is one of New York City ’s premier negligence lawyers. I’m his top investigator, which isn’t saying much. His cases are mostly trip-and-falls, someone suing the city of New York for having broken their leg on a pothole or a crack in the sidewalk. I stop by every morning to check my messages and pick up my mail, but most of the time my office is closed. So walk-in clients have a rather small window of opportunity.

Debbie Dwyer made it.

She knocked rather faintly, like the scratching of a cat, so I wasn’t sure there was someone there. I opened the door, expecting to see the corridor empty. Instead, I found a young woman with coal black, spiky hair and white makeup accentuated by black shadow around the eyes and black liner around the mouth.

“Yes?” I said. It was the wittiest private eye remark I was able to come up with on the occasion.

“Mr. Hastings?” she said.

I hate that. Granted, she was college-age, and I am not. Still, it is the sort of thing I dislike having flung in my face, being addressed as sir or mister, knowing the worst is yet to come in the form of a devastating young fella.

“What can I do for you?”

“I may want to hire you.”

The word may was disappointing. I liked the word hire, however. I needed money.

“Come in.”

I sat her in the client’s chair, then went and sat behind my desk, as if interviewing prospective clients were a daily routine.

“What’s your problem?” I asked.

“It’s my boyfriend.”

“Yes?”

“Promise you won’t laugh.”

“Why?”

“He’s a vampire.”

“I didn’t promise.”

She made a face. “Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?”

“Closed-minded. Think of the movies.”

“Movies?”

“You know, in all the movies when someone is trying to warn everyone or looking for help or whatever, and the police won’t believe her because her story is a little out of the normal. Say she has premonitions.” She scrunched up her nose. I could tell she was getting close to dangerous ground. “Sometimes it’s supernatural. Ghosts, the undead, or something, and everyone in the movie theater knows what she’s saying is absolutely true, and they’re really pissed off at the cops for not paying attention to her. You ever watch a movie like that, and you’re thinking, ‘How can the cops be so stupid?’ You know what I’m saying?”

I knew exactly what she was saying. I also knew the difference between a movie and real life.

Still, there was that possibility of money in the offing.

“Go on,” I said.

“So. Morris is a vampire.”

“Okay.”

“Yes, I know,” she said. “I don’t expect you to believe me. I don’t expect anyone to believe me.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to know if he’s for real.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to know if he’s a vampire.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding you? I want to hire you. Do you want the job?”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I have a date tonight. When he drops me off at my dorm, I want you to follow him and see where he goes.”

“Why can’t you do it yourself?”

She made a face.

“Oh, I see. You tried.”

“He’s on guard against me following him. It’s gotta be someone else.”

“You mean you don’t know where he lives?”

“No.”

“You got his name. Haven’t you Googled him? Or some sort of Internet search?”

“I came up empty.”

“Isn’t that interesting in itself?”

“Fascinating,” she said dryly. “Look, you want the job or not?”

I wanted the job.

There was only one problem.

ALICE was amused. I expected her to be amused. I just wasn’t sure what form her amusement might take. On the one hand my wife has a good sense of humor. On the other, she is perfectly capable of ridiculing me within an inch of my life. “You’re involved with a vampire?”

“In a way.”

“And what way might that be?”

“I’m involved with his girlfriend.”

“What a surprise.”

“I’m not involved with her. I’ve been hired.”

“How old is this girlfriend?”

“Oh.”

Alice smiled. “Okay, we’ve established young. Are we talking thirty-something?”

“I don’t see how the exact age makes any difference.”

“Good God, is she a teenager?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

“She’s a college student. At Columbia University. Pre-law.”

“Ah. And what does she look like, this college student?”

“Oh.”

I tiptoed Alice through the whole goth bit. Needless to say, her commentary was withering.

When I was done, as usual, she put the whole thing in perspective. “Well,” she said. “We need the money.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Alice cocked her head. “She pay in advance?”

“Oh.”

THAT night I was at Columbia University outside Miss Pre-law, goth-dressing, vampire-dating’s dorm. I had changed from a suit and tie, my standard PI gear, to a leather jacket and jeans, my standard vampire-tailing gear. I was trying to look inconspicuous, which wasn’t all that easy. The problem with Columbia University is it’s full of college students, and they tend to be young. I get older every year. Coeds were looking at me strangely. After a while, it dawned on me in my current outfit I must have looked like a pervert trying to pick up young girls. I should have worn a tweed jacket, passed for a professor. The problem is, I don’t see myself as old enough to be a professor. Whereas, in truth, I’m probably old enough to be the father of a professor.

They were back at eleven thirty. I spotted him first. Remarkable, since I knew her. But then he was a vampire. Not that he wore a cloak or a cape or a hood. Or had fangs. Or any of your standard cliché vampire gear. He was actually wearing a leather jacket, not unlike mine, though mine was brown, and his, of course, was black. Granted, his collar was up, but that didn’t have to be vampire, it could easily have been motorcycle tough. He also wore a black T-shirt and black jeans. All in all, his vampire was no wilder than Debbie’s goth. No, what caught your eye was the lean face, light blue eyes, and thin lips.

It was the lips, in particular, that merited attention. Unusually thin, as if he’d deliberately sucked them in, covering up his teeth.

He kissed her good night at the door. Then, in a flash, he ducked down a side alley next to the dorm.

Damn! There I was, waiting for him to go back out the main gate of the quad the way he came, and the son of a bitch takes a shortcut to the side street. I fell all over myself trying to follow, but by the time I got there, he was gone.

You ever ask anyone which way the vampire went?

DEBBIE was pissed. “You lost him?”

“I never had him.”

“What?”

“ ‘You lost him’ implies I was following him, and he got away. That didn’t happen. He was gone before I even started.”

She made a face at me. Trust me, it’s no fun to have a goth make a face at you. “Oh, isn’t that clever? What are you, a moron? Didn’t you see us come back to the dorm?”

“Yes.”

“Then you saw Morris. If you saw him, you had him. You had him, and you lost him, end of story.”

“I take it I’m fired.”

“Fired? Fired from what? You haven’t done anything yet.”

“I staked out a dorm.”

“You expect me to pay you for that?”

I hadn’t expected her to pay me at all. But she was pissing me off. “In this business there are no guarantees.”

Her eyes blazed. “What the hell are you talking about, guarantees? It’s not like you tried and failed. It’s like you didn’t do anything.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“How much do you think I owe you?”

“You don’t owe me a thing. Good luck with your vampire. I hope the next private eye you hire does better.”

She immediately began to backtrack. “Don’t be an old grouse,” she said. I wasn’t thrilled by the adjective. “It didn’t work last night. Now you know better. Now you’ll do better. I’m seeing Morris again tonight. Be there when he brings me home.”

Having graciously relented and allowed me another shot at vampire surveillance, the goth proceeded to launch into a lecture on how this time I shouldn’t fail.

There were a lot of things I could have said right then, but I’d have had to interrupt her. And nothing was going to help. I shut up and let her rant.

THE vampire was wearing a sports jacket. The fact that it threw me was rather unsettling. It meant I’d accepted the premise. That I was thinking it funny for a vampire to wear a sports jacket.

I was dressed differently, too, in a polo shirt and khaki pants. I had my hair parted on the other side and felt sheepish about it. It was as if I were wearing a disguise so the vampire wouldn’t recognize me. Leaving out the word vampire, it still seemed strange. In my line of detective work, a disguise is about the last thing I’d ever use. I tried to tell myself it’s not a wig or a mustache, just running a comb though my hair in the wrong direction, but I wasn’t buying it. Nothing was going to keep me from feeling like a fool.

I was positioned at the mouth of the alley, as opposed to the night before, when I’d been on the other side of the quad. If he went down the alley, he was mine. If he went anywhere else, I’d have time to follow.

After a lingering kiss, (no, his mouth did not venture anywhere near her neck), he turned and walked off as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

I followed him out of the quad at 116th Street, where he ignored the bus stop and subway station on the corner, instead crossing Broadway and looking uptown as if to hail a cab.

That was a problem. If I wanted to follow him, I’d have to hail a cab, too. If I crossed Broadway to get one, he’d see me. Which is why I didn’t do that. I stayed right where I was. I’d grab a cab going uptown, make him make a U-turn at 116th. I walked a few car lengths downtown, so when I hailed a cab he’d have room to get left and make the turn. There was nothing coming uptown at the moment, which concerned me. I looked to see how the vampire was doing.

That’s when I saw the other guy. He was crossing Broadway, just the way I said I shouldn’t, jaywalking to reach the north side of 116th, right in position to hail a cab.

Only he wasn’t looking for a cab. He was spying on the vampire, while pretending he wasn’t, looking to all intents and purposes exactly like I was afraid I’d look, and probably would have. He was an older man, older than the vampire, anyway, though probably not older than me. Nobody’s older than me these days. He had heavy beard stubble, like he hadn’t shaved that morning. If he had shaved that morning, he had very heavy beard stubble. He wore a gray suit and white shirt, open at the neck.

Cabs were coming, which was good news for them, bad news for me, as none were coming uptown. Which put me in the position of having to sprint across Broadway, hoping to finish a poor third.

The vampire hailed a cab. Now there’s a phrase I never expected to say. But he did, and as it pulled away from the curb, the heavy-bearded, fearless vampire tailer stepped out and hailed another.

I was about to make the mad dash across Broadway when a cab pulled out of a side street, and I hopped in. I was tempted to say, “Follow that vampire.” It was bad enough saying, “Follow that cab.”

“Make a U-turn right here, follow that guy getting into the cab across the street.”

The cabby was a stocky Hispanic in no mood for trouble. “Hey, buddy, what is this?”

I flashed my license. I felt foolish, as usual, which is why I seldom do it. “I’m a PI, it’s a boy-girl thing, no one’s getting hurt.”

The cabby wasn’t sold. “What’s your interest in this guy?”

“None. I’m interested in the guy he’s following.”

The cabby nearly twisted his head off turning to look at me. “What the hell?!”

“You want the fare or not?”

That settled it. The cabby started the meter, pulled out from the curb. He hung a U-turn at 116th Street, and away we went.

It didn’t take long to catch up. The vampire was tooling down Broadway, and his shadow was right on his tail. The guy was following way too close. If I’d been in the cab, I’d have made the cabby drop back. I made my cabby drop back and was a good half a block behind when the vampire’s cab signaled for a left turn.

“He’s turning, don’t lose him!” I told the cabby.

His grunt was eloquent. I tell him to drop back, then I’m afraid he won’t make the light.

It’s important to make the light on Broadway. It’s a two-way, divided street. If you’re in the intersection when the light changes, you can turn left. If you’re not in the intersection, you have to wait for the light to change twice. Once to green on Broadway to let you go, then to green on the cross street to let you complete the turn. Miss a turn like that on a tailing job, and you’re dead.

We made it, but just. My cab broke the plain of the crosswalk somewhere between the last split second of the yellow and the first split second of the red.

The vampire didn’t turn left onto 108th Street. Instead, his cab made a U-turn heading back up Broadway. That was okay, because the light at 109th and Broadway was red, so he couldn’t get away, and there was time to catch up.

But the maneuver meant he’d probably spotted his tail.

He had.

The vampire hopped out of his cab, darted across Broadway, and hailed another cab that had just turned downtown off 109th. When the light changed, he was gone, leaving his two tails caught at the light, snarled in uptown traffic, without a prayer of ever catching up.

DEBBIE couldn’t believe it. “You lost him again!”

“Yes, I did. But it wasn’t my fault.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I’m serious. I don’t think he ever spotted me. I think he spotted the other guy.”

“What other guy?”

“The other guy tailing him.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I know how you feel. I couldn’t believe it, either. I feel like a PI caught in a shaggy vampire story. Morris hailed a cab. The guy hailed a cab and followed him. Morris spotted him and ditched him. Since I was in the third cab, there wasn’t much I could do.”

“You’re not making this up?”

“If I were making it up, it would sound much better. It’s the truth, so it sounds like hell.”

“This other guy. What was he like?”

“Medium height. Stocky. Maybe forty-five to fifty. Thick black hair, a little gray. Heavy beard stubble.”

She exhaled sharply. “Dad!”

“The gentleman is your father?”

“Damn it!”

“I take it he doesn’t approve of your vampire.”

“He doesn’t know he’s a vampire.”

“What does he think he is?”

“A boy.”

I nodded knowingly. “I see.”

“Hey, don’t get chummy with me. You’re not my pal.”

“I understand. I’m your employee. Tell me, how does it work? I know when I lose the vampire, I don’t get paid. What happens when your father loses him?”

She said nothing, just glared.

“Anyway, the job is off. There’s no way to do it with Daddy involved.”

“I’ll take care of him. We’ll have a little talk.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“It will.”

“I’d like to believe that.”

“Hey, I’ll do my job. You just do yours.”

I cocked an eye ironically. “You mean you’re giving me another chance.”

“You say it’s Daddy’s fault. I guess I have to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“I’m thrilled. What’s the deal this time?”

“Same thing. I’ve got a date with Morris.”

“At the end of which he’ll be dropping you off at your dorm?”

“That’s right.”

“But he won’t be going up to your room.”

“No.”

“And you’ve never been to his.”

“What’s your point?”

“I’m just trying to define the relationship.”

“What’s the matter? I’m not promiscuous enough for you?”

“Don’t be dumb. I’ve never known anyone who was dating a vampire before. Naturally, I’m a little curious. If you don’t go to each other’s rooms, what do you do? Just hang out in the park and suck each other’s blood?”

“You wanna check my neck?” she said sarcastically.

“Not necessarily.”

“Go on. Take a look.”

She was wearing a black turtleneck. She pulled it over her head, which gave me a clear view of her neck. Among other things. She was wearing a pushup bra, and it was doing its work. All in all, she was one attractive goth.

The door flew open, and a blur of heavy stubble rushed in.

Talk about bad timing! You could count on the fingers of no hands how often young girls show up at my office and take their shirts off. It no sooner happens than her father bursts in to kill me.

It occurred to me maybe they were pulling a badger game. Right before it occurred to me my paranoia had reached absurd limits. Right before I bounced off the file cabinet and slammed into the floor.

“Daddy!” Debbie screamed.

I couldn’t see her, but I hoped like hell she was pulling on her shirt. I sprang to my feet, grabbed a folding chair, did my best impression of a lion tamer.

“Don’t be a jerk,” I said. “She’s just trying to prove he didn’t bite her.” That caught him up short. His mouth fell open. He turned to his daughter. “What’s he talking about?”

She shot me a look. “Blabbermouth!”

Daddy had forgotten I was there. “Debbie, sweetie, what’s this all about?”

She told him. More or less. He showed all the skepticism you would expect, peppered with a dose of overprotective dad, though what could be considered overprotective under the circumstances, I’m not sure.

The remarkable thing is, she got him out of there. Her powers of persuasion were considerable. She’d make a fine lawyer if she ever got a chance. The way she showed Daddy the door was impressive indeed.

The minute he was out, however, she broke just like a little girl. “Oh, my God! This is awful! This is just awful!”

I figured her next segue would be how it was all my fault. I wasn’t up for that again.

“No, it isn’t,” I said. “It’s great.”

She gave me the classic goth-dealing-with-a-moron look. If you haven’t had it, trust me, you don’t want it. It’ll stay with you. “In what way is this great?”

“I wasn’t getting anywhere, and I wasn’t about to. The whole problem was, my hands were tied because you didn’t want the vampire to know you were investigating him.”

“So?”

“You’re not investigating him.” I smiled, spread my hands. “Daddy is.”

I caught up with the vampire that night as he was hailing his cab. The goth must have worked her magic, because Daddy was nowhere around.

I sidled up to the vampire, said, “Wanna share a cab?”

He didn’t sink his teeth into my throat. I took that as a good sign. On the other hand, he didn’t seem pleased to see me. And not in the ritual Sergeant MacAullifway. The guy was pissed. “Who the hell are you?” he said.

He had a Brooklyn accent. The goth hadn’t mentioned that. Of course, I hadn’t asked. My interrogation techniques are a little suspect. Just ask Alice.

“I don’t wanna give you a hard time. Believe it or not, I was young once, too. You’re dating the guy’s daughter, and he’s less than thrilled. He wants to know the score. I could tell him myself, but that’s not what he wants. So why don’t you cut me a break?”

“Her father hired you?”

“Did I say that? I don’t recall saying that. I would certainly be in a position to deny saying that if you ever made the claim. But the gentleman is concerned with whether or not you’re a vampire.”

“Oh,” he said with disgust. “Debbie ratted me out.”

“You ratted yourself out. You look like a vampire. You act like a vampire. Granted, you don’t dress like a vampire. But you walk around like the Prince of Darkness. It’s a little hard to miss. What’s your story?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll tell you what you wanna know. When I’m done, you go about your business, I’ll get in a cab and go about mine. You won’t try to follow me, find out where I live, stake out my apartment, tap my phone.”

“Done.”

“Okay, what do you want to know?”

“Are you a vampire?”

He grimaced. “That’s not the point.”

“It may not be the point, but it’s what I wanna know.”

“The point is not whether I’m a vampire; the point is whether you believe I am. Debbie does. That’s enough for her, and it’s enough for me. If it’s not enough for her father, that’s tough. That’s the way it is.”

“Our deal was you’d answer my questions.”

“I’m answering your questions. You may not like the answers, but that’s not our deal.”

“Do you have an apartment, or do you sleep all day in the ground covered with a layer of dirt?”

“That’s just the type of ridicule I could expect.”

“From a mere mortal?” I asked impishly.

He smiled. “You’re not helping yourself.”

“Maybe not. I’d like just one denial I can take to the bank.”

“Fine,” he said. “Ask me if I mean Debbie any harm.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“Yeah, but isn’t that what this is all about? Does her old man really give a damn who or what I am, or is he concerned for his daughter’s safety? If it’s the first thing, he’s an idiot, and I can’t help him. If it’s the second thing, he should be reassured.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a student.”

“At Columbia?”

“Yeah.” He cocked his head at me. “What do you do?”

That question always throws me. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I always think of myself as an aspiring actor/writer. At my age, that’s tough to claim. “I’m a private investigator,” I said.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Are you a real private investigator, or are you just pretending to be one?”

My mouth fell open. He nailed me. Put his finger right on the inner conflict that’s haunted me most of my adult life.

He smiled at my confusion. “There you are. That’s just it. Am I a vampire, or do I just pretend to be? I am what you want me to be. To Debbie I am. To you, maybe I’m not. But who gets hurt?”

I frowned.

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a stick ofwood. One end was fashioned to a point.

“You know what this is? This is death. I keep it close to my heart, to remind me death is near.” He grinned. “You wanna tell that to her father? He won’t be pleased. And who does it threaten? Debbie or me?”

He stuck the wooden stake back in his pocket. “Life’s an illusion. Yours, mine, Debbie’s. Even her old man. Believe what you want to believe. I can’t help what you think.”

The light changed. Traffic streamed by.

“Ah, here’s a cab.” He raised his arm, flagged it down. “Remember our deal,” he said.

He hopped in the cab and drove off.

I remembered our deal.

I let him go.

NEEDLESS to say, Debbie felt I’d failed.

“You didn’t find out where he lives. You didn’t find out where he goes during the daytime. Which is the whole point. If he’s a vampire, he can’t exist in sunlight. If he can, he’s not a vampire. It’s that simple. Don’t you get it?”

“Can I tell you something?”

“You’re gonna give me advice?”

“I suppose.”

“You gonna charge me for it?”

“You’re going to make a good lawyer.”

“That’s your advice?”

“That’s an observation.”

“I don’t need your approval.”

“Yeah, I know. Look. There’s no such thing as vampires. But if you wanna play the game, this is not a bad guy to play with. Is he a vampire? No, he’s not. I can’t prove it, but I’ll bet the ranch on it. It doesn’t matter. You’re young. This is a passing fancy.”

“Just a phase I’m going through,” she said sarcastically.

“I didn’t say that. But, frankly, I don’t see you in a courtroom in your Kabuki face.”

She pouted, then switched gears. “All right, look. He’s taking me out again tonight.”

I put up my hand, shook my head. “No. I’m done. That’s it. You don’t owe me anything. We’re all square. Let’s leave it at that.”

She looked betrayed. “But…”

“Sorry,” I said. “I’ve done all I can. Probably more than I should. Anyway, I got work to do.”

I snapped my briefcase shut and went out the door.

I wasn’t worried about leaving her alone in my office. If she could find anything there worth stealing, she was welcome to it.

SHE was back the next morning. I almost didn’t recognize her without her makeup. It was a vast improvement. She looked like any other college girl.

Except for the fact she was hysterical.

I tried to calm her down, find out what was the matter.

Turned out it was simple.

“He didn’t show up!”

Ah, youth.

I smiled reassuringly. “You’re not the first girl in the world ever got stood up.”

She shook her head. Practically stamped her foot. “No! He’s not like that. He wouldn’t do that. If he didn’t show up, something is wrong!”

“Did you check up on him?”

“How could I check up on him? You didn’t give me his address. You just assured me everything was all right. Well, guess what. Turns out you were wrong.”

“I understand. You’re upset. You feel helpless. But I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“You’re sure? Like you were sure everything was okay. Why won’t anyone pay attention to me? Why won’t anyone listen?”

And there she was, the girl in the horror movie, pleading for help. Which is what brought me to MacAullif’s office. That and a sense of obligation and a desire to pass the buck. In the movies, the people pleading for help are the good guys, and the people not listening are the jerks. Not that I wished the role of jerk on MacAullif. I just didn’t want it on me. I talked MacAullif into running a trace on the guy and went out on my rounds.

HE got back to me later that afternoon. I was in Queens interviewing a woman who’d fallen on a city bus when the office beeped me, told me MacAullif wanted me to call. That couldn’t be good.

It wasn’t.

“A corpse matching your description turned up yesterday morning.”

“Yesterday? How come you’re just getting to me now?”

“You gave me Morris Feldman. This guy’s Michael Fletcher. Same initials, so I ran it down. You gonna be grateful for that, or you gonna be pissed off I didn’t pick up on it sooner, seeing as how I have no workload for the NYPD.”

“Yesterday morning?”

“Yeah.”

“Where was the body?”

“ Riverside Park at 114th. Just off the upper path, buried in a shallow grave.”

“What do you mean by shallow grave?”

“That’s the way it was described to me. I didn’t happen to see it. The guy was at the morgue by the time I got the lead.”

“How’d he die?”

“Multiple stab wounds. From a sharp object, most likely a butcher knife.”

“What about the time of death?”

“About twelve hours before he was found.”

I sucked in my breath. “Right after I saw him.”

“You saw him?”

“Yeah.”

“You were the last person to see him alive?”

“Aside from the killer.”

MacAulliflet that lie there just long enough for the silence to become uncomfortable. “Wanna run down to the morgue and see if it’s him?”

IT was.

The guy on the marble slab looked exactly like the vampire I’d met. With perhaps a few pints less blood.

The medical examiner was cutting up some woman. He stopped long enough to check us out.

“You did the autopsy on this one?” MacAullif asked.

“Yeah.”

“Can you give me the cause of death?”

“You want me to talk in front of him?”

“Relax. He’s on our side. What killed him?”

“Multiple stab wounds to the torso. Some sharp object, probably a butcher knife.”

“Which one killed him?”

“The one in the heart,” he shrugged. “He might have died from the one in the lung. But the one in the heart wasn’t postmortem, because it was still pumping blood. Was it the last wound? I don’t know. Was it a mortal wound? Yes, it was. What ‘killed him’”-he made quotation marks around the word with his fingers-“is splitting hairs. You sure this guy’s not a lawyer?”

“Any contributing cause of death?” I said.

“Funny you should ask.”

“Why? Was he drugged?”

He shook his head. “Tox screen was clean. But when you mention contributing cause of death…”

“Yeah?”

“He was also stabbed with a sharp piece of wood. I didn’t see it at first. Found it in his clothes. It was in the wound and had fallen out.”

“The wound?”

“The wound in his heart.”

“Are you saying a wooden stake caused his death?”

“No. He was stabbed in the heart with a butcher knife, just like all the other wounds. The killer stuck the stake in his heart afterward.”

“You mean he was dead?”

“He was probably still alive. There was a lot of blood on the wood. But he died shortly thereafter. I figure the heart pumping blood pushed the wood out of the wound. Just before he died. We’re not talking a long time here. A few seconds, maybe.”

I walked out as if in a fog. MacAullif had to take my arm, guide me to the car.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a shock, seeing ’em cut up like that.”

“I’ve been in a morgue before.”

“Don’t get hung up on the stake. There’s more important things here. Like who killed him, for instance.”

“I know who killed him.”

“Oh?”

“It was her father. He couldn’t stand him messing around with his little girl.”

“You sure?”

“Pretty sure. If I was her father, I might have killed him myself.”

“He was that bad?”

“Actually, I kind ofliked him.”

“You really think it’s the father?”

“Yeah.”

IT was Daddy all right. MacAullif picked him up, shook him down, he caved right in. That’s how it is with some tough guys. They put up a good front until their luck turns. Daddy spilled his guts. Admitted it all.

“Except for the stake,” MacAullif said. “He won’t admit to the stake.”

“What?”

“Claims he never saw the stake. Didn’t mention it till we brought it up. Then he denied it.”

“Really?”

MacAullif waved it away. “Not that it matters. He admits to the knife. Between his confession and the testimony of the medical examiner, we got him dead to rights.”

I nodded as if I agreed. But that wooden stake would haunt me long after the event. As would the image of the goth girl, her boyfriend dead, her daddy convicted of the crime. A hell of a legacy to carry with her. I had visions of her getting a law degree, finding a loophole, getting Daddy out. A pipe dream, of course. But sometimes pipe dreams keep you going.

Yeah, MacAullif was satisfied. But I couldn’t help thinking of that wooden stake.

The way I saw it, there were only two ways that could have happened.

I only met the vampire once, but as I told MacAullif, I liked him. I don’t know if he was crazy or playacting or what, but within his own separate universe, he seemed to have his own set of rules. There was a certain gallant nobility about him. I could imagine him, realizing he was dying, wanting to go out with a bang. Or not wanting to disappoint the goth. Or wanting to keep up the mystique, for to him image was everything.

I could imagine him pulling the wooden stake out of his pocket and sticking it in the knife wound in his heart.

Either that, or Daddy was lying. Not unusual in a perpetrator, though somewhat unlikely in one confessing all. Still, I could imagine the guy being embarrassed about it, withholding it because he figured it didn’t matter.

And because he couldn’t face it.

Because, according to the medical report, Daddy killed the vampire right after I left him that night. Which meant that, despite Debbie’s warning, and in spite of the fact I never spotted him, Daddy was there when I spoke to the vampire. Daddy saw the vampire show me the stake and put it back in his pocket. So Daddy knew it was there.

I could envision Daddy stabbing the kid again and again and again with the butcher knife, and he still won’t die. Until, in spite of himself, Daddy takes the wooden stake out of the vampire’s pocket, and plunges it into his heart. He drags the body into the bushes, throws dirt over him. And refuses to admit, even to himself, that the stake was what killed him.

It had to be one or the other.

Either way, it freaks me out.