Halfway to the Grave

"Are you still seeing Timmie? Please tell me you're using condoms."

I drew in a deep breath. I'd faced bloodthirsty monsters and been less nervous, but this was a discussion that had been put off long enough.

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. Why don't you come over this weekend? We...we can all sit down together."

"You're not pregnant, are you?" was her instant question.

"No." But when you hear this, you'll wish I was.

"All right, Catherine." She sounded less concerned, but still wary. "When?"

I swallowed hard. "Friday, seven o'clock?"

"Fine. I'll bring a pie."

And I'll grind up some Valium and put it in there, because you'll need it. "Okay. I'll see you then. I love you, Mom." Whether or not you'll decide to love me.

"Someone's at the door, Catherine. I have to go."

"Okay. 'Bye."

I hung up. Well, it was done. I'd tell Bones about it later when I saw him. Knowing him, he'd be pleased. Poor man didn't realize what he had coming.

About thirty minutes later a knock sounded at the door, startling me. Timmie was out of town visiting his mother. Bones had left before dawn in his usual routine, so that only left my landlord Mr. Josephs to be considered, especially since I'd just hung up with my mother. When I looked through the peephole to see who was outside, however, I didn't recognize the face. Either of them.

"Who is it?"

The vibe coming from the other side of the door was human, so I didn't grab for my stakes.

"Police. Detective Mansfield and Detective Black. Catherine Crawfield?"

Police? "Yes?" Still, I didn't open the door.

There was an uncomfortable pause. "Will you open the door, please, miss? We'd like to ask you a few questions."

The tone of voice didn't sound like he appreciated speaking through a wall. Frantically I kicked my stakes, always nearby just in case, under the couch.

"Just a second! I'm not dressed."

I put the remainder of my weapons into a suitcase and shoved them under the bed. I threw a robe over myself to complete the picture of hastily clothed, and opened the door.

The one who looked around fifty introduced himself as Detective Mansfield, and the younger one, perhaps in his mid-thirties, was Detective Black. Detective Mansfield handed me a card with his name and number printed on it. I took it, shook their hands, and glanced briefly at the badges they flashed at me.

"Those could be from Kmart and I wouldn't know the difference, so you'll excuse me if we just chat at the door."

My voice was cool but polite as I mentally sized them up. They didn't appear threatening, but looks were deceiving, and we knew Hennessey had goons in uniform on his side.

Detective Mansfield looked me over as well, and his eyes were probing. I hoped I looked like the poster child of the innocent college student.

"Miss Crawfield, if it would make you more comfortable, you can call the department and verify our badge numbers. We'd be willing to wait. Then we could come inside and not have to stand."

Nice try, but no cigar, fellas. "Oh, that's all right. What is this about? Was my truck broken into or something? There's been a lot of that going on at the campus."

"No, miss, we aren't here about your truck, but I bet you've got a good idea why we would want to talk to you, don't you?"

"No, I don't, and I don't appreciate the mystery, Detective."

Now my tone hardened a bit to let them know I wasn't a quivering mass of jelly. Like my intestines had become.

"Well, Catherine Crawfield, we don't like mysteries, either. Especially ones that involve murdered mothers and dug-up corpses. Do you know Felicity Summers?"

The name rang a distant bell, but damned if I was going to say that. "No, who is she? And what are you talking about? Is this a joke?"

My eyes widened a little, as would someone's who had never planted over a dozen bodies in the ground. When he said "dug-up corpses" I thought my knees would give out. Thankfully, though, I was ramrod-straight.

"She was a twenty-five-year-old mother who disappeared six years ago while visiting a friend. Her decomposed body was found eight weeks ago in Indiana by hunters. Yet her car, a navy 1998 Passat, was found at the bottom of Silver Lake in our area two weeks ago. Does any of this sound familiar to you?"

I knew who she was now, seeing the registration papers again in my mind the night I killed my first vampire. The same one who had taken me to Silver Lake in a lovely blue Passat. Motherfucker, they had found the car I dumped.

But I blinked at him in na?ve confusion and shook my head. "Why would any of that sound familiar to me? I've never even been to Indiana. How would I know that poor woman?"

That poor woman indeed. I knew better than these two smug pricks how she must have suffered.

"Why won't you let us come in, Miss Crawfield? Is there something you're hiding?"

Back to that again. They must not have a warrant, or they wouldn't be pushing so hard for the invite.

"I'll tell you why I won't let you in. Because you came to my door asking me about a dead woman like I should know something and I don't appreciate that." There. Arms folded across my chest for indignant effect.

Mansfield leaned in closer. "Okay, we'll play it your way. Do you know any reason why a headless corpse was buried a hundred yards from the shore where Mrs. Summers's car was found? Or why that corpse had been dead for nearly twenty years? I mean, why would someone dig up a corpse, chop its head off, put contemporary clothes on it, and then bury it next to the place where they dumped the victim's car, a state away from her body? Do you have any idea why someone would do that?"

Well, score one for Bones. He had been right that the first vampires I'd killed were young ones.

"I don't know why someone would do that. I don't know why people do many of the strange things they do in this world." That was certainly the truth. "But what I really don't know is why you're telling me all of this."

Mansfield let a mean little smile cross his face.

"Oh, you're good. Just a nice country girl from a small town, huh? You see, I happen to know better. I know, for example, that on the night of November twelfth, 2001, a man matching the description of Felicity Summers's kidnapper was seen leaving Club Galaxy with a tall, pretty young redhead. Driving in Felicity's 1998 navy Passat. We had an APB out on the Passat, and it was stopped in Columbus that night. For some reason, the officer got confused and let the suspect go, but not before calling in his plates. When Detective Black researched further, he also found out that on that same night, your grandfather called the police because you'd gone out and hadn't come home. Now is any of this coming back to you?"