Once Bitten by Stephen Leather Read Free Book Online Page A

television.”
    Filbin slammed down the phone. “Jerk,” he said.
    “That's no way to talk to Jamie D. Beaverbrook, world renowned vampire hunter,” admonished De'Ath.
    “I didn't mean this jerk,” said Filbin. "I meant those guys in Forensic. Had her clothes arrived?
    Don't forget to sign for them. Don't forget to send back the paperwork. Teaching their grandmothers to suck eggs."
    There was a blue file on Filbin's desk and I could see a colour photograph peeping out. He saw me looking and pushed it across the desk at me. “Scene of crime pics,” he said. “Not for the faint hearted.”
    “Mind if I look?” I said, more to keep De'Ath happy than anything else. He sometimes got a bit ratty if I took liberties.
    Both men nodded. I pulled up a chair and sat down. There were a dozen or so glossy photographs, each twelve inches by ten inches. Some were close-ups of the victim's face. He seemed to be about forty years old, his hair in a military-looking crew cut, his eyes blank and staring. There was a savage cut in his throat reaching from his windpipe up to his right ear. Other photographs showed his blood-soaked chest, though it was difficult to see where the knife had gone in.
    One of the phones rang and De'Ath picked it up.
    The victim was wearing a suit, not the grey one I'd seen in the dream but a brown and yellow checked one. He was wearing a red tie and there was a matching red handkerchief sprouting out of his top pocket. Both were the same colour as the blood over his neck and chest. I flicked through the photographs, knowing what I was looking for but not wanting to admit it to myself. One of the pictures was a full length shot of the body. I could see the brown shoes and I scrutinised the socks.
    They were red. They were not black with white triangles. I sighed and sat back in the chair.
    De'Ath replaced the receiver. “Coroner's office,” he said to Filbin. “Autopsy'll go ahead this afternoon. I'm going to have a chat with young Miss Ferriman. Can you hit the phones and nail down a supplier of the those knife sets. What was the brand? Dick, wasn't it?”
    Filbin nodded. “Yeah, Dick. Some German company.”
    “OK, you know what we want. Number of sets sold in the LA area, and we want a set so that we can identify the one that was missing from her kitchen.“ De'Ath looked at me. ”You still here?” he asked.
    “No I'm a hologram,” I answered. “I left an hour ago.”
    A uniformed sergeant came banging through the door, a large plastic bag in one hand. He dropped the bag on Filbin's desk and thrust a clipboard under the Irish detective's nose.
    “You've gotta sign for these,” he rasped.
    “What is it, my laundry?” asked Filbin.
    "Don't piss me about, Filbin. They're Ferriman's clothes, from Forensic. Just sign your name.
    You can manage joined-up writing, can't you?"
    Filbin sighed and took a pen off his desk and scrawled on the clipboard while I reached for the bag. Inside there was a white t-shirt, a pair of black high-heeled boots, white briefs and bra, a black miniskirt, and a black leather motorcycle jacket. I took out the jacket and held it up. There was nothing unusual about it, you saw ones just like it every time you walked down the street, big collar, lots of zips, belt around the bottom. You know the sort. The sort she was wearing in the dream.
    The sergeant with the clipboard walked away. Over his shoulder he shouted "by the way, Doc,
    you know the Batmobile's got a ticket?"
    “This isn't a boutique,” said De'Ath and he took the jacket off me and pushed it back into the bag.
    “What are you going to do with them?” I asked.
    “She's not been charged yet, so she's free to wear her own clothes,” he said. He swung the bag off the desk and took it with him to the interview rooms. As he went through the double doors,
    Captain Canonico came barrelling into the Homicide office like a frigate under full steam.
    “Beaverbrook, got your crucifix and stake with you?” he