The Laughing Corpse

26

The phone rang. I moved nothing but my eyes to glance at the bedside clock: 6:45 A.M. Shit. I lay there waiting, half drifted to sleep again when the answering machine picked up.

"It's Dolph. We found another one. Call my pager …»

I scrambled for the phone, dropping the receiver in the process. "H'lo, Dolph. I'm here."

"Late night?"

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Our friend has decided that single family homes are easy pickings." His voice sounded rough with lack of sleep.

"God, not another family."

"Fraid so. Can you come out?"

It was a stupid question, but I didn't point that out. My stomach had dropped into my knees. I didn't want a repeat of the Reynolds house. I didn't think my imagination could stand it.

"Give me the address. I'll be there."

He gave me the address.

"St. Peters," I said. "It's close to St. Charles, but still …»

"Still what?"

"It's a long way to walk for a single family home. There are lots of houses that fit the bill in St. Charles. Why did it travel so far to feed?"

"You're asking me?" he said. There was something almost like laughter in his voice. "Come on out, Ms. Voodoo Expert. See what there is to see."

"Dolph, is it as bad as the Reynolds house?"

"Bad, worse, worst of all," he said. The laughter was still there, but it held an edge of something hard and self deprecating.

"This isn't your fault," I said.

"Tell that to the top brass. They're screaming for someone's ass."

"Did you get the warrant?"

"It'll come in this afternoon late."

"No one gets warrants on a weekend," I said.

"Special panic-mode dispensation," Dolph said. "Get your ass out here, Anita. Everyone needs to go home." He hung up.

I didn't bother saying bye.

Another murder. Shit, shit, shit. Double shit. It was not the way I wanted to spend Saturday morning. But we were getting our warrant. Yippee. The trouble was I didn't know what to look for. I wasn't really a voodoo expert. I was a preternatural crimes expert. It wasn't the same thing. Maybe I should ask Manny to come along. No, no, I didn't want him near Dominga Salvador in case she decided to cut a deal and give him to the police. There is no statute of limitations on human sacrifice. Manny could still go down for it. It'd be Dominga's style to trade my friend for her life. Making it, in a roundabout way, my fault. Yeah, she'd love that.

The message light on my answering machine was blinking. Why hadn't I noticed it last night? I shrugged. One of life's mysteries. I pressed the playback button.

"Anita Blake, this is John Burke. I got your message. Call me anytime here. I'm eager to hear what you have." He gave the phone number, and that was it.

Great, a murder scene, a trip to the morgue, and a visit to voodoo land, all in one day. It was going to be a busy and unpleasant day. It matched last night perfectly, and the night before. Shit, I was on a roll.