Fish and Chips “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Mr. Renfroe.”
Corbett removed his glasses, fighting the urge to sigh. He needed to be patient with the authorities, this the Watcher knew. But how many times did he have to explain that this particular crime scene was a vampire attack before the police would get it?
Then again, this was still relatively new territory for much of the world. Just because Corbett spent his entire life with the knowledge of the underworld, that didn’t mean everyone else knew, and it certainly didn’t mean they would get used to the idea overnight.
“See there?” Corbett pointed at the young woman’s neck, kneeling on one knee to get a better look. “The bite marks. The vampire punctured her jugular with his fangs before having himself a right feast.”
The Watcher glanced up to meet Officer Fitzgerald’s gaze. Corbett squinted as the bitter wind picked up, blowing flecks of snow into his face, but even with that visual intrusion, he saw the policeman wasn’t handling the description well. Poor bastard looked as if he’s just eaten a bit of rancid meat, which considering the nature of vampire attacks, wasn’t entirely inaccurate.
“I’ll understand if you need a minute,” Corbett reassured as he stood again, fixing his thick brown scarf.
The Watcher sighed as he watched the officer stumble in the snow, falling to his knees on the sidewalk before promptly losing his lunch. As bodies went, this was far from the worst Corbett had ever seen, and he guessed the officer had seen worse sights than a dead girl lying bloodless in an alley.
But the gravity of it all? The knowledge that what did this didn’t necessarily live by human laws, and knowing that it subsisted on a diet of blood, as opposed to fish and chips?
Corbett didn’t blame the officer for blowing chunks in the snow.
“You alright?” the Watcher asked as Officer Fitzgerald rose to his feet. The policeman answered with a nod, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his uniform coat. The vomit stain would likely be unsightly later, but right now Harrison had other concerns.
“So … a vampire did this,” the officer said, talking mostly to himself. He cringed as he saw the body, gulping his gag reflex down again. “Drank her blood. Last night.”
“So it would appear,” Corbett said, putting his glasses back on. One month after his return to England, the Council appointed Corbett as a liaison to London’s police force, a supernatural expert tasked with helping the otherwise mundane law enforcement handle cases that were a little less than normal.
The tragic death of 22-year-old Cindy Stephens qualified as one of those cases.
“I’m afraid there’s little hope of catching the one who did this,” the Watcher continued, passing the police photographer as he snapped shots of the girl’s body. “Aside from the whole creature of the night angle, we have almost no physical evidence. Fingerprints are nonexistent, hair follicles would be useless – outside of catching the vampire mid-feed, we may never find who did this.”
“So,” the officer mused, “what happens? How do the vampires pay for what they do? If we can’t track them and arrest them and try them in a court of law, what happens?”
Corbett shrugged his shoulders, gave a thoughtful glance. The Watcher idly ran his fingers over the cross he wore around his neck. Not that Corbett was a religious man, but he felt as if he needed the protection now more than ever. An entire world knowing of the menace in the dark, and no Slayer to protect him.
“That’s … sort of where the Council comes in,” Corbett offered with a slight cringe. “We don’t fight the vampires, per se, but we’re sort of experts on them. And we have contact with Slayers.”
Judging by the look on Harrison’s face, Corbett figured he’d never heard the word Slayer before. At least, not in this context. Clearing his throat, the Watcher continued. “Used to be, there was a girl, chosen by the Powers to fight vampires and demons. The Slayer, she was called, and when she died, the power passed on to the next.
“Only now, the Chosen One is the Chosen Thousand … or so. I’m fairly certain there are a few right here in London. With any luck, the vampire who did this will meet one of them shortly.”
Officer Fitzgerald nodded, looking at Cindy’s body once more. None of this made any sense, but it was all true. This … Council wouldn’t have appointed a liaison to the police if it wasn’t.
“Perhaps we should find one and give her a badge,” Harrison quipped, the poor attempt at humor failing to hide the fact that the officer was really freaked out by the whole thing.
Corbett, for his part, glanced at the body once more and chuckled. It wasn’t a bad idea, really; if the police force knew it was going to be dealing with vampires and demons from here on out, why not employ someone with both the knowledge and the ability to defeat them?
After all, it wasn’t like arresting the vampires would exactly work.
“I’ll mention it to the Council,” the Watcher offered, placing a reassuring hand on Officer Fitzgerald’s shoulder. “In the meantime, what say we have a cup of tea, eh? I’ll go over the paperwork with you there.”
Liaison to the London police department … not exactly what Corbett had in mind for his return home, but it was useful. The Watcher only wondered if the Council had the manpower to implement this position everywhere else.
Lord knew the American cities needed a Council liaison.