Nocturnal Urges (Nocturnal Urges, Book One) Read Online Free PDF Page B

jobs and apartments, just like us. They’ve got an unusual diet, that’s for sure, but so do vegetarians and kosher Jews, so I’m not going to throw stones. They do good things and sometimes they do bad things, just like us, and then it’s my job to go do something about it.”
    Freitas stopped eating for a moment and looked at Isabel. “There’s all kinds of animals, human and vamp. You can’t tell an animal from a man just by looking, Miss Nelson.”
    “Isabel,” she replied. “You can call me Isabel.”
    * * * * *
    “Watch your step,” the uniform warned her, handing over a clipboard as he stood watch in the alley.
    “Thanks, Wyben, I’ve never been to a crime scene before,” Freitas snapped, glancing at the notes scrawled on the clipboard.
    “Sorry, ma’am,” the kid said. “It’s just real slippery.”
    Judging by the blood smeared along Wyben’s pants, he’d figured that out the hard way, she thought. The two short steps leading into the abandoned building were slicked with blood, almost invisible against the dark, filthy cement in the shadows cast by the orange streetlight.
    “Photogs done?” Freitas asked.
    “Yeah,” Wyben said, looking a little green. “M.E., too. Soon as you’re done, they’ll bag him.”
    Wyben was trying to look tough, but even in the crappy orange light Freitas could see he was pale. She tried to think of something steadying to say, but quickly gave up. Comfort wasn’t one of her strengths.
    Freitas stepped—carefully—over the blood-soaked steps and into the shadowy space beyond. A few jury-rigged lights had been set up, and three officers held up their flashlights, sending dancing shadows around the abandoned building. A photographer was carefully loading his equipment back into a bag and everyone was walking on eggshells.
    Freitas tried to avoid the runnels of blood all over the floor, but finally gave up. Crappy shoes anyway. She walked straight through the blood toward the body, laid out under the best of the lights.
    “Dead no more than a few hours, the blood’s only tacky,” said the medical examiner, squatting beside the body. Freitas thought only three types of people could squat gracefully—little children, the mothers of little children and Joann Betschart, a medical examiner who didn’t like to kneel in blood and shit. If Freitas tried squatting like that, she’d end up with a big smeary bloodstain on her ass.
    “Vamp?” Freitas asked, staring at the guy’s torn-up throat. No way he’d been any older than twenty. His blue eyes stared sightless, frozen in nearly comical shock at whatever had been his last sight on earth.
    “Unofficially?” Betschart said. “It’s someone who really likes to bite. Not a dog or other predator—that’s a human bite radius. Not enough tissue left for a match, but I bet if you find the sick son of a bitch, you won’t have any trouble figuring out it’s him.”
    Freitas leaned over, shining her flashlight right at the torn flesh of the throat. In the harsh relief of concentrated light, the wound looked like someone had jammed a monster firecracker down the guy’s throat and set it off.
    “Tell me he’s never been to a particular club near Beale,” Freitas said.
    “Can’t help you there,” Betschart said. “He’s got old bites.”
    Freitas leaned closer. “How can you tell? His neck’s hamburger.”
    “Wrist,” Betschart said, lifting the meaty arm. Freitas shone her flashlight at it, and sure enough, there were the telltale pockmarks of a regular feeder.
    “Doesn’t mean NU,” Freitas said. “He could have a vamp lover.”
    “That’s your department,” Betschart said. “I just work here.”
    “It’ll be NU,” Freitas sighed. “Wonder what this one did to get munched.”
    Betschart shrugged and straightened up. “Kept breathing?”
    “Ha. That’s funny, Joann, you gonna come back for a curtain call?” Freitas took a closer look at the bites on the wrist.
    “Testy, Annie, you might