Detective Inspector Sarah Langly had nothing against vampires. Or the supernatural- oops, ‘night’- set at all, to be honest. But she was slowly beginning to suspect that her partner did.

DI Russel Bundy- no relation to the infamous killer- had the poor bloodsucker cornered. He leaned casually on the counter at the tiny dive bar after closing, his gaze holding the vampire in place.

“Did you ever meet Tori outside of work? For drinks or a film or anything?” he asked, framing it so innocently. Langly watched him like a mother supervising toddlers on a jungle gym.

Bianca Snow, twenty-three when turned, two years dead, seemed to have somewhere she’d rather be. “No, like I said, I only worked with her. She was nice, but we weren’t friends.” Langly noted the Dundee accent, and surmised that her blood strain probably wasn’t local, meaning they would have to get her information from the Scots.

“When did you move out here, miss Snow?” DI Bundy played with a toothpick from the counter absently, as though the case mattered nothing at all. Langly wasn’t quite sure what he was up to.

“A year and a bit ago, now. End of last year. I’m sorry, how is that relevant?” The vampire sounded agitated, and she was almost developing a lisp as her fangs extended a little.

A year and a bit. The detectives shared a look.

“Have you noticed anything suspicious in that time? You must hear a lot here.” It was Langly’s turn to ask, and she used a lighter tone. She found that she was being relegated to empathetic good cop a lot recently.

“Well, it’s Echo. Everything’s unusual. But there was this guy, he was always hanging about Tori- not aggressive, like, just interested. Actually, he seemed obsessed. Watched her when she worked here.”

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Bundy questioned, suddenly accusatory again.

“I couldnae get a word in edgewise with you asking about me instead of her!”

Langly supposed that there was good reason nowadays, but most vampires tended not to get on with the police. Cops like Bundy took that as a sign of guilt, which only furthered the cycle.

The detectives got a description from the vampire, of the green, frog-faced man in the coat, exchanged another look, and thanked her before leaving. Bundy left an ominous ‘we’ll be in touch’.

Foster appeared at Bianca’s elbow, his backpack over one shoulder and one earbud in. “You okay? Weird that they gave you more of a grilling than me. Normally the immigrant gets it worse.”

“What was that about how long I’ve been here?” Bianca frowned.

“Hon, the murders started in September last year. That’s when you arrived.”


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