Read Online Spirit Animals (Ritual Crime Unit Book 3) by E. E. Richardson - Free Book Online
Authors: E. E. Richardson
Tags: Fantasy
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else at the crime scene recognised the MO and spread the word.”
And no doubt they could thank Christopher Tomb’s bloody book for that as well. That sensationalist piece of tripe had done more to cement the public image of some blood-guzzling supernatural creature stalking the country’s young and healthy than any number of news reports.
“Well, connection or no connection, I want you to make this case your top priority,” Snow said sternly. “The media are already discussing the past failures of the police in investigating these killings, and I’m not about to have that happen again on my watch. Whether this is a copycat or the original murderer returning, I expect to see this killer found and brought to justice.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
Easy for him to bloody say.
B Y THE TIME Pierce got into the office, Dawson had already buggered off back to Nottinghamshire with Constable Taylor in tow, apparently still under the impression that this was his case. Rather than pursue them, she opted to take her other constable off to York to revisit the scene of the failed raid fourteen years ago. “If we’re lucky, there might still be some neighbours around who can tell us something about Leo’s mystery woman.” If she was the one who’d called in the tipoff about the vampire cult living there, then maybe she knew more about them than she’d said at the time.
They followed the satnav’s directions into the winding streets of York. “Busy,” Gemma noted, as they joined a tailback of traffic. When they arrived at their destination, a narrow terraced street with red brick houses on the right and greenery on the left, there seemed to be an excessive number of cars parked up on the grass. Pierce cursed as she spotted a news van down the end.
“Well, somebody remembers their local history.” Had the details of the house been in that bloody book as well? She really ought to read the thing. A headache bloomed as she saw the odds of them performing a nice, low-profile enquiry shrivel away. With the media on the scene, everybody was no doubt already racking their brains for the most sensationally gory details they could convince themselves they ‘remembered.’
A small crowd had gathered around the news van, but Pierce could see she and Gemma still stood out in their suits. A few of the gawkers might have been neighbours who’d emerged to see what the fuss was about, but many of the others looked like what Pierce might be dating herself to call ‘goths’: dyed black hair, Victorian fashion and caked white make-up everywhere. The uniform of your average vampire enthusiast.
And there was worse to come; Pierce held back a grimace as she got her first clear look at their destination, the house at the end of the row. No surprise it still stood empty after all these years, or that graffiti artists had taken to the chipboard that covered the door and windows, but amongst the usual tags there were some vaguely occult squiggles and less customary slogans like we are all meat and blood is life . Clustered around the low front wall were various small offerings, candles, little figurines and the like. Pierce hoped they were memorials to the victims, but suspected that she might be disappointed.
This place had become a bloody shrine for vampire wannabes.
Gemma drew her phone to take some photos of the house, unnoticed among a mob of others doing the same. Pierce hung well back from the news team on the corner, not wanting to take the chance that they’d sent someone who would know her as the face of the RCU. She surveyed the gathered crowd instead, looking for someone who seemed both old enough to have been here fourteen years ago and not too entranced by all the drama.
The road ended after the final house, continuing only as a cycle track. Pierce grimaced to see a small children’s play area on the corner opposite the murder house: she remembered that sight well from the news stories of the time, every reporter
And no doubt they could thank Christopher Tomb’s bloody book for that as well. That sensationalist piece of tripe had done more to cement the public image of some blood-guzzling supernatural creature stalking the country’s young and healthy than any number of news reports.
“Well, connection or no connection, I want you to make this case your top priority,” Snow said sternly. “The media are already discussing the past failures of the police in investigating these killings, and I’m not about to have that happen again on my watch. Whether this is a copycat or the original murderer returning, I expect to see this killer found and brought to justice.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
Easy for him to bloody say.
B Y THE TIME Pierce got into the office, Dawson had already buggered off back to Nottinghamshire with Constable Taylor in tow, apparently still under the impression that this was his case. Rather than pursue them, she opted to take her other constable off to York to revisit the scene of the failed raid fourteen years ago. “If we’re lucky, there might still be some neighbours around who can tell us something about Leo’s mystery woman.” If she was the one who’d called in the tipoff about the vampire cult living there, then maybe she knew more about them than she’d said at the time.
They followed the satnav’s directions into the winding streets of York. “Busy,” Gemma noted, as they joined a tailback of traffic. When they arrived at their destination, a narrow terraced street with red brick houses on the right and greenery on the left, there seemed to be an excessive number of cars parked up on the grass. Pierce cursed as she spotted a news van down the end.
“Well, somebody remembers their local history.” Had the details of the house been in that bloody book as well? She really ought to read the thing. A headache bloomed as she saw the odds of them performing a nice, low-profile enquiry shrivel away. With the media on the scene, everybody was no doubt already racking their brains for the most sensationally gory details they could convince themselves they ‘remembered.’
A small crowd had gathered around the news van, but Pierce could see she and Gemma still stood out in their suits. A few of the gawkers might have been neighbours who’d emerged to see what the fuss was about, but many of the others looked like what Pierce might be dating herself to call ‘goths’: dyed black hair, Victorian fashion and caked white make-up everywhere. The uniform of your average vampire enthusiast.
And there was worse to come; Pierce held back a grimace as she got her first clear look at their destination, the house at the end of the row. No surprise it still stood empty after all these years, or that graffiti artists had taken to the chipboard that covered the door and windows, but amongst the usual tags there were some vaguely occult squiggles and less customary slogans like we are all meat and blood is life . Clustered around the low front wall were various small offerings, candles, little figurines and the like. Pierce hoped they were memorials to the victims, but suspected that she might be disappointed.
This place had become a bloody shrine for vampire wannabes.
Gemma drew her phone to take some photos of the house, unnoticed among a mob of others doing the same. Pierce hung well back from the news team on the corner, not wanting to take the chance that they’d sent someone who would know her as the face of the RCU. She surveyed the gathered crowd instead, looking for someone who seemed both old enough to have been here fourteen years ago and not too entranced by all the drama.
The road ended after the final house, continuing only as a cycle track. Pierce grimaced to see a small children’s play area on the corner opposite the murder house: she remembered that sight well from the news stories of the time, every reporter
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