It was early. Too early for someone who's his own boss. But if I wanted to make it to San Francisco with plenty of time to spare by the 2:00 p.m. book signing at Borders, well, I had to get moving.
Roxi had barely stirred when I got up to dress. I kissed her on the cheek and told her I would be back tomorrow. She murmured that she loved me, which was news to me.
I smiled down at her and told her I loved her, too, but I think she was already asleep.
Now I was on the road with a Starbucks mocha between my legs and a belly full of scone. What the hell is a scone, anyway? I'll Google it later.
The sun was rising to my right, in the east, as I headed steadily up the 5 Freeway. Or, as my friends in San Fran call it, 5 Freeway, minus the article the.
San Franciscans are weird.
Cool, but weird.
So I was heading up the 5 Freeway, listening to the wind whistle across my partially open window, and wondering what the hell I had gotten myself into.
Maybe I should have listened to Roy.
Maybe I should have laid off the case. After all, wasn't Veronica, or Valerie, nearly an adult now? Hell, hadn't she basically been on her own since witnessing her parents' murder three years ago.
Yes, and yes, but one thing shouldn't be forgotten here: More than likely Veronica was delusional. More than likely she had erroneously pitted the blame on an innocent writer of vampire fiction. And if she had attacked him with a fucking silver stake, well, she was still a threat to the man.
For his safety, she needed to be stopped.
For her mental health and her own safety, she needed to be stopped.
And I was just the guy to do it?
Apparently so. After all, I didn't pick the cases, they picked me.
As the sun came out in full force, I dropped my shades and headed steadily north.
On the 5 Freeway.
I called Detective Hammer of the LAPD Missing Persons Division. He picked up on the fourth ring.
"So I'm a fourth-ring friend now?" I asked.
"Since when were you a first-, second-, or even a third-ring friend?"
"Now that's just mean."
"I happen to be a busy man, Spinoza. You're lucky I picked up at all. Now what the hell do you want? I've got a mother waiting outside my office who hasn't seen her seven-year-old in five hours."
My own stomach plummeted at the thought and my heart went out to her. I made a mental note to check up on her and offer my services. I said, "I need you to put me in contact with a buddy of yours on the San Francisco PD."
"You think just because I'm with LAPD that I have friends around the country?"
I waited.
"Okay, you're right. I don't have time to fuck with you. What's this about?"
"Our friend the vampire slayer."
"Talk to me. Fast."
I quickly caught him up to speed. When I was finished, Detective Hammer whistled lightly. "Yeah, a real nut job. Here's a name and number. Detective Sparks. A good man." He gave me his number and added, "So this guy really writes vampire novels?"
"Yes, apparently."
"Aren't most vampire novels about teenage girls running around and, you know, acting retarded?"
"I wouldn't know," I said. "But you seem to be some sort of expert."
He said something derogatory about me and my hygiene, reminded me once again that I was nothing more than a glorified mall cop, and hung up.
I called Detective Sparks with the SFPD and caught him up to speed. I did my best not to mention the words "vampire slayer" until the very end. And when I finally did - because I inevitably had to - I could practically see the detective's eyebrows shoot halfway up his forehead. I had never met Sparks or heard of him, but I had a mental image of a man shaking his head and his eyes rolling up.
"Vampire slayer?" he said.
"Yes," I said.
"As in, you know, vampires?"
"Yes."
"Okay, now I've heard everything."
"Sadly, now you have."
"And you have a picture of this girl?"
"Yes."
"Good. Swing it by the station and we'll give it to our guys."
"See you then."
We hung up, and I continued driving north through the heart of California, past acres and acres of farmland. I had heard once that California farms fed most of the world. Out here, driving up this empty stretch of highway, it was easy to believe.
And as I sat back and dug in for the rest of the drive, I idly considered the possibility that perhaps Veronica had really witnessed her parents being killed by a vampire.
Now I almost regretted not working the cheating spouse cases. Almost. No matter what, Veronica was a minor and she needed help.
One way or another, I was going to help her.
Four hours later, and using my GPS navigation to direct me through the busy streets of San Francisco, I soon pulled up to the SFPD Main Station. Shortly after that, I was directed up into Detective Sparks's office.
The detective was pretty much as I had imagined: average-sized, thick around the neck and shoulders, and balding. We shook hands, chatted briefly. He took Veronica's pictures and made colored copies of them and gave them to one of his men. The images were then uploaded and broadcasted to various officers. Within minutes, Veronica's mug was everywhere.
I left the station, feeling as if I had somehow betrayed the girl, denying her the chance at retribution.
Maybe, I thought. But more than likely she was going to hurt someone, including herself.
I checked the time. 1:00 p.m.
The book signing was in one hour.