He stood in the afternoon sun, studying three dead bodies littering the Victorian Townhouse. The occupants had moved out overnight, stripping the furniture and decorations and leaving their dead; one withered, one pumped full of embalming fluid and one with his neck ripped out but devoid of blood. None of the neighbors heard any noise or remembered the occupants. Detective Lieutenant Gimbles prepared for magic that would bring a vision of what happened here.
There was a knife in Whitlaw Hamilton's chest and it dripped blood. The thief stared as the blood covered his hand. Not hot vital blood but cold unnatural blood. Whitlaw sneered, not dying. The thief stepped back, wiped his shaking hand on his sweatshirt with panic spreading over his face.
"You shouldn't have done that. It's hurts to have a knife stabbed into your heart. Did you ever have a knife stuck in your chest?" Whitlaw asked. He bent over in mock pain, grabbed the knife in his right hand and yanked it out of his chest. Blood gushed over his naked abs and down his legs. The thief babbled and turned to run.
The defense attorney cleared his throat and spoke carefully. "So this, uh, 'vision' of yours, Detective--"
"My magic vision," Gimbles clarified.
"Yes, your . . . magic vision of my client being stabbed in the heart told you to arrest him on three counts of first-degree murder? Did you have any other reason to charge him?"
"Well yeah, he's a vampire," Gimbles explained, exasperated. "Look!" The decorated detective seized a cross from under his collar and held it dramatically toward the defendant. The bailiff wrestled it away from him as the prosecutor looked down in shame.
"Unless the prosecution can produce some tangible evidence," the judge declared, "I order the immediate psychological evaluation of Detective Gimbles. Case dismissed."
Opening: Dave F......Continuation: Tamara Marnell