Page 4 of Almost Midnight (Vampire Detective Midnight #8)

CHAPTER 4

THE METAL ROOM

Nick was in a metal, boxlike interrogation room.

Again.

He was being asked invasive, aggressive, accusatory questions by human agents.

Again.

It seemed like only a day ago that he’d been in a room exactly like this one.

Really, it might even be the same room where they’d held him when the N.Y.P.D. accused him of the Tanaka murders in Manhattan’s Upper Eastside. Now, unlike then, he’d actually done the things they were accusing him of.

Strangely, though, it felt like less was at stake.

Before, he’d been terrified they’d separate him from his mate.

He’d been terrified he’d say the wrong thing, or they’d put him away if he didn’t find some way to clear his name.

Now, it felt like it didn’t matter at all what Nick did or didn’t do.

Whatever they decided, he would have no control or bearing over that decision.

Whatever he said or didn’t say likely wouldn’t matter at all.

Nick distinctly got the impression that the people questioning him cared nothing about the crimes they were questioning him about, either. At the very least, they cared nothing about his, Nick’s, potential involvement in those crimes, or anything he might have to say about it.

Everything about this felt like performance.

Everything about it felt predetermined.

It felt more like them ticking a box than an attempt to learn anything from him.

Nick could already feel that everyone who’d come in to question him, the N.Y.P.D. anti-treason units, the agents sent by the H.R.A. and The Leash, the I.S. Fucked crew, all of them were going through the motions of an inquiry, rather than conducting an actual inquiry.

Nick could do nothing but play the charade with them, and wait for whatever outcome had been decided.

A few hours into the process, he started to wonder if maybe Lara St. Maarten was behind this song and dance more than he knew. It was the questions, really, and how they tilted more towards what his intentions had been with the Archangel employees, and with the portal itself. It was them asking him about whether he’d intended to return the Archangel agents to their rightful human employer, or if he’d intended to kidnap them himself.

If St. Maarten really was behind this, she clearly wielded more power over the H.R.A. than Nick would have thought. The I.S.F. and the N.Y.P.D. surprised him less… but yeah, that she might really have The Leash and the H.R.A. agents wrapped around her manicured finger definitely would come as a surprise.

“And did you know that your wife’s ex-husband, the lawyer, Forrest Walker, was operating as the infamous agitator, ‘Keori,’ on the side?” The particular agent, who happened to be wearing an I.S.F. uniform, stared at Nick’s face with electronically-enhanced eyes. “Were you aware he was illegally fomenting revolutionary violence and spreading dangerous ideas on pirate media feeds? Or that he’d made threats to Archangel properties in Europe?”

The agent blinked, his enhanced eyes emotionless.

“No,” Nick said simply.

He’d already been coached by his lawyer.

Of course, even that was bullshit. His lawyer, a highly-skilled woman named Sapphire “Nora” King, also belonged to Archangel. Lara sent her to the precinct station when Nick got arrested for the multiple murder committed by his doppelg?nger.

Did St. Maarten really think Nick was this stupid?

He wasn’t sure he even wanted the answer to that.

In any case, Nora King seemed confident he would walk out of this at the end. She’d spoken to him with smooth, reassuring words, her advice concise, and unambiguous.

She’d told him to deny everything. She told him to answer only what was asked, nothing more, and to say “I don’t know,” and “no,” whenever possible, with zero elaboration. Everything about Nora King’s demeanor with Nick told him he was right about the nature of this inquiry.

It was pure performance art for the official records.

The outcome had already been decided.

It was decided well before they dragged Nick out of his holding cell and chained his wrists to the vampire-proof interrogation table. It had likely been decided before those agents showed up on the mountain and murdered Walker’s girlfriend and that other vampire, and bundled the rest of them into windowless vans.

Lara St. Maarten had decided that everything would go back to normal.

She’d decided all the chaos over the past week was not good for business, and that it would end, now. Today.

Well, for everyone except Forrest Keanu Walker, perhaps. It seemed that they really had decided he was now a liability.

Nick had overheard a few H.R.A. agents talking in the corridor outside the interrogation room about how Walker would be deported.

Nick struggled to think about that, and what he might do with that information, assuming he ever got free. As much as he resented Wynter’s ex-husband in multiple, varied, mostly childish ways, he also admired him, grudgingly liked him, and, perhaps most importantly, Nick felt strongly that he owed him.

He owed Forrest Walker his life.

He owed him Wynter’s life, as well, and the lives of Malek and Tai.

There was no way in hell Nick would let them disappear Walker into an H.R.A. “interrogation center,” never to be heard from again.

He had to hope the deportation talk was real, and not a euphemism for something much darker. He had to hope that the United Kingdom’s espionage branch, Mi6, with whom Walker regularly worked, retained a strong interest in getting him out. Nick had less faith in St. Maarten herself, who likely had her own reasons for trading Walker to the H.R.A. in return for Nick, Wynter, Tai, and Malek’s lives.

Because Nick was increasingly convinced that’s exactly what she’d done.

“Have you ever visited him at his offices in the United Kingdom?” the I.S.F. agent asked him next.

“No.”

“Has the principal at Kellerman Preparatory School, Ms. Wynter Cara James, ever visited him there, to your knowledge?”

“To my knowledge? No.” Nick hesitated, considered saying more. He considered asking the agent why the I.S.F. thought he’d know dick about what the principal of Kellerman Preparatory School would be up to in her private life.

But he remembered King’s words, and kept his mouth shut.

“Why were you on that mountain, Detective Midnight?” the agent asked next.

Nick restrained his eye roll with an effort. They’d already asked him that question in about thirty different fucking ways.

“I’ve testified to that,” he said, as blandly as he could. “My superior officer, James Vincent Morley, Detective IV, and I, were following a lead related to the Upper Eastside and Long Island murders of the Tanaka family.”

“And that lead was?” the I.S.F. agent queried.

“A tip. From the murderer himself, we now think.” Nick kept his voice flat with an effort. “The vampire who did those killings seemed to feel some connection to me, likely because of our similar appearance. He found a way to hack my headset and taunt me with what he’d done, and how he believed I’d be arrested and jailed for his crimes. He told us he had hostages. Detective Morley felt, based on the pattern of the killings and the killer’s prior behavior towards me and the murder scenes, that the tip likely had merit, despite it coming from the killer. He called for backup immediately upon us receiving the tip, but felt we couldn’t wait for them to pursue the lead, since civilian lives were at stake. We took the high-speed passenger train up to the Northeastern Protected District at approximately 13:51 that afternoon, and arrived at approximately 16:12.”

He recited all of the facts Nora King, attorney at law, had supplied from Morley’s official report, practically word for word. At this point, his brain was so scrambled, he couldn’t even be certain which of those facts were true, and which weren’t.

He wanted to ask about Wynter.

He wanted to ask about Malek and Tai.

He really, really wanted to ask if Wynter had been released.

“Did you know at the time that Detective Damon Jordan, or Detective Charlene Raider, were two of those hostages?”

“I did not,” Nick said.

“Did you know at that time that Detective Damon Jordan had been murdered and poisoned, and was in the process of transforming into a vampire?”

“I was aware he’d been poisoned, yes,” Nick said, keeping the sarcasm out of his voice with an effort. “I was the one who found him at the house out in Amityville. For the same reason, I knew his transition was a distinct possibility.”

“Ah. Of course.” The agent gave him a coy smile, letting Nick know he hadn’t merely forgotten that detail. “I forgot it was you who heroically saved him from a real death… keeping him alive long enough to become one of yours.”

Nick didn’t respond.

He didn’t hear a question there, and anyway, he doubted he would have been polite.

Was this fucker seriously implying it would have been better to let Damon die the “true” death, as vampires called it, than allow him to fully transform?

Nick definitely got the sense he was implying that.

“All right, Detective Midnight.” The I.S.F. agent’s eyes slid in and out of focus, showing him doing something with his enhanced eyes. “You went through a review just a few days ago, so I’ve been cleared to free you without assigning you another. If we have any further questions, we’ll be in touch. When a final determination is reached as to your permanent file, you will be informed in writing, and via the H.R.A. main office.”

Another of those cold smiles.

“We know where to find you,” he added, a touch more maliciously. “So I wouldn’t leave town, if I were you. Although I doubt that’s in the cards for you for a good long while, Detective Midnight.”

When Nick didn’t respond, the agent’s voice grew bored.

“I’m told you are still awaiting assignment to permanent housing, after the disturbances in the vampire quarter…?” the human drawled.

That was a hell of a euphemism.

Those “disturbances” entailed the complete destruction of something like eighty-five percent of the vampire ghetto north of The Devil’s Cauldron. That meant most of what used to be called Washington Heights. Coven 6, where Nick’s apartment had been, was entirely gone. Not just damaged, or even damaged badly––it was fucking gone.

It had been razed to the ground.

The one time Nick drove by where it had been, it wasn’t even a parking lot; it was a pit that still smoked in several places.

“…you’re fit and willing to return to your duties for which you’ve been contracted,” the man added in that bored voice. “I’ve just been notified that the H.R.A. has approved chaperoned housing in the private residence of one of your employers for the time being. They will inform you when and where any new, private housing becomes available. However, be aware that the chaperoned agreement will continue until H.R.A. approves a private residence assignment for you, given your recent and multiple troubles with the authorities. It’s thought by some you could use the extra eyes on you for now.”

The man smirked, his expression openly mocking.

Nick barely noticed.

He blinked, realized he’d missed something.

“Excuse me?” he said.

The agent frowned.

A slightly more menacing look rose in those enhanced, fake-blue eyes. He clearly thought Nick was being a smart-ass about the other’s shitty remarks. He looked for a second like he might pursue the issue, then seemed to change his mind.

“We’ve informed your other human employer, David Farlucci, that you’ve passed all of your psychological and physical examinations, as well,” the agent said, his voice back to bored. “He’s aware that you’re fit and able to return to your duties for his contracted services, so you might want to check in with him soon. He seemed keen to have you back on the clock.”

Nick did his best to keep the frown off his face.

He nodded, once.

“Right,” he muttered.

The agent must have triggered something with his headset right then.

The cuffs around Nick’s wrists retracted, leaving them bare, naked-feeling.

His skin was slightly redder where the metal had been, since they deliberately treated vampire restraints with chemicals that hurt their skin. That, in addition to the electric shocks also built into the cuffs, were meant to discourage any captive vampires from struggling.

Nick doubted it worked in a lot of cases, given what went on in these rooms.

But it hurt them unnecessarily, which was probably their real purpose.

Nick waited for the agent to rise to his feet.

The man did so, adjusted his jacket, and smirked down at Nick.

“You are dismissed, Detective Midnight. But I’d keep your nose clean for a while, if I were you. Make your human employers happy for a change, why don’t you?”

He waited for Nick to rise to his feet as well, maybe to see what he would do, or maybe just to make a point of showing Nick how untouchable he knew himself to be.

“Stay out of trouble, Detective.”

The agent smirked again.

Before Nick could force his face into a semi-friendly look in return, given his instinct was immediately to bare his fangs at the man, and snarl at him with a significant amount of thrall in his voice, the agent adjusted his jacket again, then turned on his heel and walked out of the metal interrogation room.

Nick forced himself to stand there a few seconds longer.

Then he turned and followed him to the door.