Page 20 of The Mermaid's Bubble Lounge
“Some wingman,” he muttered.
I held my hand out. “Can I move it to the coffee table? Clive wants to see it too.”
He handed it to me and I placed it on the low table beside me, thinking Vlad could see it easily from the chair. Instead, he sat on the rug beside me. I backed up the video and we started it again.
When the victim hoisted himself up on the side of the dumpster, I paused. “Clive thinks the killer is too tall to be you. He’s basing that on the height of this dumpster.”
Vlad pointed to The Bubble Lounge’s back door. “Standard doors in the US are just under seven feet.”
Six foot eight, Clive confirmed.
“That being the case, this dumpster is probably five and a half feet tall,” Vlad continued.
I thought about it. “That makes sense. The mermaids in their human form aren’t super tall. Nerissa is tall, but she wears high heels, and I doubt she’s the one dumping the garbage.”
I hit play again and we watched the killer drop into the frame.
“Clive also says his hair is too long.” I jumped up, annoying Fergus, and moved back so my perspective on Vlad matched the camera. I turned on the end table lamp, my gaze jumping between the screen and Vlad.
“He’s right,” I said. “The hair in the video is a little longer. Also, the shirt is wrong. His has a normal collar. Yours has a band collar. This is some fancy, designer shirt, isn’t it?”
Vlad looked down at what he was wearing. “My tailor made this for me sometime in the late nineteenth century.”
“And it still looks this good?”
“I take care of my things,” he said, still staring at the screen. “The ear is wrong.” He tapped the killer’s ear. “Mine has a scar.” He turned his head to the light. “I barely avoided a sword cutting my throat that day.”
There was a notch in the outer shell of his ear, a notch the killer didn’t have. We continued the video.
Wait, Clive said at the same time Vlad tapped the mousepad. “Did you see it?” Vlad asked me.
“No, but Clive did. You both saw whatever you saw at the same time.”
Some of us carry handkerchiefs to wipe dirty necks. Sweaty, unwashed skin taints the taste of blood, Clive explained.
“He moved his hand over the man’s neck, but he wasn’t holding anything.” Vlad ran it back for me. “See? Nothing in his hand, but the man’s neck is clean. You sent me a video of that clean spot earlier.”
Wicche? Clive suggested.
“Perhaps a sorcerer,” Vlad mused.
“I can ask Dave if he thinks it’s a demon. They can shape-shift,” I said.
I was sure there was something on the roof, Clive told me.
“Clive says he was positive there was something on the roof.”
Vlad nodded. “We all sensed something up there. Did he see anything at all?”
Clive thought a moment and said, Only a small black cat leaning against the HVAC unit for warmth. Perhaps the killer has a chameleon-like ability to blend his appearance and scent into his surroundings. I might have walked right past him. I could feel Clive’s frustration but wasn’t sure how to help. We were all grasping at straws.
I passed on what Clive said, and Vlad shook his head in annoyance before starting the video again.
When the victim was dropped on the ground and the killer turned toward the camera, Vlad stopped it again. “We can’t drain humans that fast.”
“Oh! The eyebrow’s wrong.” I leaned forward and pointed at the killer’s left eyebrow. “Yours has a break. Another scar. His is smooth and connected.”
When I arrived, Cadmael and Vlad were talking, Vlad’s right side was to the building. Perhaps the killer didn’t see him head on and so couldn’t recreate the scars he hadn’t seen.
