Free Hard Spell by Justin Gustainis

room and followed Vollman toward the door, working hard to keep my face blank. Ernst Vollman represented something that Karl and I didn't have five minutes ago: a lead. So I was going to be very nice to this old man, for the time being. Even if he was a fucking vampire.
     
    I told Vollman to sit in the visitor's chair next to my desk, and then Karl rolled his own chair over, placing it so that our visitor couldn't look at both of us at once. It's an old cop trick designed to keep suspects off balance.
      The old man didn't seem fazed by the seating arrangements. When I introduced Karl, Vollman looked at him for a long moment, as if planning to draw him from memory later. Or maybe have him for lunch. Then he turned his attention back to me.
      "I have been away from the city for several days," he said, "and only learned of Mr Kulick's tragic death upon my return last night."
      "Return from where?" Karl asked.
      "Oh, a number o places," Vollman said. "I travel a great deal, you see. To visit friends, relatives, old acquaintances. Sometimes they ask me for advice, or a favor, or to settle some small dispute."
      "So this isn't your job, then – travelling around," Karl said.
      "Not at all. I am long since retired. But I like to occupy my time usefully, when I can."
      "Where did you retire from, Mr Vollman?" I thought I'd join the conversation.
      Vollman made a small gesture. "I have done a great many things to support myself, over the years. Mostly, I have been self-employed."
      "Self-employed doing what ?" Karl asked him. He was starting to get impatient with the old man's bullshit, and I didn't blame him.
      "Consulting, mostly. Some investments. Occasionally, import-export." Vollman's smile was as thin as the rest of him. He knew he was ducking our questions, and he knew we knew it, too. He also knew we couldn't do shit about it. For the moment, anyway.
      I decided to cut through the crap and see if there was anything underneath it. "What do you know about George Kulick's murder, Mr Vollman?"
      "I do not know who killed him, if that is what you are asking. But I believe I know something almost as important."
      Vollman paused, probably for effect. "I am fairly certain I know why he was killed."
     
    There was a silence that lasted several seconds before I broke it. "If you're waiting for someone to feed you the next line, I'll do the honors: why was Kulick killed?"
      Vollman gave me another one of those little smiles. "I do have rather a tendency toward the dramatic, don't I? Please accept my apologies." He made the smile disappear. "I believe Mr Kulick was murdered because he was the possessor, in effect the guardian, of a certain object. An object of great value."
      Karl leaned forward, frowning. "The killer left something like forty grand behind. Even if what he came for was worth more than that, why not take the cash, too?" It was a question the two of us had been scratching our heads over ever since we saw what was in Kulick's safe. Who walks away from forty thousand bucks?
      Vollman gave Karl the kind of look that village idiots must get really tired of. "The answer, I would think, is obvious, Detective. Kulick's killer had no interest in money." He shook his head a couple of times. "There is more than one measure of value, my young friend."
      "The object, as you call it, must've had something to do with magic, then, since Kulick was a wizard," I said to Vollman.
      "Yes, that is quite true."
      "So, what's it to you?"
      The wrinkles around Vollman's eyes compressed a little. "I do not understand your meaning, Sergeant."
      "I mean, since when is the business of wizards of any interest to a vampire?"
      Vollman sat slowly back in his chair and looked at me.
      I've got good peripheral vision, and from the corner of my eye I could see Karl's hand move slowly toward the top drawer of his desk, and the crucifix he kept there. He needn't have bothered. Any vamp who