Free Dave Carver (Book 1): Thicker Than Blood by Andrew Dudek

death of Jack McCreary, would you?”
    Flavian’s eyes glittered. “Why, Captain, it almost sounds as if you are accusing me of something.”
    “You have to admit, McCreary’s death was beneficial to the vampire cause.”
    “Need I remind you, Captain, that I am not associated with the elders?” Flavian was making an effort to slow his voice now. “They are the ones you need to fear. My people have no quarrel with yours.”
    “Of course,” I said. “But humor me for a moment. Do you know who killed him?”
    His eyes narrowed and his upper lip visibly trembled with anger. Damn, this guy deserved an Oscar. “I don’t know who killed Captain McCreary. If I did I would tell you.”
    “Uh-huh,” I said, making it plain that I didn’t believe him. “You know a vampire named Roberto?”
    “I’m afraid not.”
    We stood like that for a moment, Flavian staring at me, me staring at a spot on his forehead just above his eyes. Neither of us said anything, each just waited to see if the other would move or speak.
    Finally, I clapped my hands together once. “Okay, then. We’ll be on our way. So nice to meet you, Ambassador.”
    Flavian nodded to the junkie boy, who’d apparently entered the warehouse at some point. He rolled the door open. As light filtered in, vampires leapt to their feet and scurried away like cockroaches, retreating into the relative safety of the deeper shadows.
    “One last thing, Captain,” Flavian said as Rob and I backed towards the sidewalk. “If you ever come into my home again and accuse me of murder, I’ll not be so polite.”
    “Ambassador,” I said, “if I find out that you’re responsible for McCreary’s death, neither will I. And I don’t make empty threats.”
    Flavian smiled. It may have been a trick of the light, but his teeth seemed to grow and sharpen. “Nor do I, Captain. Nor do I.”
    Rob and I left the warehouse, keeping our eyes on the vampires until we were fully embraced by the warmth of the sun. The junkie closed the door and headed back towards his coffeehouse, presumably to take another hit of vamp venom. We were silent until we were back in the Mustang and cruising away.
    “What do you think?” Rob asked. “Did he kill Jack?”
    It took me a moment to calm my screaming emotions. Try as I might, I couldn’t shake the scent of blood from my brain. It reminded me way too much of Guyana. “No,” I finally said, “but he’s lying about something. I think he knows more than he’s saying.”
    Rob was thoughtful as he merged onto the Expressway. “So now what?”
    I laughed. “Hell if I know, man. I guess we go back to the office and start investigating.”

Chapter 9
    Real detective work, I was discovering, was a hell of a lot harder than television made it appear. I needed to find out who killed Jack McCreary, and I had no freakin’ idea where to start. The enormity of the task stretched out before me, twisting and gaping like a canyon.
    So, forty-five minutes after leaving Flavian’s warehouse, I convened my first team meeting.
    Off of the main bullpen in the Table’s office, there was a room I hadn’t noticed before. It was separated by a glass wall and covered with horizontal blinds. According to Madison, the researcher/receptionist, the room didn’t have an official name, but everybody called it the “round table room.”
    Every regional office in the organization had a piece of furniture that was modeled after the original table, the one that had given us our name. The giant piece of oak, ten feet in diameter and carved into a perfect circle, was crammed into a tiny square room. With a dozen chairs arranged around it, their backs pressing up right against the walls, getting into the furthest corners was an interesting experience. But it was impossible not to feel cool sitting at this table. It wasn’t the original, obviously, but it was an exact replica of the round table, the one that had been made by Merlin. The one that had sat Arthur,