Page 5 of The Vampire and the Case of the Malevolent Mermaid

‘Officially? No. Unofficially? Definitely. I expect he writes a weekly report on me, though we avoid each other like the plague. We’ve never gotten on. Robertson is a bully and an asshole. I made it clear when he arrived in Portlock that this ismytown and I’d take none of his bullshit. After that, I only had to visit him once to rap his knuckles.’

‘Then how does he report about what you’re doing?’

Connor grimaced. ‘No doubt he has someone local feeding him information.’

Someone Connor might even trust. ‘That sucks.’

‘Yeah. It does.’

‘Okay, so tell me about him. Forewarned is forearmed.’

Connor’s voice was mechanical as he rattled off the details like he was giving a military report. ‘Cobalt Robertson. Wife: Faye Robertson. One child: a daughter, Kate Robertson.’ His tone was clipped, precise, emotionless.

‘Kate has been taken?’

‘Yes.’

‘How old is she?’

‘Sixteen.’

I grimaced. That was a shitty age to be kidnapped – not that there was a good one. Still, I’d seen some horrible things happen to girls at that age, both in the club scene in London and here in Portlock. Sixteen was a vulnerable age, an age where you thoughtyou knew better than your parents and you were close enough to adulthood to feel invincible. And you were terrifyingly wrong.

‘Anything else I need to know?’ I asked as calmly as I could. Connor needed my calm now more than ever.

‘Don’t trust them.’

I nodded: this wasn’t my first rodeo. Fluffy and I slid out of the truck and I slung the black duffel over my shoulder. As we walked to the front door and knocked, I hoped for all our sakes that we’d find their daughter quickly.

The parents were tall and impossibly thin, with the kind of leanness that hinted at a vampire’s superior metabolism. Both had identical white-blond hair, as if they’d coordinated down to the last follicle, and I wondered whether it was natural or came from a box. Cobalt’s was neatly trimmed while Faye wore hers long with the kind of perfectly symmetrical waves that suggested curlers rather than genetics.

Considering their daughter was missing, neither of them appeared visibly distressed. They looked like the worst kind of high-ranking politicians: polished to perfection on the outside, corrupt on the inside.

‘This is Officer Bunny Barrington,’ Connor introduced me crisply. ‘This is Cobalt and Faye Robertson.’

Cobalt? Who named their baby that? And more importantly, in what century? Since I’d come to Alaska, my name had started to sound tame and almost civilised.

Robertson looked to be in his early thirties but his eyes said otherwise; they said old. He was all firm jaw and stiff upper lip.My mother would have approved of him – which naturally earned him a black mark from me.

Faye was clasping her hands tightly in front of her, her knuckles white, suggesting she was stopping herself from wringing them in despair. Okay, so there wassomeemotion there, which was a relief. They looked colder than ice, and with a daughter missing you’d have expected some heat, some panic, some worry,something.

They led me into a sitting room, magazine perfect and just as soulless. I couldn’t help but compare it to Gunnar and Sigrid’s home, which was so full of love and warmth and dotted with trinkets and photos of Stan and Sidnee. In this house a blanket was draped artfully over one arm of the sofa, the folds just so. The paintings were of flowers and complemented the grey tone of the walls perfectly. There was nothing personal, no trainers kicked off in a corner, no tablet or half-finished homework. No sign that Kate existed.

Connor sat next to me on the cream sofa and the Robertsons took the identical one opposite. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ Faye offered coolly, as if we were there on a social engagement rather than to discuss their sixteen-year-old daughter’s disappearance.

I pulled out my notepad and wrote down the time, date and location. Underneath I wroteCobalt RobertsonandFaye Robertson.‘No, thank you,’ I responded briskly. If they wanted businesslike, I could do that all day long. ‘Can I have Kate’s full name and date of birth, please?’

Faye provided the details. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Do you have a recent photograph of her?’

She went to a large wooden sideboard and retrieved a school photo of Kate from one of the drawers. Their daughter had the same blonde hair as her parents – maybe itwasgenetic then – and pale, almost translucent skin. Her smile looked warm, if a little staged, but it was a school photo so what would you expect?

‘I’ll return this after I’ve made a copy for our files,’ I promised. ‘When did you first notice that Kate was missing?’

Faye started to speak but Cobalt interrupted her. ‘Two hours ago,’ he said firmly. ‘But we think she was taken last night.’

‘Where was she?’

‘The girls were upstairs in Kate’s room,’ Faye answered.

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