Chapter Six

Harry said it was because he was left handed. Instead of dragging his words out, he had to push them out,  that's why it seemed like he was always yelling. His face was almost constantly red and his 57 year old body moved like a boiling kettle on an uneven burner. Harry's ex wife described him as a coke bottle that had been shaken, with a simple motion, he could explode. But his words never ran together into a single mass of frustration. When he said, "You god damn worthless bastard!" each syllable was distinct, you heard ever word, and the force of them could almost knock you over.

Bishop was the only one who seemed unfazed by the bulgy eyed police constable. Perhaps this was because he had known the man for over 40 years. As a constable for the Metropolitan Police Service, dealing with black markets, prostitution and burglaries had become common during the war. The MPS was still wrapping up a case involving a group who had a system worked out during air raids. But tonight, Harry was dealing with the dead woman.

Bishop walked to the front of his office, the door was already unlocked. Harry was sitting at Bishop's desk, loosening the top of a bottle. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and wrapped his coat around his body tighter and opened the door.

"I can't believe you had Bernie call me." Bishop said with a friendly sneer.

"Lesie Lanchester!" Harry, as always, began each conversation with his voice raised.

"I know, I know. I found her body." Bishop walked on, pulled out another cigarette from his coat pocket and handed it to Harry.

"I know you found her body," Harry said, unusually quiet.

Bishop raised his eyebrow.

"Doc says someone broke her neck. Threw her into the river." Harry was now pouring himself a drink with his back to Bishop.

"Yes." Bishop said.

.Harry turned around. "Though the Doc couldn't come up with an explanation about the bite mark. He chalked it up to damage from river debris."

Bishop looked straight at Harry. Harry took a deep drink, brushed his lips, and began to yell again.

"God damn reporters! It's all over the radio!" Harry began to insult every newspaper and radio entity in all of Britain. Bishop pulled out his lighter and wondered how Elizabeth was doing.

Elizabeth was listening to the radio. She had just taken a bath and was wrapped up in one of Bishop's robes. She listened as a reporter announced the death of Lesie Lanchester. The reporter began with, "If you are just tuning in, Ms. Lanchester, England's most famous army nurse, had been found dead! Ms. Lanchester served both in North Africa, Italy and in Germany, was taken captive in the Philippines and was currently living in London to help women and children left homeless due to the blitz. She was awarded numerous metals including the George Star for her actions in the South Pacific. Much of her writing from the war front was published all over the world and Hollywood was currently casting her biopic..."he kept talking. When Elizabeth refocused, all you could hear from the radio now was sobbing as some local woman was being interviewed. A child's voice was heard int he background. Elizabeth turned over on her side to think.

"Why would anyone want to hurt her? Bishop thought as Harry was yelling about the special task force that was being organized to find the person or people responsible. He was shouting about pressure from above, loosing autonomy, he was about to spill his drink when Bishop interrupted by asking, "Harry, what would you like me to do?"

Harry stopped yelling, looked at Bishop and said. "Help us, what else? There is no evidence of a murder besides a dead body. Doc hasn't even figured out how she broke her neck. There aren't any visible signs on the outside. Nobody has seen anything. The woman had no enemies. Her family thought she was in Madrid. Her apartment is clean, her car is nicely parked.  The clothes she was wearing aren't hers! She..."

"Ok, ok, I got it kid. Let's go. I want to see all the files and I want to search her place."

Bishop gathered his things and headed for the door.

"Good!" Harry took one last gulp and with a wide smile put his jacket on.

"Before we go to headquarters, I need to stop by my place." Bishop said quickly.

"I agree, you look terrible!" Harry roared.

"...I think I might need some extra help on this one." Bishop said as he put his hands in his pocket and headed for home.

Chapter Five

Elizabeth rarely felt at ease. Despite her kinds reputation as loners, there were pack tendencies. She despised the mentality of the groups, the familial simulacra, when all anyone in them cared about was hunting and feeding.

Sometimes she wasn't sure.

She sat up and took in her surroundings. She examined the placement of the windows and the doors. She memorized the floor-plan. She made a mental She made a mental note to peer outside later and take in the street. She needed an escape route for when things would go badly. She wanted to make sure she could leave, if she was wrong about Bishop. She hoped the planning would avoid a scene later.

And yet, as she settled back into the couch and entered the not-quite-awake state she called sleep, she realized she wasn't worried about escaping too much this time. That a twinge of hope was growing in her. And then, as she drifted off, she murmured "I miss my son."

***

Bishop liked his coat.

No. More than that. He loved it. It had a certain heaviness to it. A musty smell. A certain importance hung about it.

It made him feel like a man.

Not a man as defined by what was between his legs, but rather a man as defined by the sound of a heartbeat and the breath one could see on a cold, damp morning like the one he had stepped out into. The manhood that surrounded him in his city as he began the dark, familiar path to work.

Bishop missed his manhood. He missed things he never would have expected. Scraped knees from falling down. Sweaty palms. Paper cuts. He missed the horrible feeling of a flushed, warm face when a pretty girl turned to him. He wish he could have blushed for Elizabeth. It would have made her more relaxed.

He had gained confidence and looks when he had changed, but he had never lost his sense of the awkward man he was.

Bishop was rarely part of a group. As a human he had been too inept and shy. As a vampire, he was too different in his habits and desires. He had always been an observer and loner, and it was why he was such a good detective, albeit a non-traditional one.

He rounded the finale corner to his office and lit a cigarette. The nicotine had no effect and the effort of inhaling was almost too much work, but he loved the way it made him look, for a moment, like a man in a warm coat on a cold day.