Los Diablos

An inevitable death

The red and blue headlights illuminated the dark street, which appeared strangely crowded for a small neighborhood alley. Quentin had to honk his horn to navigate through the throng of people. Spectators of all kinds had gathered in front of 113 Acham Street.

The young police inspector parked his car askew and turned off the engine. With keys in hand, he exited the vehicle, an old '91 Tercel that was soon destined for the scrapyard. Its mileage had reached 400,000, a rarity for a car in this day and age. A true record of longevity.

"So, what's going on?" he asked.

"In the kitchen," replied an old officer who oversaw the comings and goings.

Quentin nodded and climbed the steps to the entrance. He hadn't even crossed the threshold when he sensed it. That nauseating stench of decay that clung to the air, seeping into your lungs and causing an undeniable wave of revulsion. The smell of death.

Entering the living room, he examined the objects within. A frame hung above a modern fireplace. A glass table was placed in front of a rather luxurious sofa. He advanced and finally heard voices that seemed to emanate from beyond the grave. Snapping out of his reverie, he joined the team already at work in the kitchen.

"Sheppard," he greeted.

"Gabriel," the coroner acknowledged.

"It's a rather... unusual death," he began.

"Unusual?"

"Indeed. Did you know what he was doing here?"

"He was visiting his mistress."

Quentin sighed. Classic.

"And where is the woman?"

"She's disappeared. An alert has been issued for her. The investigation is ongoing."

"Alright," he acquiesced. "And what do we have here?"

The young woman, with her hair exploding in fiery red on her head, seemed to be bustling around the body. She eventually responded.

"Actually, it's quite strange."

"What do you mean?"

Quentin furrowed his brows. Together, they leaned over the body.

"He doesn't appear to have suffered. According to the observations of the first officers on the scene, there were no signs of forced entry. We're still searching, but otherwise, everything seems in order. No valuables appear to be missing."

"You don't seriously think..."

"It's the second similar case we've had in a month."

"He was..."

"Drained of his blood?" she interrupted. "Like the other one."

"And he has..."

"Two small holes in his neck. It's like we're being invaded by vampires," she quipped.

Vampires didn't exist. But ideas were beginning to form in Detective Quentin Gabriel's mind.

"I was thinking of a..."

"Copycat," she interrupted again.

Quentin sighed. This was why he hated working with Caroline Sheppard. The specialist in violent death investigations had a habit of finishing his sentences, which never failed to irritate him.

"Yes," the inspector confirmed impatiently. "Someone who wants to pass themselves off as a vampire. It's a bit ridiculous; Halloween is still 10 months away."

"I agree. I'll check out the psychiatric hospitals."

"Perfect, I'm heading back to the office," he said, standing up. "Keep this quiet. No one should know the victim's identity until the chief gives the go-ahead."

With that, Quentin left the crime scene, casting one last glance at the body. He heard Sheppard giving her final orders.

"Alright, guys, pack it up and take it to the lab..."

As he walked away once again, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness for the victim. He had met this man many times during his visits to the city's police station. This friendly and charismatic man genuinely seemed to want to bring about real change to a city in dire need of it.

Quentin sighed. Who could have possibly killed the mayor of Los Diablos?