He threw himself down across the passenger seat.

His mouth felt dry. His heart thundered.

It’s not right, he thought. I shouldn’t have to live like a fugitive. I’m as much a public servant as those police out there.

He held his breath as the patrol car cruised by. It passed so close that he could hear crackles, squawks, and a garbled voice from its radio. He regretted his decision to leave the windows down. They might find that suspicious. But his car would’ve been stifling if he’d kept it closed up.

He breathed again as the sounds faded.

He stayed low, counting slowly to one hundred. Then he sat up and peered out the rear window. The red taillights were mere specks.

Opening his door, he leaned out and studied the sky. It was still gray beyond the peaked roof of the vampire’s dwelling. He placed a foot on the curb, straightened up and peered over the roof of his car. To the east the sky was pale blue.

From long experience, he knew that the sun would soon appear above the horizon.

It would be up by the time he was in position.

He sank back into the car. His silver crucifix hung against his chest. He fingered its chain and pulled the cross out from under his shirt. Then he lifted a leather briefcase off the floor in front of the passenger seat. Reaching into the case, he pulled out a necklace of garlic cloves. He looped it over his head.

Briefcase in hand, he stepped out of the car.

The overgrown lawn was surrounded by a picket fence. He swung the gate wide, kicking its bottom past tufts of weed that were high enough to hold it open. Coming out this way, he would be carrying the body. He didn’t want the gate slowing him down.

The porch stairs creaked under his weight. The screen door groaned. Inside the porch he used a wicker chair to prop the door open.

Twisting the knob, he found that the front door wasn’t locked. That made it easy. He wouldn’t need his pry bar. He crept silently into the house, and didn’t shut the door.