The Laughing Corpse by Laurell K. Hamilton

What's on the back of the book:
The older the Zombie, the bigger the death needed to raise it.

After a few centuries, the only death 'big enough' is a human sacrifice. I know because I'm an animator. My name is Anita Blake.

Working for Animators, Inc. is just a job - like selling insurance. But all the money in the world wasn't enough for me to take on the particular job Harold Gaynor was offering.

Somebody else did, though - a rough animator. Now he's not just raising the dead . . . he's raising Hell. And it's up to me to stop it.

A piece from the book:
The phone rang. I moved nothing but my eyes to glance at the bedside clock: 6:45a.m. Shit. I lay there waiting, half drifted to sleep again when the answering machine picked up.
'It's Dolph. We found another one. Call my pager . . .'
I scrambled for the phone, dropping the receiver in the process. 'H'lo, Dolph. I'm here.'
'Late night?'
'Yeah, what's up?'
'Our friend has decided that single family homes are easy pickings.' His voice sounded rough with lack of sleep.
'God, not another family.'
''fraid so. Can you come out?'
It was a stupid question, but I didn't point that out. My stomach had dropped into my knees. I didn't want a repeat of the Reynolds house. I didn't think my imagination could stand it.
'Give me the address. I'll be there.'
He gave me the address.
'St Peters,' I said. 'It's close to St Charles, but still . . .'
'Still what?'
'It's a long way to walk for a single family home. There are lots of houses that fit the bill in St Charles. Why did it travel so far to feed?'
'You're asking me?' he said. There was something almost like laughter in his voice. 'Come on out, Ms Voodoo Expert. See what there is to see.'
'Dolph, is it as bad as the Reynolds house?'
'Bad, worse, worst of all,' he said. The laughter was still there, but it held an edge of something hard and self-deprecating.
'This isn't your fault,' I said.
'Tell that to the top brass. They're screaming for someone's ass.'
'Did you get an warrant?'
'It'll come in this afternoon late.'
'No one gets warrants on a weekend,' I said.
'Special panic-mode dispensation,' Dolph said. 'Get your ass out here, Anita. Everyone needs to go home.' He hung up.
I didn't bother saying bye.