"He's still working on it, but he believes there were magical influences."
I raised my eyebrows. "In the robbery or the murder?"
"Hard to say. Head over to Bovel's straight away. We need to nip this in the bud quick, before the vamp community gets antsy."
And that wouldn't be good for anyone. "Will do."
"Trouble?" Liander asked as I hung up.
"Another dead vamp. Tell Rhoan I probably won't be home for dinner."
"Will do."
I grabbed my bag and headed back out. The address had come through on the car's onboard computer and I drove over to Brighton in record time. The beachside suburb was the local "it" spot for all those who were more than mere millionaires and, because of this, had its fair share of older vamps. After all, any vamp over a certain age had time enough to amass more money than most humans.
Which didn't mean they were good targets. Most vamps protected their fortunes fiercely, and the wise robber went elsewhere. Especially if he didn't love the thought of becoming a vampire's next meal.
I pulled into the victim's driveway. The house was another of those modern ones that always looked like a big white concrete box-and it still surprised me that vampires chose to live in these places. I would have thought something dark and gothic would be more their style. But then, vampires these days were all about breaking expectations.
A dark van with Directorate plates sat in the tree-lined parking lot and the front door was open, A stick-like figure hovered near the door, dusting for prints. It had to be Janny. Mel's other team member-Marshall-was a portly soul.
I grabbed my ID as I walked up the grandly arched steps and showed it to the mobile recording unit that had been set up in the doorway to record all movement in and out of the house. There'd be others inside.
"Afternoon, Riley," Janny said without looking up. Her voice was surprisingly mellow and rich, though I don't know why I always expected it to be otherwise. Something to do with her insectlike looks, I think.
I stopped and studied the doorknob she was dusting. No obvious prints. "How bad is it, Janny?"
She shrugged. "I've seen worse."
So had I, but that never made it any easier. "Same method of disposal as the first killing?"
"Seems to be. Mel's inside if you want a fuller report. You'll find her upstairs."
"Thanks." I stepped past her carefully and headed for the stairs. The air inside was alive with the flavors of the house-the delicate aroma of rose mixed with the deeper resonance of vampire. Underneath that, the metallic tang of blood. I couldn't smell the wrongness that had been in Armel's. Not on this floor, anyway. I climbed the stairs.
Mel poked her head out of a doorway, brown hair shining in the sunlight streaming in through the windows at the far end. "You want to check the bedroom on the right for me? There's a scent in there I can't define, and I'm wondering if it's the same as the one you found in Armel's."
I nodded and headed in. The interior of Garrison's matched the exterior, and his bedroom reflected this. The white walls held little in the way of adornment and the bed-with its deep red comforter and matching pillows-was the only splash of color in the room. Even the carpet was white-a bad color for a vampire to have in a place where he fed, I would have thought. Even the smallest of splashes would have been noticeable. The red bed, at least, made sense.
I studied the scents of the room, searching for the one I'd found in Armel's. That powerful sense of wrongness was there, but fading fast. Another hour or two, and there'd be nothing more unusual in this room than the scent of sex and the musty aroma that spoke of vampire. A vampire who washed, I thought, thinking of the kid's comment with amusement.
I walked up into the other room. This was a library rather than a study, as Armel's had been, but it still had a safe. Mel was dusting it for prints.
My gaze fell on a chrome and glass side table and I noticed the dust gathered there. And it wasn't the powder Mel was using-this stuff was coarser, and reminded me of the dust I'd blown off Armel's wallet. I glanced back at Mel. "You taken a sample of this?"
She looked across to see what I was pointing at, then nodded. "Don't know what it is, though I don't think it's regular house dust."
"It looks similar to some dust I saw at Armel's."
"Then we'll add it to the priority list."
"Thanks."
I finally let my gaze move to the body. Garrison, or what remained of him, sat in a plush leather chair next to the side table, a book slumped across his chest and the remains of a glass underneath the fingers of his right hand. Wine stained the carpet, its color almost as rich as the bloody pool that had formed under what remained of his legs.
"Where's his head and the end of his legs?" I asked, suddenly realizing what was missing.
"Your guess is as good as mine at this point," she said, catlike green eyes bright in the semishadows. "But there's a couple of rather large Dobermans in the backyard, and the window behind you is open."