“What can you tell me?”
“Can you trust me when I say that no one’s causing any trouble?”
“Rick’s in on this, too, isn’t he? Should I talk to him?”
“If you can find him.”
“I’ll give him a call.”
I didn’t know that she had Rick’s number. I wondered when that had happened.
She drew out a manila folder she’d kept tucked under her arm. “How about a more specific question. Have you seen him?” She opened the folder to show me a sketch artist’s drawing of a man’s face, round and stout, frowning, short-cropped pale hair. It was Columban.
Vampires couldn’t make themselves invisible, precisely. But they could influence the way light did or didn’t strike them. They could appear on camera, if they wanted to. Or they could hide in shadows and leave no trace of their passing—keep their reflection from appearing in mirrors, that sort of thing. Security camera footage would never catch the vampire priest. But someone had witnessed something, to get this sketch.
“You’ve seen this guy,” Hardin said, because I couldn’t hide my shock.
“Where’d you get that? What’s he done?”
“Got it from my counterpart at Interpol, and he’s wanted for arson and homicide in Hungary.”
So many questions, I hardly knew where to start. “Homicide?”
“Two workers were killed in a fire he’s suspected of setting in a warehouse.”
I may have been suspicious of Columban, but he didn’t strike me as being criminal; arson and homicide didn’t jive very well with the serene priestly image he’d presented to us the other night. Just went to show, I didn’t know anything about him at all. Neither did Rick. I needed to call him. In light of this new information, I felt confused more than anything. Hardin had startled me on a couple of fronts.
“You have a counterpart at Interpol?” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me this? Why didn’t you tell me this before I went to London? Can you imagine the interview I could have gotten—”
“Wait a minute, slow down. Yes, I have a counterpart, and to be snide about it, you never asked. We were all sick of being embarrassed in our local departments, so we started talking to each other. Amazing what we’re finding out.”
“What? What are you finding out?”
She pointed at the sketch. “Tell me about him, first.”
If I gave away anything about this guy to Hardin, Rick would never forgive me. I gave her a very bland smile. “You’ll have to talk to Rick.”
“Is this some kind of supernatural territory thing?” she said. “Vampire versus werewolf, not stepping on toes, all that?”
“More like a not stabbing friends in the back thing,” I said. “I’m sorry. Rick really is the guy you want to talk to. He knows more than I do anyway.”
“This guy’s here in Denver, isn’t he?” she said. “If he really did commit those crimes, aren’t you worried about him pulling the same shit here?”
Which was why I wanted to get out of here so I could call Rick before Hardin did. “Yeah, actually. And I’ll call you if I hear about anything that urgent. I promise.”
She frowned, arching her brow. I looked back at her, wearing my best innocent face. We probably could have stared at each other like that for the rest of the afternoon. But I didn’t have the time.
I gestured over my shoulder to the car. “I’m going to go now.”
She slipped the picture and folder back under her arm. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Nice talking to you,” I said, waving. Then I jumped in my car and started the engine. She watched me drive off. Pure intimidation.
After driving around the corner, I pulled over and called Rick. Half a dozen rings later, the call went to voice mail. Of course it did—the sun was still up. I’d have to wait until after dusk to talk to him. I had to comfort myself with the knowledge that Hardin wasn’t getting through to him, either.
I did the only thing I could—left a message and waited for his return call.
* * *