“Not only that, but she’s been here, and she didn’t try to dust the place.” He stepped back and ushered us through to his living area. “I think I’m in love.”
“Certainly sounds like you’re smitten,” I said. “But is she aware that you don’t wash or iron?”
“I wash most days,” he said, expression offended but amusement dancing across his lips. “It’s only when I’m deep in a game that I don’t – something she’d understand because she’s a gamer herself. I tell you, she’s perfect.”
I grinned. “So your mom was right, after all.”
He grunted as he sat down in front of the curving sweep of light screens. “Something I am not going to tell her until I absolutely have to. The gloating will be horrendous. What can I do for you?”
“Did you and your friend in Brisbane happen to get the surveillance up and running on Lauren Macintyre’s Gold Coast place?”
“Certainly did.” He grinned, swung around in his chair, and lightly swiped several icons on the screen directly in front of him. Boxed images tiled onto the screen to his left. “Nothing much actually happens until this one.”
He leant sideways and flicked one of the small boxes over to another screen. Lauren Macintyre jumped into view, impeccably dressed in what had to be a designer dress and shoes. She stood in the middle of the bedroom, and barked out orders to the half-dozen men moving a steady stream of boxes piled high with her designer dresses and shoes out of the wardrobe, taking them god knows where.
“When was this recorded?” I narrowed my eyes and leaned closer to the screen. There was something not quite right with those men…
“Four days ago now,” Stane replied.
So she’d packed up and left before Lucian had died.
Suggesting, Azriel commented, that she somehow discovered your intrusion into her house. Perhaps that is why the storage place was also destroyed.
Yes. The bitch had been covering her tracks and finding a new hole to hide in – although undoubtedly it was a luxurious hole. She didn’t seem the three-star type, that was for sure.
“Have you tried to identify any of the men?” I asked Stane.
“I’ve done a run through VicRoads’s databases,” he said, “but couldn’t come up with a license match for any of them. I’m currently hacking into police files to see if I can find a match there somewhere.”
One of the men on the screen turned to face the camera and shock coursed through me. It was one of the half-human, half-animal beings that had attacked us at the Military Fair when the second key had been stolen from under our noses.
And if Lauren was using them, then she was more tied up with the dark sorcerer than we’d figured.
“Fuck it all to hell,” I muttered.
“To put it politely.” Azriel’s voice was grim. “Perhaps she is the reason the beings of those men are so twisted and unnatural. It would take a great deal of dark magic to so alter flesh and soul. More, perhaps, than one person – however strong a sorcerer – has.”
I shot him a glance. “Could not the same be said for the ley-line gate? Perhaps it took all three of them to create it.” I hesitated. “If that is the case, would Lucian’s death have altered their ability to use it?”
“I am no expert on magic,” Azriel said. “But I suspect it would not. The ley-line gate might have been created by a coalition, but I have no doubt they would have ensured it drew its power from the ley intersection itself. No human could create – even through black magic – enough magic to keep a portal onto the fields active for long.”
“Damn.” So much for the hope that Lucian’s death might have some benefit other than just permanently getting the bastard out of my life.
I glanced at Stane, who had a somewhat bemused expression on his face. But then, while he was familiar with our key search, he had no idea what we were talking about when it came to the magic-twisted half shifters. And I didn’t bother enlightening him. “Do you still have access to the security cam records of that storage place in Clifton Hill?”
“Yes, but didn’t that place blow up?”
I nodded. “I want to have a look at the hours between you first contacting me about Genevieve Sands entering the building and the building blowing up.”
“Sure thing.” He grinned. “But you can make me a coffee and something to eat while I hunt them down again.”
“Deal.” I pushed to my feet and made us both a toasted Vegemite and cheese sandwich – he didn’t have much else in his fridge – and by the time I’d deposited both that and a mug of coffee in front of Stane, he’d found the records and had relayed them to another screen.
I pulled up a chair and watched as I munched on my meal.
“What are we looking for?” Stane said, as he scooted his chair next to mine.
“Me.”