"Call her mother?"
"Yeah, you know. Like on the telephone?"
Henry spread his hands, willing to allow Tony this moment. "I don't have the number."
"So? Get it out of her apartment."
"I don't have a key."
Tony snorted again. "You don't really need one. But," he laced his fingers together and cracked the knuckles, "if you don't want to slip past the lock, there's always our old friend Detective-Sergeant Celluci. I bet he has the number."
Henry's eyes narrowed. "I'll get it from Vicki's apartment."
"I've got Celluci's number right here, I mean if you... "
"Tony." He cupped one hand around Tony's jaw and tightened the ringers slightly, the pulse pounding under his grip. "Don't push it."
From the street, he saw the light on, recognized the shape visible between the slats of the blinds, and very nearly decided not to go in. Tony had seen Vicki leave the city in the early morning. Overnight case or not, she could very easily have returned and, if so, she obviously wasn't spending the evening alone. Standing motionless in the shadow of an ancient chestnut, he watched and listened until he was certain that the apartment held only a single life.
That changed things rather considerably.
There were a number of ways he could get what he wanted. He decided on the direct approach. Out of sheer bloody-mindedness, honesty forced him to admit.
"Good evening, Detective. Were you waiting for someone?"
Celluci spun around, dropped into a defensive crouch, and glared up at Henry. "Goddamnit!" he snarled. "Don't do that!"
"Do what?" Henry asked dryly, voice and bearing proclaiming that he did not in any way perceive the other man as a threat. He moved away from the door and walked into Vicki's living room.
As if he has every right to. Celluci found himself backing up. Son of a bitch! It took a conscious effort, but he dug in his heels and stopped the retreat. I don't know what game you're playing, spook, but you 're not going to win it so easily. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I might ask you the same thing."
"I have a key."
"I don't need one." Henry leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "My guess is, you've come back to apologize for slamming out of here on Saturday." He read a direct hit in the sudden quickening of Celluci's heartbeat and the angry rush of blood to his face.
"She told you about that." The words were an almost inarticulate growl.
"She tells me about everything." No need to mention the argument that followed.
"You want me to just back off right now, don't you?" Celluci managed to keep a fingernail grip on his temper. "Admit defeat."
Henry straightened. "If I wanted you to back off, mortal, you would."
So if I'm a good eight inches taller than he is, why the hell do I feel like he's looking down at me? "Think pretty highly of yourself, don't you. Look, Fitzroy, I don't care what you are and I don't care what you can do. You should've been dust four hundred years ago. I am not letting you have her."
"I think that should be her choice, not yours."
"Well, she's not going to choose you!" Celluci slammed his fist down onto the table. A precariously balanced stack of books trembled at the impact and a small brown address book fell onto the answering machine.
The tape jerked into motion.
"Ms. Nelson? It's Mrs. Shaw again. I'm so sorry to bother you, but your mother's body has been moved over to the General Hospital. We thought you should know in case... well, in case... I expect you're on your way. Oh, dear... It's ten o'clock, April ninth, Monday morning. Please let us know if there's anything we can do to help."
Celluci stared down at the rewinding tape and then up at Henry. "Her mother's body," he repeated. Henry nodded.
"So now we know where she is."