Sam climbed out of the taxi and slammed the door shut. As the vehicle zoomed away in search of another fare, she stepped onto the pavement and stared at the house across the road.Even on a relatively bright day like today, the squat, almost ugly, red brick dwelling sat in shadow. Surrounded by tall gum trees, it hunched in the middle of the block like some forgotten troll. For some reason, Jack had loved it. Think of the possibilities, he'd said. All that land to expand on, all that room to move in.
Three and a half years later, the place was as still as ugly as the day he'd bought it. Uglier, as it had also begun to fall into disrepair. And the land he kept raving about was a mass of weeds and rotting leaves.
The houses on either side had well manicured lawns, perfectly trimmed garden beds and spotlessly clean driveways. But then, in an upper middle-class suburb like Mulgrave, you expected nothing less. Jack had to be driving them insane.
Smiling slightly, she crossed the road. The minute she stepped into the shadows of the house, it was as if she'd stepped into another world. The everyday whine of cars, of people talking and dogs barking, faded away, leaving only an uneasy sort of hush. She glanced up, studying the branches far above. Odd that there were no birds in any of the trees. Even though it was winter, there should have been sparrows and starlings, at the very least.
She walked up the steps and knocked on the front door. Then she stepped back, waiting for an answer. After a minute or two of silence, she knocked again. She'd checked earlier to see if Suzy had gone back to work. She hadn't, and she wasn't expected to be back for at least another week.
Still no answer. Frowning, she turned and headed for the backyard. All the windows along the side of the house had their curtains drawn, so she couldn't sneak a peak inside. The overgrown look had gone into overdrive around the back. Weeds climbed the fences and dominated the garden beds. She shook her head. It was hard to believe Jack had let it get to this state. At work, he was practically a freak when it came to tidiness.
She knocked on the back door. Again, no answer. Of course, there was always the possibility Suzy had gone shopping or was visiting friends, but instinct told her that wasn't the case. There was an edge of awareness in the stillness that suggested someone was home.
She bent down and slid the wire-thin key-coder out of its specially designed sheath inside her boot. Though they were officially frowned upon, a good half of the State's enforcers used them. This particular one Jack had given her a few weeks before he'd disappeared, claiming it would open any lock currently in use. At the time, neither of them had thought she'd be using it to break into his house.
The coder beeped softly. She slid it back home in her boot, and then cautiously opened the door. The kitchen lay in darkness, and the air that rushed out to greet her was stale, as if the house had been locked up for several weeks.
She edged into the kitchen and looked around. Dishes lay in an untidy pile in the sink. Judging by the thick layer of scum on the surface of the water, they'd been there for some time. A half-filled coffee cup sat abandoned on the table, and one chair lay flat on its back, as if someone had gotten up in a hurry.
She moved into the next room. There were no other signs of a hasty abandonment, but it was obvious no one had been in the living room for some time. She walked across to the coffee table and picked up a newspaper. Dust stirred, tickling her throat. Coughing slightly, she studied the date on the paper. May sixteenth. Five days after Jack had disappeared.
If appearances were anything to go by, Suzy hadn't been in the house since then. Yet that simply didn't make sense. Surely she must have been here when Jack — or his clone — was shot. How else would headquarters have gotten hold of her so quickly?
Dropping the paper back to the coffee table, she turned and headed for the study. Dust lay thick on the furniture in this room, too. Two monitors sat abandoned on an otherwise bare desk. Several photos lined the walls — all of them of Suzy. Sam sat at the desk and opened the top drawer. Empty. So were the next two.
Frowning, she stared at the monitor for a moment, wondering what to do next. Anything useful had obviously been cleaned out of the study, so there was a good chance every other room had been cleaned out, too. But the only other room that might hold something was the main bedroom. Even the tiniest scrap of paper might provide a clue, and while Jack was generally a neat freak, Suzy wasn't.
She checked the remainder of the house as she made her way up the hall to the main bedroom. The place was empty, despite her feeling to the contrary. Relaxing a little, she allowed herself to remember the pride in Jack's voice when he'd first guided her through his ugly duckling house. Remembered his wonder at all the space when all she'd seen was wasted space. Lord, they were so completely different. Maybe that was why they'd been such good partners. And good friends, at least during working hours.
So why had he tried to kill her?
Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them back. Damn it all, the man she'd shot wasn't Jack. It was a clone who didn't deserve her guilt or her tears.
Maybe Jack himself didn't even deserve them.
The bedroom was a mess. Blankets were strewn onto the floor, and clothes lay everywhere, the ironed mingling with the dirty in drifting piles. But the dust that lay thick on the furniture through the rest of the house was absent here. A coffee cup sat on the dressing table, its contents half-consumed and just beginning to congeal. Someone had been in here recently, and if the clothes were any indication, had packed in a hurry.
She stepped across several clothing mounds and made her way into the master bathroom. No trace of Suzy's makeup — a telling sign, if ever there was one. From what Jack had said, she had a veritable mountain of the stuff she used night and day. It had obviously gone with Suzy — wherever that might be.
She turned and crossed to the bedside table, opening the top drawer. Undergarments greeted her — Jack's, by the look of it. She poked through the drawer, just to ensure there was nothing else, and a slight edge of white caught her eye. She pulled it out. It was an empty envelope, addressed to Jack. She flipped it over. The sender was an R. C. Clarke — the same man who rented the rooms above the Chinese restaurant where this mess had all begun. No wonder the name had sounded familiar. Jack must have mentioned it at one time. Clarke was obviously someone she'd better start investigating.
But why had Jack kept an empty envelope? That he had suggested it had some value, which made no sense, given everything else of value had disappeared. Unless it was something he'd forgotten.
Frown deepening, she folded the envelope, and slipped it into her pocket. Then she grabbed the drawer and pulled it out, tipping the undergarments onto the floor as she flipped it over. Nothing taped on the bottom. She studied the base for a moment, and then noticed a slight scrape along one side, and a broken edge in one corner.
She tapped the bottom and heard the slight echo, as if the drawer were hollow. And the actual depth of the drawer certainly didn't match the depth of the sides. Maybe a false bottom? She stuck her little finger into the hole and gently tugged. The top layer came away, revealing a two inch hiding hole. Several digital disks gleamed softly in the half-light. She shoved them into her pocket with the envelope.
Out in the hall, a floorboard creaked — a sound so soft that if it wasn't for the strange hush over the house she might not have heard it. Even then, she might have passed it off as nothing more than the normal creaking of an old house, but there was a sudden prickle of heat across her skin, and the wash of awareness through her mind.
A vampire and a shapeshifter had entered the house.
She reached back for her gun, and then realized she no longer had it. Her gaze went to the bed. Jack had often said a gun was the natural extension of his arm. Even in the bedroom, he would have had one within reach.
She knelt down and felt underneath. Her fingers slid across the metal slats, then touched something slick and cold. Smiling grimly, she peeled the weapon away from its hiding spot.
Only it wasn't just any old gun — it was the latest in laser development, a Y-shaped weapon that molded itself to your palm and could blow a hole the size of a football field in the side of a building.
She frowned as she peeled the tape off the weapon. Where had Jack found the money to buy something like this? You certainly couldn't get these legally, and they were worth a damn fortune on the streets.