* * * Gabriel drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. If the traffic didn't start moving soon, he was going to abandon the damn car right here and take to the sky. It was four-forty already. Twenty minutes to get through the center of the city to O'Hearn's office was cutting it fine.
Why the doctor had decided to move her practice out to South Bank was beyond him. It wasn't as if she'd gained any space, and he knew for a fact the rent wasn't any cheaper because the Federation was still picking up half the bill.
Of course, he should have left the archives earlier. But if had, he wouldn't have found the journal. It had been written by a Vietnam vet back in the mid-twentieth century, at a time when the human race was still in semi-denial about the existence of 'nonhuman' races. Amongst its catalog of death and destruction, there was a brief description of a man who walked from the shadows and saved the soldier's life.
From the brief description given, it might have been easy to think the soldier had encountered a vampire, except for two facts. It happened at midday, and the stranger had walked into the flames surrounding the soldier and consumed them.
Vampires might not be killed by fire, but they certainly were killed by sunlight. Particularly midday sunlight.
So was the journal nothing more than the ramblings of a crazy man? Maybe. But he'd heard more than once that walkers had been used in the race wars. The fact he could find no hard evidence of it didn't mean it wasn't true. If the Government had used them in that war, why not in earlier wars?
Later wars?
And what did the ability to consume fire say about the walkers? Fire-starters were one thing, but fire-eaters?
The sharp ring of the viaphone broke the silence and made him jump slightly. Which, he thought irritably, was just plain stupid. He leaned forward and pressed the receive button.
Illie's cheery features came on-line. "Hey boss, how's the day off going?"
"Great." He'd choose a day spent hunched over a com- screen over several hours of hot sex anytime. Not. Still, he could hardly complain when the decision had been his own.
"What do you want, Illie?"
"Ran a background check on Kathryn Douglas. Nothing out of the ordinary, though it struck me as odd that a woman on her salary has so damn little in the bank."
"How little is little?"
"Just over fifty thou. Not much, when you consider what she makes in a year."
Gabriel frowned. "What about other assets? Stocks and such?"
"According to her broker, she's been selling steadily over the past year, though always at huge profits. The money's obviously going somewhere other than the bank."
"Boyfriend? Husband?"
"Currently, neither. Several of each in the past, but no alimony being paid."
Given her position, Douglas's earnings had to be in the high six figures. So what the hell was she doing with all her money? "I'll put a request through for full banking records.
Did you get her home security tapes?"
"Yeah. She had one visitor last week who was not on the list of known associates. A bloke by the name of Les Mohern.
Small time crim, petty theft, arson, that sort of stuff."
"So why is he associating with the likes of Douglas?"
"A question I thought I'd ask when I caught up with him."
"Good. Have you had any luck with the security guards who were on duty last night?"
"Contacted one so far. Wouldn't let us see him till tomorrow."
Until after he'd been briefed, perhaps? "What time?"
"Nine."
Great. He needed an early start after standing watch all damn night. "See you then."