Maybe he’d merely looked dead. Maybe he’d simply slipped into a form of suspended animation while he went through the change to becoming something more than human.
If that was the case, then one of the men who’d been employed by the government to find a cure for the red plague virus was now under the control of the red plague victims themselves.
And while that was a scary thought, an even scarier one was, if that was the case, then there had to be someone behind these things, controlling them. The red cloaks I’d seen hadn’t seemed intelligent enough to do anything more than hunt and kill; nor had they appeared to want to do anything more than that. So either there was more to the cloaks than first appeared, or there was something deeper going on.
Either way, with Baltimore dead and his research in the hands of god knew who, Wilson was the only one left who had any hope of finding a cure anytime soon. Sure, other people could pick up the pieces, try to replicate and move on, but the reality was, it could take them years to even get back to where Wilson and Baltimore were.
But why would the red cloaks—or whoever was behind them, if there was someone behind them—want to control any possible vaccine? Did they hope to use the cure for themselves, or was there a more nefarious plan? I very much suspected the latter, though I wasn’t entirely sure why.
“Given witnesses said he used talonlike fingernails to rip Wilson up,” Amanda commented, drawing me from my thoughts, “maybe they simply took the body to prevent any possible DNA evidence from being found. That’s what the cops appeared to think, anyway. They seemed pretty certain they’d find his body dumped somewhere in the sewer system.”
I wished them luck with the search, because I seriously doubted they would find anything beyond rubbish, rats, and the occasional dead animal. “Did Wilson seem on edge before his death? Had there been any break-ins at either the research foundation or at your house?”
She shook her head. “Why?”
“Just trying to uncover any links between the two murders we’re investigating.” I tapped the wheel for several seconds. “What about friends? Did he confide in anyone besides you? Was there anyone new in his life, someone perhaps he was reluctant to talk about?”
“A lover, you mean?” Her expression was amused. “No, there was no one like that. It’s rather hard to keep such things secret from a telepath.”
Undoubtedly. I glanced in the mirror and noticed a white Ford following us. Nothing unusual given white Fords were a dime a dozen on the roads these days, but there had been one parked down from Amanda’s, and after everything that had happened recently, I was a little wary of coincidences. I flicked on the blinker and went into the left lane. The Ford remained where it was.
I slowed as the lights ahead changed to red. “Did the police mention anything about Wilson’s research notes?”
“No, but I know they’re missing. I had a visit from Denny Rosen two days after Wilson’s death.” She pursed her lips, her expression thoughtful. “Shame this has all gone down as it has. He might very well have been my next target.”
“Once Wilson was finished with, you mean?”
“Oh no.” Her expression was amused. “During. Wilson is work. Rosen, as head of a major research foundation, would have been a delightful—and undoubtedly profitable—sideline.”
“You really don’t have any morals, do you?”
She snorted. “You should check out Denny Rosen if you really want someone untroubled by morals. That man has not gotten where he is by playing nicely, let me tell you.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, while Rosen Pharmaceuticals might have held a government contract for research on that damn virus, he wasn’t above sharing the information in order to line his own pockets.”
I frowned. “Why would Rosen risk doing something that could destroy not only a very lucrative contract, but possibly his own company?”
“Greed,” she replied. “It’s a huge motivator. Especially when you’re heavily in debt.”
“And Rosen is?”
She nodded. “To the tune of nearly a million dollars. Apparently, he has a very nasty gambling problem—he’s the type who would bet on two flies walking up a wall if the odds were good enough.”
“And you discovered all this in the brief time he came to see you?”
“Of course.” Her smile was fleeting but smug. “Rosen may be very adept at hiding his problems from government scrutiny, but—as I have said—I’m very good at what I do. And I don’t always have to fuck them to do it. Rosen, unlike Wilson, is an easy read.”
Which made me wonder why the government wasn’t working on some sort of device to prevent the minds of people in such important positions being read. Or maybe they were and, like the red plague virus, it just wasn’t common knowledge.
I glanced in the rearview mirror again. The white Ford wasn’t visible, but that niggling sense of unease refused to abate.
“Have you any idea who Rosen is indebted to?”
Amanda frowned. “That I couldn’t quite catch, as he was trying not to worry about it.” She waved a hand. “But it was a long, titled name that had something to do with a rat.”
“Not Marcus Radcliffe the third?”
“That sounds about right.” She studied me for a moment. “I gather you’ve come across him in your investigations?”
“You might say that.” Unfortunately, Radcliffe was now in Sam’s hands, and he no doubt now knew about Rosen’s debt problems. Of course, that didn’t preclude the possibility of us talking to him. Who knew? We might uncover some morsel Sam had missed.
And at midday tomorrow, vampires would start walking the streets.
I turned onto Spencer Street and said, “Okay, where in Southern Cross have you stashed your bags?”
“It’s locker number ninety-two in the train concourse.”
I grunted and swung into the station’s parking garage. After finding a spot on an upper level, I said, “Do I need a locker key or code?”
“Code. Nine zero five seven.”
I opened the door, then hesitated. “Be here when I get back.”
“I can’t go anywhere without passports or clothes,” she said, expression amused. “I’ll be here.”
I studied her for a moment, not convinced, then half shrugged and got out of the car. But I didn’t go all that far. Once I was out of immediate sight, I stopped the phone recording, ducked down behind an old four-wheel-drive, and waited.
Sure enough, five minutes later, Amanda walked by, my coat fully zipped up so that only the ends of the hospital gown were visible. Unless you looked really close, it simply appeared as if she were wearing a light summer dress. I waited until she’d stepped inside the elevator, watched it descend until it was obvious it was going straight to the ground floor, then ran for the stairs. I called to my spirit form as I did so, felt the fires within surge to life, but—just as quickly—splutter into nothing. Goddamn it, I was still too low in energy to become fire. I ran down the stairs as fast as I could and prayed like hell the parking garage’s elevator was as slow as most of them seemed to be. I was almost at the bottom of the stairwell when the door opened and a mom and two kids stepped in. Only fast footwork on her part saved us all. I gave her a quick apology, then dashed out. The concourse was packed. I paused and scanned the crowd heading to and from the retail center above us.
After a second or so, I found Amanda. I tagged along after her, remaining at a distance but nevertheless keeping her in sight. Unsurprisingly, she didn’t head for the lockers in the main train station, but rather the ones located at the bus interchange terminal.