“I don’t know yet,” Gwen said. “We hadn’t started the canvass yet, and then…”
“And thenkaboom,” Theo said.
“We’ll find out,” I said, and gestured to a clump of apparent employees in polo-style shirts with company logos standing nearby. “And start there.”
“Take them,” Gwen said. “I’ll get CPD officers to talk to the other employees, the gate guards, and people in the nearby warehouses.” She checked her watch. “Let’s meet back here in a couple of hours, and be sure to track who you speak to, so we can check them off the list.”
“We will,” Theo said. “And keep an eye out.”
“Always.” Gwen squeezed his hand.
The partner in me wanted to tease him about the tenderness. But I understood the value of those delicate moments in the midst of danger. They made bearing the danger almost worthwhile.
But I was still me and still nosy.
“So you two are…?” I prompted as Theo and I walked to a cluster of employees in their branded shirts.
“Seeing how it goes,” he said.
I opted—wisely, I think—not to follow up.
We held out our badges for the humans. They looked wary.
“Theo Martin and Elisa Sullivan,” he said. “We aren’t cops. We’re with the Ombudsman’s office.”
“Did a vampire blow this shit up?” one of the humans asked.
I took that as my cue. “Did you see a vampire?”
“Nope,” said one man. “See one now. You’re that Ethan’s kid, right? The rich one?”
* * *
That interview and the next half dozen involved a lot of questions about vampires and vampire money. They didn’t involve a lot of facts about the bombing. According to this group, “Nobody saw nothing.” Some hadn’t actually seen anything; some probably had, but didn’t want trouble.
It took two hours of moving from one cluster of employees to another until we found a few who were willing to talk.
“Mike DeGrazio,” said a big man with tan skin and dark hair. “Been working here eighteen years.” And his heavy Chicago accent confirmed he’d also spent the years before that in the Windy City.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. DeGrazio.” I gestured back to the now-former warehouse. “Did you see anyone who might have been involved in this?”
“Nope,” he said, and his answer was so quick, I assumed this interview was going to go like the others.
He must not have liked my narrowed gaze, as he lifted his hands in innocence. “I swear on my mother, god rest her soul. There was a fire near one of the grain elevators, and all but essential staff had to report to help move equipment out of the way.”
Well, that was handy timing. Maybe the other employees had been telling the truth.
“When was the fire?” Theo asked, adding notes on his screen.
“Early afternoon. I’m not sure when but it was after lunch.”
“Did Mr. Durante or Mr. País help with that fire?” I asked.
“Nah, they work directly for Mr. Buckley, the owner. They’re on-site four or five days a week to handle problems.” He swallowed down what looked like real distress. “Or they did.”
“They have a regular schedule?” Theo asked.
“Not really,” the man said. “Mostly come in when it’s busy to keep an eye on things.”
