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"What about the police report on the BDSM murder?"
"I went one better. I sent a forensic crew over to examine the body. The slashes on his body matched those Ivan Lang received before his death."
"Did they say what type of weapon was involved?"
"Something sharp, but not a knife. They didn't think it was animal claws, either."
"Nothing else?"
"Not yet." He glanced at Kade. "What's the status on the murders?"
As Kade updated him, I walked over to my desk and sat down. After the eye scan and signing in, I checked the results of the Aron Young search. Two were still listed as missing, which was interesting. The third one was married, had three kids, and had been working steadily as a chef for the last thirty years. Somehow, I doubted he was our guy, but I flagged his file anyway. Someone could go out and talk to him, just in case I was wrong. After all, it wouldn't be the first time.
I tapped my fingers on the desk for a moment, then pulled up the birth certificates for the two others.
One Aron Young was in his seventies and still listed as human, which meant he probably wasn't our man. The Young I'd chased certainly hadn't looked that old, though vampires did tend to retain whatever age it was when they'd undertaken the ceremony. Both Quinn and Jack had obviously been fairly old - for their times - when they'd undertaken it.
The other Young was in his forties, which put him in the right age bracket. Given he was listed as missing, I did a search instead on his parents.
His father, Jonathon Young, had died a month ago. According to the death certificate, the cause was a heart attack, so nothing obviously sinister there. Though why I was expecting something sinister I couldn't actually say.
His mother was still alive, however, and living in Yuroke, a community of small farms on the northern edges of Melbourne. I glanced at my watch and decided there was plenty of time to get out there and back before I had to get ready for the function tonight. I wrote down her address, then signed out of the computer and stood up.
"I'm off to interview the mom of one of our Aron Youngs, boss."
He glanced at me. "Be careful. Until we know what we're dealing with, we don't know how to kill it."
"I doubt the mom is any danger. She's nearly ninety, for heaven's sake."
"Old biddies are mean and dangerous," Kade piped up. "Just let me introduce you to Sable's mom sometime. That woman could freeze the balls off Satan himself."
"I do so love the level of conversation I get with you two around," Jack said dryly.
I grinned and got out of there before said conversation deteriorated any further.
It took nearly an hour to get to Yuroke, and another ten minutes to find the right side street and house number.
Mrs. Young lived in a little weatherboard cottage that was barely visible amidst all the gum trees. I drove down the long drive, avoiding as many potholes as I could, my gaze sweeping the old house and the run-down barn that stood to the left of it. The barn actually looked in worse condition than the house, the tin roof rusted and lifting in several places, and the rear corner of the building was broken open to the elements.
The only signs of life were the several chickens that scratched out the front of the barn, and the mangy-looking dog chained to a kennel.
I stopped the car and climbed out. The wind meandered through the trees, making the leaves whisper, and the soft clucking of the chickens added a brighter note to this chorus. There was little noise coming from either the house or the shed. Even the dog was silent, watching me with disinterested eyes.
It looked for the world like this place - and the dog - had been abandoned. Yet there were clothes on the line, and a car parked just inside the lean-to garage on the right side of the house.
I swept my gaze around the buildings once more, then reached back inside my car and collected my gun. I might be dealing with an old woman, but she was an old woman with a crazy son, and just because I couldn't smell him didn't mean he wasn't here. Yuroke wasn't that far out of town, he could easily be using it as a safe house.
I slammed the door closed then walked toward the house. If the old bird happened to be inside and watching, she was doing so extremely quietly. But I didn't think she was. I couldn't smell anyone. Only rubbish and age.
The wooden steps creaked and dipped as I stood on them, and the windows to my left rattled. The whole house was in a state of decay, the window frames rotting and the weatherboards barely holding any paint. Even the door didn't look capable of withstanding much bad weather - it was warped and hanging on a slight angle, so that it didn't look properly shut.
I pressed the doorbell, but didn't hear an accompanying ringing inside the house, so I knocked instead. Even though I didn't use much force, the whole thing rattled.
There was no response. I knocked again, then stepped back and peered through the front window. It looked into a living room and, again, decay was evident. There were newspapers scattered all over the floor, their edges yellowed and curling, and a thick dust lined the top of the patterned sofas and the dark wood of the sideboards. Several cups and plates dotted the coffee table, one with cake that looked rather green. Either Mrs. Young wasn't a very good housekeeper, or the room hadn't seen human occupation for at least a couple of weeks.
"Mrs. Young?" I called out. "Riley Jenson from the Directorate. I need to talk to you."
My voice echoed through the emptiness. No answer came. Not even from the dog.
