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"Yes to both. Sorry, Sal, but we've a psycho on the loose and we need to stop him. Knowing who that body is will put us one step closer to that aim." Simply because knowing whether it was Mrs. Young or not would give us some idea where not to look next.
"I'll see what I can do."
Which was her way of saying she'd do it. "Could you also get the RSPCA out? There's a dog here that doesn't look as if he's seen a feed for a while, and a few chickens that need to be rounded up."
"Someone abandoned their dog? Bastards. I'll get right onto it."
I raised my eyebrows at the anger in her voice. Sal was a dog lover? Who'd have thought? "Thanks, Sal."
I hung up then headed back to the dog, filling up the bowl so he at least had fresh water. Then I grabbed a long bit of wood and went back inside the house.
My skin began to burn the minute I neared that room. I broke off a bit of the wood and jammed it under the door, just to ensure no one could rush up and slam it shut behind me. Then, using the rest of the stake, I pushed the netting aside far enough to step inside. Even though the silver never touched my skin, the room still felt like hell. I was just too sensitive to the metal to be able to stay here too long.
I walked over to the desk and opened the laptop. It wasn't connected to power and the batteries were flat. I reached underneath and shoved the cord into the socket, so the cleanup team could have a look at it when they got here. Then I shuffled through the magazines and books, but they were all computer and mechanical in style, and didn't tell me much about the man who had been reading them. Under the bed I could see glimpses of nudes, so obviously his parents hadn't been recalcitrant in catering to his needs - but again, it begged the question, why lock him up? If he hadn't been crazy beforehand, he sure as hell would have been after thirty years of being locked up in a room filled with silver.
There were several newspapers near the bed, so I walked over and picked them up. Three of them had an article that had been circled in red ink.
The first was about a mugging in Brighton, and I couldn't see any connection to the murders until I read halfway and saw the mention of the eyewitness.
Ivan.
The second - and oldest of them - was about a charity fund-raiser, and came with a photo of several men and women. One of those women was circled - Cherry Barnes.
The third article was tiny, little more than a rave about the hot new chef working at Hot Rabbit. Underneath was a picture of the owner - a big, balding man named Ron Cowden. A big, red-ink cross had been scrawled across his heart.
It wasn't one of the men who had already died. It was someone new.
Shit.
Papers in hand, I carefully edged back through the netting, then dropped the wood and ran to the car and the phone.
"What now?" Sal said, in a long-suffering voice.
"I need an urgent trace on a man named Ron Cowden. He apparently owns a restaurant called Hot Rabbit."
"Why?"
Sometimes, this woman could be a real pain in the ass. Which is why she did it - she knew it bugged me. She could be as big a bitch as me when she wanted to be. "If he's not dead already, he could be the next victim of our invisible vampire."
"Vampires aren't - "
"This one is," I cut in. I glanced at my watch. I'd better get moving, otherwise I was going to be late for my party. "Let me know if you find him. And we might have to bring him in if you track him down."
"It shouldn't be too hard, but I'll let Jack know extra accommodation might be needed."
"While you're talking to Jack, let him know that Cherry Barnes is probably a victim of the invisible vampire."
"Will do."
"Thanks."
I hung up again, then got back into the car and headed home. Rhoan wasn't there, and neither were the school photos from Liander. I grabbed the phone and gave Liander a call.
"Hey," he said, "you missed a great lunch."
"Yeah, sorry about that. Can I ask you a question about the photo?"
"Yep. Fire away."
