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"Then we'll keep an eye on her, for sure. Have you written up a report about last night?"
"Nope. I was intending to do it when I got in this morning. Did Sal get anything on Aron Young?"
"We found three. We're still trying to get a current address on two of them."
"At least there's not hundreds to investigate."
"True." He paused for a moment. In the background, someone was murmuring. Paper moved, then he added, "Sal mentioned you were investigating some BDSM case?"
Meaning Sal had listened in on my phone call - there was no other way she could have known, because I hadn't yet written the report. "It's related to last night's case - same vampire."
I wasn't a hundred percent positive of that, of course, but I wasn't about to let Jack know that.
"I'll hunt up the police report on it for you, and hurry the search on Young. If this is the start of a murder run, we'll need to get onto it straightaway."
"Could you also get a check done on a Ben Wilson? He's a black wolf who manages the Nonpareil stripper business. As far as I can see, he's the only real link between the two men."
"Will do."
"Thanks, boss." I hung up, then changed lanes and headed over to South Yarra and the address Jack had given me - which just happened to be in the heart of trendy Chapel Street.
Obviously, whoever was killing off these people had a taste for power and money. And perhaps a need for the high that exhibitionism could give. Which in itself would suggest some sort of were. While the danger of public sexual acts - and the high such risks gave - was not the sole province of weres, we weres were certainly willing to take it further than most races.
It was impossible to find parking near the shoe shop in Chapel Street, so I parked in nearby Garden Street. And made sure an "Official Directorate Vehicle" sign was visible through the front window, just in case the parking inspectors got a little trigger-happy with their ticket machines.
I pocketed my keys and headed back to Chapel Street. The shoe shop was easy enough to spot - it was the one with the cop cars out front and the black plastic sheeting over the windows.
Kade was nowhere to be seen, so I ducked under the tape, showed my badge to the patrol cop, and headed in. And discovered Chapel Street shoe shops weren't like ordinary shoe shops. For a start, the shoes were well spaced rather than crammed together in soldier-like rows. Then there were spotlights over the display racks, high-back comfy chairs, and plush carpets.
And a dead naked guy in the front window.
His thick thatch of red hair was the first thing I noticed. He was leaning over a waist-high shoe display, his butt facing the window, arms and head flopping down the back of the metal stand, with pretty-colored stilettos and boots scattered all around his feet.
"Puts a new spin on eye-catching window displays, doesn't it?" Cole said, stripping off bloodied gloves as he stepped out of the window.
I frowned at him. "Whose blood?"
"His. Seems our killer got a little heavy-handed with the scratches this time." He nodded toward the victim's torso. "Got scratches on his chest, genitals, and legs."
"What type of scratches?"
"A cat of some kind. She's a big one, though."
"How big is big?"
"Twice the size of a regular cat, at least."
"So are we looking for something the size of a puma or something more like a tiger?"
"Something the size of a tiger, at least."
I stepped closer. The metallic tang of blood perfumed the air, as did the scents of sweat and sex. But underneath those were notes of jasmine and orange. The same scents that had been evident in Gerard James's office.
My gaze ran from the dead man's neck to his back and down his legs. There were scratches scattered across his pale flesh - big, thick, ugly scratches that had taken more than a little skin with them.
"It can't be the same cat that scratched James," I said, glancing around at Cole. "This one has massive paws."
"I think it is, but I won't know that until I do some DNA tests."
