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There wasn't much in the way of drawers, but I went through them anyway, using the clean tea towel sitting next to the dish drainer to open each one. I ran the risk of wiping off the fingerprint dust, but whoever was being sent from Perth to investigate the killing would probably do a complete reprint of the house anyway. The last thing I needed with Harris so suspicious of me was my prints being found in the victim's house.
I didn't find anything more useful than a stack of unpaid utility bills, so I headed into the hallway. Four doors led off it - one a bathroom, two bedrooms, and the third a living room. I headed into the living room and found it surprisingly clean. There was dust, but then, there was dust in my apartment back home, too . . .
The thought had me stopping in surprise, but once again it didn't lead anywhere. I cursed softly and continued looking around.
Two chairs and a TV dominated the room. In between the chairs stood a coffee table, and on it were several days' worth of newspapers. The top paper was a racing form for Belmont Park in Western Australia, and several screwed-up tickets were sitting nearby. Landsbury obviously liked to bet. There was little else of interest in the room, so I moved into the bedroom. His bed was unmade, but the sheets looked clean and the room was tidy. I'm not entirely sure why I expected Landsbury to be untidy or dirty - maybe it was just the foulness of his crime.
A small beside table sat to the left of the bed, so I walked around and, using the tea towel once again, opened the drawers. The first drawer held nothing but underwear and socks, but in the second I found gold - a notebook.
I lifted it out and carefully began to flick through. My stomach turned as I read - each page was headed by the name of a girl and various details about her: approximate age, description, habits.
Landsbury had been building up to another crime spree, if this was anything to go by.
Which meant the bastard had certainly gotten what he deserved.
There were ten girls in all, and it made me wonder if the one of their fathers had uncovered Landsbury's unhealthy little obsession. It would certainly explain the method of his murder.
Yet that didn't explain the whole red-horned devil. That wasn't a coincidence, and I doubted it was a copycat. Besides the fact that it didn't feel right, if Harris hadn't known about the other murders, why would anyone else?
I flicked through the remainder of the notebook, but there was nothing else in it. I put it back, slid the drawer closed, and stood up.
As I swung around to head out, I heard the footstep. It was whisper soft, barely stirring the air, but it was there. I flared my nostrils, trying to smell who it was, but the air was rich with the scent of decay and it overrode everything else.
I moved quickly but quietly to the side of the dresser, squeezing in between it and the wall and squatting down in an effort to be less noticeable. Even though the bedroom curtains were open, the moon hadn't risen fully yet and the darkness lay fairly thick in the room. I had to hope it would be enough to conceal me.
There were no more footsteps, but the hairs on the back of my neck rose with the awareness of another. I still couldn't smell him - or her - but he was close.
A shadow appeared in the doorway and I recognized his outl
ine immediately. Harris.
The damn man was a bloodhound. For an instant, he looked straight at me, but there was no sign of recognition, no indication he actually realized I was there, and I frowned. Maybe the darkness and shadows were deeper than I figured.
I stayed where I was, watching him, hoping against hope he'd continue to not see me, not smell me, and would just give up and walk away.
I really should have known fate had other plans.
"I know you're here somewhere, Hanna. Come out. "
I didn't move. He could have been bluffing.
"Come out, and we'll discuss your reasons for being here. If you don't, I will throw your ass in jail and bury the key. "
If it had been Mike making that offer, I would have stayed where I was. But it was Harris and, for some reason, I trusted him.
I rose to my feet and stepped out of the shadows. His gaze swung around and I saw the barest flicker of surprise.
"How the fuck did you do that?"
I frowned. "Do what?"
"You weren't there. There was nothing but shadow in that corner. " He stared at me. "Only vampires do stuff like that. "
"I'm not a vampire. " But again that ripple of doubt ran through me. I might not be a vampire, but did that blood run through me?
Yes, that inner voice said. Yes.
It was coming back. Slowly but surely, it was coming back.
