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Azriel? Are you near? I thought, then said out loud, “Yes. Only there were no clues and, until now, the killer hadn’t resurfaced.”
Azriel appeared behind Jak and lightly touched his neck. Jak froze, his eyes going suddenly blank.
“Are you okay?” Azriel asked.
“Mostly.” I wrapped my arms around my body, and wished they were his arms, not mine. “I guess you’ve already been inside?”
“Yes. As before, there is nothing to suggest who is behind this murder.”
As before… I shivered, and again tried to ignore the images that rose.
“No scent or spiritual essence—or whatever it is that you Mijai track by—whatsoever? How in the hell is something like that even possible?”
“The lack of scent is understandable,” he said calmly. “Humans have had scent-erasing soap for many years now.”
I waved a hand in acknowledgment. “But how can the killer not leave any other trace of himself behind?”
“Anything is possible if one is extremely careful, and our killer obviously is.”
I took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Then what the hell is the link between my mum’s murder and this man’s?”
“That is obvious.” His voice was grim. “You are the connection.”
I blinked. “Why would I be the link when it comes to a retired photographer I didn’t even know?”
“You might not have known James Blake, but you were intending to question him about Nadler. You were also investigating Nadler and his consortium when your mother was killed. I doubt it is a coincidence.”
“But—” I paused. Pain and guilt rose like a ghost, but I pushed them back down and added, “I can understand someone killing Blake to keep him quiet, but Mom didn’t really know much about my investigation.”
“She was a very strong psychic,” he replied, his voice soft. “You do not know what she might or might not have known.”
And now never would, I thought bleakly. “Do you think they’ll go after Nadler’s ex, as well?”
“It is possible.”
I swore, dug my phone out of my purse, and said, “Uncle Rhoan.” The psychedelic patterns ran across the screen as the auto connect sprang into action.
Then Uncle Rhoan appeared. “If you’re ringing to tell me you’ve discovered another dead body, I will not be happy. You know I wanted you off these investigations.”
Fortunately, there was a resigned weariness in his voice rather than anger. I had a suspicion that either Aunt Riley had talked to him or he’d simply come to accept that I wouldn’t stop sticking my nose into events. “I’m afraid there is another body and his name is—was—James Blake. He was a retired photographer who happened to be the attending photographer at John Nadler’s wedding. He was killed the same way as Mom.”
He was silent for a long moment, then said, “Are you okay?”
My attempt at a smile came out more of a grimace. “Queasy as hell, but holding up. You need to get people out here, but I also need you to check on Jacinta Nadler—we talked to her yesterday, and it just might have placed her in danger.”
He paused, and barked out orders to whoever was in the room with him, meaning he was at the Directorate rather than at home, then said, “Who’s we?”
I hesitated. “Myself and Jak Talbott.”
“Jak Talbott?” His voice was incredulous. “The reporter who used his relationship with you to do that hatchet job on your mother?”
I winced. “Yeah, that very one.”
“Why the hell are you working with him?”
“Because I’m trying to track down John Nadler, and Jak’s got a lot of useful street contacts.”
His sigh was one of exasperation. “Riley’s right. You’re not only pigheaded but determined to see this through no matter what you have to do, or who you have to use.”
