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“How long ago did she actually leave?”
He hesitated. “Just going out through a side door now.”
“Let me know the minute anyone else enters or exits. And thanks, Stane.”
“No probs.”
As I hung up, my phone chimed, telling me a message had been received. I pulled up the pic, then glanced at Azriel. “You want to take us there?”
He nodded and did so, depositing us again in the side parking lot near all the shrubs. I swung around, but didn’t immediately see anyone matching the image on the phone. Then I spotted the tail end of a white overcoat disappearing around the Hoddle Street corner and raced after her.
As I ran into Hoddle Street, I spotted her. Like the woman in the photo, she was tall and thin, with short dark hair and a long, almost manly walk. She also was twenty yards away and heading briskly for a taxi.
“Miss Sands?” I had to yell to be heard over the roar of passing traffic. “Can I talk to you?”
Thankfully, she paused and looked over her shoulder, a frown marring her pale, lightly lined features. I’d expected Genevieve Sands to be a much older woman, for some reason, but she looked to be in her midforties, if that. “Do I know you?”
I slowed to a walk, dug my badge out of my handbag, and showed it just long enough for her to see the badge but not read the finer print that said I was vamp council rather than anything more official.
“I need to ask you a couple of questions.”
She frowned, her amber gaze skating my length briefly before rising to mine. I had the feeling that I’d been found wanting—and it oddly reminded me of Lauren Macintyre’s initial response to my presence.
“In regard to what?” She looked down the length of her long, Roman nose at me, her voice cool and collected.
I hesitated. “John Nadler.”
She turned fully around, her handbag clasped in front of her like a shield and her expression puzzled. “Who?”
“John Nadler, a businessman who recently died.” I stopped in front of her and forced a smile. “I believe you’re one of his three beneficiaries.”
She blinked. “In what way?”
“As in, he’s dead and you’ve been named in his will.”
“Why on earth would I be named in the will of a man I don’t know?”
“I don’t know.” I frowned. If she was putting on an act, then it was a good one. And yet there was something about her, an energy radiating off her that had the hackles rising at the back of my neck. “You haven’t been contacted by his lawyers?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” She hesitated. “But I’ve been out of town on business for a few weeks. It is possible that their communication is being held at the post office along with my other mail.”
Which was a perfectly legitimate excuse, so why didn’t I believe it?
“Is that why you’re using one of the storage units here? Because you’ve been away?”
She frowned. “What on earth has my renting a storage unit here got to do with being the beneficiary of a man I don’t know?”
“Please, Ms. Sands, just answer the question.”
She huffed somewhat haughtily, then said, “I’ve been renting the unit for several months now. My house is quite small and I needed somewhere secure to stock several valuable items.”
I pulled my phone out and pretended to look up some notes. “And is your unit G-18?”
“Yes.” She frowned. “I’m really not seeing the connection here.”
“It’s in regard to the ongoing investigation into Nadler’s death,” I said. “We believe there might be some connection to your unit. Would it be possible for us to have a look at it?”
“No, it would not. Not without a warrant.” She paused, looking me up and down. “Produce one, and I’ll be more than happy to comply.”
