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He moved on. The next room was another bedroom, which was in the process of being turned into an office. The bed was still present, but it was squashed in one corner while desks, chairs and filing cabinets—all new and still wrapped in plastic—filled the middle of the room.
The killer hadn’t bothered to stop in either room, because the droplets moved on, evenly spaced. Gabriel frowned. The killer must have injured herself in the fight downstairs, as the blood was too consistent to be dripping from a knife.
He finally came to the bathroom, and realized the second woman must have fled here because the door had a lock. The wood bore heel marks, and the catch had been torn from the frame. A second CSM hovered in the doorway. Gabriel showed his ID and stepped past it.
Only to stop cold.
The second
victim was his sister, Miranda.
—
Sam dialed Gabriel’s number, but all she got was a busy signal—something she’d been getting for the last half-hour. She frowned at her wristcom and wondered what else she could do to contact him, because something was wrong. He wasn’t in danger, but something was definitely wrong. There was an ache close to her heart—an ache that was his, somehow echoing through her.
She studied the car’s onboard computer for several seconds, wondering what she should do—go home, as he’d ordered earlier, or try to find out what was happening? Really, it was a no-brainer. How could she sleep knowing something was wrong? She punched Gabriel’s address into the computer.
As the vehicle spun around and headed back to the city, she leaned back and watched the traffic roll by. That was the nice thing about these auto-drives. You could be as tired as all hell and it didn’t matter. The auto-drive would get you to your destination regardless of the condition you were in. Though if the satellites ever malfunctioned, there was likely to be the biggest damn accident in recorded history. Sam yawned hugely and closed her eyes. It seemed she’d barely gone to sleep when the car pulled to a halt and beeped softly.
She climbed out and looked up. There were no lights on in Gabriel’s apartment. She climbed the steps and leaned on the buzzer for several seconds. No response. Frowning, she stepped back, staring up. If he was still at the murder scene, why wasn’t he answering his phone?
She got back into the car, tapped the wristcom, and tried his number again. Same result—busy. Maybe his phone was charging. She dialed SIU. Christine answered on the second ring.
“Christine, Agent Ryan here. Can you check and see if AD Stern’s wristcom is working?”
“One moment, please.” She turned away from the screen. The overhead lighting caught her hair, turning the black strands a rich dark blue. They’d certainly worked on making her realistic, Sam thought. Wisps of hair swayed with every move, and if you looked hard enough, you could see her breathe.
“AD Stern’s wristcom is currently off-line.”
“Turned off?”
“Yes.”
In the time she’d known him, that phone had never been turned off. “Who’s on the cleanup team at Greenvale?”
“Agents Michaels and James.”
“Could you patch me through to Michaels?”
“One moment, please.”
Christine disappeared, to be replaced a few seconds later by Warren Michaels’s drawn features.
“Agent Ryan. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for AD Stern. He still there?”
“He left about forty minutes ago. Why?”
She hesitated. “He asked me to report in. I’m just trying to find him.”
“Tried his wristcom?”
“No, I thought I’d call you first, just to piss you off.”
Michaels raised an eyebrow, a slight grin twitching his mouth. “Yeah, dumb question, I suppose. I guess you’ve tried his home number too, in which case, I can’t help you.”
She bit her lip. Gabriel was fine when he’d left her at Han’s, which meant something must have happened on the way to the murder scene or at the scene itself.
