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tes to get through the center of the city to O’Hearn’s office was cutting it fine.
Why the doctor had decided to move her practice out to Southbank was beyond him. It wasn’t as if she’d gained any space, and he knew for a fact that the rent wasn’t any cheaper because the Federation was still picking up half the bill.
Of course, he should have left the archives earlier. But if he had, he wouldn’t have found the journal. It had been written by a Vietnam vet back in the mid-twentieth century, at a time when the human race was still in semi-denial about the existence of “nonhuman” races. Amongst its catalog of death and destruction, there was a brief description of a man who had walked from the shadows and saved the soldier’s life.
From the brief description given, it might have been easy to think the soldier had encountered a vampire, except for two facts: it happened at midday, and the stranger had walked into the flames surrounding the soldier and consumed them.
Vampires might not be killed by fire, but they certainly were killed by sunlight. Particularly midday sunlight.
So was the journal nothing more than the ramblings of a crazy man? Maybe. But Gabriel had heard more than once that walkers had been used in the Race Wars. The fact that he could find no hard evidence of it didn’t mean it wasn’t true. And if the government had used them in those wars, then why not in earlier wars? Or later wars?
And what did the ability to consume fire say about the walkers? Firestarters were one thing, but fire-eaters?
The sharp ring of the wristcom broke the silence and made him jump slightly. Which, he thought irritably, was just plain stupid. He pressed the receive button.
Illie’s cheery features came online. “Hey boss, how’s the day off going?”
“Great.” He’d choose a day spent hunched over a com-screen over several hours of hot sex anytime…not. Still, he could hardly complain when the decision had been his own. “What do you want, Illie?”
“I ran a background check on Kathryn Douglass. There was nothing out of the ordinary, though it struck me as odd that a woman with her salary has so damn little in the bank.”
“How little is little?”
“Just over fifty thou. Not much, when you consider what she makes in a year, which is over a million, if we include bonuses and perks.”
Gabriel frowned. “What about other assets? Stocks and such?”
“According to her broker, she’s been selling steadily over the past year, though always at huge profits. The money’s obviously going somewhere other than the bank.”
“Boyfriend? Husband?”
“Currently, neither. Several of each in the past, but no alimony is being paid.”
So what the hell was she doing with all her money? “I’ll put a request through for her full banking records. Did you get her home security tapes?”
“Yeah, and she had one visitor last week who was not on the list of known associates—a bloke by the name of Les Mohern. A small-time criminal—petty theft, arson, that sort of stuff.”
“So why is he associating with the likes of Douglass?”
“A question I thought I’d ask when I caught up with him.”
“Good. Have you had any luck with the security guards who were on duty last night?”
“I’ve contacted one so far. He wouldn’t let us see him till tomorrow.”
Until after he’d been briefed, perhaps? “What time?”
“Nine.”
Great. As if he needed an early start after standing watch all damn night. “Have our labs gotten back with the autopsy reports on those scientists?”
“Not as yet.”
“Follow that up this afternoon, then, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Illie’s grin was almost cheesy. “You sure will, boss.”
Gabriel punched the off button and stared at the traffic ahead. Les Mohern? He’d heard that name before. But where?
