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“I can see why the Doc was keen to get rid of these,” Tucker said.
Barbara considered. “And if you were one of his clients, you’d be even keener.”
She tapped her chin thoughtfully. It made sense that the Doc might want to get rid of evidence of his trading, especially with the police asking questions. But why kill himself? And why stop halfway through?
As if reading her mind (again), Tucker said slowly, “Seem a bit strange to you that the Doc didn’t finish the job?”
They looked at each other.
“Maybe he decided that it wasn’t worth clearing up the evidence if he was going to kill himself.”
“Or someone decided to clear up all the evidence here, including the Doc.”
Barbara sighed. “No signs of struggle. No break-in. Let’s take another look at the office.”
They walked through the house to the office at the back. It was darker here, and Barbara flicked on a light. They stared around the room. The chair remained tipped over on the floor. But nothing else was out of place.
“Neat,” Tucker remarked.
“Isn’t it just?” she said.
She looked at the chair. Then she knelt and took a small fingerprinting kit out of her bag. Tucker stood at the desk, frowning down at Dalton’s MacBook Air.
“Looks like someone flattened the Doc’s computer with a steamroller.”
Barbara moved over to stand next to him. She dusted the keys and trackpad.
“Needs a password,” she said.
“Any ideas?”
“If it isn’t ‘password’ or a favorite pet I’m all out.”
Tucker hit some keys while Barbara opened drawers in the desk. None were locked and most were empty. One contained some envelopes and sheets of letter size paper. Another, a notebook that looked brand new. The bottom one contained nothing but some paper clips and a stapler. Barbara shut them all again. She was struck by the empty desk. Her own desk usually looked like a bomb had hit it, followed by some kind of apocalyptic event.
Tucker tutted at another failed password attempt.
“What did you try?” Barbara asked.
“Deadhart.” He shrugged. “You never know.”
Barbara put her hands on her hips and stared around the office. The bookcase was the only place that was untidy. Crammed with medical journals, crime fiction and a number of non-fiction and anthropological books about vampyrs. Prior to what she had seen in the Doc’s files, Barbara would have put this down to a healthy medical interest. Now, it seemed far more sinister. And there was something else. Something missing from this picture.
“I haven’t seen the Doc’s phone anywhere. Have you?”
Tucker shook his head. “No. Unless it’s so thin I’ve missed it.”
“You check the living area again. I’ll search the bedroom.”
The bedroom was also neat and functional. Barbara looked in the drawers in the bedside table and then investigated the wardrobe. She rifled through the clothes, patting down pockets, noting that all the brands were designer and the loafers lined up beneath were expensive-looking leather. Finally, in the very last outdoor jacket, she found a bulge of something heavier in one pocket. A wallet.
Wallet, but no phone. She turned as Tucker walked back from the living room. He shook his head. “No sign.”
“I guess he could have disposed of it,” Barbara mused.
“What about Jacob?” Tucker asked. “Perhaps he took the phone?”
“And not the wallet?”
