Page 22 of Taste of Blood
He lives in my building.
He’s a serial killer.
I also gathered that Cord has been unable to locate the man, hence spending the night in my building no doubt waiting for him.
Well, I may not be a detective, but I have access to resources Cord doesn’t. And what’s the point of having them if I don’t use them? So that’s what I do as soon as I get to the office. If anyone can find this Smyth character, it’s Elaine.
“Who is this guy?” she asks as she starts pulling up sites on her computer.
“A bad man who needs to be stopped.”
“What’s he done?”
I don’t have the specifics of that, though a perusal of the morning paper on my way to the office gives me a good idea. “Killed some people.”
Elaine doesn’t ask why that concerns me. She’s good that way. “I’ll have something for you by this afternoon,” she promises instead.
I trust that she means what she says, so I put the matter out of my head and am determined to go about my day, though I still keep flashing back to the look on Cord’s face when he raninto me in the lobby earlier. He acted annoyed, but that’s not the signal I got from his expression. I know lust when I see it, and as much as Cord might deny what he feels for me, his eyes tell a different story. I just have to be willing to show some patience, which isn’t easy for me when it comes to him.
I get through two meetings and head out to have lunch with an old client. Eating is always the hardest part of fitting in for me. As a vampire, I don’t need it, and because I rarely do it, the food sits like an uncomfortable lump in my stomach for hours after the fact. Unfortunately, it’s a necessary part of the illusion. In these cases, I usually drink more than I eat, opting for the lightest thing on the menu.
By the time I get back to the office, Elaine is waiting for me with a stack of folders.
“Those are the Jameson papers and the overview of the financials Maxley sent over. There’s a box of files from them in your office.”
“Thank you,” I reply as she follows me into my office.
“Also…I’m sure you’ll be particularly interested in the top folder.”
I set the stack on my desk and pick up the folder in question. After a quick glance, I look up at her with unabashed respect. “You found all this since this morning?” She nods. “Impressive.”
“I’ve got a few other feelers out I should hear back from by the end of the day.”
“I’m obviously not paying you enough.” I make a mental note to rectify that. Any law enforcement agency in the country would poach her from me in a heartbeat if they knew what she could do.
She grins. “Anything else you need?”
“Not today. I’d tell you to take the rest of the day off, but I know that would be futile.”
Elaine is even more of a workaholic than I am. In the six years she’s worked for me, she’s never voluntarily taken a day off. I practically had to tie her up and kidnap her to get her to go home last year when she had the flu so bad she could barely stand.
“It’s the thought that counts,” she says with a wink before heading back to her desk.
I sit down and read through the information she’s been able to gather on Eduard Smyth. Born Eduard Pascal in 1980 in San Francisco, he was the son of a single mother who worked two jobs to make ends meet. He graduated from college at twenty-two and went to work for a local accounting firm. Pretty generic stuff.
The interesting part came later. Apparently he fell into good fortune a couple of years after that. I’m assuming that’s when the Clan got hold of him. What attracted them to him is unknown, since ordinarily they’re pretty picky about who they recruit. There’s usually a one-year evaluation period from the time you’re recruited until you’re approved for transition. Whoever rubber-stamped Pascal’s transition didn’t do their homework. Elaine managed to get sealed juvenile records from when he was arrested twice for animal cruelty–once at twelve years of age and the next time two years later. The classic precursor to a budding serial killer career. Who knows what he did that wasn’t caught.
He left San Francisco three years after his transition. Curiously enough, there was a series of brutal murders around that time, none of which have ever been solved. He moved to Seattle for a while, then on to Chicago. Again there followed a series of unsolved murders involving the butchering of women’s bodies and extreme blood loss. He came to New York two years ago.
Elaine left a note at the bottom of the last page about some property he purchased last year. That must be the information she’s waiting on.
This guy is definitely bad news, and has been so from an early age. I would be curious to know who recruited him and whether or not they are aware of what he’s been up to since then. I pull out my phone and scroll to my old mentor’s number.
“Asher,” he greets when he answers. “It’s been too long, son.”
I’m surprised at the warmth of his voice. It’s actually been about three months, but I let that slide. I’ve avoided him whenever possible because of Cord, who clashed with Carlyle whenever they met.
“I was hoping you could help me explain something.”
