No response until, abruptly, Catcher sat up and began flipping through his book again. That was answer enough, I thought.
My grandfather stepped back into the office, and since Catcher was no longer broadcasting, he took the floor, giving his crew the basic facts on recent relevant events in my life - the bite, the threat, the challenge. When he'd given the full replay to Jeff and Catcher, he updated me on the investigation into Jennifer Porter's death. As a potential victim - and the three of them agreed that I'd been next in line - he thought it important to keep me informed.
Unfortunately, a lack of communication was standing in the way of progress on the investigation. Although the Navarre vamps promised to work with the CPD in solving the crime, they'd been tightlipped about their findings, if they had any. Grandpa's vampire connection helped fill in some blank spots, but in Catcher's words, the vamp was an enlisted man, not an officer, so his access to information was limited. Plus, the vamp was skittish about being labeled a traitor by his House, so he reported to the Ombud, not the CPD. That meant any information he did uncover had to be passed through channels. And even when it found its way to an investigator's desk, CPD detectives were still suspicious. Cops were old school; they didn't trust information from supernatural sources. Even my grandfather's thirty-four-year service record didn't immunize him from the prejudice. Many of the cops he worked with, served with, just thought he cavorted with phony weirdos.
More important, all the communication in the world couldn't help the fact that the only evidence recovered in Porter's death was the Cadogan medal. Detectives found no other physical evidence, no witnesses, and even the medal had been wiped clean of fingerprints. Unfortunately, with little else to go on, and plenty of prejudice in their favor, the CPD was loath to ignore Cadogan House as the source of their suspect.
By the time we'd gone over all that, I was seated at one of the empty desks, tapping a pencil absently against its top. I looked up, met Catcher's eyes. "Do we agree that he didn't do it?" I assumed I didn't need to specify who "he" was.
"He didn't do it," was Catcher's immediate response. "But that doesn't mean someone in Cadogan House wasn't involved."
Elbow on the desk, I put my chin on my hand, frowned at him. "He said he was interviewing the vamps that live in Cadogan House. He doesn't think Cadogan vamps were involved."
"Catcher didn't say a vamp from Cadogan House," my grandfather clarified. "He said someone in Cadogan House. We know a medal was taken from Cadogan. The House probably keeps extra medals on hand in case a vamp from another House defects or a pendant gets lost. And Commendation's coming up. That's when the medals are handed out to new vamps. They're there."
"And for the taking," Jeff pointed out.
Catcher stood up and stretched, his T-shirt riding up to reveal washboard abs and a circular tattoo on his stomach. Gruff was Catcher, but a little delicious.
"Vamps date out of their House," he said, dropping his arms. "And sometimes they bring their dates home. If the medals weren't properly secured, any of the visitors could have snagged one. And if Sullivan wasn't such a goddamn tight ass, he'd consider that."
"You two don't get along?" I asked.
Catcher chuckled and sat down at his desk again, the chair squeaking beneath him as he adjusted himself. "Oh, we get along fine. Sullivan and I go way back."
"How so?
He shook his head. "We don't have time for that story tonight. Suffice it to say" - he paused thoughtfully - "Sullivan appreciates my unique talents."
"Which are?"
Catcher chuckled gravelly. "Never on a first date, sunshine." He ran a hand over his buzzed skull and reopened the book on his desk. "And just because Sullivan and I are friends doesn't mean he's not a tight ass. And that doesn't mean he's willing to admit that he's wrong."
That being the most profoundly accurate statement I'd heard in days, I laughed heartily. "Oh, yeah," I said, patting my heart. "That gets me right here. Ethan said something about Rogue vampires being involved," I offered. "But it doesn't sound like they could have gotten into the House. I mean, security looked pretty tight."
"Rogues are one theory," Grandpa said. "And we've passed it along to the bureau."
"So that's your role in all this?" I asked. "Passing information along?"
"We're not investigators," Grandpa confirmed. "This office works more like a diplomatic corps. But since our vamp doesn't talk to cops, we've got access to information the cops don't have. The Mayor said to pass the info along, so we passed."
"And to be fair," Catcher added, "you and your little sorceress are involved now. That gives us incentive to pay attention and to get this wrapped up - and this psychopath off the streets - sooner rather than later."
I lifted an eyebrow, wondering how he'd learned about Mallory's secret identity, but he looked away. Sullivan, I guessed, had made a phone call.
My grandfather settled a hand on my shoulder. There were bags under his eyes I only just recognized, and I felt suddenly guilty for having waited so long to talk to him, for worrying him needlessly, even as I knew it wasn't me, but the loosed killer, who put the concern in his eyes now.
"That's all we've got," my grandfather said. "I know it isn't very satisfying, not when you've been a victim. When your life has been turned upside down."
I squeezed his hand, appreciating the validation. "Anything helps," I said, meeting each of their eyes to get my appreciation across. "It helps."
After a round of goodbyes, Grandpa walked me outside to await my cab. He locked up the building, then guided me to a wooden park bench that sat in one corner of the building's small, neatly clipped lawn.
"I still can't believe you're involved in all this," I told him. "There's so much going on in the city, and people think vamps are the sum total of it." I glanced over at him, worry in my gaze. "And you're right on the front lines."
Grandpa chuckled mirthlessly. "Let's hope it doesn't come to front lines. It's been eight months. Sure, the coming out was a little rocky, but things have been stable for months now. I wouldn't say humans have accepted vamps, but there seems to be a kind of . . . curiosity." He sighed. "Or we're in the eye of the hurricane. The lull before more rioting, chaos. And there's no telling what that might do to the balance of power. Like Catcher was saying, a lot of sups take the vamps' superiority for granted. They see them - you," he corrected, looking at me over his glasses, a move so much like my father's, it tripped my heart nervously, "as alpha predators. Sups tend to follow the vamps' lead because of that. But that loyalty, if you want to call it that, was conditioned on vamps staying out of the limelight. Keeping under the radar, keeping human eyes off the supernatural world. They've never had good PR, the vamps. And you saw those nymph posters in there?"