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  I sensed Richard’s disapproval. ‘As your counsel, I should be there with you. Just in case, you know.... I don’t trust that man.’ He jerked his head in Delaney’s direction.

  ‘Not necessary. I’m not the one being questioned. At least, not yet. But thanks for the offer.’

  ‘Fine.’ But he wasn’t happy.

  ‘Well, that’s settled.’ I turned back to Delaney. ‘I want to be there, to see them, see if they have a mark here.’ I tapped my inner wrist. ‘A tattoo. Hook and a squiggle. Looks like a birthmark. All Pazu have them.’

  ‘I can check for that.’

  Damn difficult man. ‘You know I have a right by law, as the victim, to confront those responsible for this crime. You can’t deny me that.’

  Delaney deliberated. After a moment, he gave me a nod before climbing into his car. He rolled the window down. ‘I’ll meet you there. Waverley.’ He drove off.

  ‘Here, take this.’ I handed Marcus the spare key to my Pitt Street apartment. ‘I’ll meet you back there.’

  Amanda, Richard and I rejoined Wayne in the limo. He packed away his iPad and scooted across the seat toward the window, his face crestfallen. ‘They got ‘em. S‘pose it’s pointless trying to hack into Telstra to get the IP now.’

  ‘For now, Wayne. Let’s see first if they’ve got the right people.’ I tapped our driver on the shoulder. ‘Drop me off at Waverley Police Station.’

  We drove to the Eastern Suburbs police station and stopped outside the red brick entrance. Just before I got out, Amanda caught my arm. ‘I’ll inform our Brethren that the police are handling it, and they’ve got two in custody. That should be enough to settle them ... I hope.’

  ‘Remind them: no reprisals. This doesn’t change the law.’

  ‘Understood.’

  They drove off, and I stepped through the door to the front reception desk. It was unattended. A sign said, Ring the Bell for Assistance. So I did. A young uniformed policeman appeared.

  ‘I’m Dr Munro. Superintendent Delaney is expecting me.’

  ‘You have some ID?’ I pulled out my driver’s license. ‘Thanks. Put this on.’ He pulled out a visitor’s badge before pressing a button beneath the bench top. A door to my right clicked open. ‘Follow me.’

  He led me through an open plan room scattered with desks and work spaces separated by partitions. Some were occupied. One or two officers briefly looked up as we passed. Through another doorway and down a corridor, he stopped outside one of four grey doors. Each had a small viewing window. He looked through and knocked. The door opened a crack and he spoke to those inside. I recognised Delaney’s voice.

  ‘He can watch from outside.’

  Fair enough.

  The young policeman closed the door. ‘He said—’

  ‘I know. I heard.’

  He turned and left. I made myself comfortable by leaning my left shoulder against the door and peering through the viewing window. A young man with straight white-blonde hair sat with his back to the door. Delaney and another plain-clothes detective took the chairs on either side of him. Three empty glasses and a jug of water sat in a round tray in the middle of the table while a small camera at the far end of the table recorded everything.

  The young man’s head was turned toward Delaney. Although I couldn’t see his face, I sensed no fear, not even a hint of tension or concern coming from him. He lounged back in the chair, one arm draped over the back, completely at ease. Was this the Pazu arrogance Sam had mentioned?

  They had already started the interview.

  I listened in and just caught his name and physical appearance being repeated for the benefit of the recording. Alistair Davis. The name was close enough to Davidoff that it was just possible he could be our Pazu. Or not.

  Proof, Delaney. I need proof. I winged that thought to him. Not that I expected a response, but he knew what to look for.

  ‘Is that information correct, Mr Davis?’ The other detective asked.

  Davis shrugged. ‘That’s correct.’

  Delaney motioned with his finger and his partner slid the information sheet across the table to him. ‘We like to make sure all your details are correct, so there’s no case of mistaken identity. I’m sure, as a student of the law, you understand that.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Delaney took his time perusing the sheet while his thumb mechanically clicked the spring lid of his pen. ‘Seems in order ... wait. Seems there’s no record of any distinguishing marks such as moles, scars, birthmarks and the like.’ He slid the sheet back to the other detective. ‘Would you mind correcting that omission so my sergeant can record it?’

  Delaney’s partner darted him a quick glance and turned the sheet over, pen at the ready. But before he did so, I’d managed to scan the sheet of paper looking for an address, and those physical details had already been jotted down.

  I made a mental note not to underestimate Delaney.

  ‘Um, yeah okay.’ Davis drawled out a couple of things: scar on his knee from a boyhood accident, mole on his right shoulder. He then hesitated and slowly slid his left hand beneath the table but not before I saw a thick watchband covering his left wrist.

  My pulse quickened.

  Only a Pazu would hide his mark.

  ‘Is that all, Mr Davis?’ Delaney asked.

  ‘Um—yes—no. A ... birthmark ... on my wrist.’ The young man straightened in his seat.

  Pulse racing now, I pressed my face against the glass to see the mark for myself.

  Davis removed his watch, but his arm was clutched close to his body, so I couldn’t get a decent view.

  Damn!

  ‘Would you mind showing it to my sergeant so he can record it?’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  I had to admire Delaney’s interrogation methods.

  Davis rested his hand on the table, wrist turned up.

  And there it was: the reddish hook-and-squiggle of a Pazu. I needed no other proof.

  As Davis described the mark, Delaney pivoted in his seat to face the door, swung one leg over the other and nonchalantly looked directly at me.

  I nodded.

  We understood each other.

  As the questions continued, Davis became nervous. Not only could I sense it, but I could smell it from behind the door. He fidgeted in his seat, his head swiveling more and more often toward the camera.

  ‘I ... um ... choose my right to remain silent. And ... to have legal representation.’

  ‘I think that’s a very good idea, Mr Davis.’ Delaney terminated the interview. He stood and joined me outside. ‘Let’s see what the other one has to say.’

  ‘Lead on.’

  Delaney strode across the hall to Interview Room 2. ‘Don’t let him see you.’

  I stood out of sight as he opened the door and closed it behind him. It was set up the same Spartan way as the previous one. At the head of the table, again facing away from the door, sat another young man. I briefly glimpsed his face when he turned to see who came in. This youngster was no more than in his late teens. Another juvenile Pazu?

  Delaney used the same line of questioning as he had with Davis, beginning with the birthmark.

  This youngster didn’t have one. So what was he doing with a Pazu? And unlike his friend, he exuded fear. He stumbled over his words, and when he was shown the actual burnt card fragment sealed in a clear plastic evidence bag, he paled and dropped his head, shoulders bunched as if trying to hide.

  ‘Do you recognise it?’ The youngster shook his head. ‘Try again.’

  The boy raised his head, blinked at it and dropped his head again. ‘No.’

  Delaney sat back in the chair, hands clasped over his stomach. ‘You know that card could still have some DNA on it. If it matches with yours, then you may be facing twenty to twenty-five years in jail for murder. On the other hand, if you tell us everything, it’ll go more favourably for you.’

  I had no idea if that was a normal line of questioning, but whatever Delaney was doi
ng seemed to be working.

  The youngster’s head shot upwards, eyes wide as saucers, mouth trembling. His shoulders began to shake, and the tears followed. He sniffed and was passed a box of tissues.

  ‘You have anything to say, son?’ Delaney’s calm demeanor got results. The boy cracked, and everything came spilling out.

  ‘Okay, okay. It’s mine. No ... um, actually it’s Al’s. I took a couple of his cards. I ... only did it because ... they killed my sister. I wanted them to know that we weren’t taking it. They’re the—’

  Delaney stopped him. ‘Son, are you confessing?’

  The youngster bobbed his head. ‘I wanted them dead. They’re ... vampires. They’re not ... human.’

  ‘Did you say vampires?’ The other detective asked. He and Delaney exchanged a glance.

  The youngster nodded. ‘I know you don’t believe me. But it’s true. They’ve been killing people in the city—my sister—since before Christmas. Al’s family are vampire hunters. We didn’t know where to find them, though, till he told us.’

  Delaney’s brow furrowed. He leaned forward. ‘He? Who? Who told you where to find them?’

  The youngster swallowed, grabbed another tissue and wiped his eyes. ‘He’s a cop, like you. Knows all about them. He bought white-oak bullets from us. That’s how you kill them, you know. He told us where they lived. Gave us the address ... the place we burned down. He told us to do that.’ The youngster became even more agitated. He shot from his seat, the chair clanging to the ground. ‘We didn’t hurt the security guys. We pulled them out of the way. We don’t kill humans, only the vampires, so it’s not really murder coz they’re already dead!’

  I tensed. There was only one person I knew who fit that description. The son of a bitch! My vision narrowed until I saw through a haze of red.

  Delaney paled, and for a moment I thought he’d terminate the interview because we both knew who that cop was. To his credit, Delaney carried on, his face set like rock as he stared at the youngster, who now paced from one end of the small box-like room to the other.

  Delaney rose and righted the fallen chair. ‘Sit down, son. Here, take this.’ He handed him a glass of water, then sat down again and waited for the boy to calm.

  ‘Now, can you tell me this person’s name?’

  The youngster shook his head, fear written all over his face. ‘He’s a cop. You’re cops....’

  The implication was obvious: the police stuck together and didn’t expose their own. I sincerely hoped Delaney would prove that wrong.

  Delaney leant further toward him. ‘I don’t care if this man is our bloody PM. If he broke the law, he faces justice, just like anyone else.’

  The other detective nodded.

  For a few moments, the youngster studied them both. ‘Um ... Matt Sommers. He’s a detective, an inspector. We checked him out before going to his place.’

  The other detective terminated the interview. Both then sat in stunned silence until Delaney abruptly rose. ‘Wait here,’ he told his partner.

  He left the room and stormed down the corridor. I was about to go after him, demanding to know where Sommers was, when my serpent ring flared and Laura’s sweet voice whispered through my mind.

  Alec, tell me you’re safe. The ring’s eyes are ... darkish.

  It’s probably reading my murderous thoughts!

  Can it do that? And why are you having murderous thoughts?

  I rubbed my brow as I thought how to tell Laura that Sommers was responsible for the destruction of her family’s home. Laura liked direct. Direct it was. Somehow Sommers got in contact with the Pazu. He told them to burn down The Residence. Even gave them the location.

  She inhaled sharply. He what? How? Are you absolutely sure?

  I told her what I knew.

  How could he do such a thing?! The rotten piece of self-righteous ... I hate him, and I never thought I could ever feel that way about anyone.

  Don’t feel bad about it. He’s earned it.

  I never want to hear the name Sommers again.

  Which reminded me. Laura, did he ever tell you about his family background? He knew yours was French, so did he—

  Oh, for sure. One of his sisters was really into Ancestry dot com. She found out they’re originally from Somerset in England. Why?

  Then, just like that, things clicked into place. Sommerset. Sommers. The names were too similar to be a coincidence, and I didn’t believe in coincidences, even though, just for a moment there, I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Was it possible he belonged to the missing Pazu family? And that somehow, he’d reconnected with the other one? My head was buzzing.

  The names of the two Pazu families who followed our clan to Australia were Davidoff and Sommerset.

  Her breath hitched. That’s right, Jake mentioned it. I never made the connection.

  Neither did I ... till now. Did you ever notice a strange birthmark on his left wrist? A reddish squiggly hook-like thing, about four-to-five centimetres long?

  No. Come to think of it, he never took off his watch and that personalised black bracelet set he always wears. Not even in the shower. Oops, maybe I shouldn’t’ve told you that last bit.

  I smiled. You had your own life before I met you, darling.

  Delaney returned carrying a large framed photograph, the type that mostly hung on walls, under his arm. We made split-second eye contact before he re-entered the room.

  ‘Darling, I have to go.’

  ‘Love you.’

  ‘Love you, too.’ Hearing her lovely voice calmed some of the rage flowing through me, enough for me to concentrate as the interview was resumed.

  Delaney placed the framed photograph on the table and spun it round to face the youngster. It appeared to be a group photo, like one from a yearbook, with the names of the individuals at the bottom. He’d masked over the names.

  ‘Look carefully at this photograph. Take your time. Do you recognise the man you know as Matt Sommers anywhere there?’

  The youngster’s eyes roved over the group photo. He pointed to one smiling individual.

  It was Sommers.

  No further confirmation was needed.

  ‘Are you absolutely sure?’ the other detective asked.

  The youngster bobbed his head. ‘That’s him.’

  A uniformed figure hurried down the corridor. He glanced at me, knocked on the door and handed Delaney a sheet of paper. He perused it and passed it to the other detective who slumped back in his chair, hands gripping the sides, his gaze glued on Delaney. ‘You know what this means.’

  ‘Interview terminated....’ Delaney gave the time and date, then switched off the recording. He rested his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands. When he eventually raised his head, his face was white. The lines around his mouth and eyes had also deepened.

  He stood, took the paper with him and pasted it, written side up, to the viewing window so I could read it. It was the transcript of an email from Davis to Sommers:

  “Thanks for the tip-off. Successful raid and one less vampire nest in the city. Only four inside. Wished there were more. We could’ve killed them all. If you find the whereabouts of any other bloodsuckers let me know and we’ll clean them out too.”

  Son of a bitch! Double confirmation he was behind it all.

  One glance at Delaney and I didn’t need to imagine the turmoil he was going through. Laura had mentioned how close he and Sommers were, almost like father and son. This news had hit him hard. It was all there in his face. The man had aged at least ten years.

  He sat back down, the transcript curled in his fist. ‘Issue an arrest warrant for DI Matthew Sommers.’

  Chapter 25 - Not At My Hands

  ALEC

  I needed to escape that building. A blood rage so great descended on me, and I feared losing self-control. Sommers had much to answer for. But those two young humans weren’t guiltless either.

  Barely able to keep my fangs sheathed, I tightened m
y mouth and ran into the city. To its rotten underbelly: King’s Cross. Where the homeless and desperate shivered in dark alleys that were filled with the stench of urine: where gangs roamed the streets in search of victims. Where mobsters, the gangsters, the criminals plied their soul-sucking trade in illicit drugs and prostitutes behind the facade of popular nightclubs. Dregs of humanity who thrived on the misery they inflicted on others.

  They would not be missed.

  My bloodlust grew.

  A deep rhythmic thud boomed from the loudspeakers of one nightclub, its pink and yellow neon lights enticing passersby to enter.

  ‘Oops, sorry maaaate.’ Speech slurred and breath smelling of a mix of alcohol and vomit, one young human bumped into me. Eyes so bloodshot he could barely see, he and his group laughed and staggered past me, dodging traffic to get to the other side of the street. One of them pointed to a garishly lit club.

  I lifted the back collar of my jacket and followed them in.

  The blare of the lights, music and loud conversation assaulted my senses until I tuned most of it out and followed my nose. Unbidden, my fangs slipped low in my mouth at the intoxicating mix of scents from the sweat of gyrating bodies, alcohol and heated blood that hung in the air like a pheromone-laden mist.

  It didn’t help that I hadn’t fed in more than forty-eight hours. Having lived on Ingenii blood for nigh on fifty years, ordinary human blood barely satisfied. But it would have to do as my Ingenii blood vials were running dangerously low.

  I stalked the room, my nostrils dilating, searching for a particular scent, one that reeked of adrenaline fuelled by anger, aggression and evil intentions.

  ‘Hello, gorgeous!’ Voice low and filled with seduction—and wearing enough perfume to knock out a bull—the female who sidled up to me smiled and linked her arm through mine.

  ‘Sorry, not shopping.’ Not ever.

  I unhooked her arm and wove through the crowded tables. I scanned the room, inhaling deeply. Among the intermingled scents, one stood out. It was unmistakable. At the far end of the room, clos to the corridor leading to the toilets, stood my quarry. He leant heavily against one of the high cocktail tables, breathing heavily, eyes fixated on a laughing group of young women seated nearby.