The scent of blood, though faint, was evident this close to the body. I leaned closer still, and lightly pressed one of the wounds. They opened a little at my touch, showing how deeply the claws had sliced into flesh. “The wounds haven’t healed, so he didn’t shift shape at any time before his death.” I glanced up at Kade. “You think it possible his partner was a cat-shifter?”
“Well, I doubt he has a pet cat. Bird-shifters and feline pets have something of an aversion to each other.”
I glanced at the wound again. “Those cuts are definitely from cat claws, not human ones, so why would she even be in cat form if they came here to fuck themselves silly?”
Amusement glinted in Kade’s eyes as his gaze met mine. “Maybe he just wanted to play with a bit of pussy before he got down to business.”
“As puns go,” I said heavily, “that sucks. It would be interesting to view the security tapes, and see if there’s any record of her entering or exiting in either form.”
“Why?”
“Just a feeling. She didn’t report his death, wasn’t here when the PA found her, and the place was apparently locked up tight. All of which smacks of secrecy. So, why would she let herself be seen coming into the building?”“Assuming, of course, we are dealing with a female.”
That perfume definitely seemed female-oriented, but given I didn’t even use the stuff, I could hardly claim to be an expert. “Were there any rumors about Gerard being gay?”
Kade shook his head. “But politicians are great at covering that sort of shit up. And the positioning of the body is suggestive.”
My gaze skated down his spine to his butt. “Not if she was underneath him at the time of the death, and merely moved him enough to get out.”
He stripped off his gloves and dumped them into the disposal unit. “I don’t think we’re going to uncover much here. You want to head over to his apartment and see if there’s anything—or anyone—there?”
“You do it. I’ll go talk to the PA.”
He nodded and walked out of the room. I took a final look at Gerard, waiting a little longer to see if his soul would come out to play, then shrugged and headed into the outer room.
Cole looked up. “Leaving so soon?”
I smiled. “I’ll stay if you really want me to.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“You lie, wolf man.”
He didn’t deny it, which was a nice change, but his blue eyes were still cool. He was a man not easily swayed by hormonal attraction—not that I really wanted to get anywhere, particularly not at the moment—but half the fun was in the trying. I’m not sure what I’d actually do if he ever said yes. Besides the shock such an event would cause, there was Jack’s ruling to consider.
I flung a hand in the direction of the main office. “You noticed the scratches on his neck?”
“I did.”
“Want to send me the full analysis and autopsy report when it’s done?”
“I will.”
“Thanks. I’m off to chat to the PA—what’s her name, by the way?”
“Rosy Ennes. You can let her go once you’ve spoken to her.”
“Thanks, I will.”
I headed down, taking the stairs rather than the elevators, not wanting to risk another of those stomach-churning stops.
The smell of coffee hit as soon as I pushed open the door and I breathed deep. It wasn’t a particularly fresh smell and it had a slightly burned edge, but any coffee was drinkable when you were as addicted to the stuff as I was.
I looked around for the two women, spotting the blue of a police uniform in the far corner, then headed over to the counter, grabbing two white coffees and a couple pieces of chocolate cake. Once they were paid for, I picked up some sugar and walked across the room.
“Can I help you?” the cop said, green eyes as cool as her voice.
“Riley Jenson, Directorate.” I dumped the coffees and cakes on the table, then dug my badge out of my pocket and showed her.
She didn’t look impressed. No surprise there. Though the police in general were thankful for our presence—particularly given it freed them from dealing with the worst of nonhuman excesses—there were still pockets who considered us little more than licensed killers. Which, in many ways, was nothing but the truth. It looked like this woman might be one of those.
Either that, or she just wasn’t taken in by my charming personality and easy-to-get-along-with ways.
“I wasn’t aware the Directorate now had day-shift guardians,” she said, inspecting the badge more carefully than necessary.
Like anyone in their right mind would want to fake a guardian badge.
“New squad, announced several months ago.” I shoved the badge back into my pocket and resisted the urge to suggest that maybe she should start reading internal memorandums a little more often. “I’ll take over here for the moment. Thanks.”
She sniffed, then rose and moved away. I sat down in her seat, my nostrils flaring as I sampled Rosy’s scent. She smelled of lavender and eucalyptus, and also very human. I shoved a coffee and a piece of cake toward her. “Here. You look as if you need this.”
She ignored the cake and wrapped her hands around the Styrofoam cup, her smile as wan as her lined features. I’d presumed—wrongly—that someone like Gerard James would have a young and attractive personal assistant. Someone that was easy on the eyes as well as efficient at her job. From the little Kade had said, he’d just seemed that type.
But Rosy had to be in her late fifties—and with no makeup and her gray hair cut into an old-fashioned bob, she looked a good deal older. Maybe it did his political image good to have an older assistant or maybe she was simply damn good at her job.
“I’m afraid I have to ask you about this afternoon, and finding Gerard James.” I lifted the lid off my coffee container and tossed it lightly into a nearby trash can. “You can take your time. There’s no rush.”
She nodded, but for several seconds she didn’t say anything. She just sat there with her hands wrapped around the coffee cup and her eyes cast downward.
“Rosy?” I said gently.
She jumped a little. “Oh, yes.” Her voice was quivery, but she continued. “It was a little after two-thirty when I arrived at the office.”
“Do you always start so late?”
“No, but last night he was at a fund-raiser, so he gave me the morning off. We were going to work late to make up for it.”
“So the office was all locked up when you came in?”
“Yes.” She took a sip of coffee, then added, “I have a set of keys, because I’m usually here before him. He likes—liked—a cup of coffee to be ready as soon as he arrived.”
“What time was he due in, then?”
“Not until three, but he’s usually fifteen minutes early.” She hesitated, her pale blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “I went into his office to put his coffee on the desk as usual. And that’s when I saw—”
She stopped and took a large gulp of air. Her hands were trembling so hard the coffee was threatening to spill over the sides of her cup and scald her fingers. I reached out, gently plucking the Styrofoam cup and placing it back on the table. But I couldn’t help wondering if the depth of her reaction was due just to shock, or if it was something deeper. Something that wasn’t actually sexual, because from everything I’d heard about Gerard James, I very much doubted if Rosy would be his type. But that didn’t mean Rosy couldn’t have had a thing for him. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time a PA had fallen for her boss. And, after all, there was probably little more than ten years or so between them. Not much, in the scheme of things.“Was there anything unusual, or out of place, that you noticed?”
She shook her head. “Just him, on that desk.” Her lip quivered, and a lone tear tracked down her pale check. “It was such a shock, seeing him like that, you know?”
“I know.” I hesitated. “Did you notice his clothes anywhere?”
I certainly hadn’t, but maybe Cole’s crew had already bagged them.
“No,” she said, “but they’re probably hanging in the bathroom. He was always neat like that.”
Even when in a mating rut? I found that hard to believe, but then again, he was a politician. They were a breed far different from the rest of us. “What function did he attend last night?”
“It was at the Crystal Palace in St. Kilda. Some charity fund-raiser he was asked to speak at.”
“Do you know who his date was?”
Her snort was disparaging. For the first time, I saw something more than sorrow in her face. “Alana Burns. She was one of the Toorak Trollops.”
Amusement twitched my lips. No need to ask Rosy what she thought of the “Trollops,” because it was right there in the tartness of her voice. “Who are?”
She waved a hand, coming perilously close to knocking over her coffee. I reached forward and slid it out of the way again. “They’re a dozen or so single or divorced Toorak ladies who make themselves available to attend all the best functions. With only the best-bred men, of course.”
“So they’re high-priced hookers?”
She frowned. “No. Money doesn’t change hands, as far as I know. Can you imagine the scandal that would have caused Mr. James? No, they’re just well-bred, well-connected sluts, pure and simple.”