Emma laughed. “It hasn’t done me much good yet. I never thought I’d say this, but there’s too much information.”
“No luck, then?” Phoebe murmured, sitting on the chair next to Emma’s and paging through her notes. The action irritated Emma for some reason. Those were her notes. The female vamp could have at least asked before she started snooping through them.
She realized Phoebe was waiting for her to say something. “No luck,” she said, remembering the question. “Not yet. But I’m still working.”
“How about the men?”
“Louis said you were working on that.”
“I am,” Phoebe said, flashing a smile. “But like you, I haven’t had any luck yet. You have what, hundreds of entries in your database?”
“Thousands,” Emma corrected, feeling insulted and fighting the urge to snatch her database away from the former FBI consultant. Hundreds of entries, indeed. And was there any such thing as a former FBI consultant? She wasn’t sure she wanted anyone in government seeing the information on her computer, much less the FBI. Forget that she herself worked for the government. It wasn’t the same thing at all.
“Thousands,” Phoebe allowed. “But there are millions in our facial recognition database, and as brilliant as Louis is, those composites were . . .” She shrugged without finishing her thought, but it was obvious she didn’t think they were very useful.
Emma sat back down at her computer, feeling an irrational need to defend her methods. “I was thinking about this before you came in. If I could identify even one of these women, it would lead to the rest of them.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Because they all know each other. They all go to the same parties, and I’m not only talking about Victor’s. The people who work inside the Beltway are like a small town. Everyone knows everyone, or knows someone who does.”
“So, maybe we go to a few of those parties ourselves,” Phoebe mused. “You can get us in?”
“Sure. I get invitations every day in the Congressman’s office. It’s just a matter of picking the—” She froze as a thought occurred to her. “The women all knew each other which means they probably all knew Lacey, too. Lacey’s funeral,” she finished on a whisper.
“Pardon?”
“Lacey’s funeral,” she repeated more certainly. “There were so many people there, but I only knew a few of them because they were all Lacey’s friends.”
“But you have the pictures from Victor’s files. Wouldn’t you remember if any of these women had been there?”
“No,” Emma said. “I was pretty much in shock that whole night. If not for Duncan, I don’t know what I would have done. I don’t remember anyone, damnit.” She thought furiously. “Wait, there was a—”
“Glen Pettry handled the funeral?” Phoebe interrupted.
“Yes, he was the one who told me—” She stopped speaking because Phoebe had pulled a cell phone out of her pocket and was already punching in a number.
“Glen,” she said pleasantly. “Phoebe Micheletti. How are you? He’s good, grumpy as ever. Listen, do you have security cameras at your place? No. I understand. It’s something we’re working on, but we’ll figure it out. Thanks anyway.”
She clicked her phone off and dropped it into her pocket. “No joy. He has video, but only at the back entrance where the bodies come in because they arrive at all hours. The front entrance is more sensitive. No one wants to think they’re being recorded at Aunt Tessie’s funeral, and the funeral home’s in a good neighborhood. Besides, Glen does a lot of business with vampires, and none of us want a record of our comings and goings.”
Emma remained silent. There was another way of identifying who’d been at the funeral, but she wasn’t inclined to share it. She’d already decided she didn’t want to work with the pushy vampire anymore than she had to.
“It was a good thought, though,” Phoebe said. She stood and looked around. “Listen, if you do find these women, you need to let me deal with them.”
“I think I should call—”
“I’m not trying to steal your thunder, Emma,” she interrupted. “We’re all after the same thing. Besides, Duncan wants you safe, and he’s pretty bossy. He’ll want one of us to follow up if you get a lead, and I can get a lot more information out of those women than you can.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure—”
“It’s likely Victor messed with their memories,” Phoebe interrupted again. “No matter how persuasive or sympathetic you are, they can’t tell you what they don’t remember. I’ll be able to undo whatever Victor did and help them recall things they don’t even realize they know.”
Emma frowned. “If you say so,” she agreed flatly.
Phoebe laughed again. “You haven’t been around us long enough yet, but you’ll be a believer soon enough. All right, I’m out of here. It’s a long way home for me. Louis has my number if you come up with anything, and I’ll let you know if we get any hits on the facial recognition.” She smiled and patted Emma’s shoulder. “Don’t look so discouraged, Emma. It always starts this way.”
She pushed her chair back into the table and looked over to where Louis was typing furiously. “Louis,” she called, waiting until he looked up, his expression a little vague, as if not quite in the now with the rest of them. “I’m out of here. I’ll call if anything pops.” He nodded and went immediately back to whatever he was doing, slapping away the hand of another vampire sitting next to him.
Phoebe smiled. “Chin up, Em,” she said. “I’ll be in touch.”
Emma watched her go with a sour look. “Chin up, Em,” she mimicked. She hated being called Em.
She waited until the annoying vampire was gone, even sticking her head into the hallway to be absolutely sure. And then she picked up her own phone and scrolled through the numbers. Pettry’s was right on top since she’d called him more than anyone else in the last few days. He answered after the second ring.
“Mister Pettry,” she said, “it’s Emma Duquet.”
“Ms. Duquet,” he said warmly. “How can I help you?”
She noticed he didn’t ask her how she was. That particular social convention probably didn’t work well in his business, since pretty much everyone he dealt with was miserable or they wouldn’t be calling him.
“There was a mourner’s book for Lacey’s funeral, wasn’t there?”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you, but you left rather suddenly, and there were still a few visitors for Ms. Cray—”
“That’s fine, Mister Pettry. I understand. Thank you for keeping it for me. I am sort of anxious to get a hold of it now, though. Do you suppose I could pick it up?”
“Certainly. At your convenience,” Pettry said.
“I know it’s late.” She glanced at her watch. “Very late,” she amended. “And it’s asking a lot, but I really need that book. Do you think I could pick it up tonight?” She felt guilty even asking, but if Pettry did a lot of business with vampires, he must be used to having customers drop by in the middle of the night. And sure enough, her request didn’t even faze him.
“Certainly, I’m here quite late every night. Just come around back and ring the bell.”
“Thank you, Mister Pettry, and thank you again for all your kindness during Lacey’s service.”
“I was pleased to be of assistance during this difficult time.”
Emma disconnected. “Louis, I need to run an errand,” she said, already gathering her things.
Louis jumped up and came over. “Where are you going?”
“The funeral home. I need to pick up the mourner’s book. I think it’ll help with this.” She indicated her scattered notes.
“That’s not necessary. I’ll send one of our guys to pick it up for you.”
“No, thank you,” Emma said pleasantly, unplugging her laptop and tucking it under her arm. “I’d rather do it myself, and I’ll go straight home after that. I need to get up early tomorrow.”
“Duncan won’t want you doing that.”
“Good thing Duncan’s not my boss, then,” she said matter-of-factly.
Emma picked up her notes and left before Louis could argue with her any further, stopping only long enough to gather her things from the frilly bedroom before heading downstairs. She glanced at her watch again, nearly groaning at the late hour. By the time she got out to Pettry’s and back home again, it would be another night without much sleep. But a few cups of coffee would take care of that in the morning, and she figured she could sneak in some research in the office.
With the gym bag in one hand and her laptop back in the purse slung over her shoulder, she headed out to her car, only to find Baldwin waiting for her. He was a good-looking guy, or vampire. Shorter than she was by an inch or so, but he had scruffy dark hair, a five o’clock shadow and probably outweighed her by fifty pounds, all of it muscle. He straightened as she came down the front stairs and immediately reached for her bags.
“I’ll take you home, Emma.”
“I’ve got my car. Thanks.”
“Then I’ll follow you.”
Emma stopped and regarded him curiously. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Boss’s orders.”
“Am I in danger?”
He grinned. “Not with me around.”
Emma grinned back and informed him cheerfully, “I’m not going straight home. I need to stop at Pettry’s Funeral Home outside Falls Church.”
“That’s not a stop, that’s a detour. We’ll drop off your car first.”
Emma shrugged. She didn’t feel like fighting, and besides, it was a long drive. “Whatever you say.”
