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.