Hard Bitten - Chloe Neill [84]
“Definitely weird,” Jeff agreed. “When we’re looking at records, too much data usually signals a plant. Not enough data signals a scrub. Vehicle sales are almost always in the system; there’s no reason not for them to be. This file had scrub all over it. Oh, and that’s not all.”
“We’re listening.”
“Because I am, in fact, not just supremely awesome, but also all that and a bag of chips—preferably kettle-cooked jalapeño of some kind—I checked Mr. Cermak’s criminal record in the Cook County DB. I mean, probably not supposed to go into their system without permission, but what else is a boy to do when his favorite vamp makes a call?”
“Indeed. What did you learn?”
“Factually, not much. There’s one sealed criminal record in the file, and that’s it.”
“Do you think that file was scrubbed, too?”
“Eh, not necessarily. You can seal criminal files for all sorts of legitimate reasons. To protect the victim, because the perp’s underage, because the perp’s a brains-eating mind-dead zombie with no mens rea whatsoever—”
“Sealed record?” Ethan prompted.
“Yeah. So, the file is sealed, and I can’t access any data. They’re actually rocking some pretty good encryption on the sealed records. I’d need the access key or password, or you’d have to get a court order to pull the file.”
“So a dead end there?”
“Ha! You made a joke. But yes. Very dead. Dead as a doornail. Dead as a doorknob even, although I’m not sure I know what the difference is between those two things.”
“We got it.”
“Oh, one final thing.” I heard more key tapping, the sound overlaid by Jeff’s humming. It sounded like “White Christmas.”
“Little early for Christmas carols, isn’t it, Jeff?”
“Never hurts to get into the holiday spirit, Merit. Okay, so the video isn’t great, and the alley by the bar door isn’t very well lit. But occasionally, on a full moon, the light shines just right. . . .” As he trailed off, I heard more tapping. “Okay,” he said again. “I’m going to send you another image.”
This one was a fuzzy black-and-white shot of a car in the alley. Jeff was right—the image was grainy, but the vehicle it showed was undeniably a classic Mustang, complete with racing stripes and side vents. And that wasn’t all.
I squinted at the picture, trying in vain to bring it into focus. “Is that a woman in the passenger’s seat?”
“It appears to be so,” Jeff said. “It’s more of a shadow, but it does appear to be a woman. Curves, ya know?”
“We know,” Ethan said dryly.
“Anyway, I was checking out the shadow of the lady in the video, right? I’m running the film at like half speed, and I find something else. I’ve got a close-up, and I’m going to send it to you.”
Again, the tablet beeped, and a new black-and-white image replaced the previous one on our screen.
I squinted at it, but predatory eyesight or not, I still couldn’t get a good read on the woman in the car. In fact, I couldn’t get a good read on anything other than pixels.
“What are we supposed to be looking at?” I wondered aloud.
“Check the middle of the image,” Jeff said, “approximately where her collar would be.”
I’d just opened my mouth to protest that I couldn’t see anything—and that was when I saw it—around her neck, an undeniable glint of light.
“Jeff, that looks like a House medal.” Not unlike the one I’d seen Celina wearing the night she returned to Cadogan House.
“That’s what I thought, too.”
“Can you zoom in any closer?” Ethan asked.
“Unfortunately, I can’t give you any more details. The camera’s sensor just didn’t record any more data. But that’s something, isn’t it? It kind of suggests you’ve got a House vamp involved in this drug business.”
Malik and Ethan exchanged a heavy glance.
“It does suggest that,” Ethan agreed. “But for now, let’s keep this between us, shall we?”
“You’re the boss,” Jeff pleasantly said.
“Thanks, Jeff. We appreciate it.”
“Unfortunately, I’ve got bad news to go along with the good news.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Paulie Cermak’s the only suspect we’ve got for distributing V. I narrowed down the video late last night, and had to turn it