The door opened and Reed walked back in, Sorcha behind him. Without a word, she walked to Reed’s desk, picked up a lighter and a cigarette case, disappeared onto the terrace again.
Reed walked to a bar of cut crystal decanters, poured a finger of Scotch, downed it. “They’ve been arrested?” he asked, without turning around.
“They’re in custody,” my grandfather explained. “They’ll be booked and questioned, and the responding officers will consult with the prosecutor regarding the charges against them.”
He took a small, spiral notebook from his shirt pocket, pulled an old-fashioned red and white ballpoint pen from the spiral, clicked the nib into place.
“Are you aware of anyone who would want to harm your reputation?” my grandfather asked, pen poised over paper.
Reed walked past us to his desk, took a seat in the leather chair behind it, rocked with an audible creak. “I’m a very wealthy man, Mr. Merit. Wealth attracts attention, and men who shape their own worlds are not infrequently the targets of crime.”
“Any specific, credible threats against you lately?”
“Not that I’m aware of. If there’d been something credible, my staff would have told me.”
My grandfather nodded. “What about Sanford King? Can you describe your relationship with him?”
“Perfunctory,” Reed said, turning the chair to face the room and steepling his fingers over his chest. “We’re acquainted, and that’s nearly overstating it. He’s a member of the charity’s board of directors. His invitation was pro forma.”
“So no business dealings?”
“None.”
“I understand he presented you with a business opportunity earlier tonight.”
Reed’s expression flattened. “I don’t hold with gossip. And I declined the offer. As I said, no business dealings.”
“Thank you for clarifying,” my grandfather summed, making a note in his book. “Sanford King likely has enemies.”
“As I indicated, we all have enemies.”
“And would there have been any reason for the perpetrators to believe you and Sanford had a closer relationship?”
“What are you asking?”
“I’m asking if you’re aware of any particular reason they decided to attack him here and at this particular time.”
“I assume they wanted to punish King as publicly as possible,” Reed said impatiently. “Otherwise what’s the point of attempting an execution at a gala? Why not just take him out on the street?”
“Was there anything unusual about his agreement to attend the party, or his interest in it?”
“I didn’t organize the party or send the invitations. I have a staff. I allowed the charity the use of my house, made a substantial in-kind contribution with respect to food and alcohol.”
My grandfather nodded. “There was considerable press coverage about the party, your involvement. You’ll get even more publicity after tonight.”
My father stiffened, apparently shocked by the insinuation. But my grandfather wasn’t there to help my father kiss Reed’s ass. He was there to probe, investigate, untangle.
“As I’m certain you’re well aware, I don’t need publicity. And I don’t appreciate the tenor of the question.”
My grandfather smiled his blandly polite cop smile. “I just want to make sure I understand the facts.”
“The fact is, two vampires entered my house apparently with the purpose of killing Sanford King. If you want the cause, ask them.”
“We have done so, and will continue to investigate their involvement,” my grandfather assured him.
“I’m glad we’re on the same page. I’ll talk to my lawyers, decide how we’d like to move forward. I’ll be in touch.”
And just like that, Adrien Reed dismissed my grandfather.
* * *
We walked him back through the gallery and ballroom. The room was still decorated, but the guests were gone, adding a grim sense of abandonment.
No one spoke until we exited the house, stood together on the sidewalk.
“Jeff’s in the van if you’d like to say hello,” my grandfather said. “Or good-bye, since it looks like we’re wrapping up here.”
The van, clearly marked as Ombudsman property, sat just up the block. It was a mobile office and response center, fully equipped with computers and gadgets that only Jeff likely knew how to operate.
Brody had squeezed the Range Rover in front of it, and he and Jeff chatted quietly until we approached. Brody nodded at Ethan, who held up a hand, signaling him to wait.
Jeff had, as per usual, paired his floppy brown hair and smiling blue eyes with khakis and a blue button-down, the sleeves rolled up. His eyes widened as he looked me over.
“You took some damage.”
I grimaced at the tatters of dress. “Actually, I did a lot of it myself. It’s hard to kick in a sheath dress.”
“I can’t take you anywhere,” Ethan said, but there was no mistaking the pride in his eyes.
“Sure you can. But next time, get me a gown with legroom.”
“Or maybe just no random Navarre attacks,” Jeff said grimly, glancing back at the House. “Sounds like a pretty bizarre situation.”
“Very,” Ethan agreed. “Have you heard anything about Navarre Novitiates being out of hand?”
“I don’t hear much about Navarre at all,” Jeff said. “What happens in Navarre House stays in Navarre House. Or so I assume.” He tucked hair behind his ear. “I’m not sure if that’s Morgan, or Celina’s leftover crazy, or what. What about you?”
Celina Desaulniers was the former Navarre Master; she’d been forced out of the position after an attack on Ethan.
“Out of the blue,” Ethan agreed, “even for Navarre House, which is saying something. But the severity here strikes me as something that must have festered or percolated for a while.”
“What about supernatural vigilante groups?” I wondered.
“Nothing like that, either,” Jeff said, sticking his hands into his pockets.
“What about Balthasar?” my grandfather asked. “Any further activity there?”
“He’s in a condo on Michigan Avenue,” Ethan said. “We’ve got eyes on him. It seems best for all involved to know what he’s up to.”
“No argument there,” my grandfather said.