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."
I smiled, but I had to wonder if she'd voiced such sentiments to her boss. Somehow, I suspected not. "And did he go out with Alana often?"
"Quite a few times, although I think he was getting a little tired of her."
I took a sip of coffee, then asked, "Why?"
She hesitated. "He generally preferred to keep things casual."
And if Alana had started making demands and had gotten the wrong reaction, it might just explain his murder. Dumped women didn't always resort to chocolate. Some of them got angry - and others got even. "How did he usually dump his lovers?"
"With flowers the next day. I usually order them, which is how I knew he was getting tired of Alana. He asked me to check the prices on the roses."
Well, at least he didn't dump her with daffodils. "But they went out last night?"
"Yes. I rang her that afternoon to confirm the date, as I usually do. She was in a complete snit." Rosy sniffed. "Most of those women think they're too good to be dealing with the common folk."
And maybe the Trollops weren't the only ones with a chip on their shoulders. "Was Alana the first Trollop your boss dated?"
"No." She wrapped her hands around the coffee again and slid it toward her. "I kept telling him they'd get him into trouble one day, but he liked the contacts they could give him."
"Who else did he date, then?"
"There were several of them. He was with one for about a year, but she got very clingy and he called it off."
Meaning she probably wanted a commitment. Poor woman. I wondered whether she'd received the roses, or if she'd simply been shown the door. "What was her name?"
She frowned. "Cherry something. It'll be in the files - although I believe she's changed address, so those details won't be right. It's filed under T."
This time, my grin broke free. Rosy definitely had more fire in her than first appeared. "Are Alana's details there, too? I need to speak to her."
"Yes."
"Is there anything else you can tell me? Anything that might be useful?"
I reached out telepathically as I asked the question and linked lightly to Rosy's mind. Her thoughts were a confusion of sadness and grief for her boss as well as worry about her age and whether she'd actually find another job. I couldn't find anything resembling lies or half-truths, or anything she was concealing. So I gently withdrew.
She took a sip of coffee, then frowned. "Like what?"
"Well, had he been sick recently? Had he received any threats? Had anything unusual happened in the last week or so?"
"No. To all of that."
"Then for the moment, there isn't much more you can help me with." I waved the cop back over, then added, "I'll get the officer to take you home, if you like."
Said officer didn't look too happy at being relegated to chauffeur duties, but Rosy looked pleased. "That would be lovely. Thank you."
I picked up my coffee and the uneaten bit of cake, then said my good-byes and got out of there. I munched the chocolate cake as I walked back up the stairs, leaving a trail of crumbs behind me.
Cole looked up as I reentered the office. "You expect me to just fall into bed with you, and yet you didn't even have the decency to get me a cup of coffee? Women these days. So selfish."
I grinned. "Yep, it's all about me and my appetites, buddy boy, not yours."
Amusement briefly touched the blue of his eyes. "What can I do for you now?"
"You seen a Rolodex?"
He waved a hand toward the desk. "Second drawer."
I dumped my coffee on the desk, then put on some gloves before opening the drawer and retrieving the Rolodex. Alana's address was indeed listed under T for Trollops. In fact, there were a total of seven women listed. Gerard had obviously been making his way through the Trollop ranks. I jotted down all their names and addresses, then retrieved my coffee and nodded a good-bye to Cole. I was almost out the door when I remembered what Rosy had said about clothes, and stopped.
"Cole, have you found Gerard's clothes yet?"
He answered without looking up. "Yeah, they're neatly stacked up in the bathroom."
"Really?"
I couldn't help the surprise in my voice, and he looked up with a smile. "Yeah. I suspect our boy is a bit of a neat-freak. Both offices are extraordinarily tidy."
"Except there was nothing neat about what they were doing last night."
"Well, no, but then, not even a politician would expect sex to be neat." He paused to pick up a strand of hair and place it in the bag. "The bathroom window is broken, though, which is odd."
That raised my eyebrows. "So if our killer was a cat-shifter, she could have escaped that way?"
"If it wasn't for the five-story fall to the pavement, yes." His voice was edged with exasperation. "It'll be in my report. If I ever get to finish my report, that is."
I knew a hint when it clubbed me that hard. So I turned around and headed back downstairs.
Once in my car, I switched on the onboard computer and typed in Alana's name, looking for anything we had on her. As luck would have it, there was practically nothing. The worst thing she'd ever done in her life was being late to pay a speeding ticket. The Trollops might be hard-loving, life-enjoying women, but it seemed this one, at least, was basically law-abiding.
I double-checked that the address we had listed was the same as the one in the Rolodex, then started up the car and headed off.
To say Toorak was a well-to-do suburb would be the understatement of the year. Only millionaires and over could afford to live there - though in recent times, some of the more affluent had been moving out to the trendier beachside suburbs like Brighton.
The only time I came to Toorak willingly was to visit Dia - a psychic who was on the Directorate's payroll who'd become a friend - or to go window-shopping along Chapel Street. Actually buying anything more expensive than a coffee was out of the question - the Directorate didn't pay us that well - and even the coffee came with a higher than normal price tag in this suburb.
The strident blast of a horn brought my attention back to the road, and I swerved to avoid an oncoming car. Ignoring the rather animated gestures from the driver, I flicked the computer over to satnav and let it guide me to Alana's.
It turned out she didn't live in one of the leafy acre blocks that populated the money end of Toorak, but given her apartment was near the Yarra River end of Kooyong Road, it would still carry a million-dollar price tag. At least.
I climbed out of the car and looked up at the building. It was only three stories high and modern in design, all concrete and windows. The floors weren't built directly onto each other, but at slight angles, giving everyone a view and the building an ill-stacked look.
Not ugly, not stunning, just another building that would probably get knocked down and replaced by something bigger and grander in another twenty years. That seemed to be the way in Toorak of late. Even Dia had received offers for her beautiful old house - apparently the plan was to knock it down and build grand-looking apartments that could be flogged for millions each. Dia had so far resisted the temptation - for which I was grateful, because I loved her place. It was such a warm and relaxing home to visit - especially when compared to the bombsite that was my apartment. A good housekeeper I wasn't. Neither was my brother - though he tended to be far tidier than me.
I locked the car and headed in. My phone rang as I jogged up the front steps, and I stopped at the top to dig it out of my purse.
The minute I hit receive, a sharp voice said, "How many times have I told you that the Directorate is not your personal answering service?"
I grinned. There was no mistaking that voice - it belonged to Salliane, the vamp who'd taken my place as guardian liaison and Jack's main assistant. "And how lovely it is to hear your dulcet tones again."
"Bite me, wolf girl," she snapped back. Obviously, Jack wasn't in the room, or else she'd be all sweetness and light. Sal wanted to get into Jack's shorts something bad, and I guess she figured bad-mouthing the boss's favorite guardian while he was in hearing range wasn't going to help her efforts.
Of course, I pretty much figured nothing would - not only was there his own ruling to consider, but Jack had been holding firm for months now against some pretty sultry onslaughts, and I very much doubted giving in was in the cards in the near future. But it was fun watching her try. And fail.
"Sal darling, nothing in this world would get me to bite you. And what's this about personal messages?"
"I've got one here from a Ben Wilson. He says it's urgent and asks if you could call him immediately."
