Thomas turned to the cabinet behind him and pointed at the label. “If Wu’s gotten paid, there should be records of transfers or checks.” He ripped the top drawer open and looked at the neatly organized files. “Perfect, they’re in date order.”
He remembered the date of the Delaware filing and pulled out the files around that period, tossing one to Zane while examining one himself. “They would have had to pay him for doing the company filing for them, and most attorneys work on a retainer—which is always issued prior to any work being done. And since the company couldn’t have a bank account prior to the filing, somebody would have had to issue a check from their personal account.”
“That’s why you’re the genius at Scanguards,” Zane remarked.
“Hardly.”
“Now, now, why so humble? You do know that everybody looks up to you, don’t you?”
Thomas shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay, blind and a genius! You should look around you occasionally. Especially the young kids at Scanguards look at you like you’re their god.”
“Zane, you’re so full of shit. Is there anything you want, or why are you sucking up to me?”
Zane rolled his eyes. “Sucking up? Me? Not likely. However, now that you mention it, can you get Maya off my back about that whole apology thing to Oliver?”
Thomas sank his head back into the file and continued scanning the documents. “It wouldn’t do you any harm to apologize. Besides, I thought I had convinced Maya to forget about the party and buy him and Ursula an all-expenses-paid trip abroad instead.”
“She’s still on about throwing him a party. And you know how I hate anything sappy.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“Thanks.”
Thomas closed the file, having found nothing. “Anything?”
Zane pulled out a sheet and looked at it more closely. “Maybe. It’s a photocopy of a check and there are some notations in the margin.”
Thomas reached for it and shone his light on the words Wu had scribbled next to the check.
Del filing, K I, then a date of about two weeks before the filing date.
“Looks like it,” Thomas murmured and shifted the light so it illuminated the check.
An address was printed on the left hand corner of it. The address was local; however the name could not be read. Whoever had photocopied the check had placed it incorrectly on the photocopier and cut off the top section of it that contained the name of the issuer.
Thomas’s eyes drifted to the signature on it. In a rather old-fashioned script, a name was written in blue ink. He couldn’t decipher it. Nevertheless, his heart skipped a beat. The handwriting looked familiar. He shook off the shiver that crept up his spine. He had to be mistaken. Lots of people had similar handwriting.
27
The address they’d found on the check was located on the edge of Chinatown where it bled over into Little Italy, or North Beach, as it was officially called. The streets were narrow here, the buildings mostly three stories, or occasionally four stories high. Store fronts were interspersed with restaurants, and above them, apartments were located from which laundry hung to dry. The area was colorful to say the least.
Even at this late hour, many of the shops were still open, and pungent smells drifted from their entrances. Thomas turned up his nose and glanced sideways at Zane.
Zane’s lip curled up in disgust. “What now?”
“Let’s check it out.” Thomas motioned his colleague to follow him up the steep side street until they reached the building. It was nothing special, a simple, rectangular, gray, three-story building, most likely built in the sixties or seventies, with small windows and no distinguishing architectural features. There was a garage on the entry level, a rarity for this part of town, where parking was at a premium.
Thomas looked at the house and noticed that the street lamp in front of it wasn’t working, making this part of the street darker, and effectively hiding the entrance from human eyes. His vampire vision, however, still enabled him to see the door clearly. He lifted his head to look up at the windows. There was light behind them, and no curtains or blinds were drawn on the first and second floors. On the third floor, blinds obstructed any view into the interior.
He lowered his gaze to the floor above the garage and focused on one window. The room behind it was well lit. Silently, Thomas stood in the dark delivery entrance of a store and waited, Zane, next to him, not making a sound either. They were used to this. Waiting and watching was part of their work. They’d done it a thousand times, and while they hated waiting, both knew it was necessary.