Marieh guides us through the thin halls overcome by offices. Dark doors lay closed with golden plaques denoting who works where. Mr. Bellvitz’ office sits at the furthest end of the floor. Marieh opens a pair of black double doors into a lounge area with a wall of windows overlooking the city. The airship station’s viewable from here; the hustle and bustle of city life and ships rising into a murky sky.

Mr. Bellvitz sits at a wide, neat desk without a single paper or gadget out of place. Even the books on his shelves are color coordinated, although they’re mostly dull in shades. Everything has a place and everything is in its place, including his tailored clothes and slicked back peppered gray hair.

“Your Grace.” Mr. Bellvitz bows before stepping around the desk to offer Lore his hand. He smiles like a businessman, not quite reaching his eyes, and yet not disinterested or impolite. “It’s an honor to officially meet you, although I wish it were under better circumstances. I can’t believe what happened to Ayden. He was a kind man and an invaluable worker here at Confident Cases.”

“I’m also sorry to meet under these circumstances, Mr. Bellvitz,” Lore replies, shaking Mr. Bellvitz’ hand firmly.

“Please, call me Ikehn.”

 “Ikehn, then. Would it be alright if we had a quick word with you concerning Mr. Marshalls?”

“Of course. Please, have a seat.” Ikehn gestures to the couches facing one another. A single coffee table sits between them, as neatly organized and clean as the rest of the office. “Marieh, would you make us some tea?”

Nodding, Marieh swiftly exits. The three of us take our seats where Lore immediately asks the basic questions we asked Marieh earlier. Ikehn replies similarly. Ayden started working for Confident Cases around 10 years ago. He was a hard worker, quiet, mostly kept to himself, and no one knew much about what he did outside of work. He never caused any trouble, but when Lore gets around to asking about if anyone would do him harm, Ikehn has a different response.

“We have a variety of lawyers here representing divorcees to murder suspects. Often, there are a few unsavory characters coming in and out of the office,” Ikehn says before sipping from the tea Marieh brought in a moment ago. He gently puts the cup down without making a clink. Something I’ve never achieved, although Lore pulls the move off too so I end up holding onto my tea cup out of sheer embarrassment. Damn these rich boys and their manners.

“Are you implying Ayden may have upset the wrong person at work?” I ask, clasping my cup in my lap.

Humming, Ikehn takes a brief moment of consideration prior to responding, “I’m not sure if he upset anyone as there has never been an argument that I know of. However, I wouldn’t rule out the possibility that a client could have seen him as an easy target. My workers have received death threats from unhappy clients and we’ve had to call security against some who didn’t have a handle on their anger. Once or twice we’ve also had thefts from our own homes by clients or those on bad terms with said clients.”

“Are there any clients that come to mind that you think would have harmed Ayden?” Lore asks.

Ikehn frowns apologetically. “Unfortunately, I cannot divulge specific information. I can, however, offer a list of clients we are or have worked with prior, if that would be of assistance. You can find what you can on them yourselves.”

“That would be incredibly useful, thank you.”

“I’ll have Marieh compile a list for you.” Ikehn rises when we do, offering another handshake and a polite smile. “Sorry that I couldn’t be of more help.”

“You’ve done more than enough.”

With that, Ikehn takes us back to the front desk. He says his goodbyes and leaves us with Marieh, who almost drowns in boxes after retrieving client lists. She fumbles through them until I offer to help. Her grateful smile speaks volumes and may lead to Lore offering his assistance as well.

As expected, the information on the lists is limited. We have their names and addresses. Anything more will have to be requested from the police department.

“There are hundreds, if not a thousand names here,” I say while carrying my half of the boxes towards the elevator. We spent a further hour interviewing the remaining staff who had nothing more to give. Well, except the one woman who had a lot of fluttering eyelashes to give Lore and another worker who kept staring at me like I kicked their puppy or just bought them a puppy. It was a difficult expression to explain and process.

“Better to have suspects than none at all,” Lore replies, not seeming to dread the paperwork nearly as much as I am. I’ve never been a paperwork kind of guy or someone who can sit at a desk. My duty lies on the field, not trapped between pages threatening papercuts.

Speaking of duties, I glance curiously at Lore once in the elevator, which doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You’re staring,” he states, then points his nose high in exaggerated confidence. “While I understand how challenging it must be to turn away from a sight as captivating and dazzling as myself, staring is quite rude and it’s making me uncomfortable.”

“Here I thought nothing could make you uncomfortable,” I grumble under my breath. For some reason, Lore smirks. I haven’t the heart to ask why. Instead, I ask what was previously on my mind, “Why do you do this?”

“What?”

“As Lord of Silra, your duties lie in overseeing this kind of work; approving a warrant or requesting investigative help from neighboring cities. Why are you out here doing the leg work? You could sit safely at your office and spend more time with your kids. Why walk the streets and endanger yourself?”

I watch Lore carefully for a reaction. Dhampir or not, he isn’t invincible. No one is. Going against a mage could be serious trouble for him seeing as he can’t use magic. Lore’s file said his trait, which all vampires and dhampir have and changes based on the individual, was power absorption. The church isn’t aware how much of that power can be released and is fairly certain it doesn’t work on living beings. That may not work very well against a mage, who has a plethora of attacks that could defend against mere bursts of energy, thus putting him in even more danger.

“That’s quite a silly question coming from you of all people,” Lore replies. He smiles teasingly, but his eyes do not mirror the sentiment when he whispers darkly, “I like the hunt.”

The elevator doors open. He steps out without another word. I can’t determine whether he was serious or not and, if it is the truth, whether that makes him more of a suspect.