Max looked up from his desk. “So, what’s so important it couldn’t wait until our dinner next week?”

“This,” Bennett said, placing the newspapers in front of Max.

Max glanced at the pile. “I’m assuming you’re talking about the murders in the park?”

“You knew?”

“I may sleep during the day, but I have ample time on my hands at night. I read the papers earlier.”

“Which means Napoleon is up to his old tricks again.”

“There’s nothing to say this is Napoleon’s work.”

“Their throats were slashed, so much so the coroner said the only thing keeping their heads attached was a bit of skin.”

Max winced. “Must you be so grotesque?”

“I’m only telling you what I know, and whether those people were murdered by Napoleon or some of his henchmen, the bottom line is he’s responsible. His clan does nothing without his blessing. He’d have their heads if they did.”

Max pursed his lips, and getting to his feet, he went to the credenza to top off his scotch. “Would you like a drink, or perhaps you’d prefer to feed. I can call in a guardian if you’d like.”

“No, thank you, and I’ve already fed.”

Max shot Bennett a look. “Color me surprised,” he said, placing the stopper back into the decanter. “Of course, I’m presuming it didn’t come out of a bag.”

“It didn’t, and stop trying to change the subject,” Bennett said, watching as Max returned to his seat. “Max, this son-of-a-bitch has been a thorn in our side for centuries. How many times has his murderous thirst forced all of us to leave our homes and move to another—eh? Scrambling like rats off a sinking ship before the police find their way to our doors, we have fled time and time again, and it’s all because of him. You and I had to leave Hamburg five years before it was time. We had to flee Stockholm seven years before it was time, and what about Melbourne? Hell, we barely unpacked, and we were leaving.”

“I remember,” Max muttered. “He is the undisputed definition of a half-wit.”

“Why didn’t you and the others just kill him after he had his family murdered?”

“Because, just like now, we have no proof. Yes, we have our suspicions that Napoleon was behind the annihilation of his family, but taking the life of Etienne’s son based on an assumption is something we cannot and will not do. The best I can offer you is to talk to him again.”

“That doesn’t work, and we both know it,” Bennett said, dropping into a chair.

“Unfortunately, my hands are tied.”

“But mine aren’t.”