“I see.” His pupils contracted again, giving him a blind, inward-looking appearance. “I will look deeper into the matter. But I assure you, no one you spoke to the other day lied.” His nostrils flared, and his pupils expanded. “I would have known.”

Lurine idly jiggled one stilettoed heel. “What about the bartender?”

“Jerry? It’s possible,” Stefan admitted after a pause, a frown creasing his pale brow. “He’s a blank.”

I felt ignorant. “What’s a blank?”

“He has no sense of empathy.” Stefan was silent a moment. “Condemn us as you will; call us ghouls.” He spoke the word as though it left a bad taste in his mouth, and I remembered Hel calling it an unkind name. Briefly, I wondered what they called themselves, and wished I’d thought to ask her. “We are what we are, victims of our own passions. But we could not exist without being attuned to the emotions of others. This gift is not without its uses.” His unnerving gaze settled on me. “One such as you, a skilled and compassionate ghoul could assist. One could allow you to safely experience the emotions you fear, Daisy Johanssen.”

A shiver ran down my spine. Sheesh, was it that obvious? I cleared my throat. “Yeah, um, this isn’t about me. Back to the blanks?”

He shrugged. “Because they lack empathy, we cannot attune to them. So yes, in theory it is possible for Jerry to lie in my presence.”

“He’s a sociopath.” Detective Wilkes had found his voice. “That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”

Again with the arched eyebrow. “Is that the correct terminology? Yes, I suppose so.”

“Can we subpoena the bartender and bring him in to testify under oath?” Cody asked Wilkes. “Maybe hook him up to the polygraph?”

The detective shook his head. “Based on this? Hell, no. I read the file. He’s already given you a statement. You want me to go to a judge and claim he’s an uncooperative witness because some, some . . . ghoul . . . says he has no sense of empathy?” He shook his head again. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

Stefan Ludovic laid his hands flat on the desk. “Speak, Hel’s liaison. My services are at your disposal. What will you?”

“Umm . . .” I glanced at Cody.

“The victim was found with a matchbook from the Wheelhouse in his pocket, and there was a phone number written on it,” Cody said. “Unfortunately, it was illegible. But someone here gave it to him. We want to know who and we want to know why.” His voice dropped an octave, a hint of a growl in it, a reminder that he was a predator, too. “And we want to find Ray D and question him. Badly. Very badly. You claim to be in charge here. Is that too much to ask?”