They found Alexia's laboratory, but after three sweeps of the place, they uncovered nothing incriminating.
Jill ran another check on her laptop, just to be sure. According to what was on file, Alexia had purchased all the necessary permits for the basement laboratory. And the research she'd been conducting in it seemed to amount to nothing more than ant-farms.
She stared at the portrait of Veronica Ashford, thoughtful. Chris said, "It's just a picture."
"Chris," Jill said, and looked at him, "we've been in enough Umbrella shit-holes to know they love secret rooms."
The cops came into the basement, and they were herded back upstairs. "ACPD's got this," the detective said. His badge gave his name as G. Kinney, and he had the scruffy, dog-tired look of an insomniac on a 72-hour streak. "This ain't a biohazard," Kinney told them, his voice cigarette-roughened and mostly in the throat. "PABS doesn't have jurisdiction here, so take a fucking hike."
"Found blood but no bodies," Jill said. "You think whoever got hurt just upped and walked away?" Of course, she knew someone who'd already upped and walked away from death once—twice, if she counted Raccoon City—so anything, Jill supposed, was possible.
Kinney ignored her, and said, "Leave. We got this, Valentine."
"Let me get a sample of the blood, so PABS can run an analysis on it."
"Leave," Kinney repeated, and he walked away, lighting a cigarette.
Jill left, but not before swabbing some of the blood off the fence. She dropped the swab into a plastic tube and stoppered it, and headed for the car. "We'll drop the sample off at the lab," Jill said to Chris, climbing behind the wheel. She drove, merging into traffic.
"Those cops. They weren't doin' shit," Chris said. "Just lookin' busy."
"Probably on Umbrella's payroll, just like the RPD," she said.
"What do you think happened?"
"No clue," she said. "Nothing good, that's sure as shit."
Alexia landed in Arklay City, and just as she was disembarking the plane, her mobile rang.
"You're needed at headquarters," said the voice. Nobody she recognized, so Alexia supposed it might have been a secretary, or someone from the HR or legal department. "A company vehicle will pick you up, Dr. Ashford."
"Thank you," she said, and hung up, glad she'd decided to wear a suit today.
An hour later, she was sitting in the boardroom on a teleconference with Spencer. The old codger peered at her from the television, his gnarled hands bridged, mouth a knife slash. He looked worse than the last time she'd seen him: his eyes were rheumy, and his skin was a pale, liver-spotted membrane stretched over an oblong skull, his gaunt cheeks and long, thin nose webbed with varicose veins. There were dark bags under his eyes. A machine did his breathing for him.
"Lord Spencer," she greeted, watching him across the vast, lacquered expanse of the conference table.
"Miranda gave you trouble," he said, without preamble.
Alexia wanted to ask Spencer how he knew about Miranda, but decided it didn't really matter. "Yes," she said, and sipped her coffee, "she attacked my family."
"I'm aware. That's why I've brought you here, my dear," said Spencer, and he roiled out a cough. A wheeze, and he said, "You recall my mansion."
"Yes," she said, "S.T.A.R.S blew it up."
"Along with 750 acres of forest, but that's another matter. I've hardly taken you aside to discuss environmental nonsense."
Alexia wanted to tell Spencer to get to the point, but swallowed her temper and waited.
"Edward had one just like it," Spencer said, as if sensing her impatience through the television screen. "Miranda doesn't know about it, and I should like to keep it that way."
"This was never mentioned to me," she said.
"Alexander didn't care enough to mention it, I assume," Spencer said. Then he said, "When your grandfather, myself, and Marcus were laying the groundwork for Umbrella, we bought up several acres of land within the Arklays—on the cheap, I might add—with the intention of building it all up." Spencer exploded into another fit of coughing, and Alexia saw Patrick, his butler, come into view. Patrick made a few adjustments to the breathing machine, and the coughing gradually settled. Spencer looked haggard and put out as he continued, "Your grandfather built it so he could be closer to Umbrella. It was an extension of the Arklay laboratory, or that was originally its intention, but Edward passed away before the plan quite came together. I've done what I can to keep it up. I took the liberty of hiring Trevor & Chamberlain, a construction company I trust, to fix the place up, shortly before you awakened in Antarctica. You should find everything in order upon your arrival."
One you can trust to quietly install monitoring equipment, or the odd trap or two. "How gracious of you, Lord Spencer," Alexia said, and furnished him with a plastic smile. "Thank you."
"No need to thank me, Alexia," Spencer said. "It's a privilege to help you. Your grandfather was my closest friend, and you're his only granddaughter. It's the very least I can do to honor his memory, to honor the long-standing friendship between our families."
"You humble me, Spencer. Truly," she said, with theatrical politeness.
"Of course," Spencer said, and if he noticed her theatricality at all, he didn't show it. "You'll find the mansion near Rhodes Hill, down Old Furnace road. I'll have the directions faxed to you."
Grayson had been in the middle of making lunch—grilled cheese with crispy hash for Sherry, and with tomato for him—when Alexia showed up at the door.
"What on Earth are you making?" was the first thing Alexia asked him as she strode into the kitchen, like a chef checking up on the newbie line-cooks and finding whatever they were making to be a felony, a crime against good cooking.
Wesker's kitchen was nice, and Grayson could certainly cook in it, but it wasn't his kitchen. He flipped the sandwich over and pressed it down with the spatula. "Grilled cheese," he said. "Sherry asked for it. Want some?"
Alexia kissed him and slapped his ass, and said, "No, I'm not five."
"Don't be such a snob," he said, and swatted her back, hard, on the butt, with his free hand. She laughed. "Be nice. I got impaled, you know."
"Again?"
"It does seem to be a recurring theme in my life, doesn't it," he mused, transferring the sandwich to a plate.
"Something positively Freudian about it," Alexia remarked. Then, "Where are Sherry and Veronica?"
"Sherry is currently in her room, playing Pokemon on her Gameboy. Veronica's napping in my room, in a crib I bought down at Dan's Furniture Outlet."
Alexia made a face. "Our daughter is sleeping in a discount crib?"
"Liquidated," Grayson corrected. Then, seeing her pull an even more sour face, he said, "Look, it was the best I could do on short notice." He shrugged, plated his own sandwich. "Too much shit going on, over in Murray Hill. Got reporters lying in wait like a buncha fucking lions in the grass. Protesters, too."
"Then you'll be pleased to know we have a new home, over in Rhodes Hill."
Grayson looked at her. "Already?"
"Apparently, my grandfather built a house near there," Alexia said, proffering a piece of fax-paper. "I have the directions right here. But," and she folded the paper and slipped it into the pocket on her blazer, "we'll need to do a thorough sweep of the place."
"Why?" he asked, and bit his sandwich. "You expecting zombies, or something?"
"No, I'm expecting cameras and microphones," she said. Alexia snatched the sandwich from his hand just as he was about to take his second bite, and sank her teeth into it.
"I thought you said you weren't five."
Alexia shrugged, and ate the rest of his sandwich.
Sherry came into the kitchen, and when she saw Alexia, she shrank back.
"Sherry, it's fine," Grayson said.
Sherry looked at him, looked at Alexia, then hurried off, mumbling something about not being hungry anymore.
"Is she all right?" Alexia asked.
"She blames herself for the Miranda thing," he told her.
Alexia tutted. "Poor girl. I'm hardly angry with her."
"Then maybe you should tell her that?" Grayson thrust Sherry's plate into Alexia's hands, and said, "Bring her this. Good ice-breaker."
"Grayson, I'm not good at this sort of thing."
"She's thirteen, Alexia," he said. "You can handle it."
"Grayson."
"Consider it practice for Veronica," he said.
"Grayson, come on."
He shooed her away. "We'll talk about this place over in Rhodes Hill, and what we're gonna do next, when you've talked to Sherry." Alexia looked as if she wanted to protest, but Grayson shook his head, firm in his decision, and gave her a push toward Sherry's room. "She's not a fucking Hunter, Lex. Not gonna tear you apart with claws, or whatever. Just go talk to her."
Grayson shut the door behind her. Sherry was lying on the bed, playing on her Gameboy. She looked up from the screen and hesitated. Alexia offered her the plate.
Sherry sat up and took the sandwich from her. "Thanks," she said, quietly.
"I'm not angry," Alexia said, and sat on the edge of the bed, draping her leg over her knee. She scanned the room: a sober, innocuous space, like a hotel room. Or perhaps, Alexia thought, Wesker's style was simply so sterile and inoffensive that it resembled a hotel room. "That man has no personality whatsoever," she said, aloud.
"Mr. Wesker's always been like that," Sherry said in a small voice, nibbling on her grilled cheese sandwich. "Dad used to say clinics should hire him to decorate."
Alexia chuckled.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Ashford."
"Little dear, you couldn't have known your friend was Miranda."
Sherry finished her sandwich and set the plate on the end-table, upon which stood an anodyne lamp, and a digital alarm clock. "It's still my fault," she said. Then Sherry looked at her and pleaded, "Please don't make me go back to the government people, Dr. Ashford. I won't talk to anyone anymore, I promise."
"I'm not sending you anywhere," Alexia assured her, and a look of relief came over Sherry's face. "And I'm hardly asking you to become an anchorite, love. But you must demonstrate more caution in dealing with people. If Miranda can shape-shift, she can become anyone. She may try to trick you again."
"You've never called me that before," Sherry said.
Alexia hadn't even realized it until Sherry pointed it out. "I suppose not," she conceded.
Sherry smiled.
"Anyway," Alexia continued, shifting the topic, "there will be some changes. I've secured a place for us in Rhodes Hill, but I'll be pulling you from Chapman and hiring a private teacher." When Sherry didn't show any obvious disappointment at the news, Alexia felt a pang of relief, and said, because she felt she needed to say it, "It's for your own safety, my dear, and ours. I don't want to put you, Veronica, or Grayson in unnecessary danger."
"I understand," Sherry said, and nodded.
"I'd much rather tutor you myself, but with my schedule as it is, I can't."
"It's fine, Dr. Ashford. I get it." There was something in Sherry's expression which suggested dejection, not at the situation regarding Chapman, but at something else. "You're busy," she said, drawing her knees up and hugging them. "Like mom was."
Alexia wasn't sure how to respond. She'd never been good at this sort of thing, this touchy-feely nonsense. Still, she found herself slipping an arm around Sherry's shoulders and pulling her into her side. "I truly am sorry about Annette." Despite her grudges against the woman, Alexia genuinely felt bad for Sherry, and on some level, she could relate. Though she'd never had a mother or had ever cared about Alexander, Alexia had had Alfred, and he was gone now, and she'd had Scott, too, but Miranda had taken him away.
Sherry hugged her, and Alexia let her. "I miss her a lot," she quavered, hiding her face in the sleeve of Alexia's blazer and sobbing quietly. "I miss dad, too."
"I know," Alexia replied, stroking Sherry's hair and letting the poor girl cry.
They stayed like that for an indeterminable stretch of time: Sherry crying, Alexia petting her hair and waiting for her to drain the last of her tears, rattle out her final sobs. Then, collecting herself, Sherry raised her head and wiped her puffy, wet eyes, sniffling. She looked sheepish. "I'm sorry," she said.
"Stop apologizing," Alexia said, taking a packet of tissues from her pocket and offering it to Sherry. Sherry thanked her, took a sheet from the packet and dabbed at her eyes, then blew her nose. She dropped the tissue into the waste-basket by the bed.
"I just… I don't want things to be like that again," Sherry said. "After my parents died, after the government people took me from Claire and Leon, I didn't think I'd ever be happy again." She looked at her, and her words came out like a spray of automatic fire: "But you and Grayson took me in, even though you didn't have to. I thought you were really mean in the beginning, and I honestly didn't like you very much, but you're actually really nice." Sherry paused as if considering her words, and then said, "I like being around you, Dr. Ashford. I guess I'm just tired of Umbrella always taking people away from me."