by Alex P. Berg
“For now, I can’t,” I said. “I don’t know enough. But I’d propose a change of pace. I have a different line of investigation I’d like to pursue.”
Shay glanced longingly toward the kitchens. “After lunch, I hope.”
“Are you kidding?” I said. “It’s only fair we tackle that doughy, cheesy beast as partners. At least that way, we’re in the caloric red together.”
16
After we filled our bellies, I led Steele back outside and in the direction of the clearing I’d noticed earlier. I didn’t suffer from delusions. I knew finding anything incriminating was beyond a long shot, more like a moon shot. I also didn’t think the place would be quite as consumed by nature as Groundskeeper Thaddy had suggested. It was a clearing, after all. How bad could it be?
Turned out we were both right. I lamented my lack of a machete as I batted away chest-high grasses and shrubs with my leather-clad arms, but as soon as we reached the site of the former servants’ home, the vegetation diminished substantially. The remains of the home’s foundation, which amounted to piles of stones held together by cracked mortar, created a neat perimeter, mostly undisturbed by weeds or brush.
Of course, what I hadn’t realized when viewing the lot from afar was that the home had included a basement, and the weeds and shrubs had been perfectly happy to inhabit that expanse of cleared land as well.
I grumbled as I hopped into the subterranean hole, trampling some wildflowers as I did so. Shay followed me on feet much lighter than mine. Despite a wardrobe that was as ill-fitted to trailblazing as my own, she hadn’t complained on the walk over. Then again, I’d acted as a human plow, removing the worst before any thorns tore at her jeans or at the sleeves of her rose-colored jacket.
Her frustration spilled through upon seeing the remains of the home. “Daggers, I get why you wanted to come out, but seriously? We’re not finding anything here.”
“Not true,” I said, venturing onward. “Look. There’s a charred beam. Looks thoroughly rotted, but there might be more in better shape. And I see a rusted hook over there. Could’ve been a meat hook, from the kitchen. Oh, and there’s a pan. Or maybe an old chamber pot. Hard to tell. After seven years exposed to the elements, I doubt one would be any cleaner than the other, but we could always go borrow Lothorien’s gloves if you want to take a closer look.”
“Congratulations. You’ve identified two pieces of trash and a burnt piece of wood. I bet if we keep looking we can find at least ten times that.”
“You jest, but archeologists might be pretty offended by your lack of faith in what piles of old trash can tell us. Come on, if they can do it, so can we, especially with your observational magic. I mean, don’t get me wrong. It would be great in situations like these if you actually were psychic, but lacking that, we work with what we’ve got. I’m sure if we keep looking we can find something…”
I paused, sucking on my teeth and staring into the shrubbery.
I felt Steele’s hand on my arm. “Perhaps that came out in a more sarcastic tone than I’d intended. You’re right. There are things to be gleaned here, but from a fire investigation angle, not a missing persons one. And I bet the police officers who looked into the fire seven years ago already did the work you’re doing, when it was far fresher. So what’s on your mind?”
I turned, still sucking on my teeth. “What do you mean?”
Shay pointed at her mouth. “You’re doing that tongue thing again. It means you’re deep in thought.”
“Oh… Well, most of the time it does. This time it means there’s a bit of basil stuck between my teeth. I should’ve asked Pierre for a beer to wash that pizza down with.”
Shay snorted. “Drinking on the job? Don’t tell me you plan on giving up on your career the way LeBeau has.”
I laughed. “I gather he’s been drinking at work for at least ten years. There’s a big difference between that and a single beer—which I didn’t accept, mind you.”
The wind gusted, sending a few stray tendrils of Shay’s hair flying. She brought a hand to her face and swept the unruly strands back into place.
“Alright,” she said. “We beat a path out here—”
I gave her a look.
“Fine. You beat a path out here, which I followed. But we’re both here know. What are you hoping to find? I’ll help you look.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t know. I was hoping something might just stand out.”
Shay shot me a sympathetic smile. “You know that’s not how this works.”
“I know. But…look, Nell’s disappearance and the fire in the servants’ home—which killed two people, mind you—have to be related. Clarice’s disappearance probably is, too, but at least it’s separated from the other events by seven years. The first two? By two days. That’s it!”
“You’ve mentioned your suspicions before,” said Shay. “But it sounds like they’re coalescing. Do you have a theory yet? Because if you do, we might be able to break it down and focus on the individual elements more precisely. That might be more helpful than aimlessly meandering through the former site of a fire.”
“Fair enough. Here’s what I’m thinking. It would make a lot more sense if Nell had died in the fire, but she was clearly seen after the fact, and her bones weren’t recovered amidst the burnt remains of the home. Now from everything Thaddy told us, I’d wager someone set fire to the servants home. Who, I don’t know. But I’ll bet Nell did. She must’ve seen who set the house ablaze, and whoever did it must’ve discovered that she knew. And all of this happened in short order, given the forty-eight hour window.”
Shay nodded. “Okay. That seems plausible. And Clarice?”
“Well, if her disappearance is connected to Nell’s, then it stands to reason she also discovered who set fire to the home, and that the perpetrator discovered that fact and silenced her, too.”
This time, Shay frowned. “I guess that’s possible, but it requires a number of major assumptions. First, Clarice had become a compete recluse. How would she discover the identity of a seven-year-old arsonist from the confines of her room? And on top of that, how would said arsonist have discovered she’d done so?”
I lifted a finger. “See, I’m not convinced Clarice was as big a recluse as everyone claims. I believe she didn’t want to interact with anyone, but she didn’t lock herself in her room, or even worse, barricade herself there. What if she wandered at night? It’s an enormous estate, and apparently Vezig is the only night owl. Surely she knew his routes. I’d bet she could’ve easily stayed out of his field of view if she’d so desired.”
Shay crossed her arms. “You realize this is unfounded speculation.”
“I do.”
“Just making sure. So you think she’s wandering around at night, investigating a seven-year-old fire. She finds out what happened. How does the arsonist find out?”
I shrugged. “No idea. I haven’t gotten that far yet.”
Shay uncrossed her arms. “Well, it’s a little shaky as far as your theories go, but I think you might have a point. There’s a decent chance Clarice’s disappearance is in some way tied to either the fire or Nell’s disappearance, maybe both. We know the police tried to recover Nell, and Thaddy told us they looked into the fire as a possible arson. Why don’t we head back to the precinct? Dig up the old case files and see what we can learn from them.”
I nodded. “That probably makes the most sense. As much as I might wish otherwise, I don’t think I’m going to get much out of these ruins, at least not without a rock pick and a delicate brush.”
Shay lifted a brow. “Huh?”
“It was a terrible archeology joke. Don’t worry about it. Let’s go.”
17
The hallway leading to the records vault deep in the bowels of the precinct was as dark and dreary as I remembered it, though someone had recently come through and cleared the cobwebs from the corners and disposed of the remains of long
-lost explorers who’d perished within its hallowed walls.
Eventually, a locked gate materialized out of the gloom in front of us. At its side stood a kiosk. Goodman, an old, overweight guy with gout and a passion for mystery novels, had previously manned it, but in the wake of the Wyverns mob scandal that had seen our Captain walk away from his post, he’d either voluntarily or involuntarily resigned, depending on who you asked.
The young guy who’d been assigned to his post wasn’t quite as cheery as Goodman, which was quite a feat considering his predecessor had been a sixty-five-year-old arthritis-ridden member of the old guard. Maybe the young’un still remembered the smell of fresh air and the feeling of warm sun on his face. With time, I’m sure his memory would fade.
“What do you need?” he asked as Shay and I approached.
“Arson and missing persons case files,” I said. “Both from seven years ago.”
The officer reached underneath his kiosk’s counter and handed us a key. “Arson to the right along the back wall, missing persons to the left. Don’t lose the key, otherwise the captain will have your ass as well as mine.”
“Don’t worry, I know the drill.”
I took the key and placed it in the gate’s lock, which responded to my twist with a rusty clunk. It slid to the side on creaky wheels in need of oil. Steele and I entered and wove our way through the aisles of cardboard boxes and steel shelving, methodically collecting our files before seeing ourselves out and returning the key to Lieutenant What Happened to My Life. He might have to stay down there, but I certainly didn’t, so I led the retreat to our desks, where Shay and I plopped down in our seats and each cracked open a file. I started with the one on Nell’s disappearance.
It was thick. I’d thought perhaps the detectives in charge had half-assed their assignment given the impression I’d received from the Vanderfellers and their staff, all who’d described Nell as vanishing into thin air, but the detectives had done their jobs. They’d conducted almost a hundred interviews, with all the Vanderfellers and their servants, who were more numerous at the time, not to mention members of the Brentford private security team, numerous moles and snitches, and individuals suspected of being a part of New Welwic’s human trafficking scene, among others. I skimmed through the reports because reading them cover to cover would’ve taken me all afternoon, but time and time again I came up against the same conclusion.
Not a person had seen Nell. She’d vanished, plain and simple.
As a homicide detective, I naturally assumed she’d been murdered, but I also knew hiding evidence of a murder for seven years was harder than it seemed. Bodies dumped in the river had a tendency to wash ashore sooner or later, and because murderers tended to dig shallow graves, remains often got disturbed by anything from stray dogs to construction crews. The Vanderfeller property was enormous, and to my knowledge it lacked both hungry mongrels and pickaxe-wielding goblins, but according to the records the detectives in charge of the case had canvassed the grounds not once, not twice, but thrice, with bloodhounds no less. Those would’ve picked up a scent even if the detectives had somehow missed the telltale signs of tilled earth.
I sighed and closed the file, pushing it toward the middle of my desk. I looked up to find Shay staring at me with soft eyes, her chin resting upon her intertwined hands.
I glanced at her file. It was a lot thinner than mine. “Been waiting long?”
“Just enjoying the view.”
I smiled. I still didn’t know what she saw in me. Sometimes I thought I’d taken a truncheon blow to the skull during our first case, back when we tried to apprehend a bunch of crank-brewing dwarven gangbangers, and I’d been in a coma ever since. It made a lot more sense than the alternative, that I’d managed to convince a beautiful, intelligent, sophisticated woman I was worthy of her love and affection. Of course, if I were in a coma, I doubt I ever would’ve concocted a universe for myself in which I woke up early, exercised regularly, and apologized to people without being prompted, so perhaps both scenarios were equally unlikely. Maybe a time altering wormhole was to blame?
“Alright. Pick your jaw up off the floor. I’m not some piece of meat here to be ogled, you know.”
Shay snorted. “Well…there goes the view.”
“Want to trade?” I held forth my file.
She eyed it with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. “How about we swap notes?”
“Works for me,” I said. “Basically, while I initially doubted our blue-coat clad brethren had done all they could to track Nell down, I find myself chagrined. They did far more than I would’ve—which now that I think about it makes sense. The Vanderfellers are filthy stinking rich, and the higher ups always find a way to bend over backward for folks like that. But the result of all their efforts was the same as if they hadn’t tried at all. No Nell. No sign of her, even. She really did vanish. How is a matter of pure speculation. Perhaps she ran off to become a circus performer, or fell into a vat of molten steel, or was turned invisible through dark magics.”
“And you find all those possibilities equally likely?”
“Of course not. If she’d joined a circus, someone would’ve found her by now. So, tell me about the arson case.”
“Well, for starters,” said Steele, “Thaddy was wrong. The investigators didn’t think the fire started from a random spark that escaped the home’s hearth.”
I leaned forward, my ears perking. “Go on.”
“Although there’s no specific mention of it in the file, I suspect they told Thaddy that to avoid causing a commotion. What I did find was a number of clues that suggest malfeasance but don’t prove it. Hence why they gave the standard ‘Nothing to see here’ answer.”
“So what did they discover?”
“Are you familiar with fire investigation?”
“Not really.”
“Don’t worry,” said Steele. “I wasn’t either until I read the file. Apparently, if firefighters are able to stop the fire before it consumes a home, then the biggest tool in the investigator’s belt is finding the point of origin of the fire, or POO.”
I snickered.
Shay lifted a brow. “What are you, four?”
“Sorry. Go ahead.”
“The problem in the Vanderfeller case is the home was completely consumed by flames by the time anyone arrived. As we already know, the structure burned to the ground, but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t apply point of origin. Arsonists don’t like to leave things to chance. They often employ an accelerant to get a fire started, like kerosene for example. That makes the fire burn hotter at the point of origin. According to the file, the investigators looked for evidence of damage to the mortar, including in the foundation around the hearth. And—this is where we reach the realm of educated guesses—they didn’t think there was enough to suggest the fire had been intentionally set.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry, I thought you said they found clues that suggested malfeasance, not the other way around.”
“The file indicated they thought the fire started on the second floor,” said Steele. “An accelerant wouldn’t have left any lasting evidence up there.”
“And how did they come to that conclusion?”
“Eye witness accounts, mostly. Apparently, the fire started while the servants—Sophie excluded—were still performing duties in the manor, which in and of itself is suspicious if we’re to believe the fire started in the structure’s kitchen. They later described the scene to the investigators much as Thaddy did to us, a raging fire, smoke pouring out the front door, flames licking the upper windows. Now, heat rises, but if the fire had started on the ground floor, chances are Aaron, who went in after Sophie, never would’ve made it far enough to get lost. He probably couldn’t have gotten past the flames at the door.”
I knuckled my forehead. “Speaking of which, why did this Aaron character go in after Sophie in the first place? Didn’t Thaddy say someone shouted she’d still been inside? How would a
nyone know if she’d been in there by herself?”
“It’s unclear from the file,” said Shay. “Maybe Thaddy misremembered, or maybe someone in the crowd assumed she was in there. Everyone else at the estate had gathered before the building by that point. Regardless, whoever shouted it, if anyone did, was right. The investigators found their remains the following day, more or less together as Thaddy mentioned.”
“And did the investigators manage to draw any conclusions from said remains?”
“Not particularly. The bones were jumbled, indicating Aaron had found Sophie and tried to pull her out. They also think the pair had been on the second floor before succumbing to smoke inhalation and eventually perishing. They found a pair of fractures on Sophie, one on her fibula and another on her ulna, in her forearm. Probably from falling debris or when her body fell to the first floor or basement.”
I grunted. “So basically, the arson team was suspicious like we are, but didn’t find anything incriminating.”
“Exactly.”
“Did they consider the possibility that the fire was set to hide evidence of Sophie’s murder?”
“Actually, they did,” said Steele. “But they didn’t manage to uncover any motives for said potential murder during the interviews they conducted.”
“And those interviews,” I said. “They didn’t produce any additional leads? No one saw someone leaving the building in the immediate aftermath of the fire?”
“Apparently not,” said Steele. “Either someone planned the fire knowing when the home would be barren, possibly of everyone except Sophie, or one or more individuals intentionally kept their mouths shut on the matter.”
I drummed my fingers on the table. “So, basically, this puts us back at square one.”
Shay forced a smile. “I’d argue we’re more knowledgeable than we were before we started. But yes. I guess it’s back to poking and prodding around the Aldermont and speaking to the folks we haven’t tracked down yet.”
“Vezig, hopefully. If he’s up.”