by Dan Willis
“It’s the account of five murders that happened back in ‘thirty-one,” Theo continued as Alex skimmed the text. According to Bastian’s account, five prostitutes had been murdered in a gruesome manner, trussed up like Christmas turkeys and drained of their blood. The perpetrator was never caught, but a French board of inquiry ruled that the killer must be a madman, since he painted the walls and floors of the dead girl’s rooms with nonsense symbols.
As Alex read, he felt a chill run down his back. The details were sensationalized, probably by Patrick Bastion in an effort to sell more books, but the bones of the tale matched Danny’s crime scenes exactly.
“Did anything ever come of this case?” Alex asked, skipping to the end.
“The French police tried for months to make progress,” Theo said. “They called in magic experts, linguists, even a sorcerer, but no one could interpret the symbols or find the killer. The strangest thing is that the bodies and the symbols disappeared on their own and no one knew why. As far as Bastion knew, the French didn’t even have a motive for the crimes. The women were from different parts of the city with different backgrounds. The only thing that united them was their profession.”
“Prostitutes,” Alex said.
“Just so. Some of the French newspapers were calling it the return of Jack the Ripper,” Theo said. “It caused quite a panic, according to Bastion. He says that the story showed up in newspapers the world over.”
Alex shut the little book and held it up.
“How much for this?” he asked.
Theo looked befuddled for a moment, then turned the book over in Alex’s hands. A paper label on the back read forty cents, and Alex dug some change out of his pocket.
“I appreciate you finding this,” he said, handing over the change. “If you think of anything else, call my office.”
“I did have a question about magic, if you don’t mind,” Theo said, looking a bit apologetic.
Alex was in a good mood, thanks to the pudgy man’s find, so he dropped the little book in his outside jacket pocket and smiled.
“Shoot,” he said.
“I was wondering what it takes to be a really proficient runewright?” Theo asked.
The question caught Alex flat-footed and he stumbled for an answer.
“I mean, I’ve read extensively about rune magic,” Theo went on. “But I’ve never been able to determine what makes one runewright good at the craft and another incompetent. With sorcerers they seem to be limited by their own native intelligence and imagination, but what makes one runewright better than another?”
Alex had to think about that for a moment.
“Well,” he said, struggling to put his thoughts into words. “In the first place, a runewright has to be able to channel magic in order to be a runewright.”
“So, some people just can’t channel as much magic as others,” Theo said, nodding as if he’d expected that answer.
“No,” Alex said, rubbing his chin. As far as he knew channeling was just something a runewright did, a byproduct of the rune writing process. “I think it’s more how good they are at writing the actual runes. Basic runes are simple, easy to write, where others are extremely complex, they can take days or even weeks to finish.”
Theo looked perplexed at that.
“But if that’s the case,” he said, “why don’t bad runewrights just get better?”
Alex shrugged.
“As far as I know, runewrights do get better, right up until they hit constructs that are beyond them. I don’t know why it’s that way, but that’s the way it works.”
Theo’s eyebrows knit together, and he nodded.
“I suppose there must be some limitation that just isn’t obvious,” he muttered, more to himself than to Alex.
“Well, if I think of anything, I’ll let you know,” Alex said, clapping the shorter man on the shoulder.
Theo thanked him, and Alex put on his hat and headed back out into the evening air. Since the brownstone was closer to Theo’s shop than Alex’s office, he was tempted to just head there and call it a night. He still needed to check with Sherry and see if she found out anything from the burgled warehouses, so instead of just grabbing a cab, Alex crossed the street and made his way to a five and dime at the end of the block. The neon nickel hanging over the door buzzed as he passed under it and went inside. This shop was a bit better kept then Theo’s bookstore, but not by much. One look at the grease-laden griddle and crumb-covered cutting board behind the lunch counter made Alex decide that he wouldn’t eat in this establishment if his life depended on it.
The bored-looking man behind the lunch counter wore a stained, yellowed apron and he didn’t even look up from the magazine he was reading when Alex came in. Just as well, because Alex was in no mood to exchange pleasantries. A wooden phone booth stood against the wall on the far side of the lunch counter, and Alex stepped inside and shut the door behind him. Dropping a nickel into the slot, he dialed his office number.
“Hi boss,” Sherry said before he even spoke. Her gift of foresight didn’t work all the time, but when it did, Sherry could come across as a bit unnerving. “How did it go with Mr. Bell?”
“I think he may have given me a solid lead,” Alex reported. “I need you to run over to the library archives in the morning and see if there are any mentions of a string of murders in Paris in nineteen thirty-one that match our voodoo killer.”
There was a pause on the line while Sherry wrote the information down.
“I’m still not through calling those warehouses for you,” she said. “Which of these do you want me to focus on?”
“Take the library,” Alex said. “Just leave what you’ve got on the warehouse thefts on my desk, and I’ll finish calling them in the morning. If there’s nothing else, I’m going to head home and write more runes for Mike.”
“I do have a message for you.”
Alex resisted the urge to sigh.
“Let me have it,” he said, pulling his notebook from his shirt pocket.
“Detective Nicholson called,” Sherry reported. “He said that he needs your help at Alice Cartwright’s office as soon as you can make it.”
Alex did sigh this time.
“Did he leave an address?” Alex asked. The last time he’d spoken to Nicholson, the police still hadn’t found Alice’s office.
Sherry rattled off the address of a relatively new inner ring office building and Alex wrote it in his book.
“Don’t forget those runes for Mike,” she admonished when he was done. “I already had to turn away two cases.”
Alex promised that he’d remember, then hung up and dropped his notebook back into his shirt pocket. Exiting the phone booth, he headed back through the five and dime to the door. A light rain had begun to fall while he was inside, and he hesitated in the doorway for a moment.
Flipping his rune book open, Alex found he still had three minor barrier runes.
“Thank God for small favors,” he muttered, tearing the rune free and sticking it to the brim of his hat. Taking out a cigarette, he lit it, then touched the lighter’s flame to the flash paper containing the barrier rune. He felt a prickly sensation wash over him from his head down to his feet as the magic activated, then he took a drag from his cigarette and headed out onto the rainy sidewalk.
17
Numbers
What had started as a gentle rain turned into a full-fledged downpour by the time Alex climbed out of a cab in front of a very modern white brick and glass office building. His barrier rune was still in place, causing the rain to avoid him as he crossed the sidewalk toward the building’s extended portico. The image of the building blurred as the torrent flowed around the invisible shield as if it were being bent by a magnetic field.
He expected to find an officer in the lobby, but there wasn’t one. He knew Alice’s office was on the eighth floor, and fortunately the building had an elevator.
“It’s about time you showed up,” Nicholson growled when A
lex stepped off the elevator. He was standing outside an open doorway just down the hall, his suit rumpled and his hair in need of combing. Both states were common to the man, but the sour expression was not, and it gave Nicholson the look of a man having a very bad day.
“Came as soon as I could, Detective,” Alex said. “What is it you wanted me to look at?”
“Not much anymore,” the Detective said, motioning for Alex to follow. As Alex approached the door, he saw the name Alice Cartwright engraved on a brass plate next to the frame. No company name or type of services offered were listed, just Alice’s name. That probably meant that her work was either by referral only or exclusively for the government.
The inside of Alice’s office was neat and modern. A row of six blackboards formed a semicircle against the left-hand wall with an angled drafting table like Alex used opposite. The desk’s adjustable top had been lowered so that it was inclined but not enough to obscure the blackboards. A short filing cabinet stood next to the table, reminding Alex of the rollaway cabinet he had next to his own work desk.
There weren’t any chairs for visitors in the space, just a sturdy chair behind the desk and a metal stool next to the blackboards. Clearly Alice was used to working alone and she didn’t receive regular visitors here. Based on how hot under the collar Harcourt, the government man, was to locate his missing files, Alex wondered if Alice’s lack of accommodations for visitors was due to being a private person, or for security reasons.
The thought of Harcourt stopped Alex’s musings and he took a hard look at the room. All six of the blackboards were empty but not clean. They’d been erased, but not washed. Also, the little file cabinet next to the drafting table was sitting askew. Alex could see the impression in the area rug where it had obviously stood for some time.
Putting those things together, he understood Detective Nicholson’s frustration.
“I see Harcourt’s already been here,” Alex said. “How much did he take?”
“Everything,” Nicholson fumed. “He took all the files here and the ones in the back, his goons erased all the boards, and he even took the damn pencils from the desk.”
Alex nodded, looking around. Alice Cartwright hadn’t been killed here, and it seemed like whoever killed her either didn’t know about this office, or didn’t care. It wasn’t very likely that any evidence of the killer would be here, but his professionalism would not let him leave it at that.
“Well you got me out here,” he said. “The least I can do is take a look around.” He nodded in the direction of the hallway that led into the back. “What’s back there?”
“Another office,” Nicholson said. “There’s a desk and a row of now-empty filing cabinets. Seems like that’s where she did her bookkeeping.”
“Anything else?”
“There’s another office, but all that’s in there is a table with a hotplate, a coffee pot, and a cot.”
“In case she worked late,” Alex said with a nod. There were many times he’d slept on one of the couches in his waiting room at his old office, at least until he put a bedroom in his vault.
“Where are your men?” Alex asked, just noticing the lack of uniformed officers.
“That jackanapes Harcourt conscripted them to help his men clean this place out,” Nicholson fumed.
“Of course he did,” Alex said. “Well, I don’t need them here to have a look around.”
He started on the left side, walking around the blackboards, but Harcourt’s men had been thorough and erased the back sides as well. The desk and the little filing cabinet were empty, but Alex checked inside and under their drawers just be sure nothing had been hidden there.
Moving on to the back rooms, Alex found them similarly cleaned out. Only the furniture remained. The offices themselves were much more luxurious than the furniture, with gilded crown molding and wainscoting with chair rail along the walls. Alice’s furniture was brutal in its utilitarianism, no frills or decoration, just solid, well-built efficiency. Even the cot in the spare room was just that, a wood and canvas cot like one might find in a military surplus sale. It revealed a great deal about the woman, but precious little about her killer.
“Anything?” Nicholson asked when Alex emerged back into the front room.
“No,” he admitted. “But I’m not licked yet.” Alex pulled out his rune book and flipped to the back where he kept runes he didn’t use often, but that were good to keep on hand. There were only three of the ones he wanted, so he tore them out, then went to the empty blackboards. The construct he had in mind wasn’t powerful enough for one rune to extend over all the boards, but with three he figured he could make do.
“What are you doing?” Nicholson asked as Alex pulled the second blackboard over to touch the first.
“Do you have a photographer?” Alex asked, repeating the process with the next two boards.
“Sure,” Nicholson said. “But not ‘til my men get back from helping that weasel Harcourt.”
Alex pulled the last two boards together, then licked the first rune and stuck it to the pair. Moving down the line he stuck the others to the other groups of boards, then picked up two of the chalk-filled erasers. Giving Nicholson a mischievous grin, Alex took out his lighter, ignited the rune paper, and then began clapping the erasers together.
Initially a cloud of chalk dusk billowed out from Alex, but as the magic took hold the dust began to drift toward the board, drawn to the places where there had been writing before Harcourt had erased it.
“Revelation rune,” Alex explained, moving on to the next board. “I usually use it to show pencil impressions on paper,” he explained.
“Neat trick,” Nicholson said as incomprehensible equations filled in on the boards. When Alex was done, all six boards had been restored to the way they were.
“If Harcourt had washed the boards, it wouldn’t have worked,” Alex admitted. “Have your photographer get pictures of this and then erase it again. You might need whatever this is.”
Nicholson nodded approvingly.
“It’s not nothing,” he admitted, “but if that’s all you can do, I think I’m still at square one.”
Alex pulled out his chalk and held it up.
“Have a little faith, Detective,” he said, heading out into the hall. Alex hadn’t wanted to use a vault rune since he was running low on them, but he needed his crime scene kit, and it was currently in the vault. He drew a door on the hallway wall, then burned a rune to expose the door and its brass keyhole.
“That’s the damnedest thing,” Nicholson said as Alex pushed the vault door inward. His old doors used to open out, like every other vault Alex had ever seen. The way the construct was put together made it that way. The problem Alex had was what to do with the massive steel door when he wanted a more permanent opening. It was much easier to hide the door if he could open it inward, rather than outward. He’d played around with it for a solid month, but eventually he’d figured out how to rewrite the construct so the door opened inward. It made it much less obtrusive to open his vault in public spaces, like the hallway, and it made it possible for him to use the external cover doors that, once magically secured to a wall, protected the open vault from being entered by anyone but him.
Alex had taken to keeping his kit on a tall table that he’d put next to the spot where the vault door appeared. This way he didn’t have to open his vault all the way to reach in and get it. That kept prying eyes, like those of Detective Nicholson, from seeing into his vault.
Once Alex had his kit, he pulled the vault door closed and headed back into Alice’s office. Nicholson just watched as Alex took out his multi lamp and oculus. Alex started with ghostlight. He didn’t think anything in Alice’s life was magical, but with her files and other things removed from the office, any magic residue would have already begun to fade.
“What’s that supposed to do?” Nicholson asked as Alex swept the room with the faint green light emanating from the lamp. Alex explained about ghostlight as he w
ent. When he finished with the back offices, he even checked the little bathroom, but to no avail.
Undaunted, he changed to silverlight. As expected, the blackboards and writing desks were covered in fingerprints, but nothing that indicated anything other than regular use. There was no blood or other fluids anywhere to be seen.
He moved on to the spare room and checked the cot for fluids. If Alice had a lover, her death would make more sense. Crimes of passion were the stock in trade of detectives investigating the murders of young women. Again he was disappointed. The only evidence of fluid his lamp revealed was a stain on the rug where Alice had spilled what Alex guessed was coffee.
Lastly, Alex moved to the office. He swept the desk and the filing cabinets without success. He was about to give up when a group of fingerprints on the wainscoting caught his eye. It looked like Alice was in the habit of touching the wall in one place. That wasn’t terribly unusual; if her desk had been by the wall for any length of time, she might have touched the wall when closing drawers or getting up out of her chair. The strange thing was that the fingerprints were all over one board, but completely absent from its neighbor. When Alex knelt down for a closer look, he found another cluster of fingerprints diagonally down from the first set. It was as if someone had pulled out some of the boards, turned them upside down, then put them back.
“Detective,” Alex said, taking out his chalk and drawing lines on the suspect boards. “I think I’ve got something.”
Alex took off his oculus as Nicholson arrived.
“I think there’s a removable panel here,” Alex said. “Do you have a jackknife?”
Nicholson nodded and produced a folding knife from his pocket. Alex opened the blade and carefully worked it in between the two boards where the fingerprints vanished. After a few moments of gently wiggling the blade, a section of the paneling about a foot and a half wide popped out. Alex set the knife aside and tugged the panel free from the wall. Behind it was a cavity that held a small safe, much like the one hiding behind a similar panel in Alex’s vault.