The Buried Life

by Carrie Patel

  Malone sat back in her chair and nodded to Sundar, who looked supremely pleased with himself. “There’s only one more problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t have a cello.”

  “Of course.” Sundar tapped the edge of the desk. “I know where we can get one, though. On loan. I know someone who runs a shop.”

  “Another ‘acquaintance’?”

  “Different kind. But you have to bring it back, or I’ll be paying for it over the next year.” He sighed, rubbing his chin. “The doormen will point you to a back room when you enter – it’s where the musicians gather. You can leave the instrument there and pick it up again on your way out. They’re all professionals, so no one will touch it.”

  “Wonderful.” Malone stretched her lean arms, drawing a deep breath and looking around her office and its spartan furnishings.

  “Come to think of it, there is something else.” Sundar gave Malone a doubtful frown.

  “Yes?”

  “After you clear the door, if you don’t want to look like a fugitive performer, you’ll have to… uh… wear a dress.”

  She swung her arms back down to the desk. “I know.”

  “I mean, not just any dress, a nice one.”

  “It’s covered.”

  “A really nice one.” He leaned forward, eyes wide and serious.

  “Sundar… I’ve got it.”

  He sat back, looking unconvinced. “OK.”

  Malone sighed. “We won’t be able to do this forever.”

  Sundar blinked. “Plan in your office?”

  “No. Investigate this contract, right under the Council’s nose.”

  “I thought we were being discreet.”

  Malone shook her head, but her pale eyes remained fixed on him. “Sooner or later, they’ll notice.”

  Sundar frowned, lines creeping across his handsome face. “What’s our endgame? If we don’t figure it out and the Council realizes that we’re still snooping, they’ll… what?”

  “Suspend us.”

  Sundar exhaled dramatically. “Fantastic. They suspend us. And if we do get to the bottom of it, and we uncover the mystery and whatever Council secrets go with it, they’ll shake our hands?” He tilted his chin at her.

  “I don’t plan on getting caught. They’ll need more than a suspicion to punish us. Besides, I think we can count on support from certain members of the Council when we reach the endgame if we can prove ourselves. And I’ve got an idea of where to start.”

  “And that’s what you’re going to look into at the gala?”

  Malone nodded, pursing her lips. “That’s part of it. I’m going to make a few other inquiries.”

  “Is that safe?” Malone could tell by the wrinkling of Sundar’s brow and his frown what he thought of the idea.

  “They’re not going to suspend us for making conversation. Not as long as the forgery’s good, anyway.” She tapped the invitation. “It’s when we get serious that we’ll need to be careful.”

  Sundar’s eyes widened. “I can’t wait to see what you consider serious.”

  Malone planted her elbows on the desk. “Soon, we’ll need to find someone we can trust. Someone with access to the whitenails. An informant.”

  He tapped his temple. “So we can stay out of the Council’s line of sight.”

  “Precisely. I’m looking for someone who comes and goes in their circles without being noticed. Someone with a wide network of contacts. Any ideas?”

  Again, Sundar frowned. “Roman Arnault?”

  “Try Jane Lin.”

  A wry grin crossed Sundar’s face, half amused and half dubious. “Jane Lin, drugged laundress?”

  “The same.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, Malone. I can’t see her sneaking into directorates or swiping invitations.” He waggled the creased paper in the air between them.

  “I can. She just needs the right incentive.”

  * * *

  Whereas Jane had entered Brummell Hall via the full splendor of the veranda, Liesl slipped in through a quiet back entrance designated for staff and musicians. As Sundar had assured her, the door guards admitted her without too much fuss, and she left her borrowed cello in a quiet salon reserved for the performers. She pulled a smuggled evening dress from the cello case and made her transformation. With a bracing breath, she turned back down the hallway and into the ballroom.

  Swirling in the room, she saw secrets. They sulked in corners, they glided across the dance floor, and they stood huddled in discreetly chattering groups. The partygoers who did not recognize her were suspiciously closed to her, and the few who did know her even more so. Secrets, hovering just out of reach and scattering like moths from a lantern.

  She saw plenty of familiar faces, but none that would be glad to see her. The buzz was all about the fashionable delegation from South Haven, or rather, how they might pass for fashionable were they not from such a wretched little hamlet, wearing robes the color of dried blood. Malone was finding little of use.

  She knew of one lead. The Council, now accompanied by the South Haven delegation, talked animatedly at one end of the room, expertly cordoned off by a ring of hangers-on. Satellite attendants floated in and out, but the tended flock lay just out of reach. Most importantly, the one member that Liesl truly wanted to meet with, Alfred Hollens, stood in the thick of it.

  He seemed to her trained eye more insulated than his peers. Appropriately to one so tightly enclosed, he also seemed more uncomfortable. Was it the heat of so many bodies lending the telltale sheen to his forehead, or was it something within? There was a distinctive undertone of tension in the group of politicians, not unusual for such a gathering, but there seemed something hotter and ranker mingled with it – fear? Was it only her own suspicion, or did a number from both sides of the group, including Hollens, seem beleaguered with the sticky-warm churnings of vain, primitive fear?

  That would be difficult to determine without a closer look. But Hollens was lodged in the group like a cog in an engine. Hollens, the head of the Directorate of Preservation, the councilor who might have explanations for the secret projects, the man who, in his delicate state, might be prodded into sharing them, seemed at this juncture the hardest to reach. Malone’s considerable experience had taught her that in such cases, it was better to lure the target than to chase it.

  She watched as he drained a green-tinted martini and broke from his protective throng to signal a passing waiter. Receiving his instructions, the waiter nodded and made a beeline for the kitchen as Hollens retreated again into the human insulation. Malone hovered just out of sight of the Council throng as she waited for the server to return. When he did, she had to step in front of him to get his attention, so focused was he on returning to the councilor. She moaned, a look of painful anxiety on her face.

  “The washroom?”

  The waiter blinked and pointed to a side corridor, unaware of her hand quickly passing over the martini glass to deposit a clear pastille as she gripped his shoulder. Bobbing her head gratefully, she hurried toward the bathroom with convincing haste. She planted herself in front of the men’s room, telling the few baffled guests who approached that they would have to seek relief from the toilets on the other end of the hall until these had been thoroughly cleaned. From that removed position, she monitored her handiwork.

  The waiter delivered the tainted martini to Hollens, who promptly transferred it to a larger man with the look of a well-trained ape in a tuxedo. The simian assistant gingerly sipped the martini and, smacking his lips, returned it to Hollens. The pastille, a light emetic, would only just have begun to dissolve, and its convenient lack of flavor and color would escape suspicion.

  Hollens had finished his martini well before she saw him cough and sputter, raising a hand in protest to the simian-man’s alarm. Nothing too distressing, just the nerves of a long evening finally getting to him, and he begged the pardon of his companions for a moment. With admirable composure, he scu
rried to the facilities to relieve the sickening churnings of fear, which had at last manifested themselves physically.

  Aware that he would not be allowed to follow Hollens into the bathroom, the simian assistant trailed his master to make sure that no one else did.

  Hollens reached the toilets without a moment to spare. He heaved his head over the appropriate depository as his restive insides surrendered their contents. After he had finished, he rested a perspiring temple on the cool wall, recovering. His reaction was one of astonishment when he saw a plush white towel held inches from his nose. The protest died in his throat as Malone pressed the towel into his free hand and addressed him coolly.

  “You’ve had a long week, Councilor. I can see the pressure has finally brought itself to bear on you.”

  “Madam, I don’t know who you are, but this is highly inappropriate. I must ask you to leave,” he said, rising.

  “I want to help you.”

  “The towel will be plenty. Please go.” Hollens crossed to the washbasin and splashed his face with water. He averted his gaze from Malone the way one would avoid looking at a madman.

  “I need to know what you know.”

  In the mirror, Malone saw Hollens’s eyes flicker toward her over his cupped hands. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “The murders, Councilor. Something is happening among your ranks, and it’s already cost two men their lives.” A dark look crossed his features, replacing the embarrassment and confusion.

  “Our guards have this situation under control,” he said, bringing another handful of water to his forehead.

  She gestured at the empty bathroom. “Are you sure?”

  “We have protocols, Madam, and they are none of your concern.”

  “They’re also pointless. You know as well as I that your people have accomplished nothing in the intervening week. If I were on the other side, you’d be dead already.”

  Now realization and rage scalded his words. “You go too far. I could have you arrested for this.”

  “Councilor Hollens, I’m an inspector of the Municipal Police. I’m trying to help you.”

  “You’re overstepping your bounds, as I understand it,” he said, patting his face dry. “Your authority has been suspended as far as this contract is concerned.”

  “And what good has it done?” she said. “For all the special measures your guards and agents have taken, it hasn’t brought you one step closer to apprehending the killer.”

  “It’s a complicated and extensive investigation.” He glowered at her. “Besides, you didn’t do much better.”

  “Only for lack of opportunity. We were on the right track, and we were making progress. That’s why we were cut out of the contract so abruptly.”

  “No, you were removed because your people do not have the background or the connections to properly investigate it, Inspector…”

  “Malone.” She paused, hoping that she wasn’t making a mistake. Sundar, she knew, would be disappointed if their gambit failed for her lack of discretion, especially after their last meeting. “And whose fault was that? I tried with your Dr Hask before Fitzhugh was killed.”

  Hollens blinked in surprise. “It is not as simple as facts and leads, Inspector. The information you want is confidential, and as minor as that detail may seem to you, we maintain these protocols for a reason.”

  Malone shook her head, the radiance stones shining across her slicked locks. “This is absurd, especially with a traitor in your midst.”

  Hollens froze. “What?”

  “Why else has your investigation from the inside been so useless? One of your colleagues has been collaborating with the murderer from the beginning. By compartmentalizing and passing the investigation through your hierarchy, you’re playing directly into his, or her, hand.”

  “You know this for a fact?” he asked, almost keeping the quaver out of his voice.

  “I’d be blind not to notice it. As your investigators have been, apparently.” She cocked her head and leveled her gaze at him. “I suspect that this has at least occurred to you, Councilor Hollens.”

  “What reason do I have to believe that you can be of any use? Especially if you are correct in these preposterous assumptions.”

  “You and your peers have cut me off from the contract, and, as far as they’re concerned, I’m hamstrung. A lame horse can’t kick the coachman.”

  He snorted. “Nor pull the carriage. What do you expect to accomplish?”

  “Give me time and information, and I’ll find out who’s behind this. It’s a process of elimination, starting with those who want to see your directorate fail at its project.”

  “You think you’re that good?”

  “Check my record.”

  Hollens mopped the perspiration from his forehead. “If I help you, Inspector Malone, it stays between us. More than the murderers will be after me if anyone gets wind of this.”

  Malone shrugged her bare shoulders. “I’m officially off the contract. What you tell me doesn’t leave this toilet.”

  He shot her a cross glare. “Given the circumstances, you will have to trust me when I give you only the information directly pertinent to this matter.”

  “What may seem trivial to you could be useful to me, Councilor. I need to know what the Directorate of Preservation is doing.”

  Hollens straightened, his voice regaining some of the authority of before. “I will be the judge of relevancy, madam. Besides, I’m the one who will pay if I am wrong – either way.” He trapped a sigh behind his lips and passed a shaking hand through his hair. Guiding her further from the door, he continued in a rumbling whisper. “I cannot tell you much now, and I’ve been in here too long. The best I can do is advise you to look into the Sato case. You recall the murders of the prominent councilor and lady?”

  Malone nodded.

  “There is more to the case than was explained, much more. Examine it thoroughly, and you will find there was a reason the murderer was executed so quickly.” Hollens looked away briefly, his eyes showing something like remorse. “Contact me when you succeed, and, if you’re as capable as you say, I’ll tell you more.”

  He spun briskly for the door, but paused. “If we do not meet again,” he began, his back still to her, “there’s a vault in my residence, in the cellar, behind the wine. Should it come to that, I trust you can find it. When – if – if you do, much will be explained. Do not under any circumstances attempt to access it before my death.”

  “How do I open it?”

  He turned to her and cracked a twisted grin. “You say that you’ve met Dr Hask? By which I assume you somehow reached her in her office?”

  “Just as I found you in the washroom.”

  “The writing’s on the wall, Malone. If you’re as clever as you say, you’ll know what to do when the time comes. I’m not so desperate as to reveal all of my secrets to a stranger.”

  Malone stepped toward him, her feet clacking softly on the tiles. “I need the truth, Hollens. Not riddles and games.”

  “Truth is exactly what you need, Inspector. But, like the rest of us, you’ll have to figure it out for yourself.” He strode decisively from the bathroom. Peering around the corner, Malone saw the simian man waiting outside the bathroom to escort Hollens, who marched back toward the councilors without a trace of the fear she had seen. After a pause, she slipped out of the bathroom and again into the mingling crowd.

  Malone stopped next to a piece of sculpture, watching the couples dance. After brief observation, she noticed a tall, dark man leading a bright young thing with more than the usual force. The girl responded with sly coyness, allowing her partner to sweep her along. She seemed familiar, and as Liesl continued to watch the boldly roving eyes and delicately insouciant lips, she recognized the earnest young laundress from the hospital. How different she appeared now!

  Intense and filled with fiery glee, Jane presented an entirely different vision. She swung and swayed, exhilarate
d at the rough direction of her dark partner and at their seemingly parallel conversation. Liesl would not have imagined her so spry and fierce. Still, that spark of sincerity set Jane apart from the crowd, lending her an air of gravity and naïveté.

  Pleasantly intrigued, Liesl turned her focus to Miss Lin’s partner. She did not recognize his patiently menacing stride, his coolly taut features, or anything else about him. Recalling her earlier conversation with Lin, she remembered the shy girl’s mention of a Roman Arnault and Chief Johanssen’s brief characterization, and something clicked.

  Their strange dance ended, and Malone saw Lin and Arnault part. The reporter whisked her away, leaving Arnault to brood next to a table of spirit-filled glasses. Miss Lin, she was sure, would never be too hard to find, but Arnault? This moment presented an unexpected opportunity.

  Skirting the edge of the ballroom, Malone reached Arnault’s corner and sidled up next to him. “Roman Arnault, in the flesh. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  He looked uncertainly down, as if noticing the trim blonde for the first time. “Is that so?”

  “No. But if you’ll give me a few minutes of your time, we could fix that.”

  He snorted and took another swig from his glass. “What do you want?”

  “A little civility, for starters.”

  “Civility?”

  “The kind a gentleman offers a lady.”

  Arnault studied her for several moments, swirling his drink between two fingers. “I know you, madam. You’re no lady. You’re a Municipal.”

  “And you’re no gentleman by proper standards,” she said. “But we can both pretend tonight, can’t we? Just like the rest of these politicians and panderers.”

  Before Arnault could protest, Malone slipped one arm through his and with the other hand took his drink. She tossed it back and plunked the empty glass onto a passing tray. “I want to dance.” One of them – it would be difficult to identify which – led the other back to the center of the room.

  Now locked together in a rhythm, Malone had Arnault captive for a few minutes. He must have noticed this himself, for he smiled mirthlessly. “A woman who dispenses with foreplay. You’re a rare breed.”