“What’s this then?” asked Saba, waving at the other man’s clothes. “Finally got canned?”
“Quite the reverse, actually,” said Eamon.
“What’s the reverse of canned? You can’t have just got hired. You already work here.”
Eamon reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a wallet, flipping it open to reveal a police inspector’s badge.
“Well, somebody has clearly cocked up,” said Saba.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Not me. It’s Mayor Luebking. He’s got it in his mind that you’ve done some decent police work, and I can’t seem to disabuse him of the notion. The man’s going to run this town into the ground, I can tell you. Well, no help for that. Come upstairs with me and we’ll run through the open investigations.”
“Um, I’ll be back in a bit. I have to go show Dot my new badge.”
“Oh leave the poor girl alone. You’re going to knock her up again.”
“Too late,” said Eamon with a grin.
“Bloody Kafira. You’re like some kind of animal.” Saba shook his head. “All right. Go show her your badge, if that’s what you’re calling it these days. Be back in an hour. We really do have work to do.”
Taking the elevator up to his office, Saba pulled all the relevant files from the cabinet and began reading over them. There were quite a few unsolved cases, though that was not uncommon anywhere in the Brech Empire. The purpose of the police department was to keep order. Solving crimes was secondary. Besides, Birmisia Colony only had three police inspectors, himself included—four now that Eamon was on board. There were four unsolved murders, as well as the killing of a lizzie, which was considered a lesser crime. There were several dozen burglaries, a few robberies, an arson, and of course the bombing of the shipyard. Saba was so involved, that he hardly noticed when Eamon stepped into his office.
“That didn’t take long.”
“Dot’s sister was there—lucky for me. You know how she gets when she’s preggers.”
“Hmm.”
“So what have we got?”
“We’ve got a lot to do, is what,” said Saba. “I thought we might revisit some of these cases. Do a follow up. See if anything shakes out. We can start with the burglary at Dean’s, since it’s right around the corner.”
Saba grabbed the case files and the two inspectors left the office and made their way downstairs and out the door.
“We need to catch somebody, or we’ll have to change our motto,” said Eamon, glancing up at the words “punishment follows swift on guilt” carved above the stationhouse door.
They followed the sidewalk, which turned from cement to cobblestone as they rounded the corner. Occupying its own small building on the other side of a vacant lot from Terrence Dechantagne Boulevard was Dean’s Menswear. It was one of the more popular sellers of men’s clothing, owing mostly to the fact that Shannon Dean was one of the finer tailors in Port Dechantagne. Saba had patronized the store himself, though the prices were too high for him to do all of his shopping there, despite the quality.
The bell above the door rang as the two police inspectors stepped inside. The shop was dark, so filled with racks of clothing and wooden dressing dummies that the aisles between were very small. Saba had to turn sideways as he made his way toward the back, and Eamon couldn’t make it through without bumping into things. Mr. Dean stepped out of the back room.
“Hello Inspector,” he said. “Any leads on the robbery?”
“Um, burglary,” said Saba. “That’s what we’re here about. We wanted to double check the information, just in case something was missed.”
“Oh, well. I guess there isn’t much to tell. They took some money and some clothes.”
“They broke in the back way?” asked Eamon.
“You know they did,” said Dean. “You were the constable who showed up first.”
“We’re just going over the facts,” said Saba. “It says they took between fifteen and twenty marks and clothing valued at around M200.”
“Give or take a pfennig.”
“It strikes me as a crime of opportunity,” said Eamon. “If this had been properly planned, they would have taken more.”
“That sounds right,” agreed Saba.
“I’m going to take a look around out back and see if I get a brainstorm.”
“All right then, Inspector,” said Saba. “I’ve got some personal business with Mr. Dean, so come back and get me when you’re ready.”
“Looking for a new jacket?” asked Dean, when Eamon had left through the front door.
“I need a new suit. There are some events coming up where I’ll need to be in the company of the governor and other dignitaries. I need to have something nice—the latest style, or at least the latest style I can afford.”
“I understand. I think I have something you’d like in the back. Hold on just a minute.”
Mr. Dean ducked through the door to the back, just as the bell rang once again above the front door. Saba turned to see a man walking slowly through the shop, glancing left and right at the men’s fashions. He was tall, though not quite as tall as Saba, muscular, with neatly kempt red hair. He wore a very sharp charcoal suit and carried a baby tucked in one arm. The child had thin, wispy blonde hair and only her tiny and obviously very expensive pink dress gave away her gender.
Mr. Dean stepped back out from the back holding a suit on a hanger. It was black, with barely noticeable black scrollwork on the lapel. Pulling it open, he showed the same black scrollwork on the black waistcoat.
“I like that,” said Saba. “How much is it?”
“One hundred sixty marks, with two pairs of pants.”
“Kafira’s tit,” said Saba.
“Steady on,” said the shopper. When Saba turned to look at him, he nodded toward the child.
“Sorry,” said the chief inspector, and then turning back to Dean, “I think I’ll need to keep looking.”
“Let me see that,” said the man with the baby. Stepping past Saba, he ran his finger up and down the lapel. “Yes, that is nice. Can I schedule a fitting?”
“We could do that now,” said the proprietor.
“No, I don’t like to take the time when I’ve got the baby. How about tomorrow first thing?”
“I’ll be ready,” said Dean. “Let me see what else I’ve got in back, Inspector.”
“Inspector?” said the redheaded man, when Dean once again popped into the back room.
“Chief Inspector Saba Colbsallow of the Port Dechantagne Police Department,” said Saba thrusting out his hand.
“Kieran Baxter,” said the man, shifting the baby to his other arm before shaking it.
“New arrival?”
“Yes, we came in on the train late yesterday.”
“And what business are you in, Mr. Baxter?”
“Oh, I’m at my leisure just now,” and when Saba raised an eyebrow he added, “Late of His Majesty’s Navy.”
“Well, if I can be of any service…”
“Very kind. Now I’m off to the confectioner’s for a pair of lollies.”
“She seems a well-behaved child,” said Saba.
“She’s an angel,” replied Baxter, tickling the baby on the chin. “Come along Senta.”
“Lots of children with that name nowadays,” observed Saba.
Baxter stopped for just a moment. “I would imagine,” he said. Then turning, he carried the child back out the front door, passing Eamon who was coming in at the same moment.
“New arrival?”
“Came in on the train yesterday,” Saba relayed.
“Nice fellow?”
“Seems nice enough. Something familiar about him.”
“Here’s something you might like,” said Dean, once again stepping out of the back.
He held up another grey suit, this one with unadorned lapels. The waistcoat was a very deep shade of blood red, with a pattern of stars and bars that put one in
mind of the Accord Banner.
“That is nice,” said Saba. “Not as nice as the other, but nice. How much.”
“Ninety-five.”
Saba hissed through clenched teeth, and then scrunched up his face. This was at the extreme upper end of what he would pay for a suit. “Two pairs of pants?”
“For you, Inspector, and of course free alterations.”
“Fine. You have my measurements?”
Mr. Dean nodded.
“All right.” Saba guided Eamon toward the front. “We’ll keep you informed of any new developments in your case.”
“I’m not going to have to spend that kind of money on a suit now that I’m an inspector, am I?” asked Eamon when they stepped out the front door.
“Hopefully not,” replied Saba. “Nobody should spend that kind of money on a suit. Did you find anything interesting out back?”
“No. I didn’t really expect to, but you never know.”
They went back to the station and got Saba’s car. Then they stopped by the scenes of two other unsolved crimes in their files, discovering nothing new. After, they decided to stop at Finkler’s Bakery for lunch. Finding a parking spot next to the emergency wall, Saba left the car and they walked across the street. The eatery was just as popular as it had ever been, and they had to wait to be seated. A dark-haired girl took their order, which was the special, since the special was leek soup and egg salad sandwiches. It wasn’t the girl who brought out their food however, but a beautiful sandy-haired woman of about twenty-three.
“Hello Gaylene,” said Saba, looking up and marveling at how beautiful the scrawny girl he had known so long ago had become.
“Hello yourself,” she said.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I like to get out once or twice a week. Sometimes I come in here and supervise a bit. It’s one of the benefits of being married to the owner.”
Gaylene’s husband, Aalwijn Finkler had inherited the family bakery business from his mother and had expanded it to include a chain of the most popular eateries in Port Dechantagne. Since he and his mother had arrived from Freedonia as Zaeri refugees, many pointed to him as one of Birmisia Colony’s success stories. And since he had married a plucky Kafirite girl, one of the original colonists, theirs was a popular family in both communities.
“Well I’m sure your employees appreciate the help,” said Saba.
“For the next hour or so anyway. Then I’ve got to be on my way. I’ve received an invitation to tea from herself.”
“Tea with Mrs. Government?” asked Eamon.
“Wait a minute,” said Gaylene. “You don’t know? I mean, neither of you know?”
“Who are you having tea with?” asked Saba, though deep down inside he was suddenly sure he knew.
Gaylene gave a grand wave with her hand, while rolling her eyes in mockery of her own gesture. “The Drache Girl. She’s back.”
“Recovered from the shooting, I suppose,” said Eamon.
“It’s hard to believe something as simple as a bullet would have any effect,” she replied.
The two police inspectors ate their lunch in silence, once Gaylene had returned to the kitchen. As they ate, Saba could feel Eamon’s eyes on him, and he struggled to act nonchalant. When they finished eating, Saba peeled several bank notes from his money clip and placed them on the table.
“My treat for the new inspector.”
“So, shall we visit the next crime scene?” asked Eamon as they stepped out the door.
“I’ve got you started. You can check out the rest of them.” Saba passed him the folder. “You take my car. I have to swing by the house and then I’ll take the trolley back to the office.”
“All right,” said Eamon, frowning. “You sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.” He took a step into the street, but had to jump back to avoid a steam carriage rushing by. “Bloody traffic.”
Carefully looking both ways, he still had to rush across the square to avoid being flattened. Once past the square, First Avenue was relatively quiet, though steam carriages still cruised by once or twice a minute. Still, it was quiet enough that Saba could have enjoyed the birds chirping in the trees. He failed to notice them.
When he reached his house, he stomped up the steps of the large brick structure. Just inside, he stopped at the table and looked down at the tray with the morning post on it. He picked it up and flipped through the five envelopes: a letter for Loana from Melody Wardlaw, and one from Mrs. Coster—he couldn’t for the life of him remember her first name, and three bills. No invitation for him. No note at all.
“Oh, are you home for lunch?” called his mother from the other end of the foyer.
“No. Is this all the mail?”
“I’m not the postman,” she said in a snit, and turned back to the parlor.
“Has Loana been down?” he called after her. He received no answer.
Walking back to the kitchen, he found Risty polishing the silver.
“Has my wife been down?”
“No. You whant I get?”
“No. Was that all the post this morning?”
“Yess.”
“All right. I’ll be home at the usual time.”
He left and retraced his steps back to Town Square. There he took his place in the queue at the trolley stop and waited with half a dozen others. After five minutes the triceratops strolled around the corner, pulling the car. This was a young one, barely bigger than the carriage, no doubt trained by the Charmley brothers. Saba felt a pang of sadness over the death of Warden Charmley. He had known the twins since they had arrived in Birmisia as kids.
Saba had just stepped aboard the trolley and paid his fare when he spotted Walter Charmley sitting with Sherree Glieberman in the very last seats. Wasn’t that just how it went? You started thinking about someone and he showed up. He hadn’t seen Walter since the funeral a week earlier, and hadn’t really spoken to him then. He decided to give him his condolences and had just started toward the couple when Sherree burst into tears. Saba stopped.
“You can’t! You just can’t!” she cried.
Saba turned to the side and tried not to pay attention.
“I’m sorry Sherree,” said Walter, far too loudly not to be overheard. “I have to stop playing around now. I have to grow up. I need a wife and a partner.”
“But she’s so old!... and ugly!”
“She’s not ugly. In fact she’s beautiful, and she’s a bit older than me, but so what. I’m sorry. You’re very sweet and I do care for you, but we were never a very good match.”
“She’ll never love you like I do!” Sherree shouted, and then she jumped up and ran out the trolley’s rear door.
The vehicle was still sitting, while the dinosaur was being fed from a bin full of leafy branches. Everyone in the packed carriage tried to act as though they hadn’t just been witness to the very personal lives of the two young people. Finally, Saba decided that there was nothing for it. He had to say something.
“I’m sorry, Walter. I couldn’t help but overhear. Is there anything I can do?”
“No,” said Walter quietly. “And I’m Warden. Today I’m Warden.”
Back at the stationhouse, Saba found it impossible to concentrate on work. He wandered downstairs to the processing area. Police Sergeant Richard Butler was on duty at the desk. A competent officer and a steady fellow in general, Butler had thinning brown hair but a very thick handlebar mustache. He nodded in acknowledgement to Saba.
“Anything interesting happening?”
“Not really,” Butler replied. “A couple of sailors, drunk and disorderly from last night. A lizzie bit the kid she was supposed to be watching—kid probably deserved it. And a guy smacked his wife around—she probably deserved it too—probably nagged. Still, he overdid it. She’s in hospital.”
“Who was the child?”
“Oh, um nine-year-old. Family’s named Hessen. Know them?”
Saba shook his he
ad. “How about the husband?”
“Laslo Chesterton.”
Saba nodded. “Toss me the key then.”
Butler threw a six-inch ring with a dozen large steel keys upon it to Saba, who caught it in the air. Then he stepped into the elevator, just past the sergeant’s station and closed the cage after him. Turning the lever, he sent the elevator car downward to the basement where the holding cells were located. In the second cell, he found Laslo Chesterton sitting on the cot, wearing a blood-spattered shirt and dungarees. He was an average looking fellow, a bit fat around the middle, with thick, unwashed black hair. Saba didn’t know the man well. His acquaintance was with Mrs. Chesterton, a former prostitute turned housewife.
Unlocking the cell, the inspector stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
“Ready to get out?” he asked the man, who stood up.
Chesterton started to say something, but before he could speak, Saba punched him in the stomach. A second punch to the chin knocked Chesterton to the ground. Picking him up by the hair, the police inspector slammed the man’s face into the cement wall of the cell, causing his nose to spray blood across the hard surface. Then he pounded his fist into Chesterton’s kidneys.
“Hey! Hey!”
Saba stopped, letting the wife-beater slide down to the floor. He looked over to cell number one to see two men, dressed as merchant sailors, with their faces pressed up against the bars.
“You don’t want to get involved,” growled Saba.
“You’re right there,” said one of the two. “But you don’t really want to kill him do you? He doesn’t have any more in him. You pound him anymore and you won’t leave him with either kidney. I mean, whatever he did, you don’t really want to kill him, do you?”
Saba stared at the two sailors for a moment. Then he looked down at the man on the ground. Chesterton was still breathing. He thought for a moment and realized how glad he was that the two were in the other cell. He really might have killed the man. He knelt down and rolled him over.
“If you ever lay a hand on her again, I will kill you. Do you understand?”
The man said nothing. He was unconscious.
Stepping out of the cell, he left the door open. He unlocked cell number one and opened that door wide, though he didn’t go inside.
The Sorceress and her Lovers Page 19