As I said before, I’ve been relatively busy here as a detective. I know you still believe I should have joined the police force, but it’s just not who I am. I need the freedom to do what I need to do. Sometimes, I wish I could tell you some of the stories I come across and explain a case or two, but I can’t. It comes with being a professional. But I’m making a decent enough living between private contracts and jobs given by the Ares Corporation.
Genevieve sends her love, and I hope someday you will get to meet her.
I also think I might be going steady now. She’s a gorgeous singer who works in Renault’s Gin Joint. Her name’s Dorothy; I think you’d like her.
If you’re feeling up to it, I’d like to visit sometime. I’ll have to talk to your doctor first, but I do hope to see you sooner than later.
In any case, I really don’t have much else to say. I’ll be sure to keep you updated on what goes on between Dorothy and me, as well as any goings-on as a detective.
Your brother
Thomas
I pull the paper from the typewriter, fold it and put it into an envelope. I hang my head and place the letter on my desk. I’ll be mailing it out later today, but for the time being, I choose to go back to bed and wrap my arms around my woman.
Chapter 5
The Cold
Dorothy opens her eyes and places a soft kiss on my lips. It’s been a month since she and I agreed to be a couple, and it’s been bliss ever since. Genevieve never says a word about our coupling, only giving me a mild nod in approval before getting to work.
I haven’t received many personal cases this month; instead, I’ve taken a few jobs from Ares Corporation to keep the bills paid. Not the most dignifying jobs, mostly catching adulterous husbands or finding some bum who struck it out on their own and fell flat. But I did get a consulting job on a murder case.
I hear the telephone ring in the lobby, and Genevieve answers. “Hello . . . Yes, this is Detective Baxter’s office. . . Who should I say is calling?”
I stand and walk into the lobby. “I’ll take the telephone,” I say to Genevieve. She looks up at me and hands me the receiver. “Hello?”
“Is this Detective Baxter?” a woman’s voice asks.
“This is. Who may I ask is calling?”
“My name is Helen O’Reilly; my man is missing.”
Another missing person’s case. I’d be annoyed had it not been a personal case; those usually don’t come up cold. “Would you like to speak over the telephone, or would you prefer to come to my office?”
“I’ll come to your office,” she says.
“All right, my address is —”
“I have your business card,” she says before I have a chance to finish. “I should be there in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
I hang up and look down at Genevieve. “Another missing person.”
“You’ve been getting those a lot lately.”
I nod and scratch the back of my neck. “Wouldn’t be so bad if half the missing people didn’t seem to just fall off the face of the earth. Hopefully, this case isn’t just a trip for biscuits.”
Genevieve nods. “We can only hope.”
I consider asking her how Arthur is, just to make small talk. Instead, I walk back to my desk. I rarely ever bring up Arthur, and as such, it would be out of character for me to ask. Genevieve and I are close, she has my trust; but we’re not the sort to pry into each other’s lives.
Almost twenty minutes on the dot later, Helen O’Reilly walks through the door. She’s a real dish, just taller than five feet, with her dark brown hair styled in glamorous waves that show off a short fringe. Her blue dress is cinched at the waist and hugs her form; a small hat matches the dress perfectly. This is a woman who prides herself on her appearance.
Something about her looks familiar.
“Miss O’Reilly,” I say as I stand and walk toward her. “Come in and take a seat.”
She nods and delicately sits in the chair opposite mine. I take my chair behind the desk, and I pull out my notepad.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Miss O’Reilly says.
“It’s my job, ma’am,” I say, acting as composed as possible. “What’s your man’s name?”
“Howard Sutton.”
I stop my pen from connecting with the paper and look up at her. “Howard Sutton?”
She nods. “We’ve been together a little over a month, but a few days ago, he just up and vanished, and I have no idea where he could have gone.”
I sigh through my nose and shake my head; I should have recognized her sooner. Howard Sutton. There’s a name I hoped I wouldn’t hear again.
“Howard Sutton?” I repeat.
Helen gives me an odd look and presses her lips together. “Yes, why? You know him?”
I nod; there’s no point in keeping secrets. “A month ago, a woman came in asking me to find her husband, Howard Sutton. I should have recognized you when I first saw you; you were the woman he left his wife for.”
Helen’s jaw hangs open as she makes sense of my words. “You’ve seen me before?”
“Briefly, yes. I’d been following Howard to see where he’d gone. I’m sorry to say, Miss Sutton, there’s a chance he may have gone back to his wife.”
“That can’t be true. Howard isn’t married.”
“I assure you, Miss O’Reilly, he is. Or I suppose he was. I’m sure they’ve divorced by now.”
“No,” she says.” Howard wouldn’t do that to me.”
I lower my head as I watch tears well in Helen’s eyes. “I’ll give Ruth Sutton a call and see if he’s there. If not, I’ll take on the case.”
“If he’s there, I don’t think I can afford your rate for just a telephone call.”
I give Helen a warm smile. “Miss O’Reilly, if he went back to his wife, I won’t feel right charging you for the minute or two it would take to call.”
“Thank you.”
I flip through my notes until I find Ruth’s number and pick up the horn. I dial the numbers and wait for her to answer.
“Hello?” Ruth’s voice says.
“Ruth Sutton?” I ask, confirming her identity.
“Speaking.”
“Hello Missus Sutton, this is Detective Thomas Baxter. Is this a bad time?”
Silence for a moment on her end. “No, not at all. I’m sorry, Detective Baxter, why are you calling me? I’ve already paid you, plus the extra as agreed.”
“Indeed you did; that’s not why I’m calling. Is Howard there?”
“What?”
“Is Howard there with you, or has he been around at all in the past few days?”
“No,” Missus Sutton says. “I haven’t seen Howard since that night in your office. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say.”
“Thank you, Missus Sutton. That’s all I need to ask.”
“Did that egg go and make tracks on that other girl?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss the details of my case with anyone unaffiliated. Thank you for your time, Missus Sutton. I hope I won’t have to bother you again.”
I don’t give her the chance to reply before hanging up. My eyes meet Helen’s, and I nod. “He’s not there.”
Helen swears and drops her face in her hands; small sobs soon come from behind her palms. I think about reaching over and consoling her, but I choose to remain professional and wait for her to finish. After a few minutes, she looks up and shakes her head.
“How could Howard do this to me?”
I don’t answer, letting the question linger between the two of us. “Tell me about your relationship with Howard,” I say as I pick up the pad of paper once again.
“Other than not knowing he was already married, I believed we were a couple without secrets. We spent every night together, and I didn’t care what the neighbours thought. I love Howard, and he loves me, and that’s what mattered.”
“Nothing odd or out of the ordinary before he left?”
> Helen shakes her head. “Nothing.”
I furrow my brow as my brain starts thinking. Howard left Ruth because they were in an unhappy marriage; he’d spent quite a long time trying to woo women before finding Helen. Ruth didn’t notice anything going on due to her own indifference toward her husband. Helen, however, is still very much in love with Howard. If he gave her the same affection in return, he’d be unlikely to run around with another dame.
“Miss O’Reilly, I can’t explain it, but I don’t believe Howard is with another woman. In fact, I’m willing to believe he is in great danger.”
Helen O’Reilly’s eyes widen as her mouth hangs agape. “Why do you say he’s in danger?”
“Because he clearly loves you,” I say. “He’s possibly going through a divorce and risking public shaming to be with you. He uprooted himself and lost everything he’d built just to start a life with you. I have a hard time believing he would be running around with some hussy after all that. His disappearance is likely due to his leaving his wife.”
“You need to find him!” Helen says, looking as if she’s about ready to leap over my desk. “I’ll do anything.”
Anything can mean a lot of things, but for a dame to offer anything, it means a lot. “That won’t be necessary,” I say. “I charge twenty dollars a day, plus bribes and expenses. Will that be an issue?”
Helen shakes her head. “No, I have some money put away. I hope you find him sooner than later, though.”
“I don’t dawdle on the job. Don’t worry, ma’am.”
Helen O’Reilly stayed and answered a few more questions before leaving. I scratch at the day-old stubble growing on my chin and walk toward Genevieve. “I’m heading out. If anyone calls with information —”
“Take a message and let you know. Also, lock up when I leave.”
I smile. “That’s right.”
I don’t say another word as I turn and leave, closing the door behind myself.
***
I make it to Motion Motors only half an hour before quitting time. I approach the receptionist, and he gives me a glare that could kill. “I’m here for Mister Oleander. Is he in?”
“You don’t have an appointment.”
I shrug. “True, but I just have one single question to ask him, and then I’m gone.” I take a deep breath, and an idea comes to me. “Actually, you might be able to answer my question.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, has Howard Sutton been in for work in the past few days?”
“Howard Sutton?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want with Howard Sutton?”
“That’s between my client and me. I’m not at liberty to explain; I’m sure you understand.” I can see the receptionist smirk, and I have the inclination he’s not going to be any help. “And if you intend to stonewall me or hinder my investigation, remember how much your employer doesn’t want me making a stink to the press.”
The receptionist sighs and lowers his head. “Sutton hasn’t been in for probably three or four days. As far as Mister Oleander is concerned, Howard Sutton no longer works for Motion Motors. Is that enough information for you?”
I smile and nod graciously. “That’s all I need. Thank you.”
I tip my hat to the receptionist and exit into the cold wind. Snow has begun to fall and coats the ground in a thick white blanket. I, like most, have no appreciation for winter. The Depression caused food shortages and an early winter means people will undoubtedly die in a matter of months, if not weeks.
I light a cigarette and shake the thoughts of hardship from my mind. I have one other place to check before I have to start taking mental leaps to where Howard could have gone.
I walk into the clip joint where I first searched for Howard and look around. The bar is empty except for a couple guys in the back, drinking and being loud. The barkeep notices me right away and brings out a bottle of hooch.
“None for me,” I say. “I’m working, and I need to keep my head about me.”
“Didn’t stop you from having a few last time.”
“Maybe so, but I figured I had that one in the bag early on, and I was right.”
The barkeep gives me a suspicious eye and pours a glass. “What can I do for you then?”
“Howard Sutton. Have you seen him in the past month?”
I give him a side eye and slide a dollar across the bar to him. I offer a slight nod, and he pockets the coin.
“I have seen him,” he says. “A couple nights ago, he came in, drank a few glasses and started rambling about someone trying to kill him. Nothing I could have done to help, so I let him go on his way. It’s not like people haven’t thought that before and come out fine. Is he gone again?”
I nod and watch the barkeep take the drink. “Yeah, he’s gone again. I don’t think of his own accord this time.”
“What are you suspecting? Someone really was trying to kill him?”
I shrug and light a cigarette. “I can’t say for certain. Did he say anything else? Maybe where he was going?”
The bartender lowers his head and places a thumb on his chin. He sighs as he thinks. “He was mumbling something under his breath as I gave him a drink. Something about a safe place, somewhere they can’t find him. I’m sorry; I really have no idea where that could be.”
“I think I might know,” one of the men at the far end of the bar shouts.
I’m amazed he could hear our conversation at such a distance but choose not to question it. Some folks are just better at hearing than others. I wave the guy over, and he takes a seat beside me. Something’s off about him, something I can’t quite place.
“What can you tell me?”
The guy gives me a malevolent grin, sending a shiver down my spine. I’ve seen a lot in Red City and have witnessed some of the worst that humanity has to offer. This guy, though, he’s something else. Something about the man puts me off, and the look in his eye tells me he could rip out my throat and not feel a damn thing.
“It’s going to cost you, and not some tin or checker either.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know; maybe a sawbuck will jog my memory.”
I scowl and slide ten dollars across the bar to him. “Tell me what you know.”
The man leans in close. “There’s a lot about this city you don’t know. I can’t get into details, but there’s a supposed safe zone on the west side of the city, right around the Edgar Industrial area,” he says in a low voice.
“Why would that be a safe place?” I ask. “A safe place from who?”
“It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that’s most likely where you’re going to find your missing person.” He sniffs and laughs a little. “If he made it there at all.”
I tip my hat to the man and to the barkeep before leaving the clip joint.
***
The Edgar Industrial area is a massive complex comprised of business and industry of all variations. Two of the Legion of Twelve have their main offices and at least a couple buildings for production there. Together, Social Technologies and Deep Dirt Agriculture make the Edgar Industrial a pinnacle of industry.
The sun set an hour ago, and the cold began to bite deeply into my flesh. I need to find Howard Sutton sooner rather than later; otherwise, there will need to be a search for my body as well.
It’s difficult to see anyone past all the warehouses and office towers. I pull out my flashlight and start my search, passing buildings and peering into windows.
One of the main clues I watch for is his footprints. There are many in the area, but they would only indicate people walking down the street or going into buildings. If that proves ineffective, I’ll have to check the alleyways and everywhere else I can imagine. While I can look through the windows, breaking and entering is not an option.
I search a sizeable portion of the industrial area before I notice something sticking out of the snow. Carefully, I approach, making sure to make as little noise as possible. It do
esn’t take long to realize what I’m looking at is a man's foot. I pick up my pace, careful to not scare anyone who might be around or alert them to my presence.
I pull out my pistol, an Einfield No. 2. The heater is virtually brand new, only released this year. Through luck and some good contacts in the Ares Corporation, I managed to get myself one.
Steadying my frozen hands, I ready the gun to point at whoever could be hiding in the darkness. The body is face down, but from my position, I can tell who it is. I shake my head and close the distance between myself and the body. I flip him over and confirm my suspicions: it’s Howard Sutton. He’d grown a mustache and a short-trimmed beard since, but it’s him.
The snow is pristine, with no blood anywhere near or around the body. It’s possible he was killed elsewhere and dropped. In fact, it looks to be the most likely scenario. I curse and stand, looking down at the dead body. “You were one hell of an egg,” I say. “But you didn’t deserve this.”
I run to the nearest payphone, open the door and revel at being out of the wind for a moment. I rub my hands together to warm my fingers before reaching into my pocket and pulling out a nickel. I push it into the slot and the operator connects me to the police.
“Hello?” a tired woman’s voice answers.
“This is Private Detective Thomas Baxter. I’m calling to report a murder.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m at the payphone in the Edgar Industrial Area, at the corner of Edgar Industrial Road and Edgar Industrial Crescent. The body is only a couple blocks north; I’ll be there waiting for you.”
“Thank you, detective. Cars are on the way.”
“Thank you.”
I hang up and enjoy another few minutes in the telephone booth. I don’t like coppers; they’re usually small-minded idiots who flaunt their authority over those who have none. But they have their place in society, and the law is the law. I have to call the body in, and they’ll make sure I don’t see it after that. It’s fair as far as I’m concerned, but it will still be difficult to explain to Helen what happened since I don’t know why he died or how. I likely never will.
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