Daggers & Steele 1 - Red Hot Steele

by Alex P. Berg

  My elf-girl partner-in-crime rolled her eyes again, a move I was becoming very familiar with. “Right… So, what’s on your mind?”

  “We need to make some sense of all this.” I gestured at the board.

  “That’s what I was trying to do this morning,” said Shay.

  “Yes, but clearly you were ineffective at it. Probably because you never drank any coffee. It’s a well-known fact caffeine improves deductive reasoning.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s hard to come to brilliant conclusions when you’re asleep. Ergo, it helps.”

  “I’m not sure that’s how causation and causality work.”

  “You’re missing the point,” I said. “We should try to view things from Reggie’s perspective. Approach his relations with the people on our board from his point of view.”

  I stood up and paced. “Let’s assume Occam was telling the truth about his past with Reg. He grows up in the slums under Occam’s wing. Sort of, anyway. Then one day he disappears. He finally shows up several years later working for Drury Arms. We don’t know how exactly he weaseled his way in there, but we can assume his particular blend of talents had an influence. And we don’t know for sure what sort of con he was running with the manufacturer, but based off what Quinto found this morning with the financials, he was up to no good.

  “Then along comes Reggie’s interaction with the Talent family. We can assume he met the Talents initially through a work contact, since Big Daddy Talent owns a foundry business. Logically, Reggie must’ve met Felicity soon after.

  “Regardless of whatever con he was running at Drury Arms, he must’ve realized the Talent fish was the bigger catch. I mean, why settle for a slice of Drury pie when you can eat the entire Talent cake? So, he pretends to fall in love with Felicity Talent, all the while still partaking in his ongoing con with the arms manufacturers.

  “Then Occam finds him and threatens him unless he can deliver a shipment of weapons—which he does. We assume that after the delivery is made Occam leaves him alone, yet a few months later, we find Reggie dead with a gaping hole in his chest.”

  “You kind of glossed over a few things at the end there,” said Shay.

  “Like what?” I asked. “We’re still in the dark regarding most of the details.”

  “True, but what about the snags regarding Reginald’s marriage. We know he signed a prenuptial agreement—”

  “Which he most likely was in the process of trying to get annulled.”

  “Possibly,” said Shay. “But he signed it nonetheless. And you forget he told Felicity he wanted to elope. That still doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It makes sense if he knew he was in danger, which means Reggie must’ve known his killer. But it doesn’t help us figure out who it was.”

  I stared at the corkboard and snapped my fingers, my mind racing through various possibilities.

  “It’s no use,” I said. “We’ve still got too many holes in this piece of cheese. We need a few more tangibles before we can patch this thing together.”

  “Yeah? Then maybe we can help.”

  40

  This time it was Rodgers who’d snuck up on me from behind, but Quinto didn’t trail him by far. The pair must’ve been trading notes on how to get the drop on me.

  “I need to buy you guys some clogs or something,” I said.

  Rodgers gave me a look.

  “Never mind,” I said. “You manage to find that Wally character?”

  “Your accountant?” said Rodgers. “Yeah, we found him at the smithy. He about had a stroke when he saw Quinto again. He was shaking and blubbering from the get-go. When we mentioned we needed to bring him in for questioning, he literally fainted.”

  “I slapped him around a bit, but the guy was out,” said Quinto. “We couldn’t wake him until we got back here and administered some smelling salts.”

  “You slapped him around?” I asked. “You sure you didn’t give the poor guy a concussion? There’s a rash of those going around, apparently.”

  “I was gentle,” said Quinto, grinning.

  “So, did the little dude have anything interesting to say?”

  “As a matter of fact, he did—once we were able to settle him down enough to understand him, that is.” Rodgers eyed his partner. “Quinto, you want to grab some chairs?”

  The big guy nodded. He brought over a pair from his and Rodgers’ desks, and they both sat.

  Rodgers started. “So we got Mr. Fry into one of the interrogation rooms. The dark, dreary one downstairs. Someone had already taken the good one upstairs.”

  “Don’t look at me like that,” I said. “There’s no sign-up sheet. Those rooms are first-come, first-served.”

  “Yeah,” said Rodgers. “Anyway. We got Mr. Fry situated—conscious but blubbering. We could barely make heads or tails of what he was saying, he was stuttering so bad. That’s when Quinto accused him of doctoring his books. And wouldn’t you know it? Being threatened sobered the guy up.”

  “To be fair,” said Quinto, “I think he’s one of those guys who’s only comfortable in his work. Numbers make sense to him. The rest of the world doesn’t. That’s probably why he got so darn upset when we accused him of tampering with those records. It’s his math.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” said Rodgers. “Regardless, Walter was very defensive. Said we didn’t know what we were talking about. Said we’d made a mistake. Said he’d never mess his summations up.”

  “So I asked him to explain the discrepancy between his own records and the bank’s,” said Quinto. “Wally claimed he had no idea what I was talking about. So I showed him the bank statement from this morning. The guy’s eyes about popped out of his head. He was dumbfounded. Genuinely so. Wouldn’t you say, Rodgers?”

  His partner nodded. “Yeah. I don’t think there’s any question his reaction was sincere. The little guy had no idea Drury Arms was on the verge of bankruptcy.”

  “Hold on,” said Shay. “You’re sure Walter wasn’t aware of the missing funds?”

  “Well, about as sure as we can be going off expressions and body language,” said Rodgers. “You get a pretty good feeling for who’s telling the truth after doing this for as many years as we have.”

  “Alright,” said Shay. “So if Mr. Fry wasn’t involved—and I’ll assume he’s at least halfway competent—then how is it he never noticed Drury Arms’ bank accounts were nearly dry?”

  “As it turns out,” said Quinto, “Mr. Drury uses a courier service to deliver shipping invoices, contracts, and other documents to and from his office. They deliver his bank statements, too. Even though Mr. Fry is the accountant for Drury Arms, he hadn’t physically visited the bank in years.”

  “So let me guess,” I said, “the bank statements Walter received via courier—they were all forged?”

  “We think so,” said Rodgers. “Probably every single one since Reginald started working there.”

  “So that cinches it, doesn’t it?” said Shay. “That was Reginald’s con. He orchestrated the new deals, and instead of depositing the money in the bank, he took it for himself. Then, he doctored the bank statements to make it appear as if the cash had been deposited. If Mr. Drury were to have found out…” Shay whistled.

  “Hold that thought,” said Quinto. “After we showed Wally the bank statements, he asked to see the rest of the files he’d brought me. I’d already gone through them and hadn’t found anything, so I figured what the heck? And wouldn’t you know it, the little guy noticed something on the shipping invoices.

  “For legal reasons, Drury Arms can’t deliver weapons shipments themselves. Not that they would for international deliveries anyway—it’s too expensive. So they use an official bonded carrier. They transport the weapons to one of the bonded carrier’s warehouses in the dock district, and that carrier takes it from there. But Wally said the addresses on the invoices were wrong. It was subtle. Same street, just a different number, with only two d
igits in the addresses swapped.”

  “Interesting,” I said. “So those were forged, too?”

  “Probably,” said Rodgers. “But here’s the thing. The mail that gets delivered to Drury Arms via courier is housed in a communal closet on the main floor. Anyone has access to it, so Reginald could’ve easily swapped forged bank statements for real ones. But the invoices are a different story. Mr. Drury writes the invoices himself, signs them, and gives them to Wally to be double-checked. This happens throughout the week as orders are processed. But the courier doesn’t come by to pick them up until Friday. So Wally stores them in one of his filing cabinets until the courier arrives.

  “Now, Wally claims to keep his office locked at all times, under direct orders from Thurmond Drury. We asked Wally if anyone else has a key to his office, and he claimed Mr. Drury is the only one. Also claimed he’s real careful with his own key—almost to the level of paranoia. Keeps the only copy on a chain around his neck at all times.”

  I tapped my fingers on my temple. “So…what? Are we supposed to think Thurmond Drury’s behind this? That he broke into his own accountant’s office and modified his invoices? Why would Drury tamper with documents he already signed and approved?”

  “It probably wasn’t him,” offered Shay. “Reginald was the accomplished forger, not Thurmond Drury. And we know he used to steal things for Occam Silvervein. He must’ve broken in and doctored the invoices.”

  I grunted. Something about the notion didn’t sit right with me. We’d found weapons, drugs, and forgery supplies at Reggie’s place—but not lock picks.

  “Well,” said Rodgers. “We should know who did the deed soon enough. We sent the forged bank statements and modified shipping invoices to a handwriting expert, along with the rest of the documents we found at Reginald’s place and a memo from Drury to Wally. Whether it was Reginald or Thurmond Drury who doctored those files, we’ll know.”

  “Good thinking,” I said.

  “We did get one more useful piece of information out of Mr. Fry, though,” said Quinto. “You know all those fat contracts Reginald scored for Drury Arms? The contracts that were supposed to have been cashed into the Drury accounts, but never were? Well, they may have bankrupted Thurmond Drury, but Mr. Drury’s suppliers still got paid. And for every single one of those contracts, Drury Arms used the same metals supplier—a local foundry conglomerate.” Quinto raised his eyebrows at me. “Want to guess which one?”

  Someone lit a candle in the dark recesses of my brain.

  “That wouldn’t be the one owned by Charles Talent, now would it?” I asked.

  Quinto nodded.

  The candle’s tiny flame roared into a giant bonfire.

  Shay gave me a sideways look. Maybe she noticed the smoke pouring from my ears. “Wait… You don’t think that—”

  “Actually, I do think that,” I said. “Rodgers, go talk to the Captain. Get a warrant for Persnickety Blaze—”

  “Perspicacious Blaze,” said Shay.

  “Yeah, whatever,” I said. “Rodgers, get the warrant and meet us at the fire mage’s place.”

  Rodgers gave me a look of confusion. “What? You want me to get a warrant for Charles Talent? Not Thurmond Drury?”

  “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

  Rodgers threw up his hands. “How am I supposed to justify that to the Captain without solid evidence? Or at least a reasonable theory?”

  “Use your imagination,” I said. “Pretend the Captain’s a young girl and charm him. Either that, or use your head and present him with a solid argument. Quinto, come with us. Before we stop at the Talent mansion, I want to make a pit stop at a warehouse a certain dwarf told me about. I want your muscle along just in case.”

  I used the blaze in my head as kindling to light a fire under everyone’s rears. I slipped my coat on, stopping only to check for Daisy, and headed for the door.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” said Shay as we left.

  “You, me, and the Captain makes three,” I said. “But I’ve got a good feeling about this. Just follow me and let’s see where it goes.”

  Shay and Quinto exchanged looks, but I didn’t let their skepticism stop me.

  41

  We elected to walk to the warehouse, partly because it was nearby and partly because there was no way Quinto would’ve fit in a rickshaw with me and my partner. The big guy was a handcart driver’s worst nightmare. At least he tipped well.

  The address Occam provided us with led to a commercial district southwest of the Pearl. Most of the city’s manufacturing resided east of the Earl, but a good amount of more service-oriented businesses called the west side home. Within a three mile radius of the Pearl, a keen-eyed observer could find everything from banks to greengrocers to bordellos, though not all on the same block.

  Rather, each neighborhood was specialized. Banks gathered on 1st, whorehouses on Flatley. Around my apartment, pipe fitters abounded. My grandmother would’ve said birds of a feather flock together. I tend to think more cynically. Price fixing is so much easier when your collusion partners are within earshot.

  The warehouse we were looking for hid within a colony of drapers, although a few haberdasheries had snuck in and made themselves comfortable. Walking down the street was like navigating through a foreign bazaar. Swatches of brightly-dyed calico, tartan flannel, and thick- and fine-ridged corduroy spanned the street overhead. Vendors hawked finer fabrics such as silk and lace from the confines of their shops where those with quick fingers would be less likely to make off with the goods.

  I pushed through a hanging wall of army green gabardine and found our destination. To call the place a warehouse was a bit of a reach. Four storage lockers with sheet metal roller doors, each about twice as wide as a set of outstretched arms, stared at me from the side of a four-story brick tower. I stared back. Reginald’s locker, as indicated to us by the head Razor, sat third from the left. A nice fat padlock clutched the latch closed.

  “Huh,” I said.

  Even though I’d burned shoe leather getting here, Shay and Quinto trailed me by only a few paces. Quinto held the green cloth aside for my partner before letting it fall behind him.

  “What is it?” asked Shay.

  I scratched my head. “Well…I was expecting something else, I guess.”

  “You thought it’d be bigger?” said Quinto.

  “Well, yeah, for one thing,” I said. I gazed toward the sky, absorbing the colorful drapery. “It’s also not where I expected it to be. I mean, does this look like the sort of spot you’d hold a clandestine meeting to swap illicit arms?”

  Quinto raised a finger as if to say something, but Shay beat him to the punch.

  “Actually, it’s perfect, isn’t it?” she said. “Occam said Reginald was obsessed with fancy duds. He probably felt right at home surrounded by all these fine fabrics. Plus, it’s a commercial district, so it’s probably quiet at night. Not to mention all the hanging cloths obscure the place from the cross streets. I’d bet you could smuggle pretty much anything into these lockups at night without anyone being the wiser.”

  I stared at my partner, thumb and forefinger pinching my chin.

  “Why are you giving me that look?” she said.

  “Nothing. I’m tempted to give you more praise, and I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. You want to check me for a fever?”

  Shay shrugged and held up her hands. “Really…it’s not that hard to figure out.”

  Quinto patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about Daggers, Detective. He exhibits these idiot savant-like qualities sometimes. He’s capable of great conclusions, but he usually doesn’t have any idea how he reaches them.”

  “The idiot savant in me doesn’t know if that’s an insult or a compliment, Quinto,” I said. “Now come on, help me get this padlock off.”

  Quinto and I crowded around the lockup’s latch.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have a key, now, would you?” said Quinto.


  “No. I was hoping you could chew it off,” I said.

  Quinto glared at me. “You know, if you’d given us a bit more time at the precinct, I would’ve grabbed bolt cutters.”

  “Hindsight is better than foresight—or so I’ve heard. You can talk to my partner to see how true that is.”

  Shay snorted.

  “Just give me that nightstick of yours,” said Quinto.

  “Daisy? My one and only love? You’ll treat her nicely, won’t you?”

  Quinto made the universal grabby hands gesture. I reluctantly handed over my hardened steel lady friend.

  Quinto took a swipe at the lock, but Daisy clanged off the steel, belting out a vibrating ring.

  “Come on big guy,” I said. “Put some muscle into it.”

  “You know, that’s not a bad idea…”

  Quinto rammed Daisy in-between the lock and the shackle. He squatted down and gripped her hard. He then hopped and drove the full force of his body down into his grip. The lock gave, but only a smidge. Quinto repeated the dance maneuver twice more before the lock lost its will to live. It sheared in half with a grinding pop.

  Quinto handed Daisy back and dusted off his hands. I inspected my love. Luckily, she’d survived with barely more than a dent. I stroked her, assuring her that evil Uncle Quinto wouldn’t hurt her anymore.

  Shay was giving me one of her looks again. “You’re weird, you know that?”

  “You’re too young to understand the kind of love that can exist between a man and his truncheon.”

  “Right… Whatever.”

  “Are you lovebirds done squawking?” said Quinto. “’Cause I’m interested in seeing what’s in here.”

  “Alright,” I said. “Everyone hold onto your butts. We don’t want to get knocked over by whatever’s in there.”

  “‘Hold onto your butts?’” said Shay. “Where in the world do you come up with this stuff?”

  “Seriously?” I said. “You’ve never heard—? Oh, never mind. Quinto, open the door.”