by S A Shaffer
David jumped when the operator spoke and a cheerful woman’s voice chirped through the speaker: “How may I direct your call?”
“Yes, could you connect me with Inspector Winston of the Capital City Police?”
“Do you have a first name?”
“Um … yes … it’s …” David shuffled through some papers on the desk as he racked his brain. “Um … Kenneth … Inspector Kenneth Winston of the Capital City Police.”
“One moment please.”
After a few moments the steam projector switched on and the inspector’s face shimmered into shape.
“Yes, this is Inspector Winston.”
“Inspector, this is David Ike of House Braxton’s Third District. I didn’t expect to get ahold of you so late.”
“Comes with the job, my boy, comes with the job. What can I do for you?”
“I’m calling about a death notice I saw in the newspaper. It reminded me of Paula Carbone’s case. Have you had any luck on Paula’s murder?”
Winston shook his head. “Not a single lead. I actually filed it away with the cold cases a few days ago while I wait for new evidence.”
“I might have just that. Have there been any reports made on behalf of the late Samantha Tori Samille?”
“Um …” Winston moved out of the projection and David heard him shuffle some papers. “I don’t have any reports in my office, but it could have been filed with one of the other inspectors. Hold a moment. I’ll check with the records office.”
The steam image froze as Inspector Winston placed the call on hold. David tapped his fingers on the desk and listened to his stomach growl. He hoped his hunch was wrong, but a feeling told him otherwise. Five minutes later Inspector Winston’s image shifted.
“Hello, Mr. Ike?”
“Yes, sir, I’m here.”
“You’re right. We do have a report on Ms. Samantha Samille.”
“What kind of report?”
“A murder report. I’m not sure on the details. Why is it you ask?”
David squeezed his eyes shut as he felt his pulse quicken. “Inspector, she was our secretary after Paula.”
“Blessed Maker. I have no note of that here. The investigative team must have missed it. Morons! Information like that could be a breakthrough.”
“It actually doesn’t surprise me. Samantha only worked here for a few weeks, and she did not leave on the best of terms. As it turns out, she was a political spy. No idea who she was working for, but it makes sense that she would bury any connection to her secretarial position after the scandal.”
“Well, I will certainly have a look at the evidence. I appreciate the tip.” The inspector looked as though he were about to cut off the call as he looked away.
David stopped him. “Inspector, if I came down there, might I have a look at the evidence?”
“Oh … well, I don’t see why not. Now that there is a viable connection between my case and this one, there shouldn’t any trouble transferring the evidence to me, as my case has seniority. An extra pair of knowledgeable eyes might make a difference.” The inspector rubbed his jaw.
“Excellent. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“What, tonight?”
“Sir, the census is less than two weeks away. If there is a connection between the two cases as we suspect, we might not have much time before the killer strikes again. I’m convinced it’s a political rival. I just can’t figure out who.”
“True. I guess that won’t be a problem. I didn’t plan on going home tonight anyway. I’ll have the evidence transferred, and we can look at it together. Ask for my office when you get here.”
David ended the call and raced out of the office. He ran straight for the taxi dock and didn’t stop to think until he was soaring through the air toward Capital City. If he spent much more money on air-taxies, he wasn’t going to have enough for rent. The taxi rustled through the air as wind battered its progress. Prumuveour Season rain tinkled as it struck the airship windscreen. Fifteen minutes later the taxi glided to a stop and docked against an old stone tower. The Capital City Police Department was one of the oldest towers in the city, as demonstrated by its solid-stone core and narrow windows. David paid the pilot and stepped out of the taxi into the pelting rain. He hurried across the dock—which more resembled a rampart than a skiff dock—and toward the police entrance. Once inside, David shook his head and mopped some of the rain out of his hair. He stepped up to a window and smiled at the receptionist. The room around him was little more than a hall with a door at the end, with one wall a long window looking into a receptionist office. The rotund secretary frowned at David from behind the iron bars and her thick glasses. Her look bespoke a person who, while at work, didn’t want to be bothered with any activity that involved the same. David knew her type, as he had met many similar people in the past three months of politics.
“Excuse me,” David said, “I’m here to see Inspector Winston.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“I believe so.”
“Unless he is expecting you, I can’t let you back after hours.”
“No, he is expecting me. I spoke with him not thirty minutes ago.” David kicked himself for his answer. If one were polite in the world of house workers, one would never achieve anything.
The woman sighed and swiveled her chair around to a registrar’s switchboard. She keyed in a code and David heard a man’s voice answer.
“Were you expecting a visitor? Very well.”
She pulled a lever without even looking at David or giving him instruction. One of the doors at the end of the hall clicked, and he had to run to open it before it automatically locked again. He stepped through the door and found a wide stone landing with four circular stone staircases leading up and down from the dim room. He looked around with some confusion, clueless as to which stairway or which direction led to Inspector Winston. He walked up to the first staircase on the right and looked up and down the dusky steps. David was about to try up that stairs when he heard some feet scuff behind him. He turned and saw Inspector Winston walking down the second staircase on the right.
“Ah, Mr. Ike. Good to see you. I see Miranda failed to instruct you. Don’t worry, it’s not you; she’s just like that. On her bad days she gives visitors direction to the prison ward. If you’ll follow me, I have all Ms. Samille’s evidence waiting for us.”
David hobbled after the inspector, shivering as the cold, dreary air blew across his damp clothes. As it happened, they walked down the same stairway that he had considered after entering the foyer. He put his metal hand against the wall of the circular staircase, as there was no handrail. He followed after Inspector Winston, each of their steps echoing around the stone confines even as David’s metal fingers scraped along the granite blocks.
They passed three floors before David spoke up. “Isn’t there a steam lift?”
“No. This old fortress predates the steam shaft. The police chiefs have always been something of traditionalists and resist any attempts to update. On the one hand, no prisoner has ever escaped this facility, so I can see the reasoning. On the other, all these steps do tend to wear out the knees.”
“I see,” David said.
He pondered the structure. It seemed the entire tower was constructed of carved stone, an impressive feat to be sure. Later, perhaps far later, someone had added electric lighting, yet only sparingly. As they passed floor after floor, he noticed that the staircase itself had no lights, which meant it was darkest at the middle of their descent between floors and then grew lighter as they approached the next floor. Finally Inspector Winston stepped out of the staircase and into a long stone hallway lined with doors. It was good that he did, as David’s weak leg ached from the exertion. They walked down the hall, passing door after door, each bearing a number along the top. They passed number 30 as they rounded a corner and David saw that the hallway extended at least a hundred fathoms into the distance.
David said, “We must be—”
“Underground, yes,” Winston said. “The police tower extends much farther down than it does up. Capital Island is an old volcano. Didn’t you know? Many of the old buildings were built into the stone crater cycles later, with all the modern edifices covering up the old-world structures. Century upon century of foundations gave the island a flat appearance, though it’s rumored that the ancient lava tubes still connect the entire city, but no one has ever proven it. Time does create the best secrets.”
David swallowed and looked at the floor’s flagstones as they walked down the hallway. “Volcano, huh?”
“Aye … and here we are.”
Inspector Winston stopped in front of door 82 and unlocked it. The first thing David noticed was the room’s bright light contrasting with the dingy hall. As he stepped inside, he shielded his eyes against the four lights that illuminated the small square room. Not only that, but it was a cold room—very cold. Once his eyes adjusted, he chanced a glance around and froze when he saw the table in the middle of the room. On it lay a woman, every part of her body covered by a white sheet, save her pale face.
“Oh, I guess that would be what the evidence is,” David said as he stared at the body.
“Messy business. Poor girl looks like she used to be a beauty.” Winston stepped up to the body without a hint of hesitation. He pulled a file from a neighboring desk and ran a finger down the page.
David inched closer to the table and looked at the pasty face poking out of the white sheet. He couldn’t see any of the former beauty there, despite what the inspector said. Lifeless eyes peered out of a ghoulish face, bearing no resemblance to the former seductress. Plump lips that were once ruby red looked stiff and blue, her upper one split. Her skin looked odd, blotchy, and pale.
“Well, well. It looks like we have a match,” Winston said as he turned a page in the file.
“A match?” David asked.
“Yes, same manner of death as your previous secretary, Ms. Carbone.”
“You mean Samantha was … tortured as well?”
Winston gave a short nod. “I’m afraid so … and in the same manner. See these lines.” He pointed to some stripes along Samantha’s neck. “Strangulation marks. Ms. Carbone had them too, as well as the extensive bludgeoning along the torso.”
Winston reached for the white sheet, but David stayed his hand and said, “I’ll take the medical examiner’s word for it, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Right. Apologies.”
“Which injury was the cause of death?”
Winston puffed out his cheeks as he turned another few pages. “Unknown. It would seem all the injuries contributed.”
“So … she was beaten to death?” David grimaced even as he said it. He was no fan of Samantha, but no one deserved to die like that, especially not a woman. Something about it prodded his inner manhood.
Winston replied, “That is the consensus of the examiner.”
David tore his eyes away from the face. “Where did they find her?”
“In an alley, much like the alley where they found Ms. Carbone.” Winston nodded as he turned pages. “Definitely the same killer.”
“Did she have any personal effects with her when they found her?”
“No … just a body in an alley.”
David gritted his teeth. What good did it do to know that the same person had killed both women if they weren’t any closer to knowing the identity of that person? What did they have to do? Wait until the killer struck again so they could collect more evidence? David felt sure it was the man in the shadows, the same man who had ordered the Prowler attack. However, earlier he had suspected that man in the shadows had also ordered Samantha to seduce Blythe. Had he then ordered her death to tie off loose ends? And what about Paula? Why did he have her killed?
David rested his chin in a hand and thought for a moment. “Does torture mean the killer was trying to get information out of them?”
“Not always, but as a general rule, yes.”
“So our political rival theory is still sound. Somebody wants to know what goes on in our office. I wish they’d just walk in and ask. It’s all pretty general stuff.” David folded his arms and sighed. “How much evidence is there on Paula?”
“A little more, some personal effects, but I inventoried her entire apartment a few weeks back. Even then the evidence was scant. The woman lived a simple life.”
“I’d like to see that evidence if I might. It seems to me that if they were tortured … and if they were tortured in order to gather information … and if both of them were in a position to know information on the Third, it would follow that there should be some sort of political evidence these women had in their possession. Perhaps I’ll see something in the evidence associated with the political office that might not mean anything to you.”
“Of course. I’m all ears on this one, but you’ll have to give me until at least tomorrow to pull Paula’s records from the cold cases.”
“Excellent. Give me a call when you have them available.”
The inspector nodded, then gave David a tight smile and shut the file. “Agreed. Anything else while you’re here?”
David shook his head, eager to be away from the dead body. Even looking toward the sheet made him feel dirty.
“Very well, then. I’ll see you to the door.”
David nodded, sparing one last look at Samantha’s ruined face before he turned and followed the inspector out the door. It was a somber walk back down the hall and up the stone stairs in the dingy lighting. Inspector Winston held the door for David as he stepped into the harsh rain and ran toward a waiting air-taxi. The evening sky was black as ebony iron, and the thick raindrops made even the closest lights appear as twinkling stars.
“Mr. Ike!” Inspector Winston called from the door just before David entered the back of the taxi. He stepped into the rain and walked up to David, ignoring the drops as they splashed off his shoulders. He looked uneasy as he opened and closed his mouth before he spoke. “It … It might be a good idea to tell the rest of your office staff to be careful until we can sort this out. Two identical murders usually means there’ll be a third.”
David managed a nod, but as the air-taxi door shut, he felt uneasiness creep across his skin like a shiver. Who would be next? Bethany? Francisco? Maybe Blythe himself. Not Mercy. Absolutely not Mercy. Merciful Jeshua, please not Mercy.
THE BUTCHER'S BILL
“Tortured?” Mercy said in a hushed whisper as she and David stood in the corner of the office at the refreshment station.
“Same as Paula,” David said, nodding as he handed her a cup of tea. “They were … beaten to death.”
Mercy set her tea down and stared at David for a long moment. Then she looked away, putting one hand over her mouth and stirring her tea with the other.
“Mercy, listen to me,” David said, daring to put a hand on her shoulder. “They tortured them because they wanted information from them—information from this political office. I know you think my man in the shadows is a crazy fantasy, but these murders aren’t. Someone is killing our office staff, and they will continue to do so until they get what they want. Why they chose our secretaries, I don’t know, but they will only get more brash as the census approaches. Do you understand what I’m saying? You need to be careful.”
Mercy didn’t look up from her tea. She continued to stir long after what was necessary. “I understand,” she said, still not looking up. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Good. Will you warn Francisco? I need to tell Bethany, but I’m not sure how. I feel like whatever I tell her falls out of her head.”
Mercy nodded with a snort. “I’ll tell them both. Francisco is my assistant, and I think Bethany might take it better from another woman.”
“True. And what about Mr. Blythe? Should I tell him?”
Mercy picked up her tea with both hands, probably for fear that her nervousness would make her spill. She took a sip as she watched Blythe’s do
or. “No. There are already some security measures in place to keep him safe. Telling him will only make him worry, especially since he and Samantha were … involved with each other. He doesn’t need that right now.”
David nodded, also looking toward the crack under Blythe’s office door. Even now he could see the shadow of the man pacing across the room. A lot rested on the representative’s shoulders, the future of Braxton House for starters. Even a strong man could only take so much.
“Well,” Mercy said with a huff. “As if we didn’t have enough to worry about this morning. How about those political contribution records? Are you ready to dive in?”
“Absolutely. I love a good audit.”
They walked back across the office toward their desks. Francisco had already moved a good portion of the records from storage into the middle of the room—business donations on the right and nonprofit on the left. Bethany sat at her desk, hard at work on some daydream as her head moved back and forth following Blythe’s shadow.
“How about I take the nonprofits and you take the businesses?” Mercy said. “We can record the names and donations in two lists. No need to give the auditors any more information than that. This order is illegal enough as it is.”
“Sounds good to me.” David grabbed the top box from the business stacks and sat down at his desk, ready for another long day. But before he could start, a deep sigh from across the room interrupted him.
Bethany looked up from her doodling and groaned. “This is so boring,” she said.
Everyone in the room paused what they were doing and looked up. David bit his lip to hold back a laugh.
“Bethany, why don’t you see about ordering us all lunch?” Mercy said in a motherly tone. “We will probably be at this all day.”
Bethany rolled her head around like she was stretching and then flopped down on her desk. She spoke from beneath a mess of hair, asking, “What do we want to eat?”
David worked through the boxes at a good pace, though he was a little distracted waiting for Inspector Winston’s call to tell him Paula’s evidence was in, but as time wore on, he fell into a rhythm. He’d open a box, pull out a file, write the business name from the file on a ledger, and move on to the next file. This same repetitive procedure continued for hours, but just before lunch a name passed David’s desk that he recognized. David had just opened a business file titled Braxton Industrial Investments. He penned the name in his ledger and was about to move on to the next file when he saw the name of the business manager: Lloyd Bentsen. David paused in his work. He knew that name, but where had he heard it before? Then it hit him: Lloyd Bentsen had a card on David’s wall at home. That was the first man Blythe had introduced David to on his first day of work. It was the man Blythe had been speaking with in his office when Paula gave David a tour. The business gave a sizeable donation—twenty thousand sterling—and right about the time that the construction of Public Pharmaceuticals and the transportation facility was announced.