I found Gibson first, talking to a man I didn’t recognize, and flagged him down. “Innis was the guard on duty tonight.”
Gibson nodded, already ahead of me. “Just spoke with him. He says he locked and unlocked the baggage car, but otherwise didn’t enter it. He did do a check once during the trip in and had a smoke break outside on the back of the passenger deck before coming in.”
The man standing nearby piped up. “I’m service attendant on the train, ma’am. I can vouch that I saw him twice in the passenger car. Once as we were setting off, another time about five minutes before we pulled into station.”
But that left a good thirty or forty minutes with him out of sight. The alibi wasn’t as solid as this man was making it out to be. “I see. Does he normally take a smoke break on trips like this?”
“Sometimes, ma’am. I think he lingered back there longer this time because we had gold on board. Wanted to keep an eye on things.” The man sighed. “Not that it did any good. Thieves still got on and off quick-smart despite that.”
Yeah, my spidey sense was tingling. Something wasn’t adding up there. I shared a look with Gibson and could tell he saw the hole as well. I mentally shrugged. We could always come back to Innis if my hunch was correct. “Okay. I’m searching the area first.”
“Go,” Gibs encouraged.
My senses were much better, of course, after Belladonna’s modifications. I was of two minds still about everything she’d done to me, but I had to admit there were times when the superior speed came in handy. Or the strength. This was a moment when my heightened night vision was a good thing. I didn’t need a torch in my hand as I walked through the area, searching intently for any nook or cranny someone could stuff a bag of tools into. Nothing leapt out at me.
The nose wasn’t as helpful tonight. Maybe Foster or Clint would have better luck, but all mine could pick up was smoke, oil, people, and the strong tang of salt brine from the sea. We were near the coastline here, as Bristol sat right on the curve of the continent. I knew that from memory. Gibson and I had come out this direction before. Although with all the buildings in the way, I didn’t have a prayer of seeing it.
We were spread out. I could see Henri and Gibson both at work, searching in different areas. I tried to think of the logistics. Assuming I had fifty plus pounds of gold coin on my body, and tools to get rid of, how far could I walk before dumping the load of tools? Or would I keep them? How far could anyone go, carrying that much weight, before the train station was locked down?
The rule of thumb on guesswork like this was to take your most feasible assumption and then double it, just in case. I assumed someone could at least gain the street outside, maybe even cross the street, before the alarm went up. So, I had to assume they could have gotten a block away.
Hopping back onto the platform, I moved out of the station’s area. The side gates leading out directly onto the street were all locked of course, but the main doors were unlocked and guarded. I went through the rectangular building and out the main door, nodding to the policeman on watch, stepping free onto the street outside. Here it was calmer, most people at home or dinner at this time of night, and I breathed in deeply. It felt nice to get the scent of oil out of my nostrils, although I didn’t pick up any clues in the process. Just the scent of water and brine from the sea, several streets over.
There were trash basins nearby, as well as narrow alleyways, so I started poking around in those. I ranged from one side of the street to the other, but no dice. I didn’t see anything that even hinted at the robbery. Seriously, had they kept the tools? Ditched them somewhere else?
The pad in my pocket buzzed a little chime and I pulled it out, angling it a bit toward the lamplight to read Gibs’ blocky writing better.
Foster found bag of tools. Go to waterfront.
I punched the air in victory before writing back a quick okay. Finally, a break. I lost no time in running there, hopping the low fence that separated the coastal road from the beach. At least it was a proper beach instead of a sheer drop. That was a plus for us, as it made things easier to search.
Right before I left the grassy area for sand, Henri threw up a hand to stall me. “Careful. We have foot prints I’m trying to preserve.”
“Oooh, footprints too?” I asked, peering over his shoulder. Henri was on his haunches, a camera in one hand, a diagnostic wand in the other. The footprints were in loose sand at this point, and I frowned at them. It apparently hadn’t rained here, and there was nothing to form a footprint with. “You’re barely able to tell size with these.”
“Hmm, true. The ones closer to the water have more definition, but I’m taking a trail of photos to link them together. Just in case.”
He’s thorough that way. And often, that thoroughness pays off. “Okay. I’ll be careful not to tread on them. Foster! You are the man of the hour.”
The werefox gave me a smug grin, tail wagging happily behind his back. “I’m glad I checked. I almost didn’t, as this is a bit of a jaunt from the trainyard.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t have thought they’d come out quite this far either. What made you come out this way?”
“I kept thinking of places it’s easy to lose something in. The ocean kept popping to mind and I thought it wouldn’t hurt. When I got here, there was this neat set of footprints leading straight in and out, which looked odd to me. The beach is otherwise pretty clean.”
True, it was. This wasn’t really a beach-going spot. Too much gravel and dirt to make it pretty and picturesque. The harsh way the waves smacked against the jumbled stones lining the water also said it wasn’t a peaceful place to take a dip. It smelled a little off, too, somehow a bit rank. Although that could have been my over-sensitive nose.
I looked about again, taking in the scene better. The moon wasn’t especially bright tonight, and there were no street lights nearby. Only the lights from the few businesses still open on this street shone on the water. A dark, murky place to go. It had taken me five minutes to run it. Fifteen or twenty minutes for a person to walk it, especially heavily burdened. Foster was correct, this was the perfect place to dump incriminating evidence.
Someone had thrown up some mage lights at some point, and they hovered overhead like little round light bulbs, bobbing slightly in the breeze. Gibson had found a tarp from somewhere, and both Kingsmen were carefully pulling out each tool from a carpet bag that looked soaked to the gills. Gibson photographed each item, then Foster placed it in a neat row, both of them wearing gloves. I made a note to get prints later even as I scooted closer to take a look from the side.
Clamps. Stick of red wax. Seal with a wooden handle. Three charms, now so sodden with sea water the ink was running, making it difficult to determine their purpose. Two linen bags turned out to contain lead shot.
Lifting his head, Gibson observed to me, “They were prepared to take more gold than they did. We’ll have to double check if they stole the full shipment of gold this time.”
“Yeah. But it looks like they did. Foster, anything else in there?”
“A mallet. That’s about it.” Proving he was a sharp cookie, Foster sat back on his heels and asked, “Where’s the keys? Or lockpicks? They kept those?”
“Probably. Why throw away something hard to attain and that would be useful later?” Gibson took the last photograph and set the camera down on the tarp before calling to Henri, “Any luck?”
“Shoe’s a common size, looks like a workman’s boot,” Henri called back, head still bent over the footprints. “I’ll have to run some tests to get anything more than that.”
I looked over the array of clues again, not entirely satisfied. I didn’t think they would help us much. “What this does tell me is that our thieves are long gone. If the one who had to carry gold and ditch the tools made it all the way here? They escaped the lock-down.”
Gibson grimaced. “You’re probably correct. But we’ve got to check them anyway.”
“Yeah.” I caught Foster’s eye and
waved him forward. “Come with me. Let’s speed things up and release people. And if you spy Clint, call him for me. Henri, you good here?”
He waved me off. “Fine. I’ll catch up momentarily.”
I figured.
“Kingsman, a moment.” Henri pointed a wand at Foster, his cadence quick and light. “Water and sand, be as you are, rest as you once were.”
Foster’s pants and shoes dried instantly, and the werefox gave Henri a thankful duck of the head. “My thanks, Doctor.”
“Not at all.” Henri flashed him a smile before his attention went back to the footprints.
Foster caught up with me and we crossed the mostly deserted coastal road at a quick jog before slowing to a brisk walk to cross the rest of the distance. I kept ears and eyes open for a certain mischievous cat. He hadn’t gotten distracted by mice, had he?
“Is that typical?” Foster asked out of the blue.
“I’m sorry?” I pulled my attention back to him.
“Dr. Davenforth’s kindness just now,” Foster elaborated, a complex expression on his face. “Does he normally do things like that without prompting?”
“Generally speaking, yes. Henri’s a gentle soul, and he’s very thoughtful of the people around him—assuming his head isn’t buried in some complex problem.” I sensed something was amok here, although I couldn’t put my finger on what. I decided to press the point subtly. “You know, it’s the reason why I partnered with him to begin with? I had three bad partners in a row, stupid idiots who thought that because I was a woman, I’d be fine with casual deviant sex.”
Foster choked and tripped over his own feet, eyes wide and appalled.
“Yes, quite,” I intoned sarcastically. “Henri was just as livid when he learned of it. He was a gentleman with me from day one, by far one of the best partners I’ve ever had. And I include my homeland in that. He really shouldn’t be my partner, technically, as a Magical Examiner.”
“I did wonder about that,” Foster admitted.
“I made a case for it because I trusted him. Captain Gregson was tired of me punching out fellow detectives. It worked out all around. But yes, Foster, Henri Davenforth is one of those delightful people who doesn’t carry around silly prejudices and knows how to be thoughtful of the people around him.”
He dwelt on that for a bit, walking at my side, then finally spit it out, “My previous supervisor was always on edge with me. Distrustful, quick to find fault. It was stressful, to say the least, working under her. Kingsman Gibson didn’t hold being a werefox against me. He liked the work I did. He was the one who encouraged me to apply.”
I did and didn’t follow this. “I’m sorry, back up. There’s a prejudice against werefoxes?”
“Yes, Detective, most weres are accepted by society, but there’re a few who are…tolerated. I suppose that’s the best word. Werefoxes are one of them. As a race, we tend toward mischief that often lands us in trouble. The prejudice proceeds us that we aren’t reliable workers, even though we’re not all like that.”
“Stereotypes rarely fit an entire culture,” I observed. “And if you got Gibs’ approval, you’re certainly not like that. I can positively say I’ve enjoyed having you with us. We’re a bit shorthanded trying to manage this case and look—you’ve even found us our first real clue.”
Foster brightened perceptibly at that. “I did, didn’t I? That’s heartening. I really want to stay with the Kingsmen. I want for this post to work out well.”
“I think it already is. At the very least, you’re not going to have trouble on this case. Frankly, Henri and I don’t care what race you are.” I remembered being that young, that new to a field, and all the uncertainty it involved. I’d have to find subtle ways to shore up his confidence.
Out of the darkness barreled a purple furball, giving me zero warning before launching from the ground and into my arms. I gave an oomph as he landed, his whiskers quivering in delight. “You’ve been hunting mice, haven’t you?”
He looked up at me with the supreme confidence only cats and queens could manage. “Only one.”
“Only one, huh. Well, while you were out hunting, Foster actually found the bag of tools.”
Clint’s ears immediately went flat as he shot Foster a betrayed look. “You did?”
Foster had a fist up in front of his snout, manfully trying to stifle a chuckle and failing. “Sorry, Clint. I really did. Footprints, too.”
Clint deflated a little more. “But was bad mouse?”
“The justification doesn’t really help you,” I informed him, also trying not to laugh. “Come on, we have a line of possible suspects to get through. Put your nose to work, see if anyone has lots of gold on them.”
His ears popped back up at this possibility of redemption. “Okay!”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him the possibility of that was slim to none. He’d figure it out on his own in due time.
The line was much thinner when we got back to the station. Perhaps eighty or so people were left, most of them looking exhausted and done in. I zeroed in on anyone who had children. They especially were the least suspicious and needed to go home more than anyone else. My cat got distracted two people in as the kids reached out to him in fascination. His purrs could be heard all over the platform as he got belly scratches. I’d have scolded him for once again getting distracted, but he was acting like a good therapy cat, and it calmed people down some.
With Foster and I helping, we got through the rest of the line before it hit nine o’clock, and people thankfully trudged off, complaining about the delay as they went. I hardly blamed them for that, especially as this whole thing turned out to be fruitless.
I met up with the other officers, giving the six men and women standing there a smile. “Thank you so much for your help. I’m glad to report we did catch a break here. We found footprints, as well as the tools they used. Hopefully, it’ll help us figure out who these thieves are.”
A ragged cheer went up among them.
I gave them a casual salute with two fingers. “Thanks for your hard work. Let’s hope we catch the dastards before they strike again.”
We spent the night at a local hotel, hard beds and all, and were up again with the sun. I did not feel exactly refreshed, and pulling on yesterday’s clothes didn’t do me any favors in that regard. Although Henri had done me the favor of hitting them with a cleaning spell the night before. Still. Principle of the thing.
Henri voted we split up, as he wanted to drag the baggage car back to Kingston so he could unleash all his diagnostic tools on it. In fact, he was out the door and on the morning train before I could even get breakfast, taking Clint with him. Foster went back to Kingston as well, leaving just me and Gibson.
Gibson looked over his coffee cup at me, both of us sitting in the hotel’s dining room, and quirked an eyebrow. “Well, what do you want to do?”
“There’s two things I want to follow up on here,” I informed him as I slathered butter over my toast. “And then I think we can join the boys back home. First, I still have that burning question of how common it is for the guards to work multiple shifts. Innis doing so and working so many days in a row bothers me. Second, now that we have a wax stamp, I want to see if we can trace where it was bought. Is this a common, everyday thing, or was it made for this purpose?”
“Both good questions. I think the easiest one to tackle is the station schedule. The station master here is Josef. A helpful sort, I’ve found.”
“Good. Makes this easier.”
We finished up breakfast and crossed the street, as we’d taken the nearest hotel last night, and the station really was that close. The place was already busy, the early commuters on their way, the rest heading off to various destinations. Gibson led the way to the back of the main, square building. It was much quieter in here, although the din of the train whistles, voices, and padding feet were still audible, if muted, through the walls. It was also rather claustrophobic with the dark wood paneling and sm
all hallway.
A small sign protruded over a door that read simply Station Master. Gibson stopped there and gave the door a rap.
“Enter!”
“Pardon us, Master Josef,” Gibson stated as he swung himself inside. “We’ve got a question for you.”
“Of course, please come in.”
I came in behind Gibson and got my first look at the man. He was a were…mouse? Big grey ears, button pink nose, round face, and whiskers that twitched as I entered. I’d heard of weremice before but I had to admit this was definitely a first. They weren’t exactly a common race.
Gibs waved a hand between us. “Master Josef, my colleague, Detective Edwards. She’s a consultant for the Kingsmen and handles the weird cases. Like this one. I’ve recently brought her on, and she’s still catching up to full speed. She had a question for you.”
“Please, do ask, Detective,” Josef encouraged in his soft, squeaky voice. “We’d dearly like to put an end to all this nonsense.”
“My sentiments exactly, sir. Just one question. We’ve been reviewing everyone’s schedules and I noticed that guards sometimes work extra shifts. Sometimes several days in a row. Is that common?”
“It comes and goes in waves,” Josef answered with a shrug. His round eyes were shrewd, though, and he clearly wondered what the question was about. “Sometimes, like now, we’re shorthanded. We’ve had a few accidents with our guards or illnesses, so we ask our employees to help cover the gaps. Sometimes they trade shifts among themselves when one or the other needs the day off. We don’t mind such. Is there a problem?”
“No, I’m questioning everything right now,” I assured him half-truthfully. “I’m trying to wrap my head around exactly how it all works. Thank you, that was my only question.”
“Please do let me know if I can be of further assistance.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that.”
Gibson and I left at that point, but the answer still whirled in my head. It explained things, of course, but it still felt off to me. That was a lot of days in a row for Innis to have worked that he didn’t necessarily have to. Who covered for another for more than a shift at a time?
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