by Dan Willis
“I need to know who’s leading the investigation into the death of Senator Young,” Alex said. “Not the FBI, but the local police. Do you think Dustin could, or would, tell me that?”
Julian’s perpetual grin turned slightly predatory.
“You? No,” he said, shaking his head. “We concierges, however, share information regularly. I’m absolutely certain he would tell me if he knew. He would never betray the confidence of a guest, of course, but the police are tramping around making a mess of his hotel and bothering his guests. I’m certain I can get you a name.”
Alex pulled a twenty out of his wallet and passed it to Julian.
“I need that as soon as possible,” he said.
The twenty vanished into Julian’s pocket and he gave Alex a small bow.
“Right away, Mr Lockerby.”
Alex quickly copied Colton’s strange shopping list into his flip notebook, then put the alchemist’s notepad and the receipts onto the side table inside his vault door for safekeeping. As he picked up the blank receipt with the five hundred written on it, he paused. It had been blank except for the number, he was certain of that. Now, however, there was a circle with a plus sign inside it in the upper left corner.
The lines of the little pictogram were dark and solid. It would have been impossible for him to miss it before, so where had it come from?
“The revelation rune,” he muttered as the truth hit him. The symbol must have been on the paper as an impression from a previous paper, or maybe as a faint pencil mark. Whatever the case had been, his rune had affected the receipt as well.
Alex copied the symbol into his notebook along with the number five hundred, then added the receipt to the drawer. He’d only just closed it when there was another knock on his door.
“Alex,” Andrew Barton said as soon as the door opened. “What a day! The Board of Commissioners is going to fund not one but two towers to distribute power over the city.” He swept into the room and made a mock bow to Alex.
“Congratulations,” Alex replied.
“Nonsense,” Andrew said. “I owe it all to you and those amazing runes. I can hardly believe we can just link back to Empire Tower and power whatever we want wherever we want. It’s fantastic.”
Alex almost blushed under the weight of such praise.
“I’m going to stay in town for a few more days,” Andrew went on. “Maybe a week. There are details to hammer out, contracts to sign, and plans to oversee. You can head back sooner than that if you want, but I need you to do something for me first.” Andrew reached into thin air and pulled the heavy power test box into his arms. “Take this thing,” he set it heavily on the floor, “and go around town taking readings. I want to make sure the links will work no matter where we put the towers.”
Alex didn’t relish lugging the heavy tester around, but then he remembered he could just put it in his vault, and open the door to get it out wherever he wanted to take a reading. He’d have to close the door first, since his vault was connected to Empire Tower itself. If the vault was open the connection would throw off his reading. That said, vault runes were easy to write, so it wouldn’t be a problem.
“I’d be happy to,” he said to Andrew. “How many readings do you need?”
“Let’s call it an even dozen,” Andrew said, taking a step toward the door. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got a dinner date and I don’t want to keep her waiting.”
With that, the sorcerer swept out of the room, closing the door behind him.
In the wake of Tiffany Young’s visit, his fight with Sorsha, and meeting Lucky Tony Casetti, Alex had quite forgotten about the reason he was in the city in the first place. Since he planned to work on both of his new cases that evening, he was glad Andrew had a date to keep him busy.
Alex donned his overcoat, then opened his vault again and lugged the heavy power tester inside. He was going to the Fairfax Hotel up by Embassy Row, so he’d take a reading there. It would give him a good excuse if Sorsha saw him.
9
Proof and Politics
The Fairfax Hotel was an eight-story edifice of red brick on the corner of Washington’s Embassy Row. As a result it catered to an international clientele, one that wasn’t thrilled to have their hotel full of uniformed policeman and suit-clad FBI agents.
“Are you the private detective?” a pudgy, red-haired man asked as Alex stepped out of a cab. The man had a round face with lines that indicated he usually wore a smile, though that was conspicuously absent at present. Like Julian, the red-haired man wore an immaculate silk tuxedo with gold cufflinks and shoes polished to a gleaming shine.
“You’re Dustin Mills?” Alex asked.
The man nodded, taking Alex by the elbow and leading him away from the curb.
“Justin said you might be able to help the police with their investigation and get them out of my hotel,” Mills said.
“I’ve been hired to find out what happened to Senator Young,” Alex said. “I might be able to point the police in a new direction so they’re out of your hair. I just need to know who’s in charge. He’s the guy I have to convince.”
The Fairfax concierge gave Alex a suspicious glance, then sighed with resolution.
“Come with me,” he said and turned to the main doors of the hotel. Once inside, Alex saw a knot of police officers in blue uniforms gathered in one corner of the lobby. Several men in suits were there as well, and none of them looked happy.
“That’s him,” Mills said, pointing to one of the suited men. “Detective James Norton. He’s in charge of the police investigation.”
“You sure?” Alex said, studying the man. His suit was rumpled, and he looked soft, like he spent more time behind a desk than in the field.
“Oh, yes,” the concierge said. “He’s very unhappy about the FBI’s involvement, as he tells anyone who will listen. Trust me, Mr. Lockerby, that’s your man.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mills,” Alex said, handing the man a fiver. “Do me a favor and tell him he has a call on the hotel phone.”
Alex made his way to the front desk as the concierge moved to speak with the detective. Most hotels had a courtesy telephone for guests on or near the front desk and the Fairfax was no exception. A single telephone sat on a shelf in a wall niche just to the left of the main desk. Alex took up a position near it and leaned on the counter to wait. A minute later the detective appeared, rounding the end of the front desk and heading for the phone.
“Hello?” he said, picking up the receiver. A look of consternation crossed his face, and he repeated his greeting.
“There’s no phone call, Detective Norton,” Alex said, still leaning with his back to the counter. “I arranged a little privacy so we could talk.”
Norton looked Alex up and down with an appeasing eye. The police detective was just as rumpled and unkempt up close. His face was soft and jowly under a mop of black hair that ran down in front of his ears to a day’s growth of unshaved beard. He had a stain of some kind on his tie, his shoes were scuffed, and the battered fedora he carried in his hand hadn’t been blocked in quite some time. The only part of the man’s appearance that gave Alex pause were his eyes. They were a lustrous brown and seemed focused and sharp, as if the messy exterior was merely some kind of façade or disguise.
“Oh, yeah?” he said, his voice somewhere between annoyed and belligerent. “Who the hell are you, and what makes you think I want to hear anything you’ve got to say?”
Alex was ready for this response and he handed over one of his business cards. Norton read it, then scoffed.
“Well, what do you know,” he said, looking up from the card to Alex. “Those muckrakers at the Capital Dispatch finally got something right. I read that the widow Young had hired some hot shot, out-of-state dick to help her beat a murder rap.”
“I suppose the tabloids did help, in a way,” Alex admitted. “Mrs. Young saw that story, same as you, and sought me out this morning.”
“Doesn’t make any
difference,” Norton said, handing Alex’s card back. “The powers that be want this case over and done with. They got a note from the Senator’s mistress confessing to poisoning their food and they’re just itching to declare this case solved. As soon as she wakes up, they’ll put the kibosh on any investigation, so you can tell your client she’s free and clear. The FBI is satisfied.”
“But not you,” Alex said. It was a statement rather than a question.
Norton chuckled.
“No,” he admitted. “Not me. My money’s on your client. I was the one that told her about her husband’s affair.”
“Let me guess,” Alex interrupted. “She wasn’t surprised.”
“Not one bit. She knew he was stepping out on her, and if she knew,” he paused, letting the implication hang in the air for a moment. “If she knew, I’m betting she finally decided she’d had enough. In any case I don’t buy that the mistress poisoned the food, letter or no letter.”
Alex nodded, following the detective’s train of thought.
“If she meant to kill herself, then why is she still alive?” he said.
“Exactly. Did she have second thoughts halfway through the soup? It doesn’t add up.”
“So you’re betting that once she wakes up, she’ll deny the whole plot,” Alex said. “Say she’s never seen the confession letter before.”
Norton nodded, then poked Alex in the chest with his index finger.
“And when that happens, everyone’s going to look at your client, Mr. Fancy Private Dick.”
“What if the mistress claims she wrote the letter?” Alex asked.
Norton sighed.
“Then the FBI gets their wish,” he said with a shrug. “Case closed. They’ll probably declare it closed no matter what happens. The murder of a U.S. Senator is bad for everyone in this town.” He turned and started to leave. “See you round, Lockerby.”
“Detective,” Alex called after him. “One more thing, if you don’t mind.”
Norton hesitated for a long moment, then turned back.
“What is it?”
“Let’s say for a minute that Senator Young’s mistress didn’t try to kill herself and her lover.”
“Then your client did,” Norton said, matter of fact.
“What if she didn’t?” Alex suggested. “What if she knew about her husband’s proclivities and simply didn’t care?”
Norton scoffed but his eyes narrowed at Alex. Clearly he was thinking about what such a scenario would mean.
“If the poisoning and the confession were staged,” he said, rubbing the stubble on his chin, “and the wife didn’t do it, that would mean someone murdered a U.S. Senator and set the mistress up as their patsy.”
Alex gave the man a conspiratorial smile and leaned in as if not to be overheard.
“That’s the kind of case that could make a career, don’t you think?”
Norton’s eyes hardened and he sneered at Alex.
“You’re grasping at straws, Lockerby,” he growled. “What is it you want?”
“Access to your case files,” Alex said, as if that were the most normal request in the world.
Norton laughed at that.
“Figures,” he said. “I knew you were buttering me up for something. You can forget about that, or any other help from me. I got enough trouble with the Feds sniffing around, looking to shut me out. I don’t need some clever dick muddying the waters any further.”
“Think about it, Detective,” Alex said, putting a restraining hand on Norton’s arm as the man started to turn. “If I’m right, my client is innocent, but in order to prove that I’ve got to find out who actually killed Senator Young. Once I do, I’ll need to gift wrap this case and then make sure the word gets out so Mrs. Young will be officially off the hook. Now I can call the papers, and they’d certainly be happy to print the story for the public, but I’d rather have someone on the inside. Someone who could take this case to the feds and get them to back off. Someone official.”
“Someone like me?” Detective Norton asked, a sarcastic tone infusing his voice.
“Look, Detective,” Alex said. “Mrs. Young isn’t paying me to get my name in the newspapers, and frankly, that’s fine by me. All she wants is to find out who offed her husband. You, on the other hand, could be helped a great deal if your name showed up in the papers.”
Alex widened his smile, trying to be as persuasive as possible. He was having to work too hard for this. It felt like Norton was three seconds from telling him to go to hell.
“You know that article in the Capital Dispatch said you work with the New York Police Department,” the Detective said, his eyes boring into Alex. “You offer them the same deal?”
Alex grinned and nodded.
“Call the Manhattan Central Office of Police and ask for Lieutenant Danny Pak,” he said. “After you talk to him, talk to Captain Frank Callahan. They’ll tell you.”
“Boss,” a man’s voice interrupted.
Alex turned to find the two other detectives hurrying over. The younger of the two looked worried, but the older man simply looked resigned, as if expected bad news had finally come to pass.
“What is it?” Norton demanded.
The man who had spoken gave Alex a nervous look but only for a second.
“One of the uniforms got a radio call,” he said. “Helen Mitchell just died.”
Norton’s teeth clenched together so hard that Alex could hear them grinding.
“Damn it,” he swore.
Alex knew the name, but it took him a minute to put it together.
“Senator Young’s secretary?”
Norton nodded and swore again.
“It’s the FBI’s case now,” he fumed. “They’ll declare the confession to be genuine and that’s that.” He waved at the other two detectives. “Go get the car. There’s no reason to stick around here.”
Norton waited until the men had gone, then he turned back to Alex.
“I was just starting to buy what you were selling,” he admitted. “Probably a good thing it’s all over now.”
“Is it?” Alex asked.
Norton’s scowl broke into a grin and he laughed.
“You can’t fight the Feds, Lockerby,” he said. “Especially on their turf.”
Alex shook his head and leaned in close. He would have to talk fast if he had any hope of convincing Norton to help him.
“Assume for a minute that you’re right, the mistress didn’t poison the food,” he said.
“Then the widow did.” Norton said. “We’ve been through this.”
“And if it was someone else,” Alex postulated. “Then they killed Senator Young for a reason. Now, if you went to all the trouble of arranging a murder, and framed a patsy, and that patsy didn’t die, what would you do?”
Norton nodded, catching Alex’s train of thought.
“I’d make sure to tie up my loose end,” he said.
“According to the papers, Helen Mitchell was supposed to make a full recovery,” Alex pointed out.
Norton rubbed his chin again, clearly wavering.
“I’m not just a detective,” Alex went on. “I’m also a runewright. I’ve got magical means to find evidence others can miss. What say you and I go have a look at the room that Helen Mitchell died in? See if there’s anything to see.”
“Assuming the FBI doesn’t throw us out,” Norton said.
“Your man said you got a radio call about the death,” Alex pointed out. “It’s possible the FBI doesn’t even know about it yet. There’s a good chance we can look at that room before they get there, but only if we hurry.”
“What if there’s nothing to find?” Norton said. “I’d be taking a hell of a risk bringing you to a crime scene.”
“If there’s nothing there, then the FBI’s version of the case is the final one,” Alex said with a shrug. “No one will care what some D.C. cop did after it was over. But if there is something to find…”
Alex stuck out his
hand for Detective Norton to shake.
“You sure you can find any hidden evidence?” the detective asked.
Alex nodded and pushed his hand a little closer to Norton.
“Mr. Lockerby,” he said, with steel in his eyes. “I may live to regret this, but I’m going to go have a look at the room Miss Mitchell died in, and I’d like you to come along.”
He grasped Alex’s hand and shook it firmly.
“Detective Norton,” Alex said, shaking back. “I’d be delighted.”
The police had put Helen Mitchell into a private room because of her involvement with the murder of a Senator. A uniformed officer had been stationed outside the room, but based on the sturdy chair and the stack of dime novels on the floor, the guard hadn’t been paying too much attention.
“What happened?” Detective Norton asked the man when he and Alex arrived outside the room.
“Dunno,” the officer said with a shrug. “Someone comes by every half hour or so to check on her. The last one found her dead.”
“And only doctors or nurses went in?” Alex asked. “No one else?”
The cop gave Alex a quick once over but must have assumed he was FBI because he just shrugged.
“Nobody.”
“Find the doctor in charge,” Norton told the man. “I want to know her cause of death.”
The cop looked like he was about to argue that the poison was what had killed Helen, but he just shrugged again and turned away.
“Okay, scribbler,” Norton said once the cop was out of earshot. “I’m sure the FBI is on their way over by now, so let’s make this quick.”
Alex opened the door and they went in. The room was small, just space enough for a bed with an I.V. stand beside it. A chair stood against the wall with a small table that held a vase of freshly cut flowers, and there was a wardrobe cabinet affixed to the wall by the door. A white porcelain sink stuck out beyond the wardrobe, and Alex could see a mirror attached to the wall over it. The bed was empty, though the sheets had not yet been stripped, and there were two pillows on the floor.