by Dan Willis
“Except when you’re blind drunk,” he retorted.
“Don’t be crude,” she admonished him as she pulled her long, black cigarette holder from thin air.
A few moments later, the breakfast arrived, and they sat where they’d been the previous night but with the breakfast trolly between them.
“I think we should meet back here tonight,” Alex said between bites of bacon and toast.
“I told you not to make passes this early,” Sorsha said, though she had a half smile when she said it.
“I mean to coordinate on the case,” Alex explained. “You said that if Director Blake catches the faintest hint that you and I are working together, it could be bad for you.”
Sorsha’s face grew serious, and she nodded.
“I’d forgotten about him,” she admitted. “I probably shouldn’t have called for breakfast. Blake has informants all over town. He probably already knows you’re working for Tiffany Young.”
Alex shrugged.
“So? He doesn’t know you’re here now…or what we talked about. We’ll just carry on separately and meet up to compare notes.”
Sorsha shook her head.
“We can’t see each other,” she declared. “You need to go out of your way to avoid me. If you learn anything, leave it with Sherry. I’ll call your office every day at five and get whatever you’ve got from her. If I find anything, I’ll pass it on the same way.”
Alex sighed. Sorsha was blowing the danger out of proportion, which was usual for her. Of course, it was her consulting job on the line, so Alex couldn’t really argue with her precautions.
“You do remember what happened last time you didn’t want to be seen with me?” Alex asked.
She gave him a frosty look and he actually felt the temperature in the room drop several degrees.
“Yes,” she said in an unamused voice. “You started dating another girl.”
“You have to admit, it was the perfect way to throw people off the scent.”
“I don’t care how well it worked,” Sorsha growled. “I expect you to stay away from young, beautiful, single women.”
“Don’t worry,” Alex laughed and shrugged. “There’s no chance of that. I don’t know anybody in town.”
Sorsha held his gaze for a long moment, then went back to her breakfast.
Before Alex could resume his own meal, there was an urgent knock at the door.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Sorsha asked.
“No,” Alex said, then he gave her an exaggerated look of concern. “Maybe it’s Director Blake.”
Sorsha shot him an unamused glare, but she did hide in the bedroom as Alex went to open the door. When he did, he found young, single, beautiful Zelda Pritchard in the hall. Her blonde hair was disheveled, and it was clear she was upset.
“Oh, Alex,” she cried, throwing herself into his arms. “You have to help. The most dreadful thing has happened.”
“Uh,” Alex managed as she clung to him, burying her face in his chest. He couldn’t see Sorsha hiding in the bedroom, but he could guess what she was thinking right now. “What’s the matter?”
“The museum’s been robbed.”
13
Looming Peril
“Take it easy, Zelda,” Alex said, trying to pry the distraught girl off his chest. “Tell me what happened.”
She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears.
“There was a robbery last night,” a male voice came from the hall.
Alex looked up, expecting to see Zelda’s valet, Hector Cohan, but instead he found another man. He was average height and a bit paunchy with dark black hair and a strong chin. As he approached, he stuck out his hand.
“I’m Lyle Gundersen,” he said. “I’m the Deputy Curator of the Smithsonian Institute.”
“So what happened?” Alex asked, trying to find a polite way to pry Zelda off his chest.
“Someone broke in and ransacked one of our exhibits,” Gundersen continued as Zelda wept into Alex’s shirt. “They also killed a night guard.”
“The police are baffled,” Zelda said, looking up at him. “You have to come, you have to help.”
“Uh,” Alex managed. He could almost feel the temperature in the room dropping as Sorsha fumed, out of sight. He needed to extricate himself from this situation, and quickly.
“I’d love to help,” he said, “but this isn’t my town. I very much doubt the police will let me just show up and start poking around.”
“Please, Alex,” Zelda implored him. “The Smithsonian needs you.”
Before Alex could reply, Lyle spoke up.
“I can guarantee police cooperation with your investigation,” he said. “We have a large amount of pull with the local officials. There are many important citizens on our board of directors.”
Alex looked down into Zelda’s imploring eyes and sighed.
“All right,” he said, finally managing to push Zelda back to arm’s length. “Let me get my coat and my crime scene kit, then we’ll go over to the museum and have a look, okay?”
“Oh, Alex,” Zelda said, her eyes sparkling. “I knew you’d help. You just had to.”
Alex stepped back, letting the pair into his room to wait.
“I’ll just be a moment,” he said, looking down at his mascara-stained shirt.
He left the door to the hall open, then retreated to the bedroom. He was not surprised to find Sorsha glaring at him with her arms crossed. The fact that most of the room was covered in frost was a bit of a shock, however.
“Who is she?” the Sorceress hissed through clenched teeth.
“Her name is Zelda Pritchard,” Alex whispered, not wanting to be overheard. “I met her on the airship from New York.”
“And you just happened to tell her all about how you’re a great detective and impress her enough that she came looking for you?”
Alex’s spare shirts were actually in his vault, so he opened his red book and quickly tore out a minor restoration rune.
“She’s a museum patron,” he explained. “She knew about me from that the Almiranta robbery. I guess she’s a fan.”
Sorsha’s expression relaxed, and she actually smiled. Her eyes, however, began to shine with the tell-tale light of her power.
“That wouldn’t have been an overnight airship journey,” she said, touching the rune paper Alex had stuck to his shirt and setting it alight.
“It was,” Alex said as the rune removed the stains of Zelda’s mascara. “And before you ask, I slept alone.”
Sorsha’s smile became predatory.
“I’ll just bet Zelda was very disappointed by that.”
Alex rolled his eyes, hoping his girl didn’t realize how close she was to right.
“Hey,” he growled under his breath. “You wanted it to look like we weren’t colluding on the Young murder.”
“So you’re going to date that child out there?”
“No, but I am going to take her case,” Alex said, grabbing Sorsha by the arm and giving her a hard look. “We’ll walk around the museum, I’ll let her hang on my arm, and lots of people will see.”
Sorsha pulled her arm away from him, crossing them angrily.
“I suppose that is a good cover,” she admitted with a scowl.
Alex turned to go, but Sorsha grabbed his lapel and pulled him back around to face her. Her eyes were glowing again, and she pulled his head down and kissed him.
Kissing Sorsha was always a rush, but this time Alex felt a wave of pure magic go coursing through him. It only lasted a moment, and it left his body tingling in its wake.
“Something to remind you who you’re actually dating,” she whispered, bringing her mouth close to his ear. “And if you ever kiss that teenager, I’ll make you regret it.”
Five minutes later, Alex exited the main elevator of the Hay-Adams Hotel with Zelda and Lyle Gundersen in tow. He started across the lobby, but caught movement out of the corner of his eye.
“Would you excuse
me for a moment,” he said to his companions. “I’ll be right back.”
Leaving them standing by the front doors, Alex crossed to one of the lobby’s large couches where a man in a dark suit had just stood up.
“You’re here bright and early,” Alex said to Connie Firenze, and the mobster buttoned his coat.
“You have a habit of moving around at odd hours,” Connie said. “I was going to come up after eight.” He nodded at Zelda and Lyle. “What’s all this?”
Alex quickly explained about the museum robbery.
“So you’re taking another case?” the mobster growled when Alex finished.
“Easy, Connie,” Alex said. “That guy over there is the Deputy Curator of the Smithsonian and he’s assured me that he can get the police to cooperate with my investigation.”
“So what?”
“So,” Alex said, lowering his voice. “They said a security guard was killed during the robbery. I imagine by now his body is over at the city morgue.”
Connie’s angry scowl slowly vanished, to be replaced after a moment by a conspiratorial grin.
“And you’d have to go look at the body, wouldn’t you?”
“I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t,” Alex said. “Now, I’ll go to the museum and look around for an hour or so, then I’ll ask to have a look the body. Meet me in front of the morgue around nine-thirty and we’ll see if we can’t figure out how and, more importantly, where Sal Gerano was killed.”
“You think they’ll let me in?”
“Sure,” Alex said. “You’ll be my assistant. They won’t even look at you twice.”
“All right,” Connie said, most of the suspicion gone from his voice. “Nine-thirty it is.”
Alex started to turn away, but Connie caught his elbow in an iron grip.
“But if you’re trying to play me, Alex,” he said in a quiet voice. “I’ll make sure you get a slab next to Sal. Capiche?”
Alex nodded and Connie released his arm. As he continued on toward the door and his waiting companions, Alex tried to ignore the fact that he’d already been threatened twice this morning and it wasn’t even eight o’clock.
The Smithsonian Museum was housed in an enormous brick building known as the Castle. In truth, it looked like a castle, so the name wasn’t as creative as Alex had first believed. It had a central rotunda with several wings radiating off it where the various exhibits were housed.
Zelda and Lyle led Alex through the rotunda and down the main hallway to the rear of the building where another set of wings stretched out to the right and left. He’d expected to be taken to a room where the museum’s various collections of gold coins and precious gems were kept. Instead, his guides turned down a hallway that was lined with industrial machinery. Alex recognized a few items, including a woodworking lathe and a cotton gin.
In the back corner, there were three policemen in blue uniforms standing around something that looked like the guts of an oversized upright piano. A slender man in a pinstriped suit was there as well, talking earnestly with one of the uniforms, who was jotting notes in a flip book just like Alex’s.
“Here we are,” Zelda said, tugging on Alex’s arm. “Isn’t it awful?”
Alex was genuinely at a loss for words. Not only didn’t he see anything in the entire hall that he would consider to be worth a thief’s time, he couldn’t tell what had actually been stolen.
“What?” he said.
“They took the cards,” Zelda said, her voice dripping with malice. “They were original pieces. How could someone do that?”
Alex wasn’t sure what the thief had done yet, so the how wasn’t high on his priority list. What he did know was that during the time the thief had done whatever he did, someone had been killed.
“Let me explain,” Lyle said, sensing Alex’s confusion. “This is a Jacquard Loom.”
He paused and Alex shook his head.
“Sorry Mr. Gundersen,” he said. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”
“It’s the first truly modern weaving machine,” Lyle went on. “It automates weaving patterns, even very complex ones, using wooden cards with holes drilled in them.”
As he spoke, he pointed to a mechanism with several long needles that were mounted so they could move through holes in the frame around them.
“The cards are all attached together in a long chain and as the machine weaves, they are pulled up here. Each needle is attached to a string and, if the needle is stopped by the wooden card, it lifts its corresponding string.”
“That’s how it makes the pattern,” Zelda finished. “Isn’t it fascinating?”
Alex was sure it would be if he had any interest in weaving…or if he were very drunk. What he didn’t understand was why someone would kill for a few bits of wood with holes drilled in them.
“Okay,” he said, not believing the words that were about to come out of his own mouth. “You’re saying that someone stole a bunch of wooden cards from an antique loom? Are they that valuable?”
Lyle nodded.
“The cards are original, part of the acquisition when we purchased this loom,” he said. “They’re almost one hundred years old, so they’d be quite valuable to a collector.”
“Of old looms?”
“You wouldn’t believe the strange things people collect,” Zelda said.
“Tell me about the murder,” Alex said.
Lyle turned to the detective in the pinstriped suit and waved him over.
“This is Lieutenant MacReady,” the deputy curator introduced the man. “Lieutenant, this is Alex Lockerby, the man we told you about.”
MacReady gave Alex the once-over, sizing him up. It was clear he didn’t like private detectives, but Alex’s expensive suit seemed to give him pause. Washington was a town run on money and power after all, and they usually came together.
“Pleased to meet you,” MacReady said, holding out his hand for Alex to shake. “I’d appreciate any light you could shine on this business.”
Alex shook the offered hand. He could tell MacReady still didn’t like him, but he was willing to make nice in case Alex had friends in high places.
“What happened to the night watchman?”
The Lieutenant flipped through his notes, then pointed up toward the ceiling. A long row of skylights ran the length of the room, bathing the exhibits in the bright light of day.
“Near as we can tell, the thief pried open one of those and came down on a rope,” he said.
Alex was impressed. The ceiling had to be fifty feet above the exhibit floor.
“Where’d they exit the building?”
“That’s the thing, Mr. Lockerby,” MacReady said. “As far as we can tell, our man left the same way he entered. All the exterior doors have bolt locks with keys, and they were all still locked this morning.”
“There’s no way the thief made that climb,” Alex said, still looking at the ceiling high above. “He must have taken the guard’s keys.”
“That’s what I thought,” the lieutenant said. “But the guard didn’t have a key to the doors.”
Alex didn’t believe that, and it must have shown on his face.
“That’s museum policy,” Lyle jumped in. “Night guards are locked in by the person in charge at closing time. That way, no guard could function as an inside man for a robbery.”
“So no keys,” Alex said, looking back up at the ceiling.
“And no rope,” MacReady said. “When Mr. Gundersen got here this morning, there wasn’t any rope hanging down from the skylight. We had to send a man up there just to figure out which skylight they opened.”
“They?” Alex asked. “You think it was a team?”
For a big heist, like the one aimed at the treasure of the Almiranta, you needed a crew, but big crews tended to attract attention. Stealing a couple of cards that would fit in a sack was a one-man job, even if you did have to climb fifty feet of rope.
“We think the thief had a couple of men on t
he roof to haul him up,” MacReady explained.
“That would make it easier to get out,” Alex said. “But why split the take with a couple of haulers? Why not just break a ground floor window and escape that way?”
“There are bars on all the ground floor windows,” Lyle Gundersen pointed out.
“Also, our thief wasn’t alone down here,” the lieutenant said, motioning for Alex to follow him. “He’d need help getting out.”
MacReady walked around the loom to the aisle where the three uniforms were standing. As Alex followed, he could see they were protecting a patch of the concrete floor that had been smeared with a dark substance. Alex’s stomach turned as he realized it was blood.
A lot of blood.
“What happened?” he asked.
“This is where we found Michael Halverson, the unfortunate night guard. The first officer on the scene said it looked like someone hacked him up with a machete.”
That explains the blood loss.
“When the coroner arrived,” MacReady went on, “he said the man had been mauled.”
“Mauled?” Alex scoffed. “By what, a bear?”
“Wolf or large dog,” MacReady said.
Zelda made a noise in her throat and turned away.
“Why don’t you take Miss Pritchard to your office and get her something to drink,” Alex said to Lyle. “I’ll look around here and join you as soon as I can.”
The Deputy Curator nodded and took Zelda’s arm, leading her off toward the front of the building. Alex turned back to the lieutenant, who wore an amused smile.
“Now I see why you didn’t object to having me on this case,” Alex said. “It makes no sense. If you’re right, our thief shimmied down fifty feet of rope with a wolf under his arm, killed a guard, stole something worthless, then climbed back up and hauled the wolf up after him.”
“That’s just about the way it looks,” MacReady said. “The chief is on the Smithsonian board of directors, and he wants this case solved, so any insight you can give would be greatly appreciated.”
And if Alex bungled something, MacReady would point to him as the reason the case didn’t get solved.