Marion Lane and the Midnight Murder

by T. A. Willberg

  Marion examined David’s features, noticing more so than ever how hard and worn he appeared—the deep hollows beneath his eyes, the sharp angle of his nose, the roughness of his skin. She’d heard rumors of his upbringing, of how regularly he’d been involved in brawls and family disputes, one of which was said to have left his stepbrother with two black eyes and temporary hearing loss. Indeed, she’d experienced his unchecked temper firsthand during a shared afternoon in the Gadgetry Department where he’d lost his patience while assembling a microdot camera. She remembered watching the rage build behind his eyes as he fumbled with the delicate parts. Eventually it culminated in an outburst that destroyed both the camera and one of Professor Bal’s magnifying glasses.

  She wondered now, as she had many times before, what Frank and Nancy had ever seen in David worthy of recruitment, what skills he’d gained at a metalworks factory valuable enough to be considered for the apprenticeship.

  She wondered what made him tick. What might make him snap.

  She lowered her gaze to focus instead on the thing in his hand. At first she thought it was just a roll of parchment. But the longer she stared at it, the more details she took in. It was old and while apparently devoid of any script it appeared to be etched with lines of strange, silvery furrows that crisscrossed its surface at random. It was also tied by a thin strip of purple ribbon.

  The lift rocked and swayed as it slipped deeper belowground, and despite the cooling air, a film of perspiration formed on David’s forehead, reflected in the lift’s fluorescent light.

  He noticed her staring at the parchment and pushed it into his pocket. Out of sight. “I heard a rumor yesterday,” he said. His voice was fractured, blunt—just like his features.

  Marion’s throat tightened. She took a moment to answer. “Concerning?”

  “Word is, you’ve caused some trouble with Perry in the Filing Department.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He’s been called in for questioning regarding White’s murder.” He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t think that was your style, Lane. Thought you preferred to stay out of trouble, out of official agency business.”

  Marion moved farther into the corner. He must be lying, pushing her buttons?

  Relax. Don’t rise to it.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Apparently, he might get the sack now, which I suppose means he’s innocent. Doubt they’d fire a murderer. Bunch of imbeciles. You’d think they’d have figured it out by now, wouldn’t you?”

  “Figured what out?” Marion asked, the words escaping her with little consideration. She wanted the lift to stop. She wanted to be out in the open, away from him.

  “Who the killer is, of course.” He cast his eyes around the lift. The brakes were now screeching. It was coming to a stop at last.

  “And have you? Figured it out?”

  He didn’t reply, though his eyes glinted, the reflection of some dark thought, perhaps. He fiddled with the thing in his pocket.

  “What is that?”

  David’s features changed almost instantly. Gone was the sneer he’d worn moments ago. In its place was a flash of anger.

  The lift jerked to a stop and the doors slid open.

  It was clear David was trying to control himself, to hold back the wave of fury inside him. “As if you don’t know.” He pushed past her and into the corridor but paused a few yards on. He turned back. “This is between me and Hobb. So you mind your own business, you hear me?”

  Marion held back a shudder. “You’re threatening me?”

  “I’m warning you. Just stay the hell out of our business.”

  * * *

  Marion arrived at the cafeteria and waited. The room slowly filled with staff members and apprentices but Bill was nowhere to be seen. Once the buffet had been set, she served herself an egg sandwich and cup of coffee and settled at a table by the fireplace. It was only the second time since her recruitment that she’d eaten a meal without Bill.

  Our business.

  She flinched at the memory. What had David meant by it? He’d been trying to scare her off, of course. But from what? Something he believed she already knew, it sounded like. Something to do with the thing in his pocket. But why did he think she knew anything about it?

  Our business. David and Bill. He must have assumed Bill had filled her in. Except he hadn’t.

  She looked at her watch. Seven-thirty rolled by, then 7:45. Bill wasn’t coming to breakfast, just as he hadn’t arrived for lunch the day before. She picked at her food, then at her nails. The buffet table was cleared away and the cafeteria began to empty.

  She knew she was overreacting, that Bill’s scarcity over the past twenty-four hours surely meant nothing. He was just busy, or preoccupied. But still she felt ill at ease. Was it because she feared something was wrong, or because she felt slighted, left out?

  Since the very first day they’d met, she and Bill had been inseparable. They’d found comfort in each other’s oddities, the way neither quite fit in. They’d laughed at Maud and Jessica’s bickering, groaned at David’s snide remarks. They’d listened to the same programs on the wireless during their breaks and joked about the similarities between their awful relatives. They weren’t just friends. They were each other’s family at Miss Brickett’s. So why would Bill keep a secret from her? Why would he suddenly not trust her? Despite what Frank had said—that everyone had their secrets and should be allowed to keep them—she knew this was different. She knew Bill well enough to sense this wasn’t a secret he wanted to keep.

  She pulled her work roster from her pocket and unfolded it on the table. It was a busy day, as usual, but she had two free slots before lunch, which she’d spend in the library working on the character profiles for the Scorch case.

  She inhaled three times.

  Relax. David was just being his usual self. Bill is fine, he’s probably just busy with a project. Everything is fine. You have work to do. Concentrate on that.

  “Miss Lane, did you hear what I said?” Marion flinched, ripped from her reverie. She looked up. Edgar Swindlehurst was towering over her.

  “I’m sorry?”

  Swindlehurst’s stark, handsome features were already twisted with impatience. “I asked you how the character profiles are coming along?”

  Marion colored. She didn’t dare admit she hadn’t even started. “Very well actually. I’m almost done.”

  “Good, because I now need them to be submitted by the twenty-first.”

  “That’s Monday,” Marion said in disbelief. Finishing the profiles by the following Wednesday, as originally expected, was bad enough. Finishing them in six days when she hadn’t even started was quite impossible.

  “Yes. And?”

  She opened her mouth. She was really in for it now.

  “Would you like to know why?” Swindlehurst pulled a file from under his coat and threw it unceremoniously onto the table. Marion started to sweat. The file was stamped Human Resources, Employee Complaint Form. She stared at it but didn’t move. “Your colleague, Miss Shirley, has registered a complaint about the running of Intelligence.”

  Swindlehurst was searing. So much so that Marion actually shuffled backward in her seat. “She thinks Intelligence should free up some of its resources and time to concentrate on White’s case. Nancy agrees, which means I’m expected to present case progress reports on all our investigations to Rakes on Wednesday, so I’ll need the profiles before then.” His voice was low and rasping when he spoke again. “I’m reporting to Rakes now, can you believe that?”

  A rhetorical question, Marion realized. She waited for Swindlehurst’s mood to settle before she spoke, though there really wasn’t much she could say. “I’ll have the reports to you by Monday.” God knows how, she added to herself as he nodded and left.

  Later that
morning, Marion arrived at the library. She found an empty cubicle in the reading corner and immediately began the Tucker character profiles. It was tedious, intricate work but Marion pushed through, driven by the sheer terror of imagining herself arriving at Swindlehurst’s office on Monday empty-handed.

  She worked furiously for two hours before her thoughts started to drift, almost as if her mind was trying to work something else out in the background.

  At 12:40, she relented. She wasn’t anywhere near to finished with the profiles, but she’d got a start on them at least. She closed the file and pressed her thumbs into her eyes. They stung with exhaustion and frustration. She surveyed the forest of shelves surrounding her, long shadows cast on the marble floor like towering oaks in an afternoon sun. The only person who loved the library more than her was Bill, and often she’d found him cross-legged on the floor, his back resting against a shelf, a book on his lap. But of course he wasn’t here today.

  She stared vacantly ahead. Why was her recent encounter with David nagging her so, now especially, as she thought of Bill?

  Finally, she realized.

  It was the thing she’d seen in David’s hand. That strange-looking parchment. It had struck a flame of recognition in her mind the minute she’d seen it, though she couldn’t place why or from where. But she remembered now. It wasn’t that she’d ever seen it before. She’d heard of it.

  A roll of parchment, tied with a purple ribbon.

  Bill had spoken about it yesterday morning on their way to the Gadgetry Department. He’d asked her if she’d seen it anywhere.

  Someone was looking for it.

  She rubbed her forehead. Her thoughts were chaotic, unclear, and yet she felt close to it—the thing she had to understand.

  Voices drifted toward her from the southern wing of the library—the bar. One of them was Preston’s, the others were muffled and unrecognizable. Maybe Bill’s was among them.

  She reached the bar, entering through the door that connected to the library. The space was small and cozy with dark wooden furnishings, dim lighting and air that smelled of stale beer. Other than the common room and the cafeteria, it was the place you’d be most likely to find the apprentices during their breaks. The bar was run by a man the apprentices referred to as Harry-nobody (on account of the fact that no one knew his surname)—an elderly, gaunt-looking man who doubled as the agency’s head cook.

  Jessica, Maud and Preston were seated at the counter. No Bill. No David.

  “Wine?” Maud asked as she approached.

  “It’s the middle of the day,” Marion said, taking a seat.

  “My point exactly.” Maud smiled. “Harry? Two whites, please.” Harry groaned but poured the glasses all the same. “On me,” Maud said as Marion pulled out her purse.

  “Thanks.” She examined the dark room once more. Bill was definitely not there. But someone else was, someone she didn’t recognize. Seated alone several tables away was a tall, broad-shouldered man with light olive skin and a thicket of sandy blond hair. He was wearing a ridiculously bright, electric-blue shirt and white trousers. This brazen attire—coupled with body language that suggested he was surveying the room, watching, waiting—caused Marion to feel instantly unnerved, or perhaps intrigued. The man paused when his gaze settled on her. He tapped a forefinger to his head in salute. Was she supposed to know who he was? The stranger then cast his attention elsewhere, but she felt the heat of his attention linger. “Who is that?”

  Jessica chewed her lip. “Gorgeous, isn’t he?”

  Yes, she thought. “Odd, more like,” she said. “What’s he doing here?”

  “Apparently he’s just been hired, from New York, I think.”

  “He’s American?” Marion said, examining him again. “I suppose those clothes are fashionable over there?”

  Maud snorted. “Brilliant. Anyway, we were just talking about the murder.”

  “Oh, good,” Marion said sarcastically. She took a large sip of wine. It was awful stuff, cheap and acidic. Even so it seeped into her blood, dulling her thoughts. She took another sip.

  “Jessica reckons Nancy’s in on it. Covering something up,” Maud went on, her eyes shining. This was obviously not her first drink of the day.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Jessica said hurriedly. She looked at Marion. “That’s not what I said. I just said that I think it’s strange we’ve heard nothing more about it. We should be kept in the loop. At the very least, we should be told if they know who did it.”

  “If I were a betting man,” Preston intervened, now grinning almost as broadly as Maud, “I’d say it was Amanda.”

  Maud laughed, a thunderclap of delight that rattled through the otherwise still, stiff atmosphere.

  “I don’t see what’s funny about any of this,” Jessica said reproachfully. “And Amanda’s had a hard day. If any of you paid attention—”

  “A hard day?” Preston was unconvinced. He poured himself a beer without Harry’s assistance. “What’s happened? Her driver quit and she’s had to take the tube to work like the rest of us?”

  “She has a driver?” Maud’s voice rose several octaves.

  “Yeah, I’ve seen some bloke drop her off at least five times.”

  “Huh...” Maud finished her wine and gestured to Harry to pour another. He refused. She didn’t seem bothered. “Reckon he’s a lover?”

  Preston shook his head. “Impossible. Only a mother could love—”

  “Okay, come on,” Jessica cut in. “I’m serious. Something happened in Intelligence and I think she’s at risk of losing her position there. Just a miscommunication, I think. Apparently, Amanda went to Nancy with a few things she thinks Rakes and Swindlehurst could improve upon on the administrative side—”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Maud said.

  “Amanda thought she could do a better job than someone? Doesn’t sound like her,” Preston chided.

  Jessica ignored them. “The whole thing seems to have caused another feud between Swindlehurst and Rakes, and now Nancy’s reconsidering Amanda’s position.”

  “Good,” Marion said, unable to stop herself. “It’s thanks to her I’ll have to work overtime every night this week.”

  Jessica frowned but didn’t ask for an explanation. “Anyway, my point is, I think we should go easy on her.”

  “Well, shit,” Maud said, thick with sarcasm. She looked at Preston. They raised their (empty) glasses. “To Amanda.”

  Jessica sighed and turned to Marion, surveying, seeming to read her thoughts. It was unnerving, as usual. “You seem agitated.”

  “I’m fine.” Marion averted her eyes. She was not in the spirit for Jessica’s frustratingly accurate observations. She looked over her shoulder. The stranger in the corner had left.

  “You don’t look it. Someone’s upset you?”

  “No. Really, I’m fine.”

  Jessica was unrelenting. “I’m finding it difficult, too. I’m sure everyone is. We’re expected to just carry on as if nothing’s changed.” She waited. Her eyes flickered and shone; it was impossible not to feel that, under their watch, you could say anything.

  “I’m just tired. And stressed,” Marion finally admitted. “And I think there’s something going on with Bill, but he won’t tell me what—”

  Jessica drew in a breath. Marion wasn’t sure what this meant, but her attention was momentarily diverted to Amanda, who’d just entered the bar.

  “Wine?” Maud asked again, this time directing the question at Amanda. Unlike Marion, she didn’t resist in the slightest.

  “You all right, Mands?” Preston asked without much sincerity.

  Amanda turned to Marion. She looked at her with contempt. “Would’ve been if we weren’t short-staffed for the morning shift.”

  It took Marion a while to realize Amanda was talking to her specifically. “What are you looking at me f
or? I was stationed in HR this morning.”

  “I’m talking about your friend Hobb. He was supposed to be on duty with me and Jessica but conveniently he had to run off.”

  Marion’s pulse quickened. She waited for Amanda to elaborate.

  “Tell him to try a better excuse next time.”

  Marion put down her glass. “What are you talking about?”

  Amanda frowned, something between confusion and irritation. She looked briefly at Jessica. “Urgent meeting with Marion. Ring any bells?”

  Marion opened her mouth. Her throat was dry. Her mind firing a mile a minute.

  “Crap...” Jessica opened her purse and pulled out a folded note. “So sorry. Bill said to give this to you.”

  “When did you see him?” Marion’s voice wavered.

  “This morning, on my way to Intelligence. Would have passed it on sooner but I forgot...” Jessica began to explain how she’d been so busy in Intelligence and so distracted with everything she’d been tasked with.

  Marion heard none of it. She unfolded the note.

  Mari,

  Sorry I missed you at lunch and breakfast. I’ve been caught up in something and I need your help. I should have said so sooner but things are complicated—it’s about David. I’m really worried. Meet me in the common room at eleven and I’ll explain. Please don’t be late.

  “Jesus, Jess!” Marion looked at her watch. It was nearly one.

  “I’m sorry. Mari...what’s wrong?”

  Marion jumped up, addressing the group. “Does anyone know where David is?”

  Everyone stared at her.

  “He took leave for the day, as well, apparently,” Amanda said.

  “No, he didn’t,” said Preston. “I saw David after breakfast. Said he had a meeting with Bal at one.”

  “Hang on...” Jessica said after some time. She frowned at Preston. “David’s meeting Bal?”

  Preston shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “Meeting him in the Workshop? Today?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know where.”

  Marion looked anxiously at Jessica. “What?”