In Plain Sight

8 The Ultimatum

Alex spent most of the night replenishing his rune book, taking apart the hinges that kept it together and replacing the torn out pages with new ones. Work was still the best way he knew to burn through anger, and he was angry. Somewhere in New York lurked the person responsible for the death of Father Harrison Arthur Clementine. The thought made his fingers itch. As soon as the sun was up, he would start chasing down the identity of Charles Beaumont, possible thief. He had no magic to aid him this time, so he’d have to do it the old fashioned way, but someone out there knew something about Beaumont. Sooner or later Alex would find him.

His anger kept him working until well after two in the morning. He hadn’t had anything to drink during his long night, so when a pounding in his head woke him less than six hours later, he couldn’t figure out what it was. Finally the sound resolved itself into a pounding on the door.

“Wha’sit?” Alex managed as he rolled out of bed onto the floor.

“Are you alive in there?” Iggy’s voice came through the door.

Alex didn’t reply, dragging himself to his feet instead and shuffling to the door.

“All right,” he said, releasing the bolt and pulling the door open. Outside in the hall, Iggy stood dressed in a very British tweed suit with a book under one arm. “What is it?” Alex demanded.

“Cops are here for you,” Iggy said, nodding toward the stairs. “They’re not very polite, so I left them waiting in the vestibule.” His mustache turned up into a grin.

The brownstone’s vestibule was a space between the front door and the house proper where visitors could remove their hats and coats in inclement weather. It had a tiled floor with a mosaic of Manhattan Island on the floor. A glass door set into a glass wall were all that separated the vestibule from the house proper, but the runes on the glass made it virtually unbreakable. If Iggy had locked the door before coming up, then no one but he or Alex could unlock it again.

“What do they want?” Alex asked, vigorously rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“For you to come with them to police headquarters,” Iggy said. “They’re most insistent. Should I keep them waiting?”

Alex rubbed his face and felt his unshaven scruff. “No,” he said. “Tell them I’ll be down in a minute.”

Iggy shrugged and headed back downstairs at a leisurely pace. Alex grinned at that. He suspected Iggy had been a private detective himself at some point; he certainly had the skills down pat. He also possessed a healthy dislike of run-of-the-mill uniformed policemen.

There wasn’t time to shower or shave, so Alex ran a comb through his hair and put on a clean shirt. His shoulder holster hung over the back of his overstuffed chair, but he passed it by. The police seemed upset about something and he had no desire to antagonize them. He did want access to the weapon, so once he was fully dressed, he opened his vault and left it inside.

There were three policemen waiting in the vestibule for Alex. Two were uniformed officers, while the other was a detective Alex didn’t know. The uniforms were a mismatched pair, one tall and lanky, the other built like a fireplug. The detective was middle-aged and paunchy with a permanent sneer on his face. All of them seemed sullen and angry. Alex stifled a grin. They’d wanted to roust him out of bed personally and yell at him to hurry up dressing before hauling him off to the station. It was a common enough intimidation tactic, though Alex had no idea why they’d want to use it on him.

“Hello boys,” Alex said, unlocking the vestibule and opening the door. “What’s the good news?”

One of the uniforms reached out to grab him, but jerked his hand back with a curse when it crossed the threshold of the door. Alex grinned openly this time. He stepped into the vestibule and shut the door behind him. This time the officers each grabbed one of his arms.

“Think you’re cute?” the detective sneered.

“My mother always thought so,” Alex said. He wasn’t sure what this was about, but he wasn’t going to let this little puke of a detective think he was in charge. At six foot one, Alex was taller than all of them.

“Well your mother ain’t here,” the detective said. “Captain Rooney wants a word with you down at Central.”

With that he turned and reached out to open the front door, but stopped. He remembered what happened to the squat officer when he’d reached for Alex.

“I’ll get it,” Alex said, tearing his arm free of the tall officer and opening the door. They needn’t have worried. There weren’t any runes keeping people from leaving the house, only from entering.

The officers bundled Alex in the back of a cruiser with the fireplug on one side and the detective on the other while beanpole drove. The car had an antenna on the roof that collected power from Empire Tower to run its electric motor. The sorcerer William Todd had given the New York police over one hundred of these cars as a goodwill gesture. That, and to annoy Rockefeller, who was trying to make his crawler magic work in smaller vehicles like cars. The two had been feuding for years and the police had benefited from it. Todd had even given the department a small number of experimental flying units he called Floaters, but despite their obvious advantages, they were slow and difficult to maneuver, so the police didn’t use them much.

The central station for the Manhattan office of the New York police department was located halfway between Empire Tower and the park. It stood ten stories high and housed most of the Island’s officers, detectives, and facilities. The office of Captain Patrick Rooney was on the tenth floor. Rooney was responsible for all the detectives on the island and had a dozen lieutenants under him, each responsible for a section of territory. Unlike Lieutenant Callahan, Rooney had gotten his job the really old-fashioned way — he was the son of a senator. Like most political appointees, Captain Rooney didn’t care about the actual police work, so long as nothing made him look bad.

As far as Alex knew, he hadn’t done anything high profile enough to get on Rooney’s hit list. Still, whatever the Captain wanted to see him about must be bad or he wouldn’t have sent his personal goon squad to bring Alex in. They escorted him up to the tenth floor and then to the back of the building where the Captain’s office was.

Rooney was a big man with big hands, big feet, a big nose and a big opinion of his own importance. He stood six feet three with broad shoulders, pale skin and red hair that he kept close-cut. When the sneering detective opened the door, Rooney’s face was already red as a beet. There were half a dozen people in the room, including Callahan and Danny Pak.

“It’s about time,” Rooney roared. “What kept you?”

“A septuagenarian doctor,” Alex said with a completely straight face.

“Did you search him?” Rooney asked with a gleam in his eye.

The detective patted Alex down and reluctantly reported that he had no weapons. The crestfallen look on Rooney’s face gave Alex pause. He hadn’t looked around at the others in the room when he’d been brought in, but a quick look told him that they were all trying very hard not to be noticed, even Danny. Whatever got Rooney all steamed up, it was bad.

“So,” the Captain said, focusing his attention on Alex. “What do you have to say for yourself?

“Well, I’m a Sagittarius, an above average poker player, and a fine judge of liquor and women.”

A chuckle ran around the room and Rooney swelled up like he would burst, then mastered himself and sat down behind his desk. Whatever he was mad about must be serious for him to exercise such self-control. Alex had probably made it worse with his wisecrack, but at least now he knew the waters in which he was swimming.

“You’re a funny man, Lockerby,” Rooney said, his voice quiet and even. If anything it was more disturbing than his yelling. “I wonder how funny you’ll find it when I charge you with obstruction, interfering with a police investigation, destroying evidence, and anything else I can think of?”

Alex had long ago mastered his poker face, so he just smiled, but his mind reeled at Rooney’s declaration. If the Chief could make any of those charges stick, true or not, Alex would lose his investigator’s license at best, or at worst, go to jail.

“Now why would you want to charge a nice guy like me with anything like that, Captain?” Alex said. “You know I stay out of your investigations unless you invite me in.”

“I never invited you anywhere, you charlatan,” Rooney growled, his temper edging back. “That was your friend over there.”’ He nodded in Danny’s direction. “If he wasn’t a damn good detective, he’d be directing traffic by the park right now.”

So whatever this was about, Danny had brought Alex into it. The only job they’d done recently was the murdered customs agent, Jerry Pemberton.

“I take it you didn’t catch Mr. Pemberton’s murderer at the customs warehouse?”

Rooney’s fists clenched so tightly that his fingers turned white. He had been enjoying Alex’s bewilderment and now his toy had been taken away.

“No, we didn’t catch him,” Rooney said. “And you knew that all along, didn’t you?”

Now Alex really was confused.

“I didn’t tell him how to evade your men, Captain,” Alex said. “If he got away, I’m sorry, but I had nothing to do with it.”

“You knew no one was coming,” Rooney roared.

Alex looked at Danny and the detective shrugged and shook his head.

“Don’t look at him,” Rooney said. “He’s in enough trouble because of you. You sent us to that warehouse on a guess and it turned into a wild goose chase. Do you have any idea how much it cost to put men on that building for the last thirty-six hours? I had to get special permission from the Mayor, and the Governor, because foreign governments have shipments in there.”

So that was it. Staking out the customs warehouse required the Feds’ involvement. Rooney and the Mayor stuck their necks out because catching someone breaking into such a secure and important location would make them look good. When no one came, Rooney had egg on his face.

Damn political appointees.

“Maybe they’ll come tonight or tomorrow.” Alex said.

Rooney’s face screwed itself up into an ugly smile. “Everything in that warehouse has been picked up by the rightful owners,” he said. “The entire layout has changed from that drawing Pemberton made. No one’s coming.”

Alex felt the first pangs of real fear. Rooney’s neck was on the block and he was looking hard for a patsy. A smart-mouthed, consulting runewright detective was the perfect target. Still, he wasn’t in handcuffs, so Rooney must have something else in mind.

“Get to the bad news,” Alex said.

“You really are too smart for your own good, Lockerby,” he said. “The bad news is that the Chief of Police wants to see me in his office at ten o’clock, Monday morning. He’s given me until then to justify the warehouse stakeout by finding Pemberton’s murderer. If I go into that meeting without the guilty party and an ironclad case, I’m giving the Chief you, Lockerby. And not just you,” he said, looking at Danny. “Understand?”

Alex understood. He had four days to solve a case where he must have missed something. And, if he failed, he’d take Danny down with him.

“In that case,” Alex said, putting his hat back on. “I’d better get to work.”

“The rest of you get out, too,” Rooney said.

Alex left the office first, but lingered by the elevators. The other detectives and the two officers gave him dirty looks as most of them headed for the stairs, but Callahan marched right for him with Danny Pak in tow.

“We need to talk, Lockerby,” he growled under his breath. He pushed the elevator button and a moment later the three of them were descending toward the first floor. As soon as the doors closed, Callahan rounded on Alex.

“I don’t know how this case went sideways, scribbler, but you’re about to cost me one of my best detectives.”

“This isn’t Alex’s fault, Lieutenant,” Danny said.

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is, Detective. The Mayor is howling for someone’s head, and if you’re not careful, it’s going to be yours.”

“Relax, Callahan,” Alex said with a confidence he didn’t feel. “Danny and I will find your killer.”

“Who said you get to appropriate my Detective?” Callahan said with a sneer. “You’ve already done enough damage.”

“Danny’s head’s on the block just like mine, Lieutenant,” Alex said. “If you really want to keep him, you’d better give me all the help you can.”

Callahan’s jaw tightened at that, but he nodded. “Go with Lockerby,” he said to Pak as the elevator doors opened.

Danny followed Alex out.

“One more thing, Lieutenant,” Alex said, catching the grate as Callahan tried to close it. “Did you ever find out anything about Charles Beaumont?”

“You’ve already got a case to solve,” Callahan said, pulling the grate closed. “No,” he said before pulling the lever to ascend. “We’ve checked pawn shops up and down the east side and no one knows him. It’s a dead end. Now get to work.”

Alex and Danny watched the elevator rise up out of sight, then turned toward the front doors of the building.

“Where do we start?” Danny asked, following Alex out.

“Breakfast. Your friends dragged me out of my bed this morning.”

Alex and Danny took a crawler all the way back to the stop near the brownstone.

“You brought me all the way over here for this?” Danny said when they stopped in front of The Lunch Box. “Alex, this place is a dive. Trust me, I’m a cop, I know a dive when I see one.”

The diner was made from a converted trolley car that sat on an empty corner just a few blocks from the brownstone. It had been painted red some time ago, but now the paint and the lettering above the door were faded and peeling. Inside, a long counter ran almost the entire length of the building with a row of booths up against the outside wall. Alex slapped Danny on the back and led him inside.

“Trust me,” he said. “I hear they just got a really good cook.”

Behind the counter sat a bored-looking woman at least fifty years old. Her shirt was stained from years of working the counter and her hair was done up in a messy bun. A faded nameplate pinned to her shirt read Doris.

“Hey Sugar,” she said in a bored voice when they entered.

“Doris, it’s been a while, how’s that husband of yours?” Alex asked.

“Still a cheating bastard,” Doris reported. “The usual?”

“Did Mary get a job here?” he asked.

“You mean the new cook?” Doris shrugged. “Yeah, she’s in back. She does look like your type. You want me to get her?”

“Please,” Alex said, then he led Danny down the bar and took a stool near the middle.

“Poached eggs,” Mary said, coming out of the back. “Can you believe it? Max gave me the job.”

“I’m sure you earned it,” Alex said. “This is my best friend, Danny Pak.” He pointed to the detective. “This is Mary. She makes a mean poached egg.”

Danny’s eyes lit up at the sight of Mary, and he stood.

“Charmed,” he said, taking her hand.

“What’ll you have, handsome?” she asked Danny.

“I hear the poached eggs are good,” he said. “I’ll have that with some sausage and hash browns.”

“Adam and Eve on a log and spike the oval,” Mary said. “Got it.”

“I just want pancakes,” Alex said, not bothering to repress a grin and Danny’s reaction. Mary really was quite pretty.

“And one short stack,” she said. “By the way, thanks for the rune,” she said over her shoulder as she headed back to the kitchen. “My stockings have never been better.”

“Hey,” Danny said, elbowing Alex. “How come you never give me useful runes?”

“When you get a run in your stockings, let me know,” Alex said. Danny laughed but then his face turned serious.

“What are we going to do about Rooney?”

“Is it possible the thieves saw your stake-out and bolted?”

“Not a chance.” Danny shook his head.

“Then I must have missed something back at Pemberton’s apartment.”

“We must have.”

“I was so sure.” Alex chewed his lip.

“Me too. Why else would Pemberton draw that map of the warehouse? A place where he worked every day.”

“Excuse me,” a well-dressed businessman at the end of the bar interjected. “Could you pass the ketchup?”

“Sure,” Danny said, sliding the bottle down the bar to him.

“Thanks,” he said, then poured some on his plate of scrambled eggs.

“Ugh,” Alex said suppressing a shudder. He’d seen too many crime scenes to ever use ketchup again. It reminded him too much of… “Blood,” he said.

“What about it?” Danny asked, adding milk to the coffee Doris brought them. “Most of it vanished with Pemberton’s body.”

“Not on the body,” Alex said. “On the paper. I’m so stupid! How did I miss that?”

Danny was staring at him, coffee forgotten.

“What blood on the paper?” he asked. “You mean the map? That was clean.”

“That’s my point,” Alex said. “They tore off three of the fingernails on Pemberton’s right hand. If he’d drawn that map for them, there’d be blood on the paper, enough to soak through to the second sheet.”

“Unless he’s left-handed,” Danny said. Alex shook his head.

“Remember the body? Pemberton parted his hair on the left. Most people part their hair on the opposite side from their dominant hand.”

Danny was nodding now.

“If you’re right, Pemberton drew that map before his killer showed up.”

“But why?” Alex asked. “You said it yourself, he worked there every day. There’s no reason for him to need a map.”

“Unless,” Danny said with a sly grin. “What if he was the one robbing the warehouse?” Alex gave him a blank look, trying to catch up. “Think about it,” Danny continued. “Pemberton knew what was coming in, from where, and when it would be in the warehouse. He was in the perfect position to rob the place.”

Alex nodded, thinking it through.

“Probably got tired of putting in all that service just to get a plaque as a thank you.”

“All he’d need,” Danny said, “is an accomplice. He picks out what to steal, then the accomplice uses the map to break in and make off with the stuff while Pemberton goes somewhere public to establish an alibi.”

Alex liked this idea. It explained why Pemberton had drawn a map of his own workplace, and why someone had later beaten the truth out of him.

“So the people that killed him are the ones he robbed,” Alex said. “And they stopped tearing off fingernails when he gave up his partner and the loot.”

“I like it,” Danny said.

“Yes, but our customers don’t,” Mary said, putting full plates down in front of them. “You’ve scared off two of them already. If you want to talk shop, lower your voices.” Her words were admonishing, but she still wore her charming half smile when she said it.

Danny apologized profusely and promised that they’d be quieter. Alex just smiled.

“So, what do we do now?” Danny asked once Mary had gone.

“Personally, I think you should ask her for her number,” Alex said, pouring syrup on his pancakes.

“I mean about Pemberton’s killer,” Danny said.

“We need to find out who had goods in that warehouse the night before Pemberton was killed.”

“Why the night before?”

“Because,” Alex said. “Whoever got robbed had to have time to discover the theft and then figure Pemberton was involved. That would put the robbery the night before. You need to ask the customs people for the warehouse manifest for that night.”

“Why me?” Danny asked through a mouthful of hash browns.

“Well they’re not going to tell me, are they?” Alex said. He finished his pancakes and stood.

“Where are you going?” Danny asked, barely halfway through his breakfast.

“I’ve got to go give a lovely young woman some bad news.”

“Are you finally spoken for?” Danny asked with a smirk.

“No, this is the really bad news.” Alex explained about Thomas Rockwell and his sister.

“Oh,” Danny said. “Couldn’t find him with your fancy rune?”

Alex shook his head and Danny put his hand on Alex’s shoulder.

“You know your rune isn’t infallible, right?” he said. “The guy might be underground, or magically shielded, or maybe he just left Manhattan. That much flowing water would block even your runes.”

“I know,” Alex said with a sigh. “But I found a stash behind his bathroom mirror with his Lore book inside right next to a roll of cash. Had to be three hundred.”

“So he didn’t leave on his own,” Danny said, nodding. “He’d never leave those behind. Maybe someone grabbed him?”

“Unlikely,” Alex said. “His place was tossed. If whoever did that had my missing man, they’d just beat the location of whatever they were looking for out of him, like Pemberton.”

Danny whistled. “Sorry,” he said.

“I’ll manage,” Alex said, putting on his hat. “As soon as you get that manifest, call Leslie and give her the list, then I’ll check them out. Once we find out who got robbed, we’ll know the identity of our killer.”

“It occurs to me that if they killed Pemberton to get their property back, they aren’t likely to admit being robbed.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Alex said. “If they’ve got something to hide, I’ll sniff them out. You just make sure you get that manifest.”

“Will do,” Danny said, then turned back to his breakfast.