“Clare Rosser, is that you loiterin' round out there?” A friendly female voice called through an open door from within the building.
Clare turned. “Philly?”
A tall woman with curly black hair and striking brown eyes appeared in the doorway. “Well I'll be damned, it is you! What you waitin' out there for, girl? Come on in. Joe, let her in.”
Accepting the invitation, and having no idea how she was going to get any concessions from a company who owed her nothing, Clare stepped past the guard across the threshold and into the embrace of her old friend.
“So how're you? It's been like forever.” Phillipa Cookman flashed a smile. Clad in a figure-hugging black dress and smelling of expensive perfume, she resumed her seat behind the reception. “Still at the cop shop?”
Clare smiled. “Sure. Still trying to take over the music industry?”
“You bet. Char and I have a gig coming up at the Lucky Dog in Worcester Monday night. We have a band too. You gotta come check us out.”
Not knowing where she might be by then, Clare said, “Sure. Char? You mean you and Charlotte Benson? You're still going strong?”
“Ten years now,” Philly confirmed. “Our husbands play in the band. We are a modern day funky ABBA.”
Clare couldn't help but smile. The memory of her two high school friends belting out songs with an acoustic guitar was one that would never fade.
“Glad to see you're living the dream.”
Philly shrugged. “Not quite the dream I had intended for us, but you know. It pays the bills and allows me to perform. How about you? How's forensics? Everything you had hoped for?”
“It pays the bills,” Clare said, repeating the phrase. “It's actually why I'm here.”
Philly's eyes widened in interest, and she leaned forward. “Oh, are you on official police business or something like that? Do tell.”
Clare took a breath. Here goes nothing.
“It's not actually official police business, since I'm just a forensic analyst.”
“Bullshit. You work at Worcester PD. That's police enough for anybody round here. You do science. Alden does science. You're practically family. Besides, this Private Eye stuff is kinda fun.”
“Well, funny you should say that…” Clare began, and stopped when a door opened on the other side of the lobby.
“Is everything all right here, Phillipa?” asked a man in his middle years, wearing a cream suit and sporting a white beard with flecks of black. The hair ran out before it reached the top of his head.
“Absolutely, Dr. Mayeux. Clare Rosser, this is Doctor Joe Mayeux, one of our senior engineers, responsible for the site. Dr. Mayeux: my old high school buddy Clare Rosser, now a cop.”
“I didn't know the Sheriff had any detectives in Holden,” Mayeux conceded.
“He doesn't,” Clare confirmed, finding herself caught up in the lie and unsure how to extricate herself from it. “I'm Worcester P.D.”
“Oh yes, what brings you all the way up here?”
Amused by the consideration that she had gone out of her way to find them, Clare brushed a loose lock of hair back over her ear and continued. “It's a bit of work and a bit of personal, sir. My pop used to work here a long time ago. I was reminded recently that you guys kept a box of his things in storage when he passed away.”
Mayeux's face fell. “I'm very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. It's nothing recent though. He passed twelve years or so back.”
Mayeux nodded. “Before my time here; I was working at another facility then.” He turned to Philly. “You have any idea where we might keep such effects?”
Philly clicked on a folder on her computer, scanning down the log. “They're probably in one of the sheds to the back of the complex. All our deliveries come into building W1, just behind the main office. There're a few scheduled to be torn down to make space for the new hydrodynamics lab. Probably the best place to start.”
“You mentioned work also? We have among the best engineering and scientific staff in the country, all very highly educated. I doubt one of them has been thieving from the local K-Mart.”
Clearly, Mayeux had a high opinion of the people at Alden. “No it's nothing that bad. We had reports of a break-in from a house in Holden. The burglar was reported to be wearing one of the jackets commissioned for the company's centennial.” Clare pointed to the wall behind them where such an item had been framed and hung, the stylized 'A' in bright red on the black breast. “I was hoping, with your permission, to scan some security footage?”
This ruffled Mayeux's feathers by the way he frowned. Clare sensed potential defeat. How far could the lie take her?
“Just external footage?” Philly's intervention prevented whatever objection Mayeux was about to voice.
Ignoring him, Clare said, “That should be fine for now. I just want some idea if he's been hiding out here or not.”
“Very well then,” Mayeux had evidently come to a very quick decision. “I have a new project to supervise. I'll see if I can find someone to escort you about the facility should you find any information of use.”
“Thanks for your time,” Clare replied, already watching a security feed as Philly scanned her screen. Neither of them looked up as the old engineer left the lobby.
When the door clicked shut, Philly closed her eyes and shook her head, black curls bouncing from side to side. “Engineers. They're all the same, management or not. Paranoid about their secret projects, thinking they run the place. Sometimes looking after a bunch of super-intelligent scientists is like running a kindergarten. Their needs always outweigh the greater good.”
“That being the advancement of science?”
Philly barked a laugh. “No, the creation of patents. Scientists are as greedy as anyone. They might preach about the good of mankind, but they are just after one thing: lining their pockets. Jim Mayeux is no different. He probably got jittery when you mentioned security feed because he doesn't want whatever he's working on to be out in the public domain.”
“Why? What's he working on?”
“Damned if I know, Clare. I just man the desk and keep the paper moving.” She squinted for a moment, looked down and prodded the ledger with her left forefinger. “There you go. We do keep a bunch of personal effects. It's an informal sort of lost-and-found at the end of the compound.”
Clare's breath caught. Her friend had done it. “Can we go take a look?”
Philly rolled her eyes as if to say, 'What do you think?' “You can. I work here, at this desk. Remember?”
Clare stood back, the constant leaning over the desk making her back ache. A wave of dizziness threatened to send her to the floor. She staggered, grabbing the desk.
“Clare? What in tarnation…?”
“I'm all right,” she insisted. “Just haven't slept well the past few nights.”
“You might try eating once in a while too,” Philly advised. “You're wasting away.”
An uncomfortable feeling remained in Clare's bladder. “You have a restroom?”
Philly pointed to a doorway to their left. “I'm sure your guide'll be with us by the time you're freshened up.”
As her friend had predicted, Philly was no longer alone by the time Clare returned to the lobby. A tall man with black hair in spikes wearing a pair of rimless spectacles perched on the edge of her desk, black shirt and jeans barely concealing his well-defined body. He laughed, his voice strong and confident, at something Philly said. She glowed in response.
Clare put on a serious face. “I hate to break up the party, but…”
Deep blue eyes directed at her. “That's quite all right. I've a feeling this day just improved immeasurably.”
“Clare Rosser, this is Dom Holden.”
He stood, several inches over six feet, towering above her. “Dominic, please.” He extended his hand, which she took. Firm and warm, it comforted her. His scent was alluring, just a hint of cologne. It was understated but manly, nonetheless.
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“So you are to be my guide?”
“It does seem that way,” Dominic nodded toward the door through which Mayeux had left. “Shall we?”
“I'll get Joe out front to have a look at some CCTV while you are gone,” Philly offered. “Last two nights, right?”
“If you would, please.”
“No problem.” Philly waved them off. “Have fun on site, you two.” Philly's tone of voice implied to Clare that fun was paramount, and she expected full disclosure upon return. Some things never changed.
In the hallway beyond, Dominic was forced to curtail his loping stride in order to stay with Clare. “I hear your father left some belongings at Alden.” His voice was devoid of any obvious accent, but the even tone mixed with the sure way he spoke to betray a good education.
“Yes, thank you for sparing the time to chaperone me.”
“That's quite all right. One of my projects is running, and it will take a few hours to compile data. It beats sitting around staring at machinery, and the company is infinitely better. Let's take a look. If we find anything I'm sure one of the guards will let you sign it out.”
It was hard for Clare to avoid becoming engaged in the subtle flirting. But she resisted. This was not the time to lose focus. “Is this one of your projects?” She pointed at a set of wide blue pipes in an adjacent room, several instruments flashing up numbers on a panel beside them.
“No. That's just a series of water sampling points and component testing. It's been patented and approved. The board therefore feels it's safe to put the science on show. I'm working on a desalinization project down site. It's much more secret than some pipes. At least until we present our results in Science.”
“Science?”
Dominic turned toward her. “Yeah, the periodical. Ever read it?”
Clare thought back to the stacks of old copies in Boston. The precinct never had anything like that in all the time she had been there. “I did a long time ago, but not since university.”
Dominic flashed a pass over a sensor and opened a door, indicating she should pass through to the parking lot beyond.
With a grateful smile, Clare did so. She was certainly enjoying the easy nature of her guide. “I don't mean to pry. It seems you guard your secrets tenaciously here.”
Dominic picked one of a fleet of Alden-branded vans, opening the door for her. As she climbed in, he said, “The board makes the decisions, and we follow their lead. They do oversee us after all. But science is for the good of all mankind. I like to think we may one day discover something that will change the world.” He started the engine, and in short order, they were moving at a very modest pace through the Alden site, warehouse-sized laboratories crawling past either side, the faintest of breezes kissing her skin.
“So,” Clare began after a moment's silence, “a Holden in Holden, eh?”
Dominic nodded. “It gets worse. I'm descended from Samuel Holden directly. I studied at Harvard for a time, within sight of Holden Chapel. It seems I am trapped by my family's legacy no matter what I do.”
“I can relate to that,” Clare murmured.
“How so?”
Clare started, forgetting that she hadn't just been thinking to herself. “These family heirlooms,” she said by way of diversion.
They pulled up to one of the more dilapidated warehouses; a rusting affair that really looked ready to be torn down. The surrounding woods threatened to swarm in and overtake the building.
“Well, this is it,” said Dominic as he opened his door. “Do you know what you're looking for?”
“Not really,” Clare admitted. “I guess a box of some description.”
Dominic got out and opened the door for her: A true gentleman. “I have plenty of time. Let's see what we can find.”
Inside, the warehouse was in no better state. Trails of animal footprints in the dust, rat and something bigger, revealed the disuse. A strange smell hung in the air, mold and a stench of decay. It caught in Clare's throat. One large room, the warehouse must have stretched twenty meters in every direction to where foliage crowded up against windows stained green. Endless shelving was covered in plastic sheeting, protecting whatever was beneath from the environment. She wiped the dust from the surface of one, the plastic brittle and sharp as she touched it. The boxes beneath were warped with moisture, the surface of the reinforced cardboard sticking out like ribs on a malnourished child.
“They really didn't care about the contents of these boxes,” Clare noted.
“Or the pursuit of scientific advancement blinded us to the simple fact that this lab had humble origins,” Dominic added, brushing dust from his jeans. “Honestly, where do we even start looking?”
He pulled out a two-way radio, depressing a button with a click. “Phil, are you there?”
“Hey honey,” came Philly's voice after a moment. “Had any success? I hope you're looking after the detective?”
“We're fine, aside from the dust coating the inside of our lungs. Listen, you have any idea where to look in this place? We could be here for weeks and find nothing of consequence.”
“I can do better than that. It turns out that there was somebody snooping in the dark the past few nights, in your very building. The only camera that works shows someone rooting about in one of the far corners of the warehouse.”
“Where's that security, Phil?”
The curiosity in Philly's voice changed to panic. “I'm sorry darlin', Joe's with me but we can't raise the other two on the radios. They could be anywhere on site. Watch out guys. You might not be the only ones in there.”
Chapter Six
The radio fell silent. Dominic stared at the device. Clare was ill-prepared for any real confrontation, and she edged closer to her guide. Shadows stretched where once they had been unimposing. Every pathway through this maze of detritus was now fraught with danger. Sound magnified in Clare's ears, the settling of plastic sheeting, the creak of ancient shelving. And no backup.
For his part, Dominic did not appear fazed, though he now spoke quietly into the radio. “Phillipa, do you have a location for Clare's father's belongings?”
“Sure. There should be location labels on the end of each set of shelving. You want fourteen-s.”
“Thanks. Call security over here. This place is a private facility and should be on lockdown.”
Clare rubbed the grime from a plastic label attached to the end of the nearest unit. “If the sheriff shows up this all becomes a potential crime scene. I want to find my dad's stuff before it's confiscated. I'm not afraid; there's two of us. Okay, Two B.”
Dominic scrubbed the nearest label to him. “Three C here.”
She followed his gaze to a section where the lighting was intermittent, the faded luminescence of the strip-lights flickering and orange. “Well, of course it would be over there.”
“Do you want to wait and get some more people?” Dominic suggested.
Clare brushed her hair back over her ear. “No. We're here now. Let's go have a look.”
She allowed Dominic to take the lead, even though she was technically the authority here. Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, she followed her guide into the shadowed corner, producing a silver flashlight when the light became insufficient.
Their steps grew slower and more hesitant. The dust had been invaded with footprints, many recent. The banks of cardboard boxes muted sound, a pregnant silence threatening to burst with a wave of violence. Clare felt antagonism directed at her from somewhere close by, an itch on the back of her neck. She looked about the darkening warehouse and bumped into Dominic's back.
“What is it?”
“The shelf you want.”
“There anything on it?”
Dominic moved to one side. “No, but it looks like whoever was here made a pretty thorough job of going through whatever once was.”
Dust swept clear, the floor was covered with objects, empty boxes stored on the shelf beside it. On the far side of the open space, some bla
nkets had been folded.
Clare knelt among the objects. They had been placed with care, equidistant from each other. She began to sift through them. Watches, photos and old stained coffee mugs had been lined up. “Why would someone treat all his rubbish with so much care?”
“Why do old homeless ladies push carts of aluminium cans around like babies?”
“For the scrap value, I always presumed.”
Dominic shrugged. “Perhaps this is a similar situation.”
Clare stood. “But look at the precision.”
“Homeless doesn't mean unintelligent,” countered Dominic.
A small china teapot caught Clare's eye, and she bent down to retrieve it. Wiping the dust clear, she examined the antique.
“Not gonna make much tea in that,” Dominic observed.
Clare smiled. The pot was no more than two inches in diameter, white china painted in the black and pink of the Worcester 'Ruby Legs' baseball team. “My parents had a set of these. Many historical teams had them made. As long as I can remember the display always had an empty space. Dad had borrowed one.”
Clare glanced back down. A sealed packet lay nearby. She retrieved this and opened it. Photos fell out, of her parents meeting some other man. Her father looked furious, his nose screwed up and his eyes wide with a glare; the other man wore a smile that could only be described as smug. Beyond that, the photos were too faded to be of any real use. Behind them, photos of her and Jeff.
Dominic had stopped poking around and was looking over her shoulder at the photos. His warmth was a reassurance.
“Cute kid,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“You know her?”
“I am her. This is most of Dad's stuff.” Clare held up photos that had been folded and torn. What would anybody want with these photos?”
“Is there anything else?”
Clare picked up a wallet bearing her father's initials. “I think that's all of worth that's here.” On impulse, she knelt and fingered the blankets. “These are sodden.” She picked one up; the gray homespun fabric was heavy with fluid, which dripped onto the floor. It stank of something organic, vegetable perhaps. Replacing it, she pulled a tube and stopper from her bag, pushing the glass onto the fabric with care until fluid began to run into the tube. Once it was two-thirds full, she stoppered it.
The Eyes Have No Soul Page 5
