by Alex P. Berg
I knelt next to a wastebasket, wherein a crumpled piece of paper had caught my eye. I plucked it, unfolded it, smoothed it, and read the short message that had been written upon it in a flowing script.
I know about your little problem, Lothorien. We need to discuss matters that are of great importance to us both. Meet me in my quarters first thing this morning. Be discreet.
I turned the page over, but nothing was inscribed on the back. Neither was there any signature on the front. Whoever had written the note had obviously expected Lothorien to recognize his or her script, though I certainly didn’t. I briefly considered pocketing the note and delivering it to CSU for processing, but ultimately I crumpled it up and placed it back in the wastebasket. Although I was fairly certain the boys and girls back at the lab could pull prints off it, I’m not sure what particular good that would do me. Yes, it might lead to whoever was blackmailing Lothorien, if you could call such a friendly message blackmail, but I’d need to fingerprint everyone in the home to figure out who the culprit was. Besides, even if the message did constitute blackmail, that didn’t mean whoever wrote it had anything to do with Clarice Vanderfeller’s disappearance.
Still, between Lothorien’s drug use, his potential blackmail, Fezig’s and Vezig’s separate but similar inabilities to tell the whole truth, Simon’s refusal to talk, Sydney and Angela’s cryptic revelations, as well as any number of household staff and family member’s questionable motives, the case was getting out of hand, and that was without even getting into the seven-year-old fire and Nell’s disappearance, my investigation into which seemed to have sparked a spy’s investigation into me.
Shay and I needed to delve into all those angles, as well as perform a more thorough search of the manor and its grounds. Doing that on our own simply wasn’t going to be possible in a timely manner, and in the event that Clarice Vanderfeller was still alive, every hour mattered. Even if she’d been murdered as I suspected, the longer we went without finding her body, the more likely her killer’s trail would go cold.
Basically put, we needed help. Rodgers and Quinto might’ve had the day off yesterday after their all-nighters, but they should be refreshed and ready to go today. Unless the captain had a new murder on her desk in need of attention, I was sure she’d be willing to lend us the detectives’ services.
All I needed was a runner to send for them.
25
Unlike our bustling precinct, the Aldermont wasn’t exactly a hotspot for skinny youths looking to earn a few extra coppers. In fact, Fezig and Vezig were largely employed to rid the estate of loitering kids with moth-eaten coats and worn shoes. After checking the front door and finding no messengers there, and failing to find Lothorien to ask him, I paused back at the kitchen to drop off my mug and talk to LeBeau, mostly because he was the only servant who seemed to regularly be found in the same place. Though Shay had left, LeBeau did offer a useful suggestion: to head to the front of the estate in search of the Brentford private patrol officers. They’d be able to relay a message to a team of runners that worked for them.
Hence, I exited the manor and wound my way back up the path, past the overgrown front lawn and into the trees that fronted the property. With the sun having burned away the night’s fog and its rays shining into the thick underbrush, the forest seemed much less ominous than the one at the back of the property had the night prior. Likely the difference had as much to do with my worries over the psychotic nature of whoever had been watching me as the night itself.
As I walked, I once again took note of a number of wild animals among the trees, from a chattering squirrel to a white crested doe to the blur of an orange tail that must’ve belonged to a fox. Hopefully the spy narrative I’d concocted didn’t ultimately prove to be nothing more than jitters over being watched by a deer in the dark of night. Shay would never let me hear the end of it.
I let myself out the wrought iron gate at the estate’s mouth and looked around. The Vanderfeller property stretched across what amounted to several city blocks on each side. Across the street, several smaller if still enormous properties sat, each of them with a thick bank of trees facing the street for privacy purposes. Of Brentford hired goons, however, I saw none.
I grumbled. I knew the Aldermont lay almost at the center of the swanky Brentford neighborhood, but that didn’t mean the private police should ignore the area entirely. What if thieves came swooping in, pilfering the manor’s hidden jewels before flying back out on trained griffins? I’d bet the security guards would feel pretty sheepish then.
I set out along the edge of the property line. If I remembered correctly, there was a guard station a mile or so to the south where I’d hopefully be able to relay my message. The air felt cool on my face as I walked, the sun hidden behind the trees for the time being. Animals continued to chirp and twitter from inside the vegetation, occasionally popping out from the brush only to dive back in. A rabbit here. A weasel there. Then silence.
I heard a crunch and a rustle, followed by a swear. Out of the trees twenty feet in front of me, a teen with greasy, shoulder-length hair and a dusting of face scruff materialized. He swatted at his heavy coat, batting away pine needles and thistles from the thick, black wool. Something bulged from his pocket, made more evident by every swipe of his hand against the cloth.
“Hey, kid!”
The youth did a double take as he heard me. He swore again and spun, stumbling, gravel spraying from his feet as he tried to accelerate into high gear. I’d closed the gap to halfway before he managed to get going, and good thing, too. The whippersnapper was quick. If not for my two A.M. warmup, a mighty leg drive, and a leap of faith, I might not have caught him.
I flew, slamming into his legs from behind. The kid went down like a roped hog, slamming off the gravel with a thud and a pained gasp. Having his feet driven into my chest didn’t feel so hot either, but I’d at least been prepared for the landing. I hopped up, gathered the youth’s arms, pulled them into the small of his back, and planted a knee over them to keep them in place. He grunted, so he couldn’t have lost all his air in the fall.
“Get off me,” he said, his voice breathy and labored. “You’re not one of the rent a cops. You’ve got no right.”
“On the contrary,” I said. “I’ve got all the right in the world. And I’m not sure the Vanderfellers will be too happy to hear you’ve been trespassing on their property, especially given current events.”
The kid turned his head. Gravel stuck to the side of his face. “What? They hired new goons?”
“Strike two. And I’ll save you the embarrassment of whiffing again. The name’s Daggers. NWPD.”
“Crap salad. You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Crap salad? I kept it together. “Why’d you run?”
“I didn’t run. I didn’t even see you. I was out for a jog. How was I supposed to know you’re a cop?”
“You want to pick one of those and try again?”
“Monkey testicles,” said the young man. “I don’t care who you are. You have no right to detain me. This is a democracy.”
“I hate to break it to you, kid, but our system of government doesn’t have anything to do with your judicial rights. I saw you trespassing on private property, on which there happens to be an active investigation into a missing person. I’m acting entirely within the law.”
“Missing person? Double crap salad. You’re shitting me, right?”
“Apparently you don’t read the news. And I wouldn’t dare defile your crap salad. It sounds awful enough as it is.”
Gravelface groaned.
“So what were you up to in there?” I asked. “Lifting silverware? Or something more nefarious?”
“I’m telling you, I wasn’t doing anything. I was hiking. Enjoying the wildlife. It should belong to all of us, you know. Screw the proletariat.”
I tsked. “And you were so close to using a big word properly.”
I snaked a hand into his rig
ht pocket. I felt something hard under a thin layer of cloth. It clinked as I pulled it out. “Nice change purse. Where you snag it?”
“That’s mine,” said Gravelface . “I’ll report you if you try to take it. Police brutality!”
“Please, shut up. You can keep these, if they’re legally earned—which I doubt.”
I reached my hand into his coat’s left pocket. This time my fingers met something hard but smooth. I pulled it out. A small bottle. I held it up to the light.
“Is this crank?” I said. “Well, well. Triple crap salad, am I right, Gravelface?”
“Gravelface?”
I ignored him. “Let me guess. You did earn the cash, but not legally, am I right? How long have you been supplying Lothorien?”
“Lothorien?”
“You have a problem with names? The butler. The elf. Your buyer.”
“I don’t know any elf.”
“I’m running out of patience, kid.” I shifted more of my weight onto my knee, eliciting another groan from Gravelface.
“Ughk. Fine. I’ll talk, okay? But could you get off me? You weigh like a thousand pounds.”
And here I thought I’d slimmed down. I stood, wrenching the youth to his feet but keeping a vice grip on his arm while holding the crank and cash in my free hand. “Talk. Tell me everything. And don’t dare lie unless you want to spend the next ten years at the bottom of a dark hole.”
Gravelface de-gravelled his face with a scraped up hand. “Look, man, you got me, okay? I’m a dealer, but I promise, I’m small time. I bring stuff every week or two. A mix. Some crank, some herb, some party drugs. But not to any elf. To the big guy. The ogre.”
“Fezig? Or Vezig?”
“No idea,” said Gravelface. “I know him as Big J. Only name we’ve ever used. I bring the stuff, he pays me. I swear. That’s it.”
“Where’d you meet him?”
“Side entrance. South side. Same as always.”
“Anyone ever see you?”
“I don’t think so. I’m pretty careful—at least once I’m on the property.”
“When was the last time you made a delivery?”
“Like I said. Week and a half ago. Two weeks maybe.”
“And what do you know about Clarice Vanderfeller?”
“Who?”
“The woman who went missing, genius.”
The kid shook his head. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen. “Look, man, I swear, I don’t know anything about any of that. You think I’d pop by selling dope if I knew there was a police investigation going on?”
I narrowed an eye and set my jaw.
The kid’s muscles felt like cordwood in my hand. He finally breathed and released a little of his latent tension. “Officer, man, I’m sorry, okay? I know I shouldn’t be dealing, but…I don’t have a lot of options right now. My mom’s sick, and I’ve got a little sis. If I don’t bring home some cash? Well…”
I’d heard similar sob stories before. Sometimes they were true, and sometimes they weren’t. I couldn’t tell how much veracity there was to his, but I was confident in my assessment that, linguistically-challenged as he may be, the kid wasn’t a murderer. He didn’t have the stink.
I held up my hand with the cash and dope. “I need you to shut up and listen, because I’m only going to say this once. First off, the dealing? You’re done with it.”
I dropped the jar to the ground and stomped on it, the glass crunching underfoot.
The kid grimaced. “Aw, man…”
“I told you to shut up. Now the second thing you need to know is that I’ve been on the force for over ten years. I’m a detective. It’s my job to track people down, and I’m damn good at it. So don’t think you can hide. If you start dealing again, or holding up shops, or getting into trouble of any kind, I’m going to find you. And I won’t be so lenient the next time, sick mother or no.”
The kid’s brow wrinkled. “Huh?”
“I’m not a monster, and I don’t have time to deal with you. I’m going to let you walk. I’ll even let you keep your coins, dirty as they might be—on one condition.”
The kid’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? Anything you want! I promise.”
“Take a message to the 5th Street Precinct. Find Detectives Rodgers and Quinto. Tell them Detective Daggers needs them at the Vanderfeller estate.”
His eyes widened some more. “You seriously want me to wander into a police station for you?”
“Why not? You’re clean now, right?”
The kid took a moment to respond. “Uh…yeah. Right.”
“When you’re done with that, you can seek out Captain Knox. Tell her Daggers sent you. Maybe she can find a job for you taking out the trash. Worst case scenario, you can join the runners. You’re quick. You’ll do fine with them.”
I let go of his arm, half expecting him to bolt and to have to continue to the private police kiosk anyway, but he did no such thing. He stepped back, his face thoughtful and perhaps a little surprised.
I held out the coin purse. He took it and pocketed it. “Um. Thanks…Officer Daggers.”
“Detective Daggers,” I said, “but I’ll let it slide, young…?”
He furrowed his brow again. “Young what?”
“This is where you tell me your name.”
“Oh. Ah… Caleb. Caleb Drakeshear.”
“Don’t let me down, Caleb.”
The young man nodded and turned off down the street. I headed into the trees, more or less where Caleb had exited them, feeling good about myself and strangely yet reasonably confident Rodgers and Quinto would show up within the next couple hours.
26
The forest transitioned into overgrown grass, but it only reached to mid thigh, allowing me to see the Aldermont off in the distance. I made a beeline for the southern entrance, batting away the pine needles that had accosted me as they had young Caleb. At least the smooth leather of my jacket hadn’t attracted any thistles. At only a couple months old, I still couldn’t stand the thought of my baby being marred by scrapes or scratches.
I punched through the grass and found myself in a small plaza, with a fountain surrounded by a weathered stone walkway and a few feet of manicured lawn. The smell of fresh cut grass hung in the air, which made no sense at all—until I spotted Thaddy and his push mower.
He frowned, his weathered face more wrinkled than I remembered it. “Morning, Detective.”
I played it cool. “Morning, Thaddy. Have you seen Fezig by any chance? Or Vezig for that matter?”
“Fezig, sure. During his patrol. Maybe a half hour ago. Near the house, as always.”
“And what about a young kid? Maybe sixteen? Greasy hair and face scruff?”
Thaddy lifted a furry eyebrow. “You been looking for one in the tall grass?”
“Something like that.”
The gardener shook his head. “Sorry.”
“Thanks anyway.”
I started on the path toward the house, but I paused in response to a mental itch. Not one caused by furtive glances aimed toward my backside, but a different kind, one born of curiosity.
I turned. “Thaddy. One more question.”
The dwarf had already gone back to his mowing. He didn’t look pleased at my interruption. “Yes?”
“Yesterday, when you were talking to my partner and me about the fire, you said two people died. Aaron and Sophie. Aaron was Opal’s husband, right? Iolite’s father? And Sophie? Was she married?”
“No, she wasn’t.”
“But you said she had a son, right?”
Thaddy hesitated. “Ah…yes.”
“Well, what happened to him? Iolite said Mr. Vanderfeller promised to take care of her and her mother in the wake of the fire, because of the loss of her father. Didn’t Sophie’s son get the same offer? He must’ve been in even worse straits given it was just him and his mom, right?”
Thaddy set down his mower and
approached me. His face had hardened. “Did…no one tell you?”
“Tell me what? Is he dead, too?”
Thaddy shook his head. “No. Not on the outside, anyway.”
“You’re freaking me out, Thaddy. Please make some sense.”
Thaddy got even closer. “Bertrand. He’s alive. He lives here, in the subbasement. He’s the coal boy. Stokes the furnaces, or he’s supposed to. I think Fezig has to go down there to do it sometimes when he forgets. Maybe Lothorien, too. Thankfully, nobody’s asked me to. It’s too dark down there.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Are you seriously telling me there’s another person living here in secrecy? Why didn’t anyone mention him? I specifically asked Marcus to give me the names of everyone on the premises.”
“You don’t understand,” said Thaddy. “He’s not all there. Never has been, not since the fire and losing his mother anyway. He’s another of those…Vanderfeller embarrassments, if you will.”
“If he’s a loon, that’s all the more reason someone should’ve mentioned him. Did no one stop to think perhaps he might’ve had something to do with Clarice Vanderfeller’s disappearance?”
Thaddy held up his hands in an almost pleading manner. “I think not, Detective. He’s like Mrs. Vanderfeller in that regard. A total recluse, even more so than her. He couldn’t have had anything to do with her disappearance, I don’t think…”
I took a deep breath and counted silently to five. I wanted to lambast Thaddy, but it wasn’t his fault I hadn’t heard about Bertrand sooner. If anyone, it was Marcus and Lothorien who deserved my ire. Besides, I didn’t have time for tirades.
I about-faced and marched to the house, leaving Thaddy speechless behind me. The south entrance remained open, so I let myself in and set off down the hallway. I’d already found access to the manor’s attic, but how could I get to the basement? Or rather, the subbasement? The servants’ quarters were in the regular basement, right?
A floor board creaked, but not due to my weight. I’d momentarily paused, wondering which way I should go. I tried to turn in the direction of the sound, but once again the manor’s acoustics thwarted me. Still, Simon Vanderfeller’s quarters lay only a few feet down the corridor.
