And here he was, standing among the idle streetcars. He wandered between them, looking for someone or something. But he heard them before he saw them, more than one, more than two voices, and they were speaking in unison. And he only heard them in his head.
What do you have for us?
He wondered if they could in turn hear his thoughts.
I don’t know what you want, he replied.
Yes, they could. They sent him an image. It looked like a key.
It was last in this man’s possession.
What followed was like a short kinescope reel playing in his mind’s eye. He recognized the man. It was a face no one who ever came across him could easily forget.
He’s dead, he said, lost.
Not lost, said the voices.
They were shadows. He thought there might be three, maybe four of them. He wasn’t sure.
No, they said, not lost. He was found. He knew now that he couldn’t hide anything from them.
The barn began to hum. He felt it first in his feet, and then in his fingertips, and then the trolley buses started vibrating, and then they shook. There were small bolts of pale blue lightning, twitching spider legs of energy climbing and descending the connections to the overhead lines. He felt the hair on the back of his neck. It was like a burn.
Who has it?
I don’t know, he said. But I’ll find out.
You are close.
Am I? he said. But if you know all this —
You must hand it to us. We cannot take it. That is all you need to know. Someone must hand it to us. You are going to do that.
Hand it to you …
They closed around him. They said nothing, but he understood. They were inside his head now. He was their instrument.
I’ll find him … I’ll find it.
They turned and dissolved in the darkness. Fields waited until he couldn’t feel their presence any longer and then he collected himself and headed out. There wouldn’t be any more sleep tonight. Perhaps ever.
— Chapter 27 —
YOU’RE NOT TELLING ME SOMETHING
Thursday morning
Campbell had arrived at Copeland’s a little early so that he could get his purchase out of the way first, but the shop was doing brisk business this morning so he had to wait to be served. McCloskey would be here any minute. The girl at the register was completing her sales transactions as quickly as possible while at the same time trying to answer other, less patient customers’ questions. The only other staffer on the floor was a young man helping a woman in the poetry section. Judging by the expression on the young man’s face and his body language, Campbell had to guess he was attempting to wrap things up and move on to his next customer. The conversation looked, and from the snippets of it he was overhearing, like it had become a waste of time. What started out as a discussion about Elizabeth Barrett Browning had somehow descended into a conversation about the woman’s dog.
That’s very interesting, ma’am. I didn’t know that about Cocker Spaniels.
Campbell heard the jingle of the bell on the door, turned, and saw McCloskey enter, bundled up and his hat pulled down low. He must have walked a distance, thought Campbell, and then he wondered from where. He had to find out more about this man. He could ask Morrison, but he really didn’t want to get him involved in this.
Fields might know something.
When he saw that McCloskey had picked him out, he nodded at him.
“May I help you?”
Campbell turned his attention back to the sales counter. “Ah — good morning. I understand another special order of mine has arrived. I received a phone call.”
“And your last name again, sir?”
“Campbell.”
“Oh — yes.”
The shop girl ducked down below the counter and Campbell could hear her shifting around the piles of special orders.
“Here it is,” she said. She straightened up and slipped off the order form that was wrapped around it. She checked the title to confirm it matched.
“The Magus?”
“That’s the one.”
“Will that be all today, Mr. Campbell?”
Campbell turned to McCloskey, who was browsing out of the shop girl’s line of view. “Did you want anything?”
McCloskey approached the counter. “They carry the Daily Racing Form?”
Vera Maude, thinking she recognized the voice, looked up and over Campbell’s shoulder. It was McCloskey. She froze for a moment.
Campbell, knowing what the answer was going to be, decided to be polite and ask anyway. “You wouldn’t happen to carry the Racing Form, would you?”
“Uh … no, no I’m afraid we don’t.”
“Thanks,” he said, noticing her preoccupation with McCloskey. Campbell figured he was used to that sort of thing. “I guess that’ll be it then.”
She rang it through, and she had to concentrate on hitting the right keys.
“That’ll be $2.75.”
“Steep.”
“Yeah,” said Vera Maude, “rare book.” She bagged Campbell’s purchase and handed him his change. Campbell checked it before dropping it in his trouser pocket.
“Do you mind if we continue browsing a little?” he asked.
“No” she said, “please go right ahead. And let me know if you need any help.”
“It’s Vera Maude, right?” said Campbell.
“That’s right: Vera Maude.” She said it loud enough that McCloskey could hear and watched his face for a reaction. Nothing.
“Thanks again, Vera Maude.”
The two men stepped away from the counter and then Campbell said to McCloskey, “There’s a little alcove around the corner; we can talk there.”
Vera Maude watched them relocate to the children’s section.
It was packed with books, some of which faced out on easel-type shelves eye level to a six-year-old. There were also two tiny chairs.
“I thought it might be time for us to lay all our cards on the table,” said Campbell, “so to speak.”
“That sounds just fine,” said McCloskey, “but trust me, I’m not holding that many cards.”
“First, I haven’t heard anything from Laforet yet about your friend Lapointe. I’m heading over to see him as soon as we’re done here, but I don’t know if he’ll have anything. He’s got a lot on his plate right now, as do I. Now let’s back up a little. Whoever did this to Lapointe, is it the same people or person that did in your other friend Three Fingers?”
Campbell had McCloskey in a corner, literally and figuratively.
“I can only guess,” he said.
“Still no idea who it is, or at least who it might be?” Campbell wasn’t going to tell McCloskey about the bootleggers that got tossed from the train on the weekend and what Zahra had to say about that, mostly because he wasn’t exactly sure what Zahra was trying to say about that.
McCloskey was hesitating.
“When I’m working multiple cases, one of the first things I look for is a common denominator. So far, McCloskey, you’re it.” He studied McCloskey’s face. “Whoever it is, they’re after something, or someone. Is it you?”
McCloskey looked down and noticed an illustrated edition of Treasure Island on the easel-shelf.
“You know, if you’re becoming some sort of liability to your own crew, it might be in your best interest to bring me on your side. Do you want more of them to die like this for you?”
Campbell was trying to pry the door open.
“There’s talk,” said McCloskey, “just talk now, there’s this other gang, from out of town, and they operate deep, very deep. I don’t have names and I couldn’t tell you where to find them. If I had any of that kind of information, I can tell you we’d be taking care of this business ourselves.”
Campbell relaxed a bit and eased back a little off McCloskey. He believed him. “Okay, now, what is it they’re after? What are they trying to accomplish? Is this some kind of gang war?”
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“Can’t really be a war if you don’t even know who your enemy is, can it?”
“Well, you might not know them, but they certainly seem to know you, or at least your crew. Let me ask you again, what do they want with you and your boys?”
Yes, thought Campbell, these are also your boys, and you’re responsible for them, and you know it.
“It might have something to do with Richard Davies,” said McCloskey.
“Richard Davies? But all of that happened months ago. This other gang, did they know him? Did they work for him?”
“Again, we don’t know.”
Again, Campbell was believing him, at least about what McCloskey was telling him. But instinct was also telling him that McCloskey was leaving something out. What was he hiding? The detective just looked at him, trying to see if he could silently squeeze anything else out of this man. For a former pugilist, a veteran of the war, and a somewhat notorious gangster who survived what should have been a successful attempt on his life — he had been reading up on McCloskey — he was looking a little uncomfortable, if not a little nervous. Something was wrong; this was something new for McCloskey.
“Detective, I really can’t bring you on side right now. Don’t ask me why, because it’s nothing I can fully explain — yet. I hear everything you’re saying. Trust me, all we’re doing is playing defence. If we need your help, I know where to reach you. I know you have to investigate these two deaths, and I won’t stop you, but I’m telling you right now, you won’t get very far.”
“So I should just let these two cases go cold?”
“You know I can’t tell you how to do your job.”
“If there is one more incident like this involving one of your boys, I’m bringing Morrison in on it. I think you know Detective Morrison.”
What McCloskey knew was that Morrison would like nothing more than to ride him and his gang, all his contacts, his whole business, even the one he was right now just trying to get off the ground, until the whole thing was in tatters, and it would be just for the fun of it.
“Yeah,” said McCloskey, “I know Morrison.”
“Hmm. You know, I think we’re beginning to understand each other.”
It was McCloskey’s turn to relax a bit. It felt good to get at least a little of this off his chest, though it still felt sometimes like someone was standing on it.
“You always use this for your interrogation room?”
“I got places all over town,” said Campbell.
They stepped out of the alcove and started heading for the door. McCloskey wasn’t even going to do up his coat.
When she saw them, Vera Maude walked around the counter and up to McCloskey, tentatively, straightening her cheaters, dropping her hands at her side, swaying a little, nervously.
“Jack? Jack McCloskey?”
McCloskey looked down at Vera Maude and then over at Campbell. “Um, yeah,” said McCloskey. She looked harmless enough.
She paused to let him take a longer look at her, and then said, “It’s me, Vera Maude. Remember? Last summer?”
McCloskey looked at Campbell again, and then back at Vera Maude. “No, you must be mistaken.”
“But you are Jack McCloskey, though, right?”
“Yes, but …” He was slowly shaking his head.
Vera Maude thought he looked a little uneasy. Maybe he remembered, but this wasn’t the right time, not with Mr. Campbell standing next to him.
“Um, sorry then,” said Vera Maude. “Thanks … have a nice day.” Not wanting to make any more of a scene, she turned and walked back toward the counter, bumping into its corner as she rounded it.
“Do you know her?” said Campbell.
McCloskey was already searching his mind. “No … I mean, I don’t think so … I don’t know.”
Well, thought Campbell, I guess you can’t be expected to remember all of them.
“Let’s leave separately,” said the detective.
“You first,” said McCloskey.
Campbell looked back at Vera Maude and then said to McCloskey, who was still studying her, “Is it all coming back to you?”
“We’ll talk later,” said McCloskey, still distracted.
Campbell headed out. McCloskey waited a few minutes then proceeded up the Avenue in the opposite direction. He needed to talk to Clara again.
Mr. Copeland appeared from behind his desk. “Oh, did I miss the detective?”
“Detective? That was just Mr. Campbell.”
Copeland smiled. “Detective Campbell, Miss Maguire, of the Windsor Police.”
Well, that explains a few things, thought Vera Maude. Wait — with Jack McCloskey? Jack McCloskey.
“Are you all right, Miss Maguire?”
“Fine, just fine, thank you.”
“What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure,” said McCloskey.
“Did something happen?”
“Yes — no — I’m not sure.” He stopped pacing the room and looked at Clara, seated in her reading chair. “I’ll have that drink now.”
“What drink?”
“Not the ginger ale.”
“Sit down, Jack.”
Clara went into kitchen and poured him a rye.
“Here. Sorry, I’m out of ice.”
“That’s all right.”
She sat back down in her reading chair. “Now let’s start again. Where are you just coming from?”
“Copeland’s.”
“Copeland’s? The bookstore? You were not.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Forget it, I’m sorry. Go on.”
“A guy I know called a meeting there.”
Clara was biting her tongue. McCloskey continued.
“Anyway, there was this girl there, a shop girl, and just as me and this guy were leaving, she stops me, to say hello or something, I don’t know.”
“So?”
“So she knew my name,” he said, and then finished his drink.
“I still don’t get it.”
“It seemed like she really knew me from somewhere, and I have absolutely no idea who she was. Her face didn’t look familiar at all.”
“Was she cute?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Would you like another?”
He held up his glass.
“Keep talking,” she said.
“That’s not all. You know what the kicker was?”
Clara returned and handed him his glass. “What?”
“She mentioned last summer. She said we met last summer.”
It took Clara a moment for it to dawn on her. She leaned forward in her chair.
“You think she really recognized you from somewhere?”
“I’m convinced. She was really sweet. Didn’t look the type that would be trying to pull one over, I mean, just a girl in a bookstore, right?”
“Did she tell you her name?”
“Yeah, yeah, it was two names … Vera something … Vera Maude. I kept repeating it to myself after I left the shop.”
“Do you think this has something to do with this gap in your memory?”
“I don’t know.” He sat back. “Might be a piece to that puzzle.”
“So she didn’t mention the hospital or anything like that?”
“No, nothing else.”
“Well, why didn’t you ask her for more details while you were there?”
“At first I thought it was nothing, and then I thought it was a bit too strange. And then I started to wonder.”
“Why don’t you go back and ask her for more details?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Jack, come on. A few days ago you were in here anxious and confused about this gap in your memory that’s suddenly bothering you again, and here’s someone practically fallen into your lap that might be able to put it all together for you. Why won’t you just go talk to her?”
“I’m telling you, I don’t know, it’s just that —”
“Why, Jack McCloskey, you’re afraid, aren’t you? Killer McCloskey, afraid of a little shop girl.”
“I’m not afraid, especially of no little shop girl.”
“Well then, what is it?”
“Maybe … well maybe, now that door’s opened a little, I might not want to see what’s on the other side. I mean, everything’s just fine right now, right? So why ruin it?” He looked up from the carpet and saw Clara’s disapproval. “What?”
“Everything’s not all right, Jack, and you know it.”
They took a break. Clara knew she couldn’t push him too hard on this because he would just close up again.
“So who was this guy you had the meeting with?”
“You won’t believe me if I tell you.”
“Try me.”
McCloskey finished his drink. “A police detective.”
Clara’s jaw dropped and she leaned forward. “Oh, this just gets better and better. You’re having casual meetings in bookstores with police detectives now. Does he know who you are?”
“Of course he does.”
“Is he dirty?”
“No, no, I don’t believe he is.”
Clara was squinting at him. “What’s his name?”
“Campbell.”
“Nope, don’t know him. I’m sure Henry does, though. Do you want me to ask Henry about him?”
“No. I just want to keep this between me and Campbell.”
“What was the meeting about?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“Not the kind you’re thinking of, I’m sure.”
“What kind then?”
“I said, I can’t tell you. I’ll fill you in when it all shakes out.”
“Which will be when?”
“Soon, I hope.”
“Is it bad?”
“You read about the body on the horse?”
“Yeah.”
“You read about the body at Windsor Ice and Coal?”
“No.”
“Probably didn’t make the morning edition. Anyway, those were two of my boys.”
Border City Blues 3-Book Bundle Page 40
