Vanished: City of Lies #1

by E. J. Larson

  “You can tell,” he tutted.

  “Please be a little less of an ass in front of the customers,” she demanded grimly. Jasper snorted, unable to contain his laughter. Novalee was a born punching bag. He could take anything out on her and she always stood up to counter him. In a twisted way, he respected her for it.

  She stopped in front of a glass front and looked at her reflection in the glass.

  “You're okay.”

  It was the closest thing to a compliment from him that she could expect. Her eyes sparkled at him. There was a mixture of cold anger and strategic sharpness in them. Her personal operating system was now running in client mode. At her nod, he opened the front door and let her walk through. She took the lead on these kinds of appointments, so he had to talk less and could focus on what he knew how to do. As she led the clients through the presentations, he would get a picture of the client and their expectations so he could incorporate them into his design. This game had worked every time over the past few months. Still, her firm was deep in the red. The workload was simply too low. They needed more of these orders, and maybe Novalee's euphoria for this client wasn't completely out of the blue. Maybe this was their saving straw, or moving up a league. Nationwide, Jasper let the word roll off his tongue again. Yeah, that had a nice ring to it.

  “Hello Miss Holland, sorry we're late,” his colleague explained, snapping him out of his reverie of a better future. “This is our designer, Jasper Blight. He will do his best to implement all of your ideas and give you that extra touch.”

  Jasper grinned. Above all, Miss Holland had that certain something extra. She held out her hand to him professionally. Delicate gold bangles jingled on her wrist, playing around her summer tan. With casual elegance, she ran a hand through her light blonde hair after greeting him, the remnant of a reddish tint still hanging in it. His ex-girlfriend Callie had cursed at the time because her tint just wouldn't wash out. For weeks she'd walked around grumpy with a delicate hint of pink on her head before she'd put herself in the hands of a professional.

  “Glad you found time for us as well,” the strawberry-haired blonde returned, giving him a smile that appealed to him on many levels at once. She was anything but plump. No comparison to the model he'd barely gotten rid of a week ago. Miss Holland exuded independence and a sense of adventure. To explore just how far that adventurousness went was, unfortunately, outside the rules. Rules Novalee thought so much more of than he did.

  Was that a wink? Had this fantasy come true just really winked at him, or was something wired wrong? Had Novalee seen it too? No, Novalee didn't let on. Either she hadn't seen anything or his imagination was playing tricks on him.

  The lovely Miss Holland wore a pair of short dark blue cloth trousers from which protruded long slender legs. Over them hung a loose, ivory silk shirt, pressed between two shapely breasts by a gold statement necklace. On spiked heels, she strode across the hall in front of them. Again, Jasper let Novalee lead the way. This time, however, it was not out of business-like courtesy, but so that he could stare uninterrupted at his customer's legs. Beautiful, unclothed legs were something women could always score points with him. He loved the sight of them. The longer he stared at the bare skin, the more he hoped he could finally go out this weekend. He would love to watch beautiful women's bodies on the dance floor. Preferably right now the body that was walking down the aisle three meters in front of him.

  17. Tyler

  TYLER SET ABOUT the unloved task. Taking the elevator down the four floors, he found himself in the foyer of the modern headquarters. He knew what to expect. No one would be happy about his appearance in the refuge of the top dogs. He hated the role fate had assigned him in this game yet again. Tyler wanted to be part of the team, not their adversary.

  “I'm looking for Detective Parker,” he turned to the first uniformed officer he encountered in the foyer. The latter sent him to an open-plan office off the long hallway that only officers could enter. The public area of the Bureau, where citizens addressed the police with their concerns, was off of it. Tyler marched deeper into the building. The comparison to a cave with predators waiting to maul him wasn't so far-fetched, he found silently. The door stood open.

  Inside the office there was the usual confusion of conversations between colleagues, ringing telephones and witness interviews. For all of this, small double boxes would undoubtedly be better suited, but the public sector was still cutting corners - even in Fairfield. Mason's team had been assigned an office of almost equal size, but there were only three of them.

  “I'm looking for Detective Parker,” he repeated his request to the nearest colleague.

  “In the back on the right,” a dark-haired officer replied, squeezing past him through the exit.

  “Estes, will you bring some donuts?” another called across the room. The dark-haired pigtail man paused and gave the other cop the middle finger, laughing.

  “That's the one,” the helpful colleague instructed Tyler, leaving the lintel for the exit. Purposefully, he too marched on and stopped in front of the table of the one who had demanded the donuts.

  “Are you Detective Parker?”

  “Who wants to know?” he growled back.

  “Tyler Ducharme, I'm on Sergeant Winder's team.” He held out his hand to him. “We've taken over the Gupta case. I'm here to pick up the files.”

  Parker stared alternately at the outstretched hand and at his face.

  “Well, have fun.”

  The detective nodded to a stack of boxes in the corner, rose and left the office. Tyler sighed softly. He lifted the first box. This one was so well filled with papers that he couldn't take a second one without the embarrassment of maybe going limp on the way. The alcove was filled with seven of these boxes and no one even made an effort to offer him help. He had scarcely entered the hallway with his first box when Parker appeared before him again.

  “Bad news, colleague,” he spat at him contemptuously. “I'm afraid the elevator is out of order. The stairwell is this way.”

  Detective Parker pointed a finger in the opposite direction. Without discussion, Tyler turned on his heel and started down his path of shame. A lighted sign hung over the emergency exit. Next to it, a heavy glass door came off, separating the hallway from the stairwell. He harbored no doubt that the elevator didn't work. However, he was equally certain that the failure was not a random occurrence.

  Box after box he carried up the four floors. The fitness training was at least void for this day, he tried to see the good in his situation. Of course, his colleagues weren't thrilled that he now had a troop of rookies watching his back - who would be?

  But that wasn't how this story could end for him. Instead of spending his lunch break with his new colleagues, Tyler set off through the Glass Palace in search of Lynn Fremantle. The case itself sounded undoubtedly exciting and he would like to solve it, but the circumstances were absolutely not as expected.

  “Excuse me, can you tell me where I can find Lynn Fremantle's office?” he turned to an androgynous colleague in the entrance hall, who towered over him by several centimeters.

  “Third floor at the end of Sector 2,” she explained immediately. “But Lynn is over at Waynes right now.”

  She pointed a graceful finger through the main entrance. Tyler thanked her and followed her beckoning. He exited the security area, accessible only to officers and escorted civilians, and finally left the police building behind. Outside, the unusually hot September air enveloped him like a cloud of steam. The humidity immediately crept into his clothes. He second-guessed his desire for this clarifying conversation and would have preferred to flee back to the air-conditioned headquarters, but this matter was more important. It was about his future.

  The coffee shop was full. Dozens of people queued for overpriced coffee, putting down an hour's wages for a sandwich they could get at home for a quarter of the price. It was a phenomenon he would probably never understand. He pushed his way through the crowd, searchin
g it for the distinctive hair. Far to the front of the queue he caught sight of something red and pushed on.

  “Hey, don't cut the line,” someone Tyler didn't want to pay any further attention to grumbled. He certainly wasn't here to dispute anyone's coffee cup.

  “Lynn, hey,” he addressed her from the side.

  “Tyler, how are you liking the new team? Are you getting along well?”

  “That's what I'd like to talk to you about,” he announced. “It's like this. I had something else in mind. Internal investigations are not for me. Don't you have some other assignment you can assign me to?”

  “Don't dim the light of your own talent too much,” she advised him urgently. “I'm sure you'll do just fine.”

  For a second he was willing to correct her wrong impression, because it wasn't like he doubted his skills. But maybe it wasn't the worst idea to put such doubts forward if it got him what he really wanted.

  “I don't know my way around the city yet, and I'm sure I could learn the ropes a lot better in a regular unit,” he followed up.

  It was Lynn's turn to place her order, leaving him waiting for her response. His hope of getting out of this case was increasing by the second. Lynn was a very cooperative person. She would act in his best interest and she certainly had other units that needed personnel.

  “Tyler, you did an outstanding job on the Martini case up there,” she lifted as she paid for her order and moved on to the servery with him in tow. “I'm sure you'll also succeed in solving this case on Winder's team. I have complete faith in you and I believe this case needs you and your skills as well. You are young and not from here, but your impartiality will be of vital advantage in solving this case. You'll think of possibilities we won't consider because you don't have a preconceived notion of the circumstances.”

  Sighing softly, he let his gaze wander into the distance. In his mind's eye, the images from inside the coffee shop blurred and the photo of the missing woman on the screen reappeared. A person had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. She had chosen to run away from something, had been abducted by someone who left no trace, or had fallen victim to a previously undiscovered violent crime. It appealed to him to solve this mystery. But not at this price. He didn't want to fall right back into the role he'd fled at the start of his new life. His new colleagues would hate him and the once-in-a-lifetime chance to start over would be wasted. He would have to painstakingly correct first impressions for years, if anyone even gave him the chance, after he had reduced the Bureau to rubble. For sure, individuals had made mistakes that had resulted in no one knowing what had happened to the woman to this day. No one liked the person who swept that mess back out from under the rug.

  18. Quinn

  WHEN SHE WAS finally satisfied with her work, she flipped the switch and let the machine run out. Never could one become careless at this moment. Even when coasting, these grinders still had more destructive power than an untrained stone grinder would give them credit for. For Quinn, that was one of the lessons she had learned on her father's lap that she would never forget. Using a piece of wood, he'd shown her what could happen if you got too close. That imposing lesson had sunk in.

  A disembodied prickle on the back of her neck told her that someone was eyeing her. Slowly, she turned to meet the doe-eyed gaze of her experienced colleague. She tilted her head and seemed to be just waiting for Quinn to ask her for help, but she wasn't about to. With every critique of her work so far, Teagan had nodded eagerly. Nothing could make her look good enough in the eyes, and the boss's criticism was confirmation of her poor judgment.

  Over and over he told her that her weaknesses were exactly where Teagan's strengths were, and that together they would be the perfect jewelry designer. To Quinn's chagrin, that was even true, but she couldn't imagine sharing even one tool with her colleague. Not to mention working together. She wanted to make it on her own.

  “Well sweetie, are you going to be okay?” Teagan finally wanted to know. To Quinn's ears, that sounded less like an offer of help and more like a tease meant to provoke her to grovel before her. But she could wait a long time for that. Her edgings were solid craftsmanship. She'd read up on the internet, practiced, and she'd mastered the basics. Quinn's skills were enough to frame a stone and get it on a ring or chain. What Teagan managed to do with a few milligrams of gold, however, was akin to an art form all her own. But with a little diligence and practice, she too would be able to do it. It just took longer.

  “Don't worry about me,” she sneered back. “I'll show the boss where my strengths lie yet.”

  “What special thing can you do?” Teagan continued to tease, as if she couldn't even begin to imagine.

  “I can engrave patterns in gems, and I know you can’t."

  “You can’t," Teagan replied firmly. “Quartz crystals crumble, and you can't get in properly above hardness eight.”

  “With you, maybe. I can.” Quinn shrugged and pulled a teardrop-shaped amethyst from her pocket. The quartz stone had been a particular challenge, but she'd managed to write her name into it. She held it close enough to Teagan's face so she could see it, but stayed far enough away so she couldn't knock it out of her hand.

  “How did you do that?” her competitor marveled, absorbed in her contemplation of the stone.

  “That's my secret,” Quinn triumphed. She left Teagan standing there, unable to suggest an information trade.

  In the locked backyard of the workshop, she leaned against the cool brickwork and closed her eyes. She had imagined working at Brooks & Shore quite differently. Her secret hope that she would be as admired in Fairfield as she was at home had not yet been fulfilled. Perhaps she wasn't so special once she was among people who were passionate about the same subject.

  “Quinn, could you come in here for a minute?” she asked a friendly voice that could only belong to her boss. Jade Shore was the only person in the entire workshop who ever sounded warm and friendly. True, she had been out of town during her first days at the shop, but by now she was in the salesroom most of the day.

  She nodded and braced herself for the next round in the battle of the vanities. In the workshop, all the employees stood gathered in front of Theodor Brooks and Jade joined him at his side while Quinn stood with the employees. Paul and Sharon kept as much distance from Teagan as she did, but she didn't want to be pigeonholed with them either.

  “Great that this worked out so spontaneously,” Brooks prefaced his speech. “I just wanted to make you aware of an innovation that you will all be a part of. As I'm sure you all know, there will be another show featuring our designs as part of the next Fairfield Fashion Week. We have selected Alex Kant, a very progressive designer from the local university, to create the fashions for it, and we are very excited to see how he executes the brief.”

  Jade pressed a button she kept covered in her hand. On the screen behind her husband, a slideshow of various runway photos began. Gritty, provocative, and experimental, Quinn found. None of the designs shown would ever make their way into her wardrobe, but there was definitely a common thread. Alex Kant had his own individual signature.

  “As you probably also know, promoting young talent is a matter close to our hearts. That is why we not only offer a stage to the fashion designers of the local university, but also to all of you the opportunity to design a jewelry collection for this show. One of your collections will be featured in a walk at the show and sold under a subsidiary label. We expect you to have as consistent a line as our fashion designer. For this, please design a collection of twelve pieces with one absolute highlight. The deadline is two weeks from now. A collection is expected from each of you. No one will be left out. Is that clear?”

  As if anyone would want to shirk such an opportunity..., Quinn thought irritatedly, but then saw Brook's gaze wander to Paul and Sharon and pause there until they both nodded. Of course, there was a hell of a lot of work coming up here, but she already had dozens of ideas in her portfolio. If she settled on a styl
e and drew various designs to go with it, she'd quickly have a workable proposal. Meanwhile, she regretted telling Teagan about the engraved stones, because stones with tattoos would go insanely well with Alex's designs. But now that Teagan knew about it, the element of surprise was gone.

  “Have a good weekend now, then,” Brooks said goodbye to the team. “Starting Monday, feel free to visit me in my office with any questions you may have about the project.”

  Her head began to rattle. She barely noticed the room emptying around her. It wasn't until she found herself facing Teagan alone again that she registered that the rest of the team had left. Quinn reached for her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and sorted through the tools on her table one last time for the day.

  “Good luck,” her competitor wished her in a tone that was hard to interpret before she too left the workshop.

  “Yoo-hoo Quinn,” a familiar voice called out as she saw the black-clad house looming before her. The building evoked homey feelings in her, even though she had only lived in it for such a short time. Jonah and her two neighbors had gone to great lengths to make her feel welcome. They had been successful in doing so that she felt like she belonged here despite the distance from her actual home.

  At the entrance to the antique shop stood the proud owner, beaming as she waved at her. Next to Amber stood a tall man with dark hair and a beard that had grown more than three days. Approaching, Quinn estimated him to be at least in his mid-thirties. The beard made it difficult as it hid the first wrinkles. At his feet lay a white dog, idolizing his master.

  “Hello,” Quinn replied a little more quietly. The dog had no leash on its collar and was quite large. Hesitantly, she stopped some distance away so as not to provoke the animal with a careless movement.

  “Have you met Finch and Maze yet?” Amber gestured with her slender arm toward her interlocutor and the dog. “Finch takes care of the park as a gardener.”