The Long Chain

by Dan Willis

  “No.” Karen shook her head, and started off toward the building.

  The workshop wasn’t as tall as the house, but it was bigger than a simple shed, with a peaked roof and several large windows that appeared to have been papered over with newsprint. A large carriage door stood slightly ajar in the middle of the building and it was at least ten feet high. It reminded Alex of a boathouse, except they weren’t anywhere near the river.

  Like the front yard, the back lawn had been cut and the entire area from the back patio to the privacy fence that ran around the property looked well kept.

  Karen reached for the wrought iron handle of the carriage door, but Alex waved her off.

  “Allow me,” he said. His gesture was only partly chivalrous. If Karen’s grandfather hadn’t gone missing of his own volition, there might be evidence inside.

  The door opened, rolling aside on a well-oiled mechanism. The room beyond was a stark contrast to the house and the lawn. It was chaos. Tools, papers, and bits of metal and wood littered the ground and covered every other horizontal surface.

  Two workbenches lined the back wall, each covered with debris, and a separate table stood on the right side of the space. This table was relatively free of random equipment, mostly because it held what looked like an alchemy lab. A complex network of glass beakers, rubber tubes, and gas burners were strung together in an impressive-looking apparatus that gave no clue what it might be used for. A metal sink stood behind the table, along with rows of metal shelves, stuffed to overflowing with all manner of mechanical parts.

  A space large enough for a car was mostly empty on the left side of the workspace, and a series of pictures and awards hung on the wall.

  Alex whistled, stepping carefully as he made his way into the room. The workshop was one giant contradiction. The lab setup looked like something Jessica and Dr. Kellin would use, but the tools that littered the workbenches and the floor were the kind an automotive mechanic might own.

  He bent and picked up one of the discarded papers. It was dirty and there was a clear shoe mark on it where it had been stepped on. Complex formulas covered the paper on both sides, but they’d been viciously crossed out. Since the math made no sense to Alex, he dropped the paper back on the floor and made his way toward the lab. Before he could arrive, however, he noticed that a broken jar lay on the ground by the workbench and there were drops of dried blood on the table and the ground.

  “Stop,” he said, holding out his hand in warning.

  Behind him, Karen froze.

  “I think maybe your grandfather didn’t leave of his own free will.”

  “It’s not like that,” Karen said, dismissing Alex’s concerns. “Grandpa’s workshop always looks this way. He’s very neat and tidy, except when he’s working.”

  “Okay,” Alex said, trying to reconcile the pristine yard and the workshop that looked like it had been hit by a hurricane. “Still, there’s some broken glass over there and what looks like blood.”

  “Grandpa got excited by something he was working on last week,” Karen explained. “He dropped a jar and cut the palm of his hand. I had to help bandage it.”

  “Okay,” Alex said, shaking his head. “Did your grandfather go out last night or did he disappear from here?”

  “I…” Karen began but then she hesitated. “I honestly don’t know. When I got home from work, I went up to my room and changed, then I made dinner. I didn’t think to check on grandfather until after that.”

  So, he might have gone out and gotten lost, or someone might have come in and taken him.

  “Is there something in here you can use to find him?” Karen asked.

  Alex looked around. Most of what was in the room were utilitarian objects. Sure, Karen’s grandfather used them all the time, but they held no special sentimentality. He walked over to the paper-covered workbenches. All of the papers held complex math and strange drawings; it reminded Alex of hieroglyphics and made about as much sense to him. A battered and ink-stained slide rule lay across some of the papers, and Alex picked it up. Clearly Leonard Burnham had used it often, but still, it was just a tool. What Alex needed was something special.

  Setting down the slide rule, Alex turned his attention to the array of photographs and documents along the left wall. Most of the pictures were of a sturdy-looking man with brown hair and a thin mustache, who Alex took to be Leonard Burnham, in various locations. Several showed him in Europe during the Great War, but he was always in civilian clothes, never military. In many of the older pictures, a blonde woman accompanied him. She had thick glasses, freckles on her nose, and a vivacious smile that lit up her face.

  “That’s my grandma,” Karen said, coming to stand just behind him. “They met at Vanderbilt University.”

  “That’s where he did his undergrad work,” Alex said with a nod.

  “How did you know that?” Karen asked.

  Alex pointed back at the beginning of the wall where several certificates hung.

  “That’s his diploma,” Alex said. “A Bachelors Degree in Mechanical Engineering.”

  “I told you he was an engineer,” Karen said, her voice growing impatient.

  “But you didn’t tell me he was a doctor.”

  When she didn’t answer, Alex turned to find Karen looking at him quizzically.

  “He also got a PhD in Chemistry from Harvard,” Alex explained, pointing to a second mounted diploma.

  “Oh,” Karen said, her cheeks pinking. “That kind of doctor.”

  “He sounds like quite a guy, your grandfather,” Alex said, turning back to the pictures. “Here’s four awards from Dow for his work there and…” Alex leaned close to read the fine print on an official looking citation. “This one is from the Army. It says he developed a new process for making gas mask filters during the war.”

  “I...I didn’t know that.” Karen said in a small voice. “Grandpa doesn’t talk much about his work.”

  “You should ask him about it,” Alex said, pulling a heavy frame off the wall. He turned it so Karen could see the official certificate encased inside. Next to it was a gold medal on a crimson ribbon. “This is the Nobel Prize for Chemistry. That’s impressive, all by itself.” Alex looked around at the disheveled workshop. “I don’t know what your grandfather was doing in here, but I bet it was something amazing.”

  Karen just stared at the award. She might be living in her grandfather’s house, but it was obvious she didn’t really know the man.

  “Please,” she said, looking up into Alex’s eyes. “We have to find him.”

  Alex pushed past her, carrying the mounted Nobel Prize with him to the cleanest of the workbenches.

  “And we will,” he said, setting the award aside and beginning to clear a space. “I should have noticed right off, but his Nobel Prize was hung right in the center of the wall. Clearly it was important to him.”

  “So you can use it to find him?” Karen asked, her voice full of hope.

  Alex nodded and kept removing tools and papers from the workbench. When he had a large area cleared, he retrieved his kit and opened the battered valise. From inside he withdrew his rolled-up map of Manhattan, his brass compass, and a worn cigar box.

  Setting the valise aside, he unrolled the map, then took four dark-green figurines from the cigar box. They looked like chess pieces, though each had the head of an animal. These Alex placed on the corners of the map to weigh it down and prevent it from rolling up while he cast the rune. Adding his compass to the center of the map, Alex then laid the framed Nobel Prize carefully on top.

  With everything in readiness, he took out his red-backed rune book and turned to where he’d added the finding runes. The book was really just two covers that were held together by a spring clip in the spine. New pages could be easily added by removing the clip and pressing the pages over two metal posts that would keep them from falling out once the clip was replaced.

  Taking hold of one of the delicate sheets of flash paper, Alex gently tore it f
ree from the book, then snapped the book closed and set it aside. He folded the paper into quarters, then laid it on top of the glass that framed the award.

  “All right,” he said, taking his brass spring lighter from his trouser pocket. He flicked it to life and then touched the flame to the flash paper. It erupted in a flash of fire that left a slight scorch mark on the glass of the award and an orange rune hovering in the air above it. Alex couldn’t see it, but he knew that the compass needle underneath the frame was spinning around. Gradually the hovering rune began to spin as well until a moment later it pulsed and vanished.

  “Is that it?” Karen said, her voice barely a whisper. “Did it work?”

  Alex lifted the Nobel award off the compass and set it aside. The compass beneath was trembling but fixed, pointing in a direction that was not north. He looked up into Karen’s anxious face and nodded.

  “Watch,” he said, then he began to slide the compass along the map. As he moved it, the needle moved as well. He moved the compass in the direction the needle pointed until suddenly it flipped around, pointing back the other way.

  “What happened?” Karen gasped.

  Alex pulled the compass back and began circling an area of the map. As he did, the needle turned as well, pointing in toward the center of the circle.

  “That’s it,” Alex said. “Your grandfather is there.”

  Karen let out a pent-up breath that came out as a gasp of relief and a nervous laugh.

  “Is he okay?”

  “I can’t say,” Alex cautioned. “But that’s near the stockyards and the docks. It’s a rough area after dark.”

  Alex picked up the compass, breaking its link with the map. As he did so, the needle swung around, pointing south.

  “Do you have a car?” he asked.

  Karen shook her head. Her breathing was coming quickly, and her face was pale.

  “Take a deep breath,” Alex told her, putting a reassuring hand on her arm. “The compass will take us right to your grandfather, but I need you to stay calm. Go inside and call for a taxi while I pack up my stuff. I’ll meet you out front in a few minutes.”

  “Okay,” she said, taking a moment to breathe.

  Alex released her arm and Karen hurried from the workshop. Slipping the compass into his jacket pocket, Alex replaced the jade figurines into the cigar box, rolled up the map, and returned them to his kit. Last of all, he pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the soot mark from the front of Dr. Burnham’s award.

  He glanced around at the chaos that enveloped the workroom as he hung the Nobel Prize medal back in its place. He wondered that even a man as obviously talented as Karen’s grandfather could get any work done in such a mess. When Alex was young, he never really had much in the way of possessions, and Iggy had impressed on him the need to keep his workspace clean and orderly, the results of his medical mind.

  Alex picked up his kit and headed for the door. Before he left, however, he looked back at the workshop. Something about it bothered him, something beyond its state of disarray, but in all the chaos, he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

  Shrugging, he turned and shut the carriage door. With any luck Karen would have her grandfather back soon and Alex could ask him about the workshop then.

  The corner nearest to where the map had said Dr. Leonard Burnham could be found was occupied by a lumber yard. Or at least it had been the last time Alex was in this part of town. Now the old yard was gone and a plain, three-story brick building had been erected in its place. Several ragged people were loitering about on the sidewalk, but no one attempted to shoo them away. The sign over the door read, Brotherhood of Hope, and the compass was pointing right at it.

  Alex felt his jaw tighten as he read the sign. The Brotherhood of Hope had been the name of Father Clementine’s mission, where he fed the poor and destitute. It had been disbanded two years ago in the wake of the father’s death. The bishop of the local diocese had thought it a waste of Church funds.

  “This way,” he said to Karen, shoving two dollars at the cabbie as he jumped out.

  “What is this place?” she asked as they approached the building.

  “It’s a Catholic mission,” Alex explained, forcing his anger down. “A soup kitchen for the poor.”

  “Why would my grandfather be here?”

  Alex just shrugged.

  “Maybe he knows someone here.”

  He led her through the front doors and into a large lobby. Alex could smell the aroma of cooking wafting in from a pair of double doors to the left. Visions of his own youth with Father Clementine sprang, unbidden, to his mind, stoking his anger. If the church wanted to keep using the name of Father Clementine’s mission, they should have left it where it was.

  A middle-aged nun in a pressed wimple sat at a desk against the far wall. She smiled when they walked in, but her look faltered when she got a good look at Alex and Karen. Clearly they were not here in search of charity.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Alex said, putting on a smile. “We got a report that this young lady’s grandfather was here.”

  The nun’s severe look softened as she looked at Karen, but it hardened right back up again when her gaze returned to Alex.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Leonard Burnham,” Karen supplied.

  The nun consulted a clipboard for a long moment, then shook her head.

  “I’m sorry, but we don’t have anyone by that name here right now.”

  “He’s a bit eccentric,” Alex said. “He might have given a different name.” He pointed toward the double doors. “We’d like to take a look, just to be sure.”

  The nun appraised him stoically. It was clear she wanted to send him packing, but the look of hope and dread on Karen’s face was obviously giving her pause.

  “Just a moment,” she said, rising from her seat. “I’ll call Brother Williams to escort you.”

  She turned and walked through a door behind her desk.

  “Why would my grandfather give a false name?” Karen hissed at him.

  “I don’t know,” Alex said, pulling the compass from his pocket and holding it out so that she could see it. “But according to my finding rune, he’s in there. No doubt about it.”

  The nun returned with a paunchy man in a black cassock. He wore a simple wooden cross on a cord around his neck and his face was open and friendly.

  “I hear you’re looking for someone among our parishioners,” he said.

  Brother Williams might look friendly, but Alex recognized his choice of words. He’d said parishioners, not patrons. If Alex and Karen were police or process servers, Brother Williams would claim sanctuary for whomever they were seeking. Many of the city’s forgotten people were wanted by the police, usually for stealing food or other necessities, and if the Mission were seen as helping the authorities, those people wouldn’t come. Their goal was to feed the less fortunate, not to take sides.

  “This is Karen Burnham,” Alex said. “Her grandfather went missing yesterday and she hired me to help find him.”

  “And you are?”

  Alex pulled one of his business cards out of his jacket pocket and passed it over.

  “Alex Lockerby,” he said. “I’m a private detective.”

  “Lockerby?” Brother Williams said, his brow suddenly furrowing. “Not Father Clementine’s ward?”

  Alex grinned at that despite his irritation.

  “Guilty,” he said.

  “I’m so sorry about his loss,” Williams said, clearly meaning it. “They don’t make many men like that.”

  Brother Williams handed Alex back his card and motioned them toward the dining hall.

  “Let’s see if we can find your missing man,” he said. “Then maybe you’d like me to show you around the new Brotherhood of Hope.”

  “How about that?” Alex said, fighting to keep his voice calm. “What’s the idea of using that name?”

  Williams looked stricken for a moment,
but that quickly shifted to concern.

  “We meant it to honor Father Clementine,” he said, pushing open the double doors.

  The room beyond was twice the size of the dining hall at the old mission, and that one had been in an old skating rink. Rows and rows of tables were laid out with benches and chairs where more than a hundred ragged men and women were eating. Along the far wall were counters where nuns dished out food.

  “Grandfather!” Karen shrieked, and took off running.

  Alex recognized Dr. Burnham before she reached him. He was thinner and grayer than he had been in the photographs on the workshop wall, but that was all. Alex started to step forward, but Brother Williams grabbed his arm.

  “I was afraid he might be the one you were looking for,” he said in a low voice.

  Alex looked at Dr. Burnham as Karen stood, talking eagerly to him. Nothing registered in his face; it was as if he was looking at a stranger.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Alex asked.

  “One of the local policemen found him wandering the streets last night,” Williams said. “He was confused but didn’t seem to be in any danger, so they brought him here. He doesn’t remember who he is.”

  4

  Examinations

  An hour later, Alex helped Dr. Burnham out of a taxi and across the gravel walk to his front door. For a man in his seventies, he seemed strong enough, but he walked with an unsteady wobble that required him to hold on to Alex’s arm for balance. There was a dark purple bruise on his cheek, cuts on the backs of his hands, and his clothes were stained and dirty.

  “I’ll get the door,” Karen said, running ahead of them. She produced a key and let them in, switching the light on as Alex and her grandfather came through.

  “Home,” Dr. Burnham said in a dazed voice. He hadn’t spoken much since they found him, and so far there was no sign the he recognized Karen at all. Alex took his declaration that this place was home as a good sign.

  “His bedroom is up the stairs on the left,” Karen said, heading for the kitchen.

  “Where’s that doctor you called?” Alex asked, guiding his charge toward the stairs.