by Carrie Patel
He turned to her and cracked a twisted grin. “You say that you’ve met Dr Hask? By which I assume you somehow reached her in her office?”
“Just as I found you in the washroom.”
“The writing’s on the wall, Malone. If you’re as clever as you say, you’ll know what to do when the time comes. I’m not so desperate as to reveal all of my secrets to a stranger.”
Malone stepped toward him, her feet clacking softly on the tiles. “I need the truth, Hollens. Not riddles and games.”
“Truth is exactly what you need, Inspector. But, like the rest of us, you’ll have to figure it out for yourself.” He strode decisively from the bathroom. Peering around the corner, Malone saw the simian man waiting outside the bathroom to escort Hollens, who marched back toward the councilors without a trace of the fear she had seen. After a pause, she slipped out of the bathroom and again into the mingling crowd.
Malone stopped next to a piece of sculpture, watching the couples dance. After brief observation, she noticed a tall, dark man leading a bright young thing with more than the usual force. The girl responded with sly coyness, allowing her partner to sweep her along. She seemed familiar, and as Liesl continued to watch the boldly roving eyes and delicately insouciant lips, she recognized the earnest young laundress from the hospital. How different she appeared now!
Intense and filled with fiery glee, Jane presented an entirely different vision. She swung and swayed, exhilarated at the rough direction of her dark partner and at their seemingly parallel conversation. Liesl would not have imagined her so spry and fierce. Still, that spark of sincerity set Jane apart from the crowd, lending her an air of gravity and naïveté.
Pleasantly intrigued, Liesl turned her focus to Miss Lin’s partner. She did not recognize his patiently menacing stride, his coolly taut features, or anything else about him. Recalling her earlier conversation with Lin, she remembered the shy girl mention of a Roman Arnault and Chief Johanssen’s brief characterization, and something clicked.
Their strange dance ended, and Malone saw Lin and Arnault part. The reporter whisked her away, leaving Arnault to brood next to a table of spirit-filled glasses. Miss Lin, she was sure, would never be too hard to find, but Arnault? This moment presented an unexpected opportunity.
Skirting the edge of the ballroom, Malone reached Arnault’s corner and sidled up next to him. “Roman Arnault, in the flesh. I’ve heard so much about you.”
He looked uncertainly down, as if noticing the trim blonde for the first time. “Is that so?”
“No. But if you’ll give me a few minutes of your time, we could fix that.”
He snorted and took another swig from his glass. “What do you want?”
“A little civility, for starters.”
“Civility?”
“The kind a gentleman offers a lady.”
Arnault studied her for a several moments, swirling his drink between two fingers. “I know you, madam. You’re no lady. You’re a Municipal.”
“And you’re no gentleman by proper standards,” she said. “But we can both pretend tonight, can’t we? Just like the rest of these politicians and panderers.”
Before Arnault could protest, Malone slipped one arm through his and with the other hand took his drink. She tossed it back and plunked the empty glass onto a passing tray. “I want to dance.” One of them, it would be difficult to identify which, led the other back to the center of the room.
Now locked together in a rhythm, Malone had Arnault captive for a few minutes. He must have noticed this himself, for he smiled mirthlessly. “A woman who dispenses with foreplay. You’re a rare breed.”
“I don’t believe in wasting time. Tell me what you know about Werner Cahill and Lanning Fitzhugh.”
“If memory serves, you lost that contract. Enlighten me, why should I talk to you about this?”
“Because you’re still stuck with me for the next three minutes. And I’ve got bad pitch and a habit of humming with music.”
“You are persuasive.”
“So talk to me about Cahill and Fitzhugh.”
He rolled his tongue around inside one cheek, creating a thoughtful bulge. “Well, my lady,” he said, drawing out the first syllable, “they’re both dead.”
“Something else.”
He gazed over her shoulder, apparently doing his best to ignore her.
“You had some acquaintance with these men before their deaths,” she said.
“And how do you assume that?”
“Don’t be defensive. There’s nothing suspicious in your having known them. Already you play the guilty party, and I haven’t accused you of anything.” Behind Malone, other dancers scooted away, giving her and Arnault wider berth.
“Interrogate me if you must, but don’t bait me. I’m perfectly aware of my reputation and further aware that my job depends on it.”
“What job might that be?”
He smiled cryptically. “I’m a consultant.”
“And I’m consulting you.”
“My employers appreciate my discretion. Who knows, if you had that aptitude, maybe you’d still have a contract.”
“At the rate they’re going, there may not be too many whitenails left to employ you soon.”
Arnault rolled his eyes. “How morbid. Then you know that I would stop these calamities if I could. What do you expect me to do about it?”
“Tell me something useful.”
“That dress makes you look hard and shapeless.”
Malone’s lean, muscled shoulders tensed, and her grip on Roman’s arm tightened. “Mr Arnault, if I’m right about you, you could be arrested. If I’m wrong, you could be next. Aren’t you concerned?”
“Madam, I’m in politics. I dodge bullets like this daily. Why should I worry about a demoted Municipal or a murdering insomniac?”
“Because I can place you within blocks of Lanning Fitzhugh on the night of his death. Give me time and I can find you closer to Cahill.”
Arnault sighed. “Really. Then you’ll also know that I have an alibi.”
“Don’t be so sure,” she replied, conscious of the song winding to a stop. The dance halted to scattered applause, and Arnault gave an obligatory, stilted bow of someone who has just completed a disagreeable task.
“My good inspector, I would say it has been a pleasure, but I think we both know better.”
“Until we meet again, Roman Arnault.”
“Do not count on it.” Whirling with casual grace, he swept out of sight, leaving Malone to ponder her next move. Her thoughts returned to Jane Lin, who stood chatting with the reporter and a trio of older women. She waited until she saw Jane break from the group and head for the washroom. On the return trip, Malone swooped.
“Inspector Malone! How nice to see you,” Jane said with polite but affected surprise.
“Likewise, Miss Lin. I know you work for these types, but I didn’t think you were on their invite lists.”
“I’m not. In fact, you’re only the second person to recognize me. I came with Fredrick Anders. He was with me at the hospital.”
Nodding, Malone shifted her gaze to the left. “It would seem, however, that you and I share a common associate.”
Jane’s eyes drifted and her complexion reddened. “I promise, I told you everything I know in the hospital. I’ve no reason to hide anyth–”
Liesl smiled gently. “I’m not here to interrogate you, Jane. I just wanted to say hello. And,” she said, guiding Jane by the elbow, “I wanted to inform you of some changes in Callum Station.”
“Oh?”
“As your friend the reporter may have told you, I’m no longer on the contract. In fact, the Municipal Police no longer have any jurisdiction over these investigations. I’ve learned,” Malone said, glancing over their heads, “that the Council is handling the contract.”
“Why would they do that?”
“To cover something up. Maybe an embarrassment or an administrative secret. At least, that’s what
I’d like to think.”
Jane’s features fell and pallor replaced her girlish blush. “What else could it be?”
“For now, let’s just hope that’s it.”
Jane frowned, glancing from Malone to the shifting crowd around them. “What does this mean, then?”
“It means that we will both have to be a little more careful. I still don’t think you’re in danger, but all the same, you should be careful. Whether or not these murders involve the Council, someone in the upper echelons is part of it. My instincts point to your friend, the ‘consultant’.”
“Inspector, I think you’re being hasty. I’m not prepared to believe–”
“He’s not necessarily working with the murderer.” Malone hesitated, setting the lure. “He could also be in danger. One way or another, someone with fewer scruples than me will be after him. That’s why I ask you to keep an open mind.”
Gnawing at her lip, the laundress nodded. “What do you want me to do?”
“Keep your head down and let me know if you notice anything peculiar. I can’t officially investigate anything, and you can’t openly contact me, so we have to communicate in secret.”
Jane nodded again. “Go on.”
“If you need to contact me, leave a message at the Dispatch in box thirteen-sixty-four. If necessary, I can meet you at 3 o’clock the day I receive your message, or the following afternoon. At the market. If you were to find any useful information, that box would also be the place to deposit it.” She suddenly smiled. “Don’t look so alarmed, Jane. These are merely precautions. I would ask the same of any witness.”
“I’m a little shocked. You’re asking me to help you investigate? Is this routine?”
“Events of the past week have not been routine, Miss Lin. I don’t trust the way the Council is handling this, and you need to ask yourself if you do. I can’t afford to pass on help if you’re willing to give it.”
Jane narrowed her eyes. “Why do you trust me, Inspector? How do you know I won’t turn you in to the Council myself?”
Malone smiled knowingly. “After Councilor Ruthers’s toast? Or the week of martial law? I may be the only one standing between you and a killer who could still decide that you pose a threat. By the same logic, I’m the only one in a position to save your gentleman friend, either way things fall.
“Besides,” Malone continued, “if you turned me in, the Council would hold you under suspicion, too, and they wouldn’t treat eavesdropping in a councilor’s home so lightly. They’d worry about what you know, and at a time like this, they’d consider you collateral damage.”
Jane shook her head as if trying to clear it. “But why come to me? I don’t know anything about spying or investigations.”
“Exactly because you’re an unlikely agent. But I’m not asking you to look for trouble. It may find you, ready or not.”
Jane nodded more resolutely. “I hope you’re wrong, but I’ll keep an ear out, Inspector.”
“Take a deep breath, Jane. Think of this as a promotion.”
Jane decided that this wasn’t the time to ask if it came with a pay raise.
Malone returned her focus to the party where laughing men and women reveled despite the intrigues unraveling around them. “Thank you for your time, Jane. I hope I haven’t kept you too long from your friends.”
“Not at all.” She grinned. “I know I’ll never forget my first gala.”
Malone tilted her head in the direction of the open dance floor. “From what I saw, you didn’t need me to make it memorable. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss Lin.”
“I would say the most interesting parts have passed – both of them.”
Chapter 8
Dirty Laundry
Malone spent the days after the gala keeping a low profile and hoping her younger partner could do the same. While she had bobbed and weaved among the luminaries at Brummell Hall, Sundar had spent the evening on stakeout in the Vineyard, a role that he had accepted with characteristic and dutiful gusto. He had kept his post in the shadows until the wee hours – well after the partygoers had returned home. With the guard contingents in the Vineyard distracted by the gala, he had managed to avoid detection.
Much to Malone’s amusement, he retained his zest the next morning when they met at the station and he inquired about the gala.
“It was impressive,” she said, “but frightening to think of the kind of business that is settled over so much wine and caviar.”
Sundar grinned with vicarious pleasure. “Well, at least you got to have some.”
Malone cocked her head, and Sundar blinked back at her. “Wine and caviar,” he said. “And truffles, slow roast, and whatever else they had. You did try them, right?”
“I wasn’t there to sample the banquet.”
Sundar collapsed in a fit of thespian anguish. “Malone! You’re telling me you were there four hours and you couldn’t spare five minutes for the finest food you’ll ever clap eyes on? I can’t do this. Next time, you dodge patrols in the cold.”
“Calm down. The news isn’t all bad.”
Sundar perked up. “You had more success with the politicians than the buffet table?”
“Let’s discuss it in private.” They set off from the main hallway toward her office. “Have you checked in with the chief yet?” she asked.
“As soon as I came in this morning. As usual, he didn’t have much to say.” Sundar gave her a suggestive glance. Malone understood what he meant. Chief Johanssen had turned a blind eye to their clandestine investigations, and the two inspectors kept up their end of the ruse. The pair continued to check in with their chief every morning, but the visits were always the same. When she and Sundar entered the chief’s office, he did not look up, but continued writing in the bright glow of his green-shaded desk lamp.
“Morning, Inspectors,” he would grunt.
“Good morning, Chief.”
“Anything to report?”
“No, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
He would sometimes assign them a marginal task, such as moving a file in the archives or making sure that all of the chairs in the meeting room were properly tucked under the table. Just as often, with no instructions at all, they sharply took their leave.
Malone knew better than to take offense. She understood these awkward moments as evidence that the chief felt angrier at the Council’s pronouncement than even she did. Unlike Malone, however, he had no means to oppose the Council. As Chief of the Municipal Police, he endured a level of scrutiny that kept him exactly where the Council wanted him: pinned behind his desk with his boxer’s nose out of their business.
Under the circumstances, he did the next best thing: he left the two inspectors to their own devices. With the absence of any meaningful assignments, Malone knew that the chief was aware of her and Sundar’s continued investigations. That’s why he made sure they had nothing but time on their hands.
Despite his initial bemusement, Malone could tell that Sundar had embraced the freedom of their open mandate. He followed her to her office, close at her elbow, his lips mortared shut and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. For all the severity of their situation, she could not suppress the glimmer of a smile from her own.
Turning the final corner and gliding into her office, Malone turned and locked the door behind Sundar.
“Such a handy little space,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Though I still think the walls need some color. Of course, I can’t expect one of my own for another few years, can I?”
“Five, at least. Enjoy the communal rookies’ offices while you can. Things are a lot quieter back here. Even Farrah hardly drops by,” she said, eying him.
He coughed. “Anyway, let’s hear your big success from last night.”
“Beauty before age, Inspector Sundar.” She sat behind her desk while he took his seat across from her.
“Then prepare for disappointment,” he said with a shrug. “I patrolled th
e same twenty blocks all night, but nothing. When the pretty birds came flocking back, I managed to find Ruthers, but he went straight home. Trailed, of course, by a contingent of guards.” He pulled a wry frown and looked up at Malone.
“Good work anyway. We needed someone waiting in the streets, just in case. Sorry it had to be you.”
“Next time, just see if you can slip something from the dessert table into your handbag for me. So, what did you find?”
Malone lowered her voice and recounted her conversation with Hollens, noting the councilor’s reluctance and reticence. “He must have a lot to lose if this – whatever it is – comes to light,” she said.
“Yes, but he’s got a hell of a lot more to lose if it doesn’t.”
“I think he’s beginning to realize that. He was surrounded by more guards than friends last night.”
“So what did he give you?”
“He told me to examine an old contract – the Sato murders from fourteen years ago.”
Sundar’s eyes brightened. “I remember when that happened. I was still in school at the time, but we were all released early when the news broke. The murders and the killer were all anyone spoke about for months, and no one went anywhere alone. When they caught the perpetrator, just a few days later, the entire city went mad.”
“Do you remember what happened to him?”
Sundar’s eyed drifted toward the ceiling as he searched his memory. “The panel of judges convicted him, and he was executed the same day. I think the neighbors actually lit firecrackers that night in celebration. On the surface, of course.”
Malone nodded. The Sato murders had created a wave of public shock and outrage that had not existed on such a scale in any of Recoletta’s recorded history. The Vineyard represented not only the pinnacle of luxury, but also the epitome of security. Personal and commercial quarrels took their toll on the reputations and fortunes of the whitenails, but they were nearly immune to threats of bodily harm from lower classes. The Sato murders had broken a deeply ingrained taboo.
In fact, most people felt comfort rather than indignation at the inequitable security standards. The whitenails were living proof that Recoletta’s system of governance worked and that it could ultimately maintain order. Therefore, when a hapless mugger murdered Councilor and Lady Sato, he attacked not only two prominent and beloved individuals, but also the very basis for Recolettans’ sense of wellbeing. Recalling the panic of those days, Malone sensed a resurgence of the unease and fear of that time.
