Escape to the Fringe (Fringe Chronicles Book 1)

by Adam Drake

  “Probably six, I'd say. Not much later than that.”

  “And what happened?”

  Again, Malwin's eyes fluttered. “We found him is what happened. Under the bridge there. At first I thought it was a bandit skulking in the shadows looking to rob fine folks, such as ourselves. I called out to him not to try anything funny or he'd regret it!”

  “No you didn't,” Gescha said. “You told me to go and look under the bridge. See who was there. Brave man that you are.”

  Quick to cut off Malwin's anger I asked, “Was there anyone else around, besides you two?”

  “Nah,” Malwin said. “No one. Just us two. Strangest thing, ain't it? Man like that now all stone like. I was telling Gescha here that it could only be great magic which could do that to a person. Didn't I?”

  Gescha nodded. “Great magic. Very special. Thought something as special as a stone man should be noted to the police.”

  This was what had me wondering since the moment I saw them. These types of folk did their utmost to avoid authorities.

  “Now why did you two feel compelled to report it?”

  Gescha regarded me with surprise at the question. “Well, for the reward, of course.”

  “Reward?”

  “Yeah, reward. There has to be one when a stone man is found.”

  I heard Fairfax grinding his teeth.

  “There is no reward, Miss Amata. There never was.”

  The two of them looked horrified.

  “No reward?” Malwin said. “It's special, ain't it? You can't fool me that it isn't. A stone man has gotta be worth something to someone. Maybe we should sell it.”

  Fairfax had reached the end of his rope and said, “There is no reward, and that stone man is not yours to claim.”

  “I doubt that,” Malwin said, giving a shrewd look. “We found him. We should be able to keep him. Sell him to the highest bidder. Scavenger's rights!”

  Now I sighed. “When you two found him, you thought you could sell him. But when you tried to move him, to haul him away to one of the black markets, you found he was too heavy. Correct?”

  “Well, yeah,” Gescha said.

  “And since he was too heavy to move you figured you might get a reward which is why you flagged down a police buggy. Correct?”

  “Yeah,” Malwin said. He looked as confused as his sister. They both realized now they could never claim Oswall's stone body.

  I then pulled out the paper with the etching on it and presented to them. “This was on the wall next to the body. Did either of you make this?”

  They both looked at it, bewildered.

  “No, we didn't,” Gescha said. “What's that supposed to be anyway? A fish?”

  “Nah, it's a dog,” Malwin said. “See the tail there.”

  I frowned and put the paper back into my satchel. There was nothing more to ask.

  “I would like to thank you for informing us of the stone man,” I said. “The constable has your details and we will be in touch if we have further questions. Good day to you.”

  I turned and walked away. Fairfax stepped in front of the siblings before they could say any more, shooing them off.

  I found my temper had been rising throughout the conversation. Not a trait a detective should possess if an investigation was to proceed. When did I get this way? I had always been professional during my time at work. But now?

  Standing on the embankment and watching the river, I placed my hand into my satchel and caressed the knitting bag. Its texture soothed me.

  A constable stood near the underside of the bridge, guarding poor Oswall's stone corpse. The detective deserved better than this. At least he died by a river. I wondered how I would die and if there would be a river nearby.

  Fairfax appeared at my side. “What do you think?”

  “Of those two? I think I'd eat my purse if they had the wherewithal to perform greater magic on Oswall, and then be dumb enough to inform the police about it.”

  Fairfax chuckled. A pleasant noise. “True. But could they have been involved?”

  I shook my head. “They gave me no indication of anything like that. All they really did was sully the crime scene trying to move him. That explains the flattened mud at Oswall's feet. And good luck having them not mentioning this to anyone. They're off to spread the word of their grand discovery.”

  “Doubt anyone would believe them. Anyways, we can now cross off our only prime suspects,” he said with mild humor.

  I looked at him. Intelligent and duty bound he would solve this case on his own and without an old woman's aid.

  Might as well get this over with. I cleared my throat. “My assessment, Constable, is that this case is dangerous. Too dangerous, to be honest. Someone is out there right now with the ability to turn people to stone. A horrible magic if I ever heard of one. And catching the culprit will be very risky.”

  Fairfax frowned.

  I continued, ignoring his disappointment. “I would start with whatever is on his desk at the moment. That might give you a lead or two. But I believe you will find additional support is required.”

  “Not from a retired detective.” Fairfax said it as a statement.

  I sighed. “Get help from the Capital Constabulary. They may find this warrants a larger investigation than our local one can manage. That would be my recommendation. I'm sorry, but that is all I can offer you.”

  I looked away, not wanting to see his eyes. Home called for me. My only duties for the remainder of the day were crawling into bed and having a nice long nap. But would I dream of cats or stone men?

  Fairfax nodded. “I understand. And I appreciate you coming here. Shall I take you home now?”

  I was about to answer when a brilliant white car pulled off the road and parked next to where we stood. It lurched to a stop, kicking up dust and dirt into our eyes. This was one of the more expensive model of buggies, and usually could only be found in the Capital. The gaudy thing looked like a beached whale on wheels.

  “It's the Mayor,” Fairfax coughed out, swiping dust away from his face.

  A fat little man jumped out of the passenger's side. He was bald, save for a pathetic wisp of a comb-over, and had a razor thin line of a mustache that edged his upper lip. Looking about with beady eyes he settled on me and scowled.

  As the fat man marched over to us another man, this one tall and thin, emerged from the driver's side and hurried to catch up with his shorter companion.

  “What is going on here?” the little fat man said.

  “Oh, Sigwald,” I said with maudlin tones. “Always a pleasure.”

  “That is Mayor Archambault to you, Mayra,” Sigwald said. “What are you doing here?” He looked to Fairfax. “Why is she here? She is no longer a part of the force.”

  “She is here as a consultant,” Fairfax said evenly. “At the Chief Constable's express invitation.”

  Around us the other constables watched but shrewdly kept a distance.

  “Oh, that is wonderful isn't it?” Sigwald nearly spat. He looked at me. “Don't you think this case would be better suited in the hands of active duty investigators?”

  “I wanted to see for myself -”, I said but he interrupted.

  “Wanted to see what? How a murder investigation is properly conducted?” He glared at Fairfax. “Will you be charging admission next? Hmm? Let the local children have a look at the body for a copper piece?”

  “Miss Beeweather has the best case clearance rate in the history of the -”, Fairfax said but Sigwald wouldn't let him finish.

  “Unprofessional is what it is!” Sigwald said.

  “Most unprofessional,” parroted the tall skinny man with a hook nose hovering behind Sigwald. He had an unseemly birthmark under his left eye. It was Davlon Blythe, the mayor's assistant and perpetual sycophant.

  “And she is retired! Am I correct? She should not be here at all. In any capacity,” Sigwald said.

  “That is for the Chief Constable to decide,” Fairfax said.

/>   Sigwald barked a laugh. “The Chief Constable, eh? Well, we'll see what he thinks once I bring this to the Town Council's attention. That might clear his head of any notion of bringing Mayra into an investigation. And her little... circus.”

  The last was said with a hateful glance at my satchel.

  Neither Fairfax nor I said anything in response. There was no point. It would only encourage Sigwald to make more of a spectacle.

  When Sigwald realized we wouldn't cater to his tantrum he whirled around and pointed at the nearest constable. “You, there! Take me to this poor fellow's body. I want to see for myself.”

  The unfortunate constable looked to Fairfax, who begrudged a nod.

  We watched as Sigwald disappeared over the river embankment with his assistant and a cluster of frightened constables in his wake.

  “What an unpleasant little man,” I said.

  Fairfax snorted and said, “Well, you did have two of his business partners thrown in prison for a good long time.”

  I placed a hand on the knitting bag within the satchel and smiled at Fairfax. “Oh, yes. There was that. I had almost forgotten.”

  “He hasn't,” Fairfax said.

  Nor would he ever. I thought about Sigwald and the terror he induced in everyone around him. The little man flared up my temper good and hot. Though putting his partners away had been a highlight of my career there had been nothing to directly link Sigwald to their crimes. Yet even the stink of corruption didn't put a dent in Sigwald's campaign to get reelected as Mayor.

  Still, I found I enjoyed the thought of making Sigwald annoyed. Maybe I would like to make him even more annoyed.

  “Shall I take you home now, miss?” Fairfax said, motioning toward his buggy.

  “No,” I said. “That won't be necessary.”

  Fairfax looked at me in surprise.

  “Let us have a gander at Oswall's desk,” I said with a grin.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Constabulary looked the same as when I last visited. Not that I expected any great change. The building had been in use by the Protection Services for at least a century. Perhaps I feared the neglect of the Town Council toward the department had caused the place to collapse out of sheer ambivalence. I was relieved to see it had not.

  We pulled around the back and onto a gated lot. There were only two other buggies parked there.

  “Everyone is on scene or doing their patrols,” Fairfax said as he parked nearest to the building's rear door.

  “Of course,” I said. I felt for Fairfax. He was a true sworn protector and always made excuses when something lacking of Protection Services became obvious.

  No doubt he made constant excuses.

  I exited the buggy, satchel clutched close to my side and looked at the place. Old and perfunctory. Like me. I smiled at my own dull humor.

  Fairfax noticed and arched a questioning brow as he opened the Constabulary's back door. “Care to share the joke?”

  A shook my head. “No, Fairfax. Just a bit of gas.” This time I chuckled and feared Fairfax thought I'd lost my mind.

  Inside, the tiled floor gleamed brightly, reflecting the sunlight which passed through huge bay windows.

  I squinted, surprised. “This is new,” I said.

  “Chief Constable fought hard for it to get done but the Council refused to approve any funds. In the end, the Chief called on a few favors and finished it a few weeks ago.”

  I could hear a mix of pride and frustration in his voice. I said no more.

  The Sergeant Constable stood at a counter in front of the wide open doorway which led into the main room of the Constabulary. His job was to field queries which came through and direct them accordingly.

  He beamed once he spotted me.

  “Detective Beeweather! You are a welcome sight. How have you been if I may enquire?”

  “Still alive, Sergeant Maginhart. But please, no Detective, just Miss Beeweather,” I said and felt a flush across my cheeks. Gannon Maginhart was one of the longest serving constables in the service. And he was quite handsome, too.

  Gannon grinned. “Of course. Miss it is.” I took pleasure in noticing he did not glance at my satchel. Either he didn't care or made an effort show it. Regardless, I appreciated the gesture.

  Gannon held a pen over the large log book in front of him. “Should I write you down as Acting Detective, then?”

  Fairfax answered for me. “Please put her as a consultant, will you Maginhart?” He knew another title might cause a dust up with a review board.

  “Very well,” Sergeant Maginhart said and made a scribble on the thick parchment.

  I spotted a tin of biscuits on Maginhart's desk. “May I?” I asked.

  “Please, help yourself.”

  I snatched up a biscuit and made a point of giving Fairfax a smug look while I chewed it down.

  “Chief back, yet?” Fairfax asked, trying to ignore me.

  “No. He went back to the scene,” Maginhart said and a sad expression crossed his handsome face.

  “Did Oswall make any official log entries in the last few days?” I asked.

  Maginhart shook his head. “I already checked. Nothing for over three months, and that time was to log a sick day. To be honest, I think it was to recover from a hangover.”

  I frowned. “Okay, thank you.”

  We passed through into the inner sanctum. As I looked around I was hit with a wave of memories.

  The huge room, or the 'kennel', as the constables liked to refer to it, was lined with large windows. Twelve desks, in three rows, made up most of the decorum. Cabinets, filled with case files and paperwork, took up every available space. Books and file folders were piled everywhere, some threatening to spill over at the slightest touch. Several doorways were at the back leading to a small kitchen area, and the Chief Constable's office. A door to the armory was closed and locked.

  Rock lights, now dark, hung over each desk from the high ceiling. More rock lights protruded at intervals along the wall.

  The place smelled of must and paper and old overcoats. I often thought of the Constabulary as a lair for justice. Cases were launched from here and suspects pursued.

  I worked here many years. Often spending more time under these rock lights than the ones in my own house.

  As much as I did not want to admit it this had been my home for a very long time.

  I must have been standing in a daze before realizing Fairfax was speaking to me.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  I smiled and blinked away the start of a tear. “Yes. Yes, of course.” I cleared my throat. “Is he still at the same desk?”

  “Yes, last one on the right.”

  We walked to it and I glanced at each desk. Case files, photographs, paper, mugs half filled with morning tea. Once the call came in that Radley had been found everyone left in a hurry.

  Oswall's desk looked different than the rest. It was very clean, devoid of any clutter. Several dip pens in a small cup, a fat little ink bottle, several reference books lined up neat on one corner, and a small hunched rock light. A wide ink blotter took up most of the desk space and tucked within its edge folder were two pieces of paper.

  I looked around in mild surprise. “Where are his case files? They should be here.” Each constable had a stack of active case files on their desk. Oswall, as the Constabulary's only active detective, was assigned the high-ticket items; high profile robberies and murders.

  Fairfax thought a moment and said, “The Chief must have been looking at them. I'll see.” He vanished into the Chief's office.

  I picked up one of the papers stuck in the blotter. I recognized Oswall's loopy scrawl across one side of it. 'Hubertus – useless'. The other side was a large question mark.

  The name Hubertus derived from the north-eastern region but was too common to pin down to one individual.

  I took the other piece of paper and discovered it to be a business card. Rousset's Tomes & Books of Rarity, Misael Rousset Owner &
Proprietor. The address was on a street off Stage Court, near the center of town. On the back of the card in Oswall's writing was a name, underlined: Elicia Ipthorn.

  Fairfax emerged from the Chief's office with a stack of folders. “Here they are,” he said as he set them down on the desk.

  I counted them. Fourteen. “This was his active case load?” I asked, a little perplexed. That was an absurd amount to be given to a single detective. During my tenure there would be half as much, at most.