by Gregory Colt
“He was there. Security camera at one of the docks has him and a Nick Roarke on it four days ago, right after the Concordia returned to port.”
“Yeah, okay. He said as much during his speech at the gala. What’s the problem?”
“This stays between you and me. I’m serious. The Justice Department would hang us out to dry. If we were lucky enough to avoid a prison sentence we might have a chance to spend the rest of our lives asking ‘would you like fries with that?’”
“I understand.”
“I did some digging. The Concordia carried an arms shipment along with its other merchandise. It was supposed to dock in Durban, South Africa,” John said, taking more of a frustrated lecturing tone. I considered that an improvement.
“At the gala, Adrian said the captain was a wanted fugitive out of Seattle or something. Said Roarke took him back West for the bounty. Assuming he’s telling the truth, and given the video footage of him and Nick back at port, I assume they brought the boat back. Which means it’s not on its way to Durban, South Africa.”
He nodded.
“So that’s the trouble then? Someone’s missing an arms shipment in Africa?” I asked him.
“No. And no. The trouble is two people are missing an arms shipment. The unnamed receiving party, and the federal officers who raided the ship when they found out it was back in the harbor,” he said, tilting his head for added emphasis.
“So what did they find?”
“An abandoned gun-running ship without any guns and—”
“And an alleged gun-runner one of the last people known to be on board,” I finished for him.
“Yes. He was there and he was involved,” he said with finality.
Disturbing? Yes. Concrete evidence? No. And still bore no relevancy to the task at hand. “Is it not strange that Adrian didn’t hide the fact he was on board. I mean he told a hundred people the other night. If he’s the evil genius mastermind you seem to think he is, then why go around telling everyone? You know it’s possible the crew took off with the arms. Or even a local rival. Is there not security footage all over the docks? Wouldn’t someone have noticed the massive amount of unloading it would have taken to move all of it?”
“It’s not like the whole area is covered. He could have staked it out beforehand. Planned the whole thing. Maybe dumped them overboard or he—”
“Could, according to Occam, also have tracked a stolen item someone wanted to get out of the country to a ship known to smuggle stolen items out of the country. Where’s the crew? What does the captain have to say?” I asked spreading my hands out. This entire line of thinking was a waste of my time.
“I don’t know. It’s an ongoing investigation and I was lucky to learn as much as I did. We know, I know, all of this is more than idle speculation. He’s involved and I’m going to find out how.”
I didn’t have time for this. “I need him John.”
He glared.
“I do. Because despite whatever you think I believe, he honestly wants to find who killed Henry and George and that is what all of us are supposed to be doing. He may always be running off God knows where, but the point is he’s there when I need him.” Which was odd. I meant to say he’s on our side.
“Christ, Claire do you even hear yourself? What does he do when he’s gone? Who is he seeing? What is he planning, or covering up? I mean my God it’s obvious! I swear I should lock you up for your own good. Do you really hate me so much that you’d put your faith in him?” he snarled.
“Stop making everything about us. There is no us. I don’t have to defend myself to you, but just so you know, I’m putting my faith in myself. I’m sorry I didn’t fit into your manipulative, control freak little world.” Which was an old argument that had no place here right now either. I sighed. “You’re a good detective John. A good detective doing a hard job.”
I’d insulted him and followed with a compliment then watched him struggle with what to say.
“You’re not the only one that lost a friend. I’m doing the best I know how,” I said, turning away. To his credit, he didn’t stand there like an idiot yelling after me when I left and I was grateful for both our sakes.
Chapter Nineteen
Adrian wasn’t waiting for me when I pulled his old Chevelle to the curb outside the busted doors to Roarke’s office building so I shut the car down and went inside.
My shoes crunched on the unavoidable glass that filled the lobby. Fascinating there wasn’t more blood. Or any at all. I remembered a shadowy figure standing in the doorway, face bloodied and torn, staring at me as I drove away. Was that only last night?
I don’t know. Maybe it was due to the massive mental and emotional exhaustion yesterday or maybe I was so afraid last night for, and of if I was being honest, Adrian. The fight, our flight, and then Adrian’s haunted ruin on the Hudson kept my mind blessedly busy, but here, climbing the steps to the fourth floor office, I felt the building pressure of being alone again.
It wasn’t fear. The stairway was well lit by the midday sun shining through the windows and I would be able to hear anything walking through the lobby with all that glass. Though, I shivered at the thought of anything.
I told myself taking the stairs at a run was great exercise as I passed the second and third floors. I didn’t consider what I might be running into until I was already on the fourth floor.
The hall on the fourth was clear and I relaxed, leaning against the wall to catch my breath before going into Nick’s office. I hadn’t realized how much damage the place had taken last night. The hallway was a mess. Glass from Nick’s shattered window was everywhere and the hall had two Adrian-sized holes in the sheetrock. I hadn’t taken the time to appreciate how injured he must have been even before the elevator fell.
I walked through the still open door to the office and Adrian wasn’t there either. Which I more or less expected given how loud I ran upstairs and finding no one at the top, but it was still distressing.
But not as distressing as the grinding, popping sound like someone marching on hard snow, echoing up the stairwell. Or crunching glass. Someone was downstairs.
I tried thinking of whom all it could be, but it was a futile exercise. I didn’t yell down either, though that was just as silly. The car was sitting right by the door, so whoever it was knew someone was here. Still, it didn’t seem like a great idea to volunteer my location.
I tossed my purse onto the desk and dug out Nick’s .38 I’d brought to return. I carried it around the desk to check the drawer where I had seen the box of ammo the day before. The drawer wasn’t there.
“Right,” I said, looking at everything scattered on the floor behind the desk. Adrian ripped it out last night looking for the gun.
I found the box of ammo, reloaded the cylinder, and positioned myself behind the desk, ready to fire as I listened to stairs creak. I aimed high to catch them right in the head like Adrian had. Two of the men last night fell over three stories on top of an iron elevator cage, survived, and tore through it. The one Adrian put two rounds in the back of his head had stayed down. Which, now that I thought about it, where was the body? He died; Adrian executed him, right there in the middle of the room. There was blood but no body. What the hell?
Footsteps in the hall brought my concentration back full circle. They were getting close. I saw movement through the broken blinds of the window. This was it.
“Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you people!” said the terrified teenage boy in the doorway.
I shrieked, jerking the gun away from his head. “What is wrong with me? What is wrong with you? What are you doing wandering around an empty building? Are you trying to get shot? Who are you?” I said, letting out the rush of breath I’d held in.
“I ain’t—” he stopped and shook his head in frustration. “I’m not wandering around. I’m here to see Adrian Knight. You work for Roarke or something?”
I tossed the .38 back in its drawer and took a second to calm down before int
roducing myself.
“I’m Dr. Spurling and no I do not work for Mr. Roarke. I’m an associate of Mr. Knight. Who are you?” I asked, fighting the well of different emotions still subsiding and trying to find the right one. I’d almost murdered a child.
“Oh, yes ma’am. Sorry, Doctor. I’m Thomas,” he said, walking in and avoiding the debris.
He shook my hand. I had no idea who he was or what he was doing here, but he knew Adrian and Nick, and he clearly was not expecting me. He was maybe fifteen, dressed nice, even if it did look third-hand, but was clean and, now neither of us saw each other as a threat, seemed shy.
“Pleased to meet you, Thomas. Say, what was it you meant by what is wrong with you people?”
“Man, both times I come here first thing happens is someone points a gun at me. I mean yesterday morning I was just sitting out there in the hallway,” he said, pausing and looking around the office. “Holy hell man, what happened here?”
So he was here yesterday morning? Interesting. I sat on the corner of the desk and asked, “Thomas, what was it you were saying about yesterday morning?”
“Uhh, right, yeah so I was sitting out there in the hall. Was waiting for Mr. Roarke and all when some guy leans around the corner of the stairs out there pointing a gun at me. It was a misunderstanding with Mr. Knight, but man you sure gave me a scare when I came in.”
Was it before he’d gotten the call to come to the museum? And after his meeting with the FBI. What was he doing here?
“I’m sorry, Thomas. I thought you were someone else.”
“Nah, it’s all right. I get it. Rough business I guess. What is it you do here doctor?”
“I left some things I needed to come back for, but if you don’t mind my asking, why are you here? What did you come to see Mr. Knight about yesterday?”
“Oh, no ma’am. Doctor. I was here to find Mr. Roarke, the private investigator. Everyone says he helps people. Finds lost kids and stuff. Mr. Knight was here working the office for him while he was away on some business or something. So, you know, I’m here because I done everything like Mr. Knight asked and I wanted to know if he’d found anything or what else I can do.”
I crossed my arms and tilted my head curiously. “Found anything? What is he looking for?”
He looked at the floor and rolled his head around. “My sister,” he said.
The well of competing emotions overflowed again. “Thomas,” I said. “Come with me. I think you need to tell me everything from the beginning. Then we’re going to find Adrian.”
Adrian wasn’t working an angle in this. He was working a whole different case and he’d lied to me about it. We didn’t have time for this. Not with a solid lead on this Auction. I tried getting angry, but a look at Thomas attempting to be stoic, and failing, ruined that. I couldn’t even imagine what it cost Adrian the moment Thomas said, “missing sister”. No way he was going to walk away from that. Then to go straight to the museum. I suppose I didn’t have the monopoly I thought I did on bad days yesterday.
My eyes burned again. Stupid well.
* * * *
Once again, I missed out on slow-cooked Southern ambrosia. Jabari was closing and cleaning The Box diner between lunch and dinner, but he left a table out on the sidewalk and a pitcher of sweet tea and glasses for me, Brandon, and his friends. Good man, Jabari.
“So I mean that’s it. We called the police and they sent a car out. After finding the bodies like we said they called in a bunch more cops and some of those CSI lab guys who spent a long time doing different things around the bodies. They even took the broken piece of Ruby’s heel. Anyways we convinced three of them to stay and have a look around after an hour of questions. One of the older officers stayed with us while the rest went out and searched around the buildings,” Brandon said.
“Go on,” I said, pouring another glass of sweet tea.
“Guess they didn’t find much cause when they came back all anyone did was have us fill out a report and they left,” he said.
“Not all of them. The old man, he stuck around and—” said one of Brandon’s friends.
“Yeah I’m getting to that part. Right, so this old cop, the officer who sat with us while the others were out, we got to talking and laid out everything for him and he decided to stay after the others left. Said he knew Nick Roarke by reputation. Anyway he wanted to stick around while off-duty and get us to…what was the word he used?” Brandon asked the table at large.
“Canvass. Said we should canvass the area,” said another of Brandon’s friends.
“That’s right. Canvass, yeah. So, he organizes us all, and tells us what all to do, and what to ask and look for and things, then goes around with us before it got dark. Afterwards he says to wait and finish in the morning cause it could cause trouble wandering around at night like that,” he said.
“Sounds like a good guy,” I said, taking a drink.
“Yeah, but they didn’t find nothing,” he said.
“Well, that’s good and bad,” I said thinking.
“How do you mean?” he asked.
“It’s good because we know she wasn’t attacked by the same type of guys who attacked us yesterday. And since she wouldn’t have gone far and they didn’t find any trace of her, means she was never there to begin with. It narrows our search,” I said.
“And the bad part?” he asked, leaning forward.
“We found the heel. We found the shoe. We know she was there and now we know she didn’t go anywhere else. That can only mean one thing,” I said.
“She was picked up. Right around there on the street,” said Brandon, dropping his head to the table.
I nodded. It was a worst-case scenario. Not only could Ruby be anywhere, but the kind of people who would abduct an injured prostitute off an abandoned street in the middle of the night were, ten times out of ten, not the most altruistic.
“We already knew that though. We found—” said the same friend Brandon had cut off while ago.
“I’m telling him, okay,” Brandon snapped, rising up again.
“You found something?” I asked.
“Yeah. This morning we went out and did some more of that canvassing thing. Talked to folks and such who live nearby. Ain’t many still staying around here, but we found an old couple. Said they’d heard a scream out an open window. Went to look and saw three people standing out around a white van, and the man yelled at them and they all got in and left in a big hurry,” Brandon said.
“A white van? Right down there by where we found her heel?” I asked.
“Yeah, they live at the end of the block. Up a couple of stories.”
“Did he say anything other than white? Any markings? A license plate? Could he see any other details about the people below?”
“Nah, said it was real dark and they was shadows. But he knew for sure a girl screamed. Didn’t say anything about the van other than it was white. Only saw the back.”
“All right, here’s what we need to do—” I was interrupted when the two sets of footsteps I’d heard coming down the sidewalk behind me stopped and a woman cleared her throat in a way that said it was just for me. I could only imagine the holy terror her eyebrows had in store.
“Hello Claire,” I said without turning around and wincing. Not even a little. I swear.
Chapter Twenty
“Oh, good you’re here. Hey, Brandon,” Thomas said beside Claire.
A round of “hey” rose from the table.
“Would you excuse us for a moment please?” Claire asked him.
“Uh, yeah sure. Of course,” Thomas said, taking my seat when I rose.
I turned back to the table. “Hey guys, go ahead and fill him in while I talk to Dr. Spurling.”
Brandon nodded and Thomas grabbed a clean glass to pour himself a drink.
Claire slipped her arm in mine and nudged me into walking down the sidewalk. I highlighted my wisdom and valor by keeping my mouth shut.
“I take it this is where yo
u ran off to the past two days,” she said more than asked.
“Yes.”
“Looking for his sister, Ruby.”
“Yes.”
She nodded and kept looking straight ahead while we walked. Several minutes went by just strolling. Traffic was light, the sky clear, the air crisp, and once or twice we jaywalked across a street. Some part of me kept an eye out for federal agents when we did.
“You lied to me,” she said, breaking the silence as we passed an old pawnshop.
“Yes.”
“Tell me why.”
I couldn’t tell if she was digging for a specific answer or trying to pick a fight, but like I said earlier, if there’s going to be trouble at least make it over the truth.
“It was never a question of priorities or one being more important than other,” I explained, careful to avoid tripping on the broken pavement. “I want to find the son of a bitch responsible for Henry and George and Rollins as much as you do. Henry Wagner was the only person in this hemisphere willing to work with me and that…look, I knew going after the artifacts would take time. Time that a missing young woman doesn’t have. You want a why, fine. Henry is dead. Ruby might still be alive. It’s as simple as that.”
Claire stopped walking as we climbed an empty bridge over the highway. She shivered in the cool breeze and stared out at the sounds of the city beyond. “Is she really missing?”
I looked around and sighed. “I thought it was curious enough to check out. Then I was called to the museum. But from the beginning it appeared more and more that something happened to her. Ruby’s boyfriend, Brandon, and his friends, caught a break this morning. Old man in an apartment heard a woman scream and saw people struggling on the sidewalk, then got in a white van and drove off. It was Ruby.”
She took the time to process everything I’d said. “How can you be sure?”
I told Claire everything. How we retraced Ruby’s flight from the diner and discovered her broken heel in the grate, and shoe in the building down the street from the old man’s apartment, and how the buildings were searched. And how Brandon and I were attacked.
