“A philosophy lesson.”
“Philosophy has its limits. Then again, so does science. Alas, now we see through a glass, darkly. Someday, we shall know even as we are known. But when is that day?”
The Judge opened a drawer, pulled out a sheet of paper and placed it on the desk in front of Kamp.
“The contract.”
The Judge said, “Yes, Wendell, and in light of the circumstances, force majeure and so on, I’m changing the terms. I’m giving you the deed to the property. Now. You can quit your job as detective, if you’d like. You don’t have to finish the year.”
“Why did you want to talk to me in the first place?”
The Judge hammered the ashes from his pipe and refilled the bowl with tobacco from his leather pouch. He lit the pipe and took two large puffs. “It’s irrelevant now.” With a pen the Judge wrote on the contract and affixed his signature to the changes. He tried to hand the pen to Kamp.
The Judge said, “Here, Wendell, make it official.” Kamp didn’t move. “I thought you’d be relieved.”
Kamp took the eight-sided silver coin from his pocket and placed it on the contract. The Judge picked it up carefully between his thumb and forefinger. He inspected both sides of the coin as well as the edge.
The Judge said, “What about it?”
“Where’s it from? Who made it?”
The Judge looked directly at him. “I don’t know.”
“Bullshit.”
“All right, then you’d like me to speculate. Well, judging by the locomotive, it appears to be a railroad coin. No actual railroad insignia, though.” He looked up, eyebrows raised. “You deduced that already, I’m sure.” The Judge went back to scrutinizing the coin. “Here we have the crossed pickax and shovel, signifying, what, coal mining? Industry?”
“Seems like.”
“And then this little familiar fellow, smiling, as always. We’ve all seen him.” The Judge pointed to the face on the coin. “You know where he comes from, right?”
Kamp gave the Judge a dead stare.
The Judge said, “Well, what I’ve heard is that he’s a trickster, a symbol of allegiance to revolution. When the British were in charge, for example, the local gunsmiths crafted weapons for the militia, but they typically didn’t sign them, since doing so would put them in danger. So instead of signing their guns, they’d engrave this chap in the brass on the stock, a symbol of the revolution.”
“What about the Latin? Fraternal Order of the Raven?”
“Well, that’s the mystery, isn’t it? One would presume that it’s an organization of some sort.”
“A secret society.”
The Judge laughed. He spread his arms and gestured toward his dress. “Everyone has secrets, Wendell. Even you, I’m sure. And with respect to any particular secret, some are in on it. And some are not.”
“Fair enough. But this coin was in Daniel Knecht’s pocket when he was hanged. I think he wanted me to find it so that I’d know—”
The Judge bristled, “Yes, well, I heard about your, uh, theories regarding Knecht. That is what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Not theories. Facts. There’s no way–”
“Let it go, Wendell.”
“Judge, it’s wrong. What happened is wrong.”
“You can’t prove it, and it doesn’t matter. Look at the price you’ve paid already. And you are no closer to finding out what you think are secrets than when you started.”
Kamp looked down at the floor and rubbed his left temple. “All right, what about Crow? What do you know about that whole thing?”
“What…whole thing?”
“He was killed. Someone shot him.”
The Judge stood up and went to the window. He parted the curtains and looked down on the street below. “Yes, well, I’ll grant you that that’s being kept quiet.”
“Why?” Kamp felt the fire starting at the base of his skull.
“Out of respect for his family, and out of respect for the office he occupied. After all, it’s shameful.”
“What is?”
“Well, we don’t know what the coroner’s final ruling will be,” the Judge said, “but it seems certain that Crow’s death will be ruled a suicide.”
“Suicide? The man was gunned down!”
“Indeed. By his own hand. His body was discovered in a bed with a whore, also shot, also dead. He probably killed her and then turned the gun on himself.”
Kamp said, “I saw it happen. We were there to shut down a brothel on Iroquois Street.”
“Ooh, a brothel.”
“Ever been there?”
“Afraid not.”
“Well, Crow knocked on the door, and a man came out and shot him through the door. When I came to, he was lying in the hallway next to me.”
The Judge said, “If they killed him, why didn’t they kill you?”
“Are you telling me that’s not what really happened?”
The Judge turned to look at him. “Not at all. I’m sure your recollection is very clear. As I said, Wendell, everything changes. Memories, stories, facts. Especially facts.” And then he went back to staring out the window.
“Then what are you saying?”
The Judge said, “The version of events I told you is the truth as far as the police are concerned, as far as the city is concerned.”
“But you’re the judge.”
“That’s right. I adjudicate the cases that come before me. Cases that have a plaintiff and a defendant. This case has neither. In fact, it’s not even a case. It’s unfortunate, and it’s tragic. But it’s not a case. It’s more like a dirty secret.”
“Holy shit. You’re with them. You’re on their side.”
“Hardly.”
Kamp said, “Then why not do something about it? You have the authority. Demand answers.”
There was a knock at the door and a man’s voice. “Your honor, there’s a message for you. Your honor?”
The Judge said, “Yes, thank you.” He leveled his gaze and spoke in a low voice. “I heard that your father-in-law—”
“I’m not married.”
“Right. I heard he paid you a visit. Joe? Is that what he told you to call him?”
“What’s your point, Judge?”
“What do you know about his past, his secrets? Do you know his real name? Do you know where he is?”
“All I know is you told me to become a police detective, because you wanted to help me. You told Jonas Bauer to rent a room to Daniel Knecht because you wanted to help them. And yet now you seem to have no interest in doing what’s right.”
The knock came at the door again. “Your honor! Your honor!”
The Judge walked to his desk and calmly picked up the contract, put it back into the drawer and said, “My offer stands. I realize that since the house has burned down–and mind you, that’s a total loss for me–since the house has burned down and your wife and daughter are missing, the property is less appealing at the moment. But houses can be rebuilt. Everything changes. Everything evolves. The Heraclitean fire burns.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Kamp walked to the door.
The Judge put on his court robes over the dress. “Quo vadis, Wendell? Quo vadis?”
KAMP LEFT THE COURTHOUSE and walked to the building at 31 Iroquois Street. A sandwich board had been placed on the sidewalk in front of the building. It read, “Luxury Apartments for Lease,” and it appeared to be new. Kamp jogged up the front steps. As he reached for the door, it opened and a man stood in the doorway. He had a thin build and a grey three-piece suit. He wore a neat beard in the Van Dyke style and no hat.
The man said, “Good day to you, sir!” Kamp attempted to walk past the man, but the man stepped in his path. “How may I help you, sir?”
He grumbled, “Who are you?”
“Why, I’m the manager of the Monocacy. And may I inquire as to with whom I’m speaking.”
“I need to see a room.”
“Oh, we
ll, I’m delighted in your interest in the Monocacy. I think you’ll find all of our apartments charming and well-appoin—”
Kamp said, “Move.” He shoved the manager aside and went into the lobby of the building.
“Sir, I’m afraid you may not enter the premises without first scheduling a visit. Once you do, however, I think you’ll find all the apartments at the Monocacy charming and well-appointed.”
While the man talked, Kamp went to the door to the stairs and found it locked. “Open this door.”
“Sir, if you need a place to sleep, I suggest you take a room at the Christian Mission. It’s just two blocks down Fourth Street. There’s an angel on the sign.” As he spoke, the manager tried to wedge himself between Kamp and the door.
“Open it.”
“Sir, I’m afraid if you continue, I’ll be required to inform…the police.”
Kamp surveyed the lobby and saw a fire ax hanging on the wall. He took it off its hooks and walked back to the door.
“Step aside.”
“Good heavens. Sir!”
The first swing of the ax barely missed the manager’s head, and he jumped out of the way. The ax sank deep into the wooden door.
“All right, all right! Please stop, sir. Please.” The manager produced a ring of keys from his pocket and found the one he wanted. “Here, look.”
Kamp eased up and let the manager open the door. He said, “Fourth floor. Go.”
Still carrying the ax, he followed the manager up the stairs until they reached the fourth floor landing. He passed the manager and went to the apartment where the shootings had taken place. The apartment door that had been destroyed by the shotgun blasts that killed Philander Crow was gone. In its place was a brand new door. Kamp looked at the floor, which had been bare. It was now covered by a large rug. He pulled back the corner of the rug, looking for the bloodstains. They were gone as well.
“Sir, if I may inquire as to the nature—”
He tried the doorknob to the apartment. Locked.
“Open it.”
“Sir, I’m afraid that under the circumstances it’s entirely inappropriate to disturb the residents.”
Kamp heard a noise in the apartment and started pounding with his fist. “Open the door. Open the door!”
He heard footfalls approaching, and he stepped to the side of the doorframe, leaving the manager standing directly in front of the door.
From inside the apartment came a woman’s voice. “Who’s there?”
“Open this door.”
“Sir! I demand you leave this instant!”
“Open the door. Police!”
The manager said, “Madame, may I strongly suggest that you not comply with this demand.”
A baby started crying in the apartment.
Kamp said, “Please, ma’am, open the door. I just need to look around.”
“Madame, under no circumstances should you–”
The door cracked open, and from behind the door, he saw a woman with long, curly red hair and a pink dress. The manager inserted himself between Kamp and the door.
“I’m terribly sorry, madame. Please know that this type of disturbance is completely out of the ordinary at the Monocacy.” The wailing of the baby grew louder.
The woman said, “Excuse me,” and she walked back into the apartment. She called over her shoulder, “Please come in. Make yourself comfortable.”
The manager stared at him and then stepped aside. Kamp set down the ax outside the door and walked into the apartment, which was no longer empty. It was filled with finely crafted furniture, a dining room table and chairs, and an immense Highboy. On the floor was a luxurious Persian rug and on the windows what appeared to be velvet curtains. The woman walked back into the room with a baby in each arm, each of whom was wrapped in a pink blanket, neither of whom was now crying.
She said, “Please excuse the commotion” and gestured sweetly to the infants. “Twins.”
The manager piped up, “Madame, I’m so terribly sorry this is happening.”
“It’s all right. This man must have an important reason for being here. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have gone to the trouble. Isn’t that right, mister—”
“Kamp.”
The manager said, “Yes, well, I trust now that he’s seen what he needed to see, he’ll be leaving.
He looked at the woman. “What’s your name?”
“I’m El–“
The manager erupted, “Sir, you’ve caused quite enough trouble today. Leave this woman alone!”
The woman said, “My name is Elise.”
“Pleased to meet you. I apologize for being rude. You have a lovely home.”
She laughed and said, “Why, thank you. It’s only temporary. And as for being rude, I’m sure it was a misunderstanding.” The tone of her voice, the way her hair spilled down over her shoulders, the scent of her perfume perhaps, some part of the woman, or perhaps the totality of her, struck a deep well in him.
He said, “It wasn’t my fault.”
She raised one eyebrow. “These things happen. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must tend these beautiful children.”
As she said it, he caught a flash of gold at her neck, a pendant. Engraved on the pendant was a smiling face that appeared to be wearing a cap in the Phrygian style.
He pointed to it and said, “Where did you get that?”
“Why, it was a gift from—”
The manager jammed himself between Kamp and the woman and said, “That’s quite enough! Here at the Monocacy, we value the comfort, not to mention the security, of all our residents. Madame, I’m terribly sorry for this most unwanted intrusion.” As he spoke, he guided Kamp toward the door.
The woman laughed. “Oh, it’s all right.” She turned and walked toward the back room of the apartment.
As the manager shoved him out into the hallway, Kamp got a good look at the doorjamb and noticed a few pellets of lead shot still embedded there. The manager made a point of shutting the door firmly and making sure it was locked. By the time he turned around, Kamp was gone.
HE HUSTLED BACK DOWN the crowded streets of Bethlehem, picking his way among the pedestrians and pushcarts and back to the police station. Time to talk to Druckenmiller. Kamp went there with the intention of wringing the truth out of his old friend, but when he burst through the door, he didn’t see the disheveled and decidedly lowbrow High Constable in his typical seat with his feet upon the desk. In Druckenmiller’s place was a different fellow, a man sitting upright, writing notes with a pencil that had a very sharp point. When he saw Kamp coming, the man stood up, chest out, shoulders back.
He said, “Detective.” The man stood several inches taller than Kamp. He had a long, straight nose and under it a thick, broad mustache, trimmed with precision.
“Where’s Sam?”
Without emotion, the man said, “High Constable Druckenmiller is indisposed, detective.”
“Kamp.”
“The High Constable is indisposed, detective.”
“Fine, but where is he?”
“Indisposed.”
“Who are you?” He glanced at Druckenmiller’s desk. The messy pile of newspapers and novels was gone, as was the rest of the clutter. There was a neat stack of police reports and a glass of water. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Markus Lenz, acting High Constable.” He extended his hand, and Kamp shook it.
“Lenz?”
“Right.”
“Acting High Constable?”
Lenz nodded.
“And you’re not going to tell me where Druckenmiller is.” Lenz shook his head slowly. “Except to say that he’s—”
“Indisposed.” The two men said it in unison.
Kamp said, “May I have the key to the cabinet?”
“I’m sorry, the what?”
“The cabinet. The gun cabinet.” He saw Lenz’s body stiffen.
“No, you may not.”
IT OCCURRED TO KAMP to ask all the people he
spoke to that day in Bethlehem whether they knew the whereabouts of his wife and daughter. He wanted to ask each person, because he felt certain that all of them, directly or more likely indirectly, had a hand in the series of events that led to their disappearance. He knew that the Judge, the manager of the Monocacy, Elise, and the Acting High Constable Lenz had information he needed. But Kamp also knew that none had sufficient reason to tell him, and perhaps more importantly, the crucial details had been withheld from them. Except the Judge. It seemed plausible that the Judge himself was orchestrating the entire production, but he couldn’t conceive how or why he might.
On his way back to Jonas Bauer’s house, Kamp visited Druckenmiller’s farm and found, as he’d expected, that Druckenmiller wasn’t there. He asked the few neighbors he saw whether they’d seen the man for the past two days, and all said they hadn’t. Kamp also stopped at the site of the house where he’d lived. Snow had begun falling, and the fire was dead out now. He walked in the remains and saw shards of their former lives, all ruined, but he did not find skeletons. He even climbed down into the cellar to see if perhaps his wife and daughter had perished there. When he was satisfied that they hadn’t, he climbed back out. The fire had melted all the snow within a hundred feet or so of the house. He walked to where the snow began again so that he could wash his hands in it. When he bent down to scoop up the snow, he noticed footprints heading into the woods.
He realized that Shaw and E. Wyles had escaped this way, and he felt a jolt of anger for not having checked before. He hurried into the woods as far as he could follow the tracks. The trail led him a mile to the creek. But from there, he couldn’t pick up the tracks again, and now it was snowing harder. He scrambled up and down the creek bed, searching for footprints and finding nothing. The afternoon light began to fail, and snow soon hid the answer to his most important question. When he realized that his feet had begun to freeze, he felt a stab of anguish, knowing that Shaw and his daughter must have suffered when they fled the fire. As darkness fell, he could do nothing but retreat to the former home of Jonas and Rachel Bauer.
The fire burned in the fireplace when he came through the door, and Nyx was sitting on the floor in front of it, holding his Sharps rifle in her lap. He sat down next to her, unlaced his boots, peeled off his wool socks and inspected his toes, which had turned blue. He massaged one foot, then the other. He leaned back on his elbows and wiggled his toes in front of the flames.
Ax & Spade: A Thriller (Raven Trilogy Book 1) Page 18
