Chapter 4- The Bloodhound
Mayor Julian Turner nervously looked down at his wristwatch for the tenth time in the last twelve minutes. He had been pacing his office floor continuously for the past half hour, only stopping every few minutes to crane his head back and forth in front of his window, anxious to see his expected visitor. “He” should have been there a good twenty minutes earlier. It was already well past seven in the PM. What the hell was taking him so damned long? Every minute that passed allowed that damnable Necrosia woman to worm her way deeper and deeper into whatever rat’s nest she had taken refuge in. If power and communications had been restored earlier things might have been better. The situation would have been inarguably improved a great deal if his officers of law had more experience with serious crimes and genuine detective work, instead of the random goblin vandalism or pick-pocketing prairie sprite. Elections were coming up next year, and depending on how this issue turned out over the next several days, he could be labeled as the mayor who assisted in the apprehension of the most dangerous mind on the planet, or as the catastrophic failure who allowed one of the worst disasters in Eville’s entire history.
Not that any of this mess was his fault. Everyone always assumed that crackpot woman was working on more of her silly food additives, or whatever the hell it was she did in that decrepit old mansion she called home. Serene had never accomplished anything in the realm of “real” science. Professor Snotwaddle always backed up that assumption with decidedly disparaging remarks, so of course Julian never bothered to investigate her work more closely. How was he to know that she had undertaken the impossible and discovered the way to the Mortuus Plane? The ignorant voters wouldn’t care about the facts, though. They would need a scapegoat, and if Necrosia wasn’t handled decisively, he’d be the sacrificial lamb.
As these thoughts tumbled about in Mayor Turner’s mind for the thousandth time, a black, four-door sedan pulled to a stop just outside the office window under the brightly shining lamppost. From the driver’s side of the vehicle a tall, handsome man with skin the color of coffee stepped out. About him was a long, charcoal grey coat that stretched to his calves, warm and of good craftsmanship, but noticeably weather stained. Under his coat was a three-piece suit of black, and on his feet were black, well-polished boots, covered in numerous creases from countless miles of walking. The crown of his head was bald and smooth, while a meticulously trimmed goatee of black encircled his full lips. The man possessed but one large, intense brown eye set in the center of his forehead, which slowly, intelligently, scanned the surroundings as he shut the car door. From the passenger side, a second man exited the vehicle, taller than the Cyclops, but thinner also. He possessed thick, wavy black hair down to his shoulders, a rough, olive complexion, and was clothed in the same attire as his companion.
Upon catching sight of the visitors, Mayor Turner moved quickly to a bathroom adjoining his office and gave himself a once-over in the mirror. Considering what hell he’d been through the last forty eight hours his bloodshot eyes and rough shave were hardly inexcusable. After a slight comb of his hair, which seemed to be getting grayer by the day, an adjustment of his necktie, and a thorough inspection to assure that no unsightly remnants of his lunch had taken up residence on his front teeth, he rushed back to his desk and sat down, attempting his best to appear entirely unstressed, patient, and in control.
“Good afternoon, inspector,” Turner heard his secretary say. “Mayor Turner has been expecting you. Please come in.”
As the office door swung open, Turner stood up from behind his desk and stretched out his hand in greeting to the Cyclops. “Julian Turner, at your service. Welcome to Eville, Inspector…?”
The Cyclops took the mayor’s hand and shook firmly, but did not reply at once, and refused to loosen his grip, even though the mayor had allowed his hand to go limp. For several uncomfortable moments he carefully studied Turner’s face, closely examining his eyes, mouth, and other features. Turner noticed that one of the Cyclops’ fingers shaking his hand had moved up to his wrist, allowing the inspector to feel the mayor’s nervous heartbeat. “Hammett. Daniel Hammett,” he answered at last in a smooth voice. “This is my partner, Rafael Vega.” Hammett’s partner did not speak, but instead nodded and shook hands politely with the mayor.
“A pleasure to meet you both. I imagine you must be exhausted from your travels. Might I offer you some refreshment? I believe my secretary recently brewed a fresh pot of coffee.”
“That would be most appreciated,” Hammett replied cordially. Again, instead of speaking himself, the Spaniard turned toward the mayor, held up his index finger, and nodded with a thankful smile.
“Very good. Please, sit down and make yourselves comfortable. Two coffees then, Ms Evers,” he added with a nod to the doorway where the secretary had been waiting patiently. “Gentlemen, I wish I could welcome you to our fair town under better circumstances. But I am greatly relieved that you were able to arrive so promptly. And let me take this opportunity, Inspector Hammett, to assure you that everyone within my administration shall strive to cooperate in any way you see fit so that we can resolve this nasty situation as quickly and discreetly as possible.”
“I expected no less, Mr. Mayor,” Hammett replied with a straight face. “I take it your people have examined the Necrosia mansion thoroughly?”
“Yes, what’s left of it,” Turner sighed. “Crazy woman seems to have blown off the entire top floor of her residence, which unfortunately was where her laboratory was located. Virtually all of her equipment, including the mysterious egg-shaped device, has been thoroughly incinerated or blown into such small, twisted fragments across the valley that not even Professor Snotwaddle can make heads or tails of any of it.”
“I see. Maybe that is for the best…for all of our sakes,” the Cyclops said thoughtfully, pulling the whiskers of his goatee. “The last thing we need is some fool picking up the pieces and continuing her research. And nothing of note was found elsewhere in the mansion?”
“Not a damned thing. My people have scoured the place with a fine-tooth comb, and if there were any important components or documents that survived the initial explosion, they have since been destroyed or were taken with her. All we really have to go on is the fact that Necrosia’s personal vehicle is missing. Naturally, the first thing we did was send out an alert regarding the contraption to all authorities on the continent, but no one has seen any trace of it thus far. We also presume that she has plenty of currency on her as well. A large safe was discovered on the second floor, door wide open, completely empty. Beyond that…” Again he sighed and waved his hand in the air futilely.
“Does she have any close friends here in Eville who could have assisted in her escape, or more importantly, the development of the device?” Hammett asked, taking the steaming mug of coffee from the secretary’s hands with a smile and a nod. “Is there anyone in particular we should speak with initially?”
“Serene is generally well-liked by all in the community…save for the ongoing public spat with Snotwaddle. But on the whole, the woman prefers to keep to herself. It has been her habit to spend weeks at a time in seclusion before crawling out of her lab for a brief stop in town to socialize and dine. I find it highly unlikely she could have had any accomplices in town, anyone she was close enough to bring into her scheme…especially considering that the entire town was caught off guard by the attack. All residents have been accounted for, dead or alive, and if any of them had been in on her experiments they would have gotten the hell out of the valley long before disaster struck. Outside of our community, however, well…that could be another story entirely. Serene has done much traveling in her life, taken numerous husbands for herself, and no doubt has made many acquaintances throughout the world.”
“Including the ‘other side,’ it would seem,” Hammett added with a thoughtful glint in his eye.
“Ah, in regards to the new assistant, Alex Hobbs, I have little to share, I’m afraid. I only just rec
eived his papers a few days prior to the incident. I have been told that he visited town on several occasions briefly, but he has not been around long enough for us to know much of anything about him or his past…aside from the official paperwork, of course. For what it’s worth I have been told he appeared to be pleasant enough, if rather out of place. Though I suppose that shouldn’t be surprising for an ‘Othersider.’ Certainly, none of his descriptions evoked images of Creative Director for a reality-tearing mechanism of death and destruction.”
“Interesting. I should like to see his paperwork.”
“Of course, inspector.” Mayor Turner got up from his chair and proceeded to rifle through a simple filing cabinet in the corner of the room. “Naturally I looked everything over as soon as I received the documents and found no concerns. Here we are.” The mayor pulled out a plain manila folder, handed it to Hammett, and reseated himself. “Nothing appeared out of order…” Turner said sheepishly. “Of course, this ‘Othersider’ business is all entirely new to me. But I was assured that all of the proper applications had been completed and submitted to UEL headquarters. And the official UEL seal is on each form,” he continued nervously, leaning over his desk to point at a silver seal attached to the corner of the page the Cyclops was currently examining meticulously.
“Tell me, Mr. Mayor, do you by chance happen to know the last time someone from the ‘other side’ was allowed safe passage into Eville?”
“Umm…some decades, I believe. It is…an unusual occurrence, by all accounts.”
“It is indeed, Mr. Mayor. In point of fact,” Hammett continued, in a lecturing tone, “the UEL, on average, approves citizenship to but one ‘Othersider’ every eight years. This is worldwide, mind you. With legal documents being approved so rarely, it is obvious that only the truly special, gifted individuals who were unlucky enough to be born into that backward society are ever considered for such a privilege. Once permission is granted, the work associated with the transition is enormous. Removing someone from their society without creating undue suspicion, erasing public records, so on and so forth…it is all a monumental task.”
“I quite imagine, inspector.”
“Of course…that only accounts for the legal immigration.” Hammett’s voice became grave, and his great eye dilated, fixed intently on the squirming mayor. “It distresses me to think how often one of their kind is…unlawfully smuggled in.” These final words proceeded from his mouth like daggers, slicing deep with unconcealed accusation.
“What? You can’t mean…” Turner stammered. “Certainly you aren’t insinuating…I haven’t smuggled any ‘Othersider!’ All of the official documents are in your hands, inspector.”
“Documents, certainly. Official? Hardly. These are forgeries, Mayor Turner…skillfully done, yet forgeries nonetheless…and your signature is on each page, I might add.” Hammett held up a page for the Mayor to view, pointing his finger directly at the mayor’s impressive signature.
“This is preposterous!” Turner exclaimed, standing up with a huff. His face was red, droplets of sweat forming on his brow, lips trembling. “You can’t be serious.”
In immediate response, Vega, who had sat motionless for the entire conversation, swiftly rose to his feet, swept back his long overcoat, and placed his left hand on the grip of a pistol, though he did not remove his weapon from its holster. There he stood, feet firmly planted, as imposing as a siege tower, the slightest trace of a smirk on his lips, eyes boring into the accused with an intimidating and confident glare.
“Oh, trust me, I’m dead serious, Mr. Mayor,” Hammett went on. “And believe me, if you are somehow responsible in this act of treason, with the hammer of the UEL hovering above your head, I’m the least of your worries.”
“I swear to you I have done nothing wrong! My only wish is to cooperate with this investigation. I have had no knowledge of any illegal dealings. I give you my word! Serene’s contact…um…Stephen…he assured me that all necessary steps had been completed. I assure you that the documents were examined thoroughly before I committed my signature. I have seen the UEL seal countless times before, and that very seal is found on each page. I would never have signed unofficial documents purposefully!”
Rafael exchanged a curious look with Hammett, while the Cyclops remained seated, calm and composed. For more than half a minute the inspector glared at the terrified man standing behind the desk, shaking and breathing heavily, sweat trickling down his drawn face, before finally breaking the silence, “Fortunately for you, Mr. Mayor, you are not lying to me. I believe you. Please, sit down.”
Turner looked at the two officials nervously, then angrily shooed away his curious secretary, who was looking through the office door with wide eyes, startled by the sudden outbursts. With a deep breath the mayor hunched back into his seat, dried his forehead with a handkerchief, and then lifted his coffee with a trembling hand. “How do you…how do you know? That they are fakes?”
“It’s my job to know, Mr. Mayor,” Hammett replied with a smile, his voice much kinder, with no tone of accusation remaining. “As I said before, these documents were professionally prepared, expertly counterfeited. I’m not at all surprised that you accepted them as genuine. But there are telltale signs within the seal, the ink on the page, the watermarks within the paper…they are unmistakable to those who know what to look for.”
“Oh, God,” Turner sighed, wiping his forehead again. “I swear this office is going to send me to an early grave. Would you please sit down, Mister…Vega, was it?” he added with heat to the Spaniard. “You’re only adding to my anxiety. Tell me, inspector, do you make a habit of accusing so viciously the first person you meet in each town you visit on your investigations?”
Hammett chuckled. “I apologize, Mr. Mayor, for engendering so much distress. Logically, however, any rational person would agree that you are the likeliest suspect. After all, it was with your final approval that the ‘Othersider’ was allowed within our realm. But never mind that. Now tell me, who is this Stephen you speak of?”
“He’s…well, he represents most of the labor unions. Handles many of the disputes, especially with the hunchbacks. I believe he has been the sole supplier of labor for Necrosia for many long years.” Without warning Vega sprang to his feet and exited the room.
“On your feet, Mr. Mayor,” the Cyclops said, rising as well. “You’re coming with us.”
“What? Where to?” He did a double take, from the inspector to his open office door, then back to the Cyclops, a look of utter bewilderment on his red, sweaty face.
“To pay a little social call on this Stephen character.”
“At this hour?”
“Now, Mr. Mayor.”
“Shall we call him first? Make sure he’s home?”
“Excellent idea. That should provide him ample time to leave the area before we arrive…if he hasn’t done so already. Into the car. Now.”
****
“What more can you tell me of Stephen Leary? Any criminal or suspicious activity in the past?” Hammett was concentrating on the road ahead, blazing through the darkness in the sedan.
“No…at least none that I’m aware of,” Turner squeaked from the back seat. “Everyone is well aware that he has had limited dealings with the ‘Other side‘, but to what extent I’ve never asked. Take a left here, if you would. I’ve never been alerted to wrongdoing of any sort, so there was no need to intrude in his affairs. Neither have we ever received any complaints from union officials regarding his behavior, nor from any citizen of Eville for that matter. You should be coming up on a narrow road to your right, inspector. Yes, there. See it? Turn here, if you would, please. Anyway, he has never done anything to cause me to doubt the legitimacy of the transfer documents for the ‘Othersider.’ Keep going straight another half mile and you will come upon his residence to your right. As for the rest…I imagine you simply have to ask him yourself.”
“Oh, I intend to, Mr. Mayor,” Hammett chuckled. “You can bet your li
fe on it.”
Hammett pulled into the rough driveway of Stephen’s abode, a small, single story shack covered in dull, chipped paint. There were no lights on, inside or out, and the only source of illumination on this wreck came from the vehicle’s beams. The yard had become overgrown with weeds and littered with rusting metallic objects that were carelessly dumped onto the ground and left for years unattended. With the nearest neighbor nearly a mile back down the road, it was unlikely that Stephen had much incentive to improve his homestead.
“He doesn’t appear to be home,” Turner said with disappointment, squinting his eyes into the darkness ahead.
“We shall see. You stay here,” the Cyclops ordered to the back seat. “And keep your eyes peeled. Alert us if you see anyone attempting to sneak away.”
Hammett did not immediately proceed toward the front door after exiting the vehicle, but instead took time to pan his head from side to side, studying every detail of the yard and homestead. As his great eye passed over the front door, however, his entire body stiffened, and silently he reached into his coat and drew out his firearm. Hammett turned toward Vega, and the two exchanged understanding glances. Silently the Spaniard worked his way in a wide circle through the yard toward the rear of the residence. Hammett waited for his partner to disappear from view before softly stepping forward, slowly creeping his way to the front door. Once he arrived at the home’s entrance, he took a moment to kneel and examine the sight that had put him on alert. While the door was currently shut, it had previously been thrust inward with a strong blow, splintering the doorframe. Additionally, around the doormat numerous fragments of a busted porch light were scattered. The Cyclops rose to his feet, placed his hand on the door, and gave it a swift push, effortlessly sending it swinging backward with a groan.
Eville's Most Wanted Page 3
