‘Yes,’ Mary Jane said bleakly. ‘I know you will. But it won’t bring Lucy back, will it?’
‘No. No, it won’t and I’m sorry.’
‘Okay,’ Clarke said when they were out of the room, ‘what’s next?’
Sondra looked up at a clock mounted on the wall over the duty nurse’s counter. ‘It’s almost six thirty. Go home, eat, and get some rest. Then get your glad rags on.’
‘Huh?’
‘You’ll stick out like a sore thumb at a club and tonight we’re going clubbing.’
~~~
Sondra’s heels clicked on the sidewalk as she made her way down West 50th Street. She was a little late, but she figured that just meant less time waiting in the cold. Not that she was cold, but it was the thought that counted.
Clarke was waiting in the cold; standing outside a building which was trying to look more like an industrial building than a club, he was rubbing his hands together. He looked good, she decided. The three-piece suit had been replaced by slim-fit black jeans, probably a T-shirt, and a leather jacket which looked way too expensive for a cop’s salary. Maybe a Christmas present from his family who were, as far as Sondra knew, loaded. Then again, from the suits the man wore, he was subsisting on more than just his basic salary. Investments maybe. Clarke seemed like the kind of man who would take spare money and invest it rather than spending it on fripperies.
He spotted her and waved, and she smiled and closed the distance. ‘Bouncers are turning people away,’ he said when she was close enough.
‘Full?’
‘Don’t think so. They’re being picky.’
Sondra got a closer look at Clarke’s jacket. It had that supple quality of really good leather and she bet it felt fantastic under your fingers. ‘Yeah, well, that jacket should get you in if they know money.’ Swapping her clutch purse between hands, she slipped out of her dark coat and hung it over her arm. ‘And I think I’m covered.’ Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him turn to look and heard the slightly strangled noise he made. She smirked and started for the door. ‘Come on.’
There were two bouncers on the door. Orcs looked really stupid in suits, but this one, a big one with grey skin, pulled it off fairly well. His companion was human and almost as big as the orc, and he seemed to be the one making the decisions. He flicked his eyes over Clarke and then took a little longer on Sondra as she waited with her hip cocked. Sondra had selected a short, red dress for the evening. It had a crossed halterneck and a deep plunge, and the front and back were rucked, lifting the hemline in a V which threatened to show far more than it did. He nodded and waved them through.
‘You, uh, look amazing,’ Clarke said as Sondra checked her coat.
‘Thank you.’ Sondra could hear the music throbbing through the inner door already and figured there would be little conversation inside. She turned to him. Her heels gave her an inch or so on his six-foot frame, but they were even enough that she could look him right in the eyes. ‘Okay, the first stop is the bar. If we’re lucky, it’s the same bar staff as last night and they remember our victim. Then I want to take a look around. See if anyone looks wrong.’
Clarke raised one of his barely visible eyebrows. ‘Saturday night in a club with music like that?’
‘More wrong.’ Turning, she headed for the interior door.
The music hit like a physical force. Sondra winced and looked around. The place was set up like a rave warehouse. A large, open floor was filled with people under a double-height ceiling which probably helped the temperature stay within human tolerances. The decorative scheme was ‘early industrial brickwork.’ There were lower ceilings further in and she guessed the bar was in that direction along with the restrooms and maybe some tables. There was no way your average person could stay on that dance floor for too long without dying of heat prostration. She shifted direction and moved along the side of the floor, Clarke behind her, and together they negotiated their way around the dancers and headed back.
The bar was more modern. Long and dark, it was backed up by bottles and optics, and there were three people working it. Sondra paused, scanning over the area. There were a few tables in this part of the club, mostly occupied by larger groups, laughing and talking too loud. The music was a little more subdued here than on the main floor, however. At least you could think straight.
‘Something wrong?’ Clarke asked.
‘No. Just watching the staff.’ She came to a decision and headed for the furthest end of the bar where the woman behind it was looking less harried and more seasoned. ‘That’s the one to ask.’
The woman behind the bar flicked her eyes over them, finished serving a customer, and then closed the distance. ‘Cops?’ She had rings in her lip and her right nostril, several rings in each ear, and her top was fishnet over a translucent bra. She looked like the kind of person who could spot a cop easily, even if that was a stereotype.
Sondra just nodded, opening her clutch purse. ‘How did you know?’ Clarke asked.
‘Either that or someone lost a bet.’ Her look suggested that the loser had been Sondra and Clarke’s cheeks flamed.
Dropping an ID photograph of Lucille Carpenter on the counter, Sondra tapped it. ‘We think she was in here last night.’
The woman stared at the picture for a second. ‘Yeah. Yeah, she’s in here most Fridays, and she was in last night. Didn’t serve her, but I saw her.’
‘Was she with anyone?’
There was a nod. ‘Late on she was. Kind of weird. Guy looked like Dillan Archer. Can’t have been him. What would a guy like that be doing in a dump like this, but it sure did look like him.’
‘The film star?’ Clarke asked.
‘Yeah. He’s in town now, right? But the guy probably just looked like him. No way he was here.’
Sondra shrugged. ‘Thanks for your time. Uh, I’ll have a glass of white wine. Clarke?’
‘Club soda,’ Clarke replied, a little sullenly.
Smiling, Sondra dropped a bill on the counter. ‘And keep the change.’
The woman smiled as she snatched up the money. ‘Don’t mind if I do and coming right up.’
‘Tomorrow, check with the taxi companies for anyone going from here to Carpenter’s apartment last night,’ Sondra said. ‘If you find one, see if you can contact the driver.’
‘Okay. It’ll be Sunday.’
‘I know, but we’re on a homicide. You’ll get the time off back. Arcane believes it should have rested detectives dealing with demon summoners. And the cab companies don’t even sleep.’
Clarke frowned at her. ‘You don’t think this is going to be the last murder.’
‘If it’s a demon, it won’t be. If it’s something else… No. I think there will be more whatever killed her. So, the sooner we figure this out, the sooner we put a stop to it.’
~~~
Sondra watched the crowd as she sat with Clarke at one of the tables, but she also watched Clarke. She had been handed a raw recruit, or close to it, and she was expected to work with him. She had had a chance to look over his file and, for want of a better word, he was edging into genius territory. High aptitude scores for magic and the associated skills. Tended to work well with others. Perceptive. Dedicated, with a strong desire to help others. Aside from him having no experience outside of an academic environment, it was all good stuff.
On the other hand, he seemed out of place in In Sense. His cheeks flushed red when he spotted a woman in a skimpy outfit, which meant he was blushing most of the time. Some of the activities on the dance floor were turning him crimson. And he almost seemed to be avoiding looking in Sondra’s direction.
‘Not your scene?’ Sondra asked.
‘Sorry?’ Clarke turned, his ears reddening as his gaze flashed over her cleavage and then quickly up to her eyes.
‘You don’t frequent underground clubs much.’
‘Oh, uh, no. I don’t frequent any sort of club. Much. Occasionally, you know?’ He got a nod in reply. ‘You like this k
ind of thing? The club? The music?’
Sondra gave a slight shrug. ‘Depends on my mood. But this isn’t my kind of music.’
‘What is?’
‘Jazz. Cool jazz, mostly. Ella Fitzgerald. Louis Armstrong. Gerry Mulligan. Bix Beiderbecke. And I still have a thing for swing.’
‘Really?’ His eyes widened; he was surprised.
‘I grew up with this stuff. There are a few modern tracks I like, but they tend to vary with the decade. I can always go back to “Summertime” or “Mack the Knife,” or some big band track. My mother used to play Glen Miller and Artie Shaw when I was home from school.’
‘After the war?’
‘Yeah.’ Sondra shook her head to get rid of the nostalgia seeping into her. ‘I thought students were supposed to be all “party all night, sleep all day.”’
Clarke’s cheeks got brighter. ‘I’m, uh, more of a nerd. I was always too busy studying to go to the parties.’
‘Oh, well, you’ll have to come over to my place sometime.’ If his cheeks got any redder they were going to spontaneously combust. ‘You might like some of my books. Eighty years has given me a lot of time to collect magic books.’
‘Oh, right. Yeah, I’d love to take a look. Mine are mostly modern textbooks. I have a few rare books, but those are mostly fiction. First editions I’ve collected.’
‘No parties and first edition fiction,’ Sondra said, smiling. ‘No, this isn’t your scene at all.’
12th February.
Sondra sat at her desk, feet up on one corner of it, with the toxicology report on Lucille Carpenter and a lollipop in her mouth. She was back in a pantsuit, and Clarke was at his desk in another three-piece suit, on the phone.
The report indicated that Maureen had been right about the drugs. There were indications of long-term cocaine and heroin use. The litany of viral and microbial infections was ridiculous. Carpenter was showing signs of everything from the common cold to HIV. Her immune system was almost gone, but there was still no way that she could have had all of those things wrong with her at the same time and have spent a night at a club. Something had given her those conditions and then accelerated them, and that was pretty powerful magic.
And what was with the stab wound? Sondra looked up from the report, frowning. The stab wound had to be part of it. The knife was unusual, even for a ritual blade. Maybe they were not dealing with a demon. Maybe this was some sort of artefact.
‘Okay,’ Clarke said into his phone. ‘Thanks. You’ve been very helpful.’
Sondra looked around as the phone went down. ‘You have something?’
‘I found the cab and the driver. He recognised the description of Miss Carpenter and said he thought the guy with her looked like Dillan Archer. He drove Miss Carpenter to her apartment.’
‘Just her?’
‘That’s the thing. They dropped Archer, or whoever it was, at Forty-Ninth Street subway station. Archer dropped him a fifty to get Miss Carpenter home safely, and then he left for the subway.’
Sondra pursed her lips. ‘Time?’
‘The pickup was at zero thirty-eight. Saturday morning.’
‘He could have doubled back on the subway. It wouldn’t be that hard to get to Carpenter’s place.’ Sondra gave a sigh and reached for her phone. ‘I guess we have to talk to Dillan Archer.’
13th February.
The film company kept Sondra on the run for most of Monday morning as well as Sunday afternoon, but eventually gave up and agreed to allow Archer some time for an interview in the afternoon. That had taken Sondra suggesting what it would look like if Arcane requested a warrant to search Archer’s hotel suite.
They were filming at the Central Park Zoo. Sondra wondered what the snow leopards thought about all the goings on as the crew set up for a shot in front of their enclosure. From the looks of it, the snow leopards did not think very much. The setup time gave Archer a chance to talk to the police. Sondra considered the time they had probably spent in other areas doing exactly the same in the morning. It was annoying, but the company was just trying to protect their star, she supposed.
Sondra and Clarke waited outside the ring of barricades set up to keep people out of the filming area, and they heard Archer coming before they saw him. He was late for the time they had been given, but only by five minutes or so. Something had him in good humour as his laughter could be heard over the general noise of the zoo and the film crew. His voice was one of his best features: rich and resonant, with a hint of velvet in it.
The owner of the voice was a big man. Six-foot-two and a hundred and eighty pounds, and a lot of that mass seemed to be muscle. He was wearing a T-shirt in black and blue, with ‘NEW YORK CITY’ printed down the front, and black jeans. All of his clothes seemed to hug his frame, muscles bunching beneath as he walked toward them. Black hair fell around a handsome, rugged face, the strong jawline emphasised by a thin beard. There was a moustache over full lips, and sharp, upward-slanted brows sat over bright, blue-green eyes. His entire demeanour spoke of strength, poise, power, and some indefinable quality that drew the eye.
His own eyes were drawn toward Sondra as he closed the distance between them. She watched him taking in what he saw, and liking it from the way his mouth shifted and his eyes began to sparkle. Well, the man was known as something of a womaniser. Sondra smiled indulgently and waited.
‘Please tell me you’re the cop I’m supposed to talk to,’ Archer said, basically ignoring Clarke.
‘Detective Blake,’ Sondra said, ‘and this is my partner, Detective Delacroix.’
‘Sondra Blake? The most senior detective in Arcane?’
‘That’s right.’ At least they were getting the name right now. ‘I was wondering if you could tell us where you were on Friday night, Mister Archer.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘Friday… Friday… A club. Slipped my guard dogs and went out to a club. Uh, Incense? Or, no, two words. In Sense. In Hell’s Kitchen, I think.’
Sondra nodded and looked at Clarke, who took a photograph from his pocket and held it out to Archer. ‘Do you recognise this woman, Mister Archer?’ he asked. There was tension around Clarke’s eyes; Sondra could tell that he did not like being ignored by the film star.
Archer took the photograph and stared at it for a few seconds. It had been taken from Lucille Carpenter’s driving licence, but she had not changed much in the time between getting that and dying. ‘That’s… I think… She was wearing a lot more makeup, but I think that’s Lucy. I’m sorry, I didn’t get a last name. We met, had a few drinks, talked…’
‘And that’s all?’
‘I didn’t want to be up too late. I admit that she seemed like she would be worth losing some sleep over, but… Our director is a slave driver. We shared a cab as far as the subway and I tipped the driver to take her home. What’s this about?’ Archer handed the photograph back to Clarke, but he looked to Sondra for an answer.
‘Miss Carpenter was murdered in her home in the early hours of Saturday morning,’ Sondra said.
‘Oh!’ The surprise on Archer’s face seemed genuine. ‘Oh my God. She was such a sweet girl. Damn! I mean… I mean, if I’d actually gone home with her–’
‘You’d likely be dead too. Do you know any magic?’
‘I have a basic talent,’ Archer replied. ‘I know a little elemental magic. It’s useful occasionally for special effects, or lighting a lady’s cigarette. Do you smoke, Detective Blake?’
‘No. If I did, I could light my own. Thank you, Mister Archer. That’s all we need for now.’
‘Really?’
‘Your statement fits with what we already know. We’ll be in touch if we need more, but for now… Good luck with the filming.’
‘Thanks. I’ll need it.’ Sondra stepped back and Archer, reluctantly, left them. He crossed the barrier line and headed for the snow leopards where the crew seemed to have finished doing whatever they were doing.
‘I don’t like him,’ Clarke commented. ‘He could’ve backtrack
ed to her house.’
Sondra shrugged slightly. ‘He’s a fairly typical male, but I don’t like him for this. He’s too high-profile. But, just in case, check with the hotel and see when he got back in.’
‘That I can do.’
~~~
Clarke dropped the phone into its cradle a little too hard and turned to Sondra. ‘According to the hotel’s records, Archer didn’t leave the hotel on Friday night.’
‘He did say he slipped his security,’ Sondra replied. ‘No one saw him enter or leave?’
‘They don’t know. He’s staying at the Grand Park Empire. It’s not far from my apartment. I’ll drop in on my way home and ask around. Better face-to-face.’
Sondra nodded. ‘I don’t think you’ll find anyone, but I don’t think Archer is our man. He’s too public a figure to get away with something like this.’
‘He seems to have figured out how to get out of his hotel, past his security.’
‘Yes. It’s a valid point. Keep looking.’
Clarke frowned. ‘Something bothering you? I mean, I don’t know you that well, but you seem… pensive.’
‘Huh. Good word. I just have this feeling that we don’t have too long to find our man. I don’t think he’s going to wait too long before he strikes again. Hell of a case for you to start your time here on.’
‘I could’ve hoped for something a little less…’
‘Lethal?’
‘Something that didn’t have people’s lives hanging in the balance quite so much.’
Sondra smiled. ‘Everything Arcane does is about saving lives. Even the licence and safety checks. This is a little more immediate than those. Let’s just hope I’m wrong about him hitting again.’
Part Three: Spotlight
New York, NY, 14th February 2017.
Roger Prentice was running late as he hurried to the elevator in his apartment block. He had things to do. He had, as they said, people to see. He also had to make reservations for tonight or his love life was going to take an enormous downturn.
The elevator took far too long to get to his floor and was far too slow going down. The doors seemed to take an age to open and he pushed out through them before they had finished sliding back. Hurrying across the lobby, his briefcase in one hand and his umbrella in the other, he prayed that it was still dry. The forecast had said it would rain, but so far it was just a dark, overcast day. Undoing the latch on the front door, he rushed out under the building’s portico and stopped.
The Vanity Case (Sondra Blake Book 1) Page 4
