“That doesn’t make any sense; his clip joint makes better money than most others in the city. Why would he close his doors?”
“I don’t know.”
I’m not an expert on women or emotions, but I know when to shut up and let a woman talk or wait for her to speak. One of the few lessons I managed to learn from Genevieve’s constant scolding.
I gesture for Dorothy to follow and close the door behind her. She sits in my rocking chair and buries her face in her hands. I walk to my desk and pour her a glass of hooch. She takes it and swallows the contents all at once.
I sit on the couch and watch as she weeps, unsure what to do. After a few minutes, the sobs quiet, and she lowers her hands.
“What am I going to do?”
“Make another clip joint a lot of money,” I reply.
“I’m serious.”
“I am too.” I take her hands in mine. “Renault’s Gin Joint wouldn’t have gotten half the customers it did if not for your group. If he wants to close down, that’s his business. But you’re a seasoned singer who used to sing for the Connelly Theatre. Why don’t you go back there?”
“I can’t,” she replies. “After Gregory, I can’t even look at that theatre.”
I nod in understanding and lower my chin. “I’m sorry this happened,” I say. “I can ask around, see if any clip joints are looking for house bands. Maybe call in a few favours.”
“That’s very kind,” Dorothy says. “But I think I’m going to try something else.”
“What do you have in mind?”
Dorothy lowers her head, and her eyes meet the floor. “I’m really sorry, Thomas. I’m leaving the city. I have some cabbage tucked away, and I think I should go see the world before I’m too old.” Tears begin to stream down her face again. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want it to come to this.”
“I’ll come with you,” I say. “I have a couple centuries tucked away as well. Between the two of us, we might make it across the ocean.”
Dorothy shakes her head. “No, Thomas. I have to go alone. It’s the rules.”
“What rules? What are you talking about?” I ask, becoming aware my voice is rising. “What about figuring out what you’re going to do for work?”
Dorothy presses her lips together and she sobs. “That was a lie. Something is happening that I can’t talk about, and I’m not sure I really understand, but I have to leave town. I’m so sorry, Thomas, but you have to stay here.”
Without another word, she bolts upright and sprints to the door. “Dorothy,” I say as I follow.
“No, Thomas,” she says, her hand on the door. “This is all we get, and I hate this city for it. I love you, and I’m so sorry.” She sighs and shakes her head. “The man you’re looking for, that other Howard Sutton . . . you’ll find him on the south end of the city. He works for Baucus Publishing. That’s all I’m allowed to say.”
I move to stop her, but the door closes behind her and she walks out of my life. I go to my window and watch as she leaves my building and heads toward her car. Tears fall down my cheeks as I return to my desk and pull the lid from my bottle of hooch.
***
My mood remains sour as I climb into the booth at Sonny’s Café. Margot reads my face as she approaches. “Mister Baxter?” she says in her sweet voice. “Are you all right?”
I grumble under my breath and finally mutter, “I need coffee. It’s been a long night and an earlier morning than I would have liked. Breakfast too.”
“Eggs and bacon?”
I nod and Margot leaves. She’s a doll, better than a place like Sonny’s deserves. Here, she has to deal with folks like me in moods like mine, and that’s not a fate I would wish on anyone.
I go over the night before over and over in my head. The bits of the conversation didn’t fit quite right. She wouldn’t have left me for no reason. The look on her face was fear. Her face was drained when she walked into my office. When she emptied her eyes and talked about being fired, it was clear she’d been threatened.
Margot places the coffee by my hand and leaves without a word. She could see my gears spinning and figured I didn’t want to be disturbed. She was right.
I take a sip of the dark liquid, and my noggin continues to work.
She said Moses was shutting his place down and that he wasn’t acting like himself. I’ll have to check out that lead as soon as I can. But first, I have to follow up on the last bit of information she’d given me. The second Howard Sutton was at Baucus Publishing. Of all places, why would he be there? I suppose it works out somehow; the Howard I’d known worked at Motion Motors, and both companies were part of the Legion of Twelve.
Then the big questions come to me: Why would whoever threatened Dorothy want her out of the city? How did she know where to find Howard? How did she know about the other Howard? And above all, why would they want me to find Howard? How do they even know I’m looking for him?
Margot places my breakfast in front of me, and I look up at her; she looks down and gives me a smile. “At least it’s sunny out. Might not be too cold out today.”
I look out the window beside me and my eyes greet the sunlight. I hadn’t noticed the weather. In my state of mind, I doubt I’d have noticed a trigger man if he opened fire into the diner.
“Let’s hope it stays that way,” I reply dryly.
Margot’s eyes meet mine, and she blushes a little. “I hope your day gets better, Mister Baxter.”
“Thank you, Margot.”
I watch as she leaves, and I start into my breakfast.
***
Red City has never been known for its abundance of authors or its writers of any level of notoriety. But if it’s an industry The Legion of Twelve can sink their fingers into, you can bet they will or already have been a part of it. They even have ties with the recently-created motion picture industry.
Baucus Publishing is not in a large building, but it is big enough to hold all the printing equipment and the offices for the employees. I’m not an expert on nor knowledgeable about the art of publishing by any means, so I’m not sure what all goes into the printing of books. I can’t say what sort of building they would need.
I enter a small coffee shop across the street and take a seat where I can watch the factory without freezing half to death. It’s a warm winter day, but it is still winter.
Several hours pass before I hear the blow of a pipe, and several men exit the factory one by one. Sure enough, I see Howard Sutton exit, bumping gums with one of his co-workers as they leave last in line.
I leave a dollar on the counter for the coffee and tying up one of their tables for so long. Rushing out of the shop, I keep an eye on Howard. I can’t let him go; not this time. I have so many questions and I will have them answered.
My heater in its holster bumps against my side. Howard Sutton will answer my questions one way or another. I don’t have any intention of using my gun, but I’m not messing around.
Howard says goodbye to his co-worker and walks on down the sidewalk. I remain behind, keeping a careful eye on his body language. I have to be sure he doesn’t twig to being followed; if he does, I risk losing him and I might not be so lucky to find him again, especially if he decides his job isn’t worth being followed.
Howard turns a corner, and I pick up my pace. I’m not about to lose him.
I turn the corner too and bump into a person rounding it. I see a woman in man’s clothing — an odd sight, but not out of the ordinary, especially with her dishevelled appearance.
“Sorry, Miss,” I say.
She doesn’t say anything, just gives me a soft smile and goes on her way. I look back to the street, and Howard is gone. I curse and look back at the woman. I didn’t notice before, but her clothes look exactly like what Howard’s wearing, including the open book patch, the logo for Baucus Publishing.
I narrow my eyes as she turns a corner. Had it just been the jacket, I could explain that easily enough, but she wore the identical trousers, sh
irt and shoes. I curse again, this time under my breath, and head back to my office. Questions continue to burn through my head, but not one will be answered today.
Chapter 10
The Mistress
I shake a chill from my bones as I enter my office. Genevieve has already gone for the night, and it’s only then I realize how late it is. The sun set hours ago, and I lost track of time.
How Howard had slipped through my fingers frustrated me. I shouldn’t have stopped when I bumped into that lady. I should have kept going.
I shake my head and hang my coat and hat. As much as I beat myself up, I know there’s no changing what happened. I hope Howard didn’t notice me and I can catch up with him tomorrow.
I don’t feel like drinking. Instead, I decide to sleep. The occurrences of the day and last night have left me exhausted and unable to think clearly. I strip off my clothes and crawl into bed as tears of loss and frustration fall down my face.
The last thought that goes through my head is Dorothy’s look of apology as she left my office.
***
The smell of coffee fills my office, and I pour the dark liquid into my mug before sitting at my desk. I go over the case, knowing full well that if I could get to the second Howard, I would solve the first Howard’s death. There’s no chance the two are not connected, and I won’t hear any different.
Genevieve opens the door and gives me a look of shock. “Mister Baxter, you’re awake . . . and working.”
“I know; it’s an odd sight,” I say. “But I’m feeling motivated. I need your mind for a minute, Genevieve.”
She narrows her eyes at me, suspicious of my intentions. Regardless, she removes her jacket and hat and takes a seat by my desk. “What can I do for you, Mister Baxter?”
“How do you feel about doing some fieldwork?”
Genevieve’s eyes widen and her lips part. “What? I thought you said you needed my mind.”
“I do,” I say. “Just not in the office. You see, I think I’m starting to get recognized, and I believe the other Howard made me yesterday. He got away before I could catch up. Whatever’s going on, he’s connected to the real Howard Sutton.”
“What do you think happened?” Genevieve asks.
“I don’t know. We’re not even sure what sort of poison was used to kill Howard. Something untraceable so far.”
“Does a poison like that exist?”
“Not to my knowledge,” I say. “But they’re bringing new plants from Africa and the Amazon all the time. It’s not impossible to think a poison like that could be discovered.”
“There’s something I still don’t understand about the case,” Genevieve says. “Why would someone want Howard dead? Who was he? Why go through all the trouble of killing someone who doesn’t have anything to his name? He was living with Miss O’Reilly, wasn’t he?’
“Yes, he was.”
“So he doesn’t even have a house to call his own. Not unless he married her, but it didn’t seem like it was a problem for her.”
The telephone starts ringing from the lobby. I stand and motion for Genevieve to stay. I walk over and pick up the horn.
“Hello?”
“Detective?” I hear a woman’s voice say. “It’s Helen O’Reilly. Do you have a moment?”
“Yes, of course.”
I hear her sigh and a slightly muffled sound that may have been sniffles. “I’m sorry, Detective Baxter, but I’m going to have to ask you to stop looking into Howard’s death.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m sorry, Detective, but I can’t explain it; I just need you to stop looking into it.”
I pause as I think. None of what she’s saying makes sense. She’d inquired about my investigation when I’d first talked to her about it, but she’d explained it off as a money issue.
“I’m sorry, Miss O’Reilly, but I can’t just drop the case. Especially not without a reason why.”
“I told you, I can’t explain.”
Something feels wrong. “Stay where you are, Miss O’Reilly. I’m coming to you, and don’t think your brother will stop me.”
I hang up and look over to Genevieve. “Miss O’Reilly wants to close the case.”
Genevieve cocks her head to the side. “Isn’t the Ares Corporation funding the case? Can she do that?”
“They are, and she cannot. But something sounded off, and I don’t much like it. I think someone got to her and she can’t say it over the blower. I’ll be back later; I’m still going to need you to follow Howard if you’re up for it.”
“You can count on me, Thomas. Where will I find him?”
“He works for Baucus Publishing and will be off work before the sun goes down. Wait inside the café across the street and keep a close eye on the factory. You can’t miss him.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Follow him and see where he goes. Once I know where he lives, I can stop in later and question him.”
“Okey,” Genevieve says. “I can do that.”
“Thank you. I have to go; I’ll see you here tonight.”
I leave the office. Only then does the thought occur to me that Arthur may not be fine with his wife staying out so late for work. I consider going back to make sure it’s all right. Still, Genevieve had already confirmed her willingness to do the job, so I continue moving.
At the pavement, I flag a taxi and give him Helen’s address. I’m not wasting any time getting there. Someone got to her; I can feel it. Likely the same people who got to Dorothy. But something about the situation is different. Dorothy intentionally sent me in the direction of Howard, where Helen wants me to cease my hunt. Could it be the same people after all?
The taxi pulls up to Helen’s house and I exit, leaving five dollars on the seat. I overpaid, but I don’t have time to count out the exact change. Careful to not step on any ice, I sprint to the front door. As expected, Helen’s brother walks out the door and glares at me. He’s hurting, his face swollen and bruised.
“What happened to you?”
“She doesn’t want to see you,” he sneers, ignoring my question.
“Is that a fact,” I reply. “Last I checked, my business was with her, not you. If she has a problem, she can come out and speak to me herself.”
“You son of a –”
I give him five closed fingers upside the jaw, knocking the boy off his feet and into the snow by the path. I don’t wait for him to get up; I race past him and enter the door, locking it behind me.
“Miss O’Reilly?” I call.
“Detective?” Her voice is sharp and afraid.
Helen rounds the corner, and I can see a small trickle of blood running down her swollen cheek.
“Did he do this to you?” I ask, pointing my thumb to the front door.
“Anthony? No, he wouldn’t ever harm me. It’s nothing, really.”
“Miss O’Reilly, what happened?”
She wants to tell me; I can see it in her eyes. But her face is terrified. Whoever had gotten to her, she didn’t give in without a fight. She has the wounds to prove it. But they put the fear of God into her, and that usually leads to problems.
“Was it a man or a woman?” I ask, trying to make it easier.
“A woman.”
“Can you describe her?”
Helen nods. “She was just a little taller than five feet, dark brown hair with waves and a short fringe. She’s also got a small nose and green eyes.”
“From your description, she looks a lot like you.”
“Are you suggesting I did this to myself?”
“Did you?”
Her head sags, and I see she can’t answer the question.
“Yes and no? I really don’t know how to explain.”
“Try.”
“I didn’t do this, but the woman who did looks a lot like me. It was so strange.”
“Will your brother corroborate this story?”
Helen shakes her head. “Anthony can’t wrap his h
ead around what happened. I don’t think he can properly think about who hurt him without thinking it’s me, and that hurts him more than any of the blows ever could.”
“Do you have any idea where she could have gone?”
Helen shakes her head.
“Is she the one who called me earlier?”
Helen nods.
“She sounds an awful lot like you too.”
“You’d swear we were twins if you were to see us side by side.”
“And I take it you don’t have any other siblings.”
“I have a brother and a sister. But they’re both older. My mother can confirm that bit.”
“Do you want me to look for her?”
Helen shakes her head. I’m starting to get frustrated with her gestured answers, but I keep my temper down.
“Do you want me to stop looking into Howard’s death?”
She shakes her head again.
“That’s all I needed to know. Well, and to make sure you’re all right.”
She stares at me, and her eyes get wet. “Why do you care about what happens to me?”
“Because you’re a breathing human,” I say. “Plus, we have a common interest in this case. I have a question that needs an answer, and you deserve to know what happened to Howard.” I light a cigarette and wander back to the front door. “If you get into any more trouble, you don’t hesitate to call me. You understand?”
Helen nods. “Thank you,” she says, only just audible enough for me to barely hear it.
I open the door and walk out; Anthony is still in the snow, his back spasming with his sobs. I reach down to help him up. He looks up and me and sneers.
“You just had to come around. You had to drag her into this mess.”
He slaps my hand away and stands. I take a step back and lower my chin. “You want to trade blows, I’ll happily humour you. But only after the case has been solved.”
Anthony snarls and soon starts to laugh. “You don’t get it. You seriously don’t understand?”
“Understand what?”
“There is no ‘after the case' anymore,” Anthony’s face turns a bright red, and his eyes roll wildly. “This is it. Well, at least for my sister and me anyway. They came for us, we’re going to die, and that’s all there is to it. Nothing you can do, nothing the coppers can do, nothing anyone can do.”
Dead Man Walking Page 9
