The men called out instructions to each other on how much lead shot they needed to switch out with each box. Gibson and I had requested that Mrs. Watts not mark which box had ‘coins’ or ‘ingots’ to make things as authentic as possible.
With so little clear floor space, we basically worked on top of each other, and things quickly got mixed up in the confusion. The rattle of the train as it went along the tracks didn’t help, as the wax seal kept rolling underneath the baggage shelves. Clint had to fetch it for me twice, as it went out of our reach.
I was sweaty and huffing for breath by the time I got the last box re-banded and sealed. “Alright, go!”
Gibson took it from me and put it in its safe, and promptly closed the door. “Who has the key?”
Henri tossed it to him.
Trying it, Gibson made a face. “No, not this one. Where’s the other one?”
“Maybe that’s the one I need?” Foster offered, holding out a key to swap.
They swapped, growled when it still wasn’t right, and went for the other keys lying in a pile. I stared at them and suppressed a sigh. Really? They couldn’t keep the keys straight after wasting time figuring it out the first time?
Clint from his perch on the shelf lifted his head and announced, “Five minutes left.”
Swearing, we all leapt into action. Nothing was put away yet. We crammed boxes back into the safes, and Henri shoved those back into the compartments. We still hadn’t squirreled away all of the ‘gold’ yet, and we hastily started on that while Henri managed locking everything. For that matter, things had gotten so mixed up I wasn’t sure if we’d stolen enough ‘gold’ out of the boxes or if some had been left over.
The train whistle sounded overhead and the train slowed, beginning to pull into the station. I held up a hand, calling a halt. “Stop, stop, we’re done. We didn’t make it.”
“That is unbelievably tight,” Foster exclaimed, staring around at the mess at our feet. Wax droppings, bent metal bands, and all the tools lay in disarray around us. “Look at this, we barely have the gold put in our pockets or bags. Never mind cleanup.”
“There was too much fumbling about with the keys,” Henri observed. “If not for that, we might have made it.”
It was strange. When I’d first heard of this case, I thought forty minutes was challenging but plausible. But it hadn’t really sunk in how much practice this took, how smoothly everything had to go, in order to make it. It wasn’t just swapping out the gold for lead—it was cleaning everything up so precisely afterward that no one suspected anything was amiss. And the cleanup would take up quite a bit of time. “Guys, how about we do another dry run on the way back to Kingston?”
Foster nodded firmly. “I want to. I’m not satisfied with this.”
That seemed to be the general consensus, as the other two nodded as well.
“First a cold beverage,” Henri suggested, patting at his temples and cheeks. “And then we discuss what else we need to make this more feasible.”
I could think of a few things, in fact, but… “I’m definitely up for a drink.”
Our engineer, because she was amazeballs, did two more runs for us. It took three runs total before we finally had everything cleaned up before we pulled into station. The second time we were very close; however, the goal wasn’t to just have it cleaned up—but to be able to walk out the minute we pulled in. That’s what the thieves had to do, after all. Immediately leave and vacate the area as quickly as possible before the theft was discovered and the station locked down.
On our way back to Kingston, we chose to use the passenger car instead. I, for one, was tired. I felt like I’d just marathoned a three-hour raid in some MMORPG and got my can kicked in the process. The feeling was a mutual one in the group. We slumped in our train seats, none of us exactly perky. Clint was the only one with energy, but then, for the most part, he’d just watched and enjoyed the show. Sometimes giving us an unnecessary countdown because he was evil like that.
I felt like it needed to be said, even though we were thinking the same thing. “I know we didn’t precisely hit the mark on that last run, but we were close enough to make no difference. No tricks or magic was necessary to pull this off. This is doable.”
Gibson nodded, although he didn’t bother to open his eyes or change from his slouched position. “It is. They must have practiced many, many times to get the timing down smoothly. I almost wonder now if it wasn’t a matter of weight so much as time.”
“What do you mean?” Foster inquired.
“The gold they left behind,” Gibson elaborated. “Why do so? We assumed it was a matter of weight—they didn’t know how much to plan for so were caught short. They were forced to leave some of it behind. But it could have been timing, too. Maybe they just couldn’t get all the boxes open and shut again before they ran out of time. Knowing that, they cut their losses.”
I splayed my hands in a shrug. “Could be either. Or both. Who knows? It certainly was tight enough just managing what we did, and we’re good at working with each other. This takes some phenomenal team work.”
“The silencing charm was definitely a necessity,” Henri observed, rolling his head back up to look at us. “It’s impossible to move in those confines without creating quite a bit of racket.”
“Yup. So, we’re looking for people who know each other well, or at least work with each other often. I don’t think you can pull together a group of strangers and get this to work well without a lot of practice. Maybe months.”
Gibson nodded in agreement. “And they likely had some obscure place set up with a practice area. Not that we have any idea of how to look for that.”
“It’s probably dismantled by now, anyway.” More’s the pity. Lots of possible evidence was in that spot, wherever it was. “I’m saying this, too. Definitely four people to pull this off.”
“Agreed.” Gibson frowned, finally opening his eyes and focusing on us. “But I don’t think it’s possible it was any more. Five people would not have fit into that baggage car.”
“If there’s a fifth—or even sixth—person, then it’s an informant,” Foster agreed immediately. “There’s no possible way to put another person in that baggage car and have the necessary room to maneuver. I’d almost say it would work with three people better rather than four, if it wasn’t for the weight. The one time we tried to distribute the weight among only three people, it was very obvious.”
I didn’t quite agree there. “They may have found a clever way around that. We were making do with regular clothes. But a bulky coat would hide a multitude of sins. Or a specially designed briefcase, for instance. It still might be three. But the workload would make that challenging. We barely managed it all with four.”
“And I feel like they would have two people working on the metal bands,” Henri pitched in. “Having just one slowed us at times.”
“Yes, I think so as well.” Gibson slapped both knees. “Well! Good work today. When we get back, let’s call it a night and go home. I’m not sure about the rest of you, but I could use the respite.”
“I have a hot bubble bath and a good book calling my name.” My calves were killing me from all the squatting. But we had done good work today, and I was proud of that. I felt like we had a firmer grasp on the mechanics of this.
Now to figure out whodunnit.
Most of Friday—ahem, excuse me, Scribe Day—I spent doing background checks with Foster. Not because I didn’t trust him to do a good job, but because he wasn’t all that well versed in what to look for in investigations like this one. And it seemed a crappy thing to do, to throw all the legwork on his shoulders.
We started with alibis—that was the easiest way to knock people off the suspect list—and then moved on more intensely when someone couldn’t offer a rock-solid alibi for the day in question. Of course, not every single person had been working that day. Some of the guards only had the morning shift, or weren’t on schedule that day, or were out sick, etcetera
, etcetera.
We fetched to a stop near the end of the work day and visited Gibson at his office.
Normally, Gibson’s office was this paragon of organization and cleanliness. Today was not that day. His desk was cluttered, stacks of files covered both visitor chairs, and even the seascape painting behind his desk was crooked. My friend was bent over his own list of tasks, what looked like a re-arrangement of Kingsmen, and I winced. Wards still wonky enough to call for double-shifts, eh? Ouch.
Gibs looked up with relief from his desk as we entered. “Tell me you have good news.”
“We have a narrower suspect list, at least.” I decided against dropping into my usual chair and leaned up against his desk instead, the edge of it pressing against my hip. “All the clerks have solid alibis, as do the porters. Admin staff never went near the baggage car, so they’re in the clear. Not all the guards were on-duty so unless we see evidence that they were at the station, I’m not inclined to think they’re involved. We started background checks on all the guards. So far, no alarms.”
Foster nodded along in support of this. “No one has any priors, or even skirted along the wrong side of the law. We’d have to pull warrants to look at people’s finances, but there’s nothing to indicate we need to do that.”
“So, what you’re saying is, we have no new leads.”
I tsked him with a wagging finger. “‘Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.’ We were just eliminating the impossible today.”
“Sherlock again?” he asked wearily but with a slight upcurve of his mouth.
“Surely I don’t quote him so often that you remember the source.”
“You really, truly do. Alright, so you were eliminating the suspect pool. Who’s still in it?”
“Hmm, right now Cain Innis, Marianna Rutherford, Jacob Swoles, Jodan Nichols, and Simon Biggs look iffy. But they only look iffy because they have access to the keys, worked the day of the heist, and I can’t pinpoint where they were at all times. They say they were in certain places but can’t seem to offer me a witness to prove it.”
Gibson frowned and rubbed at his jaw. “But other than that, do they look suspicious?”
Foster answered with a shake of his head. “Not really. None of them have priors. None of them are acting out of character or have tremendous debt, as far as we can tell. Rutherford and Innis both guarded the train, but in different places, is all. Ezer Fagin was the engineer. Swoles was the one who accepted the gold and oversaw it loaded onto the train. Nichols guarded the baggage car as they off-loaded it in Bristol. Simon Biggs is actually a clerk, but he has access to all the keys to the station and is responsible for locking it up every night.”
“So, it’s more like they have opportunity and means but the motive is a big fat question mark.” Gibson sighed as he sank back into the chair. “Anyone else?”
“A few questionables, but that’s my main list at the moment. I think I want to go through the passenger lists before we really start cracking down on people. It’s something that can wait for another day, at least.”
Wearily, he agreed with a nod. “Then good work. Thanks for updating me. I’ll hopefully be free to join you once I get this shift re-scheduled.”
“Better you than me.” I gave him a casual salute and took myself off again. I had errands to run if I was to get my Girls’ Night going on time in…I took out my pocket watch from my vest and winced at the time. Wowzer, I had two hours.
I better get moving.
With a casual bye to Foster, I caught a taxi and headed to Ellie’s lab. I had something in particular I needed her help with, and I’d prefer to get it done now, before I put it off any longer than I already had.
I’d received three letters that week, and even though I’d tried in vain to read them, it had proven impossible. It wasn’t something I could shrug off, either, not with these letters. I had to respond, and I wanted to do it sooner rather than later. My Velars had improved rapidly in the almost two years I’d been on this planet, but people’s handwriting sucked, and that could throw a crimp in my style.
With my usual helper (Henri) being busy and my other usual helper (Sherard) on the verge of a meltdown, I went with the saner option and asked for Ellie’s help.
I went to her lab, partially to check on the upgrades to my bike, with a stack of letters in my hand. She was ratcheting away at something as I came in, a streak of grease on her fair cheeks, as usual. Her flaming red hair was caught up away from her face with a folded bandana, forehead dewed with sweat. She looked up as the door shut behind me, grinning. “There you are!”
“I’m not late,” I pointed out laconically, weaving my way around piles of half-finished projects. “And what are you doing to my bike this time?”
“Improving the suspension,” she reported, returning to her ratcheting. “I’ve almost got it, I think. You can have it back tonight.”
“Sweet.” I hopped up on the table behind her, as there wasn’t a seat in sight available, idly swinging my legs.
“What did you need help reading, anyway?” Ellie inquired, still fiddling.
“Letters. I got in three this week that I haven’t been able to fully decipher. A few words are throwing me off.”
“Yeah? Who writes you letters?”
I scratched at a cheek, a little embarrassed. “It’s, um, fanmail? Sorta?”
Ellie paused and gave me a look askance over her shoulder, brow raised. “Fanmail?”
“The people who survived Belladonna,” I explained with an awkward shrug. “You know, the ones who lived through the cities she blasted apart, or the ones who lost a loved one due to her killing sprees. They reach out to me sometimes. They don’t really know an address, but everyone knows I’m a detective, so they mail it to the precinct.”
She put the ratchet down, turning to fully face me. Curiosity canted her head to the side. “And what do they say?”
“It varies. Sometimes it’s a simple thank you. Sometimes they’re looking for…I don’t know, a sympathetic ear, or advice. A few people who write to me regularly are borderline suicidal because of what she did to them. They take some sort of comfort from the fact that I survived her too and am back to normal life.”
“If she can do it, I can do it?” Ellie offered, expression pensive. “Is that their thinking?”
“Yeah, something like that. And one guy, he’s seriously gotten so much better. I told him about having Clint, and how much that’s helped me, so he went and adopted a dog. That dog’s saved his life, no joke.”
Ellie smiled at me, but the expression was sad more than anything. “That’s quite the burden you’ve shouldered, dearling.”
I snorted. “It’s not a burden. It’s group therapy. We’re just doing it long-distance, is all. So, can you help me read the letters? Some of the handwriting is bad, or the spelling, and I can’t be sure I’m reading it right.”
“Of course,” Ellie assured me, smile softer now. “Of course I will.”
After Ellie helped me, I went to the grocer’s to pick up a few ingredients—I was making clam chowder, a hit with the Girls’ Night crowd. I expected the usual suspects plus Colette. Ellie and Penny were very curious to really meet our new Magical Examiner, and I had a feeling Colette was starved for some quality female friends. I fully anticipated Colette and Ellie to get along like two peas in a pod. They had similar senses of humor, to start with. Penny was generally shyer making friends, so we’d have to see how that went.
I left the grocer’s, and as I crossed an intersection, I spotted a familiar head of black braids ahead of me. Colette stood a good head above even most of the men, so it was easy to spot her in a crowd. “Colette!”
She turned, pausing under a lamppost, then spotted me and waved in greeting.
I stretched out my legs to catch up with her while she waited patiently. It was getting late in the evening, sunset falling, and the lampposts were yet to be lit. I imagined the crew who lit t
he gas lamps were still working toward this street. I was glad to run into her. Colette’s formidable, and I didn’t think many men would be stupid enough to cross her, but with women it was always safer to be in numbers.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she joked with me, a grin lighting up her heart-shaped face.
“I know, right? Is that wine I see under your arm?”
“It is. I know you said to just bring what I wanted, but I’ve had this hanging about in my house for two years now. Someone needs to help me drink it.”
“Fair enough.” I started off again, leading the way, and she fell into step with me. I hadn’t seen much of Colette this week, just the two times I’d stopped into the precinct. It was part politeness on my part, but mostly curiosity when I asked her, “How goes everything?”
“I’m still catching up with protocols,” she answered, lighting up, free hand coming up to gesture as she spoke. “But I love the work. I can’t approach it with any preconceptions. A few of the detectives aren’t sure how to react to me yet, but the rest are just relieved to have a dedicated Magical Examiner in house to shoulder the load. Poor Henri really was swamped.”
“Yeah, he really was. We all recognized it, but unfortunately there wasn’t much any of us could do about it.”
“They’ve been patient explaining the rules to me as I get the gist of things. Good people to have as colleagues, that’s been my impression. And that young officer you’re training, Gerring? He’s a delight. He escorted me to one crime scene and stayed right next to me as I worked. He said it was a bad area, and he wasn’t leaving me alone out there.”
“I do love Gerring. He’s the sweetest guy, as you’ve learned. He’s also one sharp cookie. I anticipate in another six months or so, he’ll make detective as well.”
“As Detective McSparrin did? I understand she’s also one of your ducklings.”
Breaking and Entering 101 (The Case Files of Henri Davenforth Book 4) Page 10
