Breaking and Entering 101 (The Case Files of Henri Davenforth Book 4)

by Honor Raconteur

  Gibson and I left at that point, but the answer still whirled in my head. It explained things, of course, but it still felt off to me. That was a lot of days in a row for Innis to have worked that he didn’t necessarily have to. Who covered for another for more than a shift at a time?

  I’d requested the baggage car be taken back to Kingston so I could bring all my tools and diagnostics to bear on it instead of what little fit into my black bag. Because the thieves had used a cleaning charm, much of the trace evidence that could be found at a crime scene had been wiped clean. Most, but not all.

  I still had a few tricks up my sleeve.

  Clint oddly chose to remain with me today. He was still somewhat embarrassed by his mouse moment last night and attempting to make up for it. Or so was my impression.

  By the time everything got situated at the Kingston station, what with all the traveling back and forth, it was nearly noon now. I set the diagnostic wand to work, recording every inch of the car, watching the numbers and facts scroll out in the air in front of me. Nothing out of the ordinary, so far. Still, I’d hoped our thieves had overlooked something.

  “Hello again, Doctor.”

  I turned my head at the greeting, keeping my hands steady, and found Foster approaching. The young werefox looked bright eyed and bushy tailed, his Kingsman red uniform pressed and neat. He must have taken advantage of being near home to change, like I had. He’d been very stiff with me since the beginning—not cold, but somehow on his guard. This open expression on his face was a welcome surprise, although I wasn’t sure what had changed his attitude.

  “Foster,” I greeted in turn. “You’ve come to help me, I take it?”

  “Kingsman Gibson is keen I learn proper evidence gathering, and he said following your example would be best. I’ve come to help and observe.”

  “Ah.” The sideways compliment made me blush a bit. “Well, I’ll welcome the help, assuming we find anything. So far there’s nothing out of the ordinary, which worries me.”

  He came to stand at my elbow, looking over my shoulder and toward the interior, what he could see of it from that angle. “Because no evidence leads to no convictions?”

  “And because it bodes ill for us. In my experience, thieves get better with practice, you see. Not all of them. Sometimes internal struggle in a group of thieves leads to discord and their work suffers from it. We quite enjoy it when that happens. Saves us some effort. But in this case, this group seems to work quite well together, and they’re learning. Or perhaps I should say, they’re evolving. This theft was smoother than their first one. I fear the next time they strike, it will be even more seamless.”

  “Practice makes perfect?” Foster offered with a worried frown.

  “Yes, quite. At this rate, we’ll learn more from their first strike than any other.”

  “Doctor, that’s rather alarming. We didn’t learn much from the first.”

  “You now understand my concerns.” A blip showed on the letters and I noted to him, “I can see traces of any magic used in the car. I just saw the residue of a silencing charm.”

  “Like the first time.”

  I hummed in agreement, still focused. “Not unexpected. The cleaning charm has of course already registered. I do not see any sign of Raskovnik. Did we ever follow up on the possibility of shipment during the timeframe?”

  “Kingsman Gibson looked into it. I don’t know if he got an answer though.”

  “I’ll follow up with him after this.”

  Clint sauntered over to the edge of the roof and peered down at us. “No holes or sniffies.”

  “Sniffies meaning anything that made his nose twitch,” I translated for Foster’s benefit. “Because a Felix is designed to aid magicians of all types, their nose is very sensitive to any trace of magic. Thank you, Clint.”

  Satisfied with his contribution, he started grooming his back-right leg, casually hoisting it above his head.

  I finished the spell and closed it with an aggravated sigh. “Nothing here to report, magically speaking.”

  “Then can we assume from this that no one in this gang is a magician?”

  “Yes, I think that’s a safe assumption to make at this point. I’ve not seen any trace of spellwork, craft, or anything of that nature. Just charms, and those can be bought in most markets.” I rocked back on my heels and thought for a moment. What to try next?

  “Doctor, do you mind if I examine the locks?”

  “No, please do.”

  Foster hefted himself up and moved toward the far end of the car. I followed him, hauling my black bag with me. Clint chose to ride in on my shoulder, then leapt off of me like a launching board to stand next to Foster. I cast him a dirty look he pretended not to notice.

  We divided the locks between us, me using a variety of examining spells, Foster using his eyes, and went over every inch of the locks. They’d used six of the smaller interior safes. It was quiet between us as we worked, but a companionable silence, one shared instead of tolerated.

  “As far as I can tell—” Foster sat back on his haunches and half-twisted to look back at me— “a lock pick wasn’t used here. There’re a few scrapes, but I’ve never seen a lock that was perfectly pristine when it was actively used.”

  I nodded, as he was correct; that was my experience as well. “I think they had a full set of keys here. Interesting, is it not, that they’d have all the keys necessary here but not for the first job?”

  “Does that mean their contacts changed? They made a new friend that could get them the keys?”

  “Quite possible. It could also mean we’ve failed to ask a question we should have.” I rose to my feet, as my knees were protesting being on the ground in that position. “It occurs to me that multiple train companies all use the same station. Wouldn’t the clerks all have copies of the keys for every company? They’d have to, wouldn’t they?”

  Foster opened his mouth, froze, then closed it, head canting as he thought. “But each company has their own offices in the stations, too. Would they keep them separate?”

  “You see? Neither of us knows the answer to that. If these keys are kept in the same location, then one person with the right access could copy any of them. But if they’re separate, then we’re not looking at one possible employee but two or even three who are working with the thieves.”

  He immediately stood, scooping Clint up as he went. “Let’s ask. Anything else you need to do here, Doctor?”

  “No, just seal the scene. I might have more questions later. We might need to revisit.”

  Foster grabbed one of my bags as we hopped off, and I lifted the other two. The door sealed shut behind us, and I re-instated the ward to make sure no one entered without my approval. The forensic wagon waited nearby and we loaded everything into it, locking it for good measure, before continuing on to the main station building. Clint shifted to my shoulder somehow during this process. Why he chose to perch on me, I did not understand, but something about the train yard deterred him from moving under his own locomotion.

  Whoever had brought the car in had possessed the good foresight to not put the baggage car anywhere near the rest of the cars or on the main lines. This one was parked at the far end of a line and near the station building, giving me quick and easy access to it and the road. It barely took us a minute to ascend to the wooden platform and the crowd awaiting there for their train. Bypassing them all, I made my way to the baggage office that sat off to the side of the building. A clerk stood in the window, looking rather bored, his face young under the hard-rimmed black cap.

  As I stopped at the window, he came readily alert, his eyes wide on Foster’s uniform. I didn’t wish to alarm him and put a smile on my face. “I’m Dr. Davenforth. This is my colleague, Kingsman Foster. We’re investigating the thefts.”

  The abject relief in his expression was clear. “Oh. Sure, sirs, what can I do for you?”

  “A few questions for you,” I continued, juggling the cat on my shoulder to reach
for a notepad. I wanted to record this precisely. He did another double-take upon seeing the Felix, eyes round, but I ignored the reaction. “The keys to the vault, compartment, and safes, and the outer padlock area, where are those kept?”

  “Not in the same place, sir,” the clerk answered after a moment, pulling his attention back to me and scratching at one cheek. “The guards and baggage carriers, they all have keys to the baggage cars and the outer padlock. Part of the same set so they can let people in.”

  I shot Foster a look, which he returned, as that was not what we’d been led to believe.

  “So, every guard and baggage carrier can reach the vault? On every line? What about the safes?” Foster inquired, also taking notes now in his own slim notepad.

  Leaning in, the clerk said in a confidential tone, “Everything but the safes. We’re not really supposed to, tell you the truth. We’re supposed to keep them separate. But it was cutting into station-time, us having to find the right man with the right key, or fetching them from the office every time. Delayed us ten minutes or so every train, and that adds up quick.”

  That it would. I’d heard of an accident last year because one train left the station four minutes late and collided with another on the tracks. They ran the trains with very little margin for error.

  “And when the employee is off-duty, he turns those keys in?”

  “No, sir, they’ve got their own sets, and they just keep them. The outer keys—that’s what we call them—they never make it back here. Now, the safes, those are here.” The clerk pointed to the wall next to him, and I craned my neck to see where he pointed.

  There on the wall were different sets of keys, all hanging off the hooks, neatly labeled above each hook for the shipping company lines. With three main train lines, times the number of keys necessary to unlock all the safes, it came out to quite the number. It was a trifle alarming how in view those keys were. Not to mention how close to the window they were. “And they stay there at all times?”

  “Well, yes sir, but we have a door to secure them.” The clerk reached out to demonstrate, and a hitherto unseen cupboard door was extracted from the side and swung shut to cover them. “We lock them up at night, when the station closes down.”

  I looked at the flimsy construction of the cabinet with severe misgiving. That did not look a proper deterrent. “Foster, can you attempt to reach the keys from here?”

  He stepped closer to the window, thrusting an arm inside, and reaching with all his might. The window, however, was quite narrow, and it limited his reach. He failed several inches away. “No, Doctor, no chance.”

  “I knew I couldn’t. Thank you for trying. Young man, two more questions if you will. Have you seen or heard of any of these keys going missing?”

  “Ahh…yes, sir, come to think of it.” He was back to scratching his cheek. “About six months ago, one of the guards lost his key ring. We searched all over and couldn’t find it. Company ordered new locks and keys, just in case, as a safety measure.”

  My ‘spidey sense,’ as Jamie called it, tingled. Something about that was important, although I failed to understand why in the moment. “Indeed, and who was in charge of ordering the new keys?”

  “Biggs, sir. Simon Biggs. He’s off duty rest of the week, but on next if you need to confer with him.”

  “I just might, thank you. Final question. Who has access to this room?”

  “Only the clerks, sir, and there’s a hefty bolt to the door here. Each of us have a key, but we turn that into the station master before we leave our shift. She keeps track of it.”

  “Who’s the station master here?” Foster inquired.

  “Shannon, sir, Libby Shannon. You’ll find her office inside, next to the front desk.”

  “You’ve been amazingly helpful,” I praised him, this time my smile more genuine. “Thank you.”

  “Not at all, sir, but do you mind if I ask a question?” The clerk pointed to the Felix still perched upon my shoulder like a pirate’s pet monkey. “What is that?”

  “I am Clint,” the Felix informed him haughtily.

  The clerk blinked at him. “Cor, it speaks!”

  “Yes, so he does.” I found the reaction amusing. “He’s a Felix, a magician’s familiar. Not mine, but he chose to help us investigate today. Thank you for your time, sir.”

  “Ah, yes,” the clerk answered, still staring strangely at Clint, as if he’d broken some universal law by being both odd looking and intelligent.

  Foster and I disengaged from the conversation, walking away. Foster leaned in close to me to murmur, “Now why didn’t anyone mention to us before that there had been a complete change of locks six months ago?”

  “A very interesting question, and one I want an answer to. I’m not sure if this helps our investigation or not, but it is intriguing. Let’s follow up with the station master first, see if she has had anything odd happen in the past few months.”

  “Then catch up with everyone else?”

  “Indeed. The safes were not as secure as we were led to believe. I’m not sure if that was gaslighting or indignation on their part, but I do know that there’re holes in this system and someone has very cleverly exploited them.”

  Foster had a bit of bounce in his stride, tail wagging happily. “I hope this is another break. We sure need one.”

  “You know, Foster, it occurs to me that every time we’ve had a break in the case, you were present. Perhaps your beginner’s luck is paying off to our benefit.”

  “Now that’s a nice thought, sir.”

  “Let’s capitalize on it before it runs out,” I suggested, half-teasing.

  We met Jamie and Gibson at Annie’s Pub and Brew—a regular haunt of mine—for an early dinner. I was famished, and it was a good chance for us to compare notes and catch each other up to speed. At this early hour, the seats were largely empty, and we had a back corner-booth to ourselves. It felt later than it actually was because of the dim interior, the dark wood encouraging the feeling, and I had to guard myself against a sense of lassitude. We were not done with the work day yet.

  Jamie ordered a fried onion appetizer for us all to share, and I guzzled a full glass of iced lemonade before ordering another. Only then did we settle enough to actually speak.

  “What did you find?” Gibson inquired of Foster and I. “Anything?”

  “In the actual car, no,” I denied. “They were very thorough. No trace evidence to be had. But we did find some rather interesting information. Foster, if you’ll do the honors?”

  The young Kingsman shot me a foxy smile. “With pleasure, Doctor. So, we discovered today that the initial explanation we had about the keys is not actually correct. And they failed to tell us something important. To start with, the keys to the safes are kept in two separate locations, that’s true. But the employees actually carry the keys to all the company lines—the guards have keys to the padlock, vaults, and compartments. It’s a timing thing—they don’t have the time to go hunt down or fetch the keys from the office every time.”

  Jamie rubbed her forehead with one hand, appearing as if her head was threatening to split. “Of course they did. And didn’t tell their bosses, because of course that’s against the rules, and arghhhh. Okay. What about the inner safes?”

  “Now those are kept at the clerks’ office,” Foster confirmed, his free hand floating out to the side to give Clint a good scratch along his back. The Felix flopped bonelessly, purring at the attention. “It makes sense, really. The safes are pulled from the baggage car and carried to the clerk’s office for retrieval. They’re not opened until the owner comes to claim it. Why carry the keys to them when you don’t need them?”

  Gibson grunted, not sold on this logic. “Still, the security is not as tight as we were led to believe. And the clerks’ office itself?”

  “Not as secure as we assumed,” I agreed wryly. “The keys all hang on a rack in plain sight of the window, and while a cupboard door covers it at night, there’s only on
e stout lock on the door. It would be easy enough, I think, to pick that lock and make an impression of the keys.”

  “The other thing we learned is that a key ring was lost six months ago,” Foster added. “The train companies replaced all their keys and locks at that time as a security measure.”

  Jamie and Gibson shared a surprised look, then growled in vexation.

  “They should have mentioned that before!” Jamie exclaimed in frustration. “That impacts our timing on this.”

  I nodded sourly. “Yes, I felt the same way about it. Now, the question stands: Did the thieves capitalize on the change of the locks and have an extra key made for their benefit? Or does it simply limit their planning of this heist to six months?”

  “I’m inclined to think it only limits them.” Gibson paused as our waiter returned with our orders, the plates set before us, and only continued once she had left again. “If they had a copy of all the keys, they wouldn’t have used the Raskovnik.”

  “Or someone bungled the order and didn’t get them all the keys they needed,” Jamie pointed out. “They clearly have all the keys now so something changed.”

  I hummed in thought, my mind turning over the facts. “Right now, we simply don’t know enough to make any deductions. The other conclusion I reached is that there is not a magician in the group. There are still only charms in use.”

  Gibson had his mouth full of bread but nodded in agreement.

  “What did you two discover in Bristol?” I prompted, in part so I could start on my own dinner.

  “Found partial prints on the tools and wax,” Jamie informed us, cutting into her steak. “If I have something to compare it to, we’ll be set.”

  Foster looked intrigued by this. “Does that help us find suspects?”

  “Yes and no,” Gibson explained, passing a small water bowl down to Clint. “As we have few fingerprints on file, we have no one to really match them with at this point. But, once we have suspects to question, we can try to match their fingerprints to the ones we took off the tools.”