She frowned and tapped her lips with a finger. “Is that slander – or libel? I forget.”
“Neither. I assume you didn’t bother with an alias this time around because you thought no one in Massachusetts would recognize your real name.” He pulled out several papers. “Countess Alessandra Zorzi, born 1901, in Venice to Count Ferro Zorzi and his wife, Beatrice. You have two sisters, both married. Zorzi, of course, is not your actual name, nor are your parents actual aristocrats.”
“We are now,” she said. “May I smoke?”
“I’d rather you didn’t. Filthy habit.” He fixed her with a calculating stare. “Ferro was a gambler – and a good one – while Beatrice was a showgirl…”
“Burlesque dancer,” Alessandra corrected, absently. “Also very good. But do go on.”
“Sometime around 1900, Ferro manages to con some dissolute nobleman out of his lands and title, takes them as his own, and spends the next decade pretending to be someone he’s not.” Whitlock smiled. “Like father, like daughter.”
“It was mother’s idea, actually.” Alessandra returned his smile with interest. “And there’s no crime in purchasing a title. Plenty of your fellow countrymen are even now strip-mining Europe for every castle and coat of arms to be had.”
Whitlock shook his head. “Only there are no lands to go with the title, are there? No money, either.”
“The title is the money, and lands are a dreadful bore.” Specifically, there was money to be had attending the parties of the great and mighty as a decorative noble. Every newmade tycoon wanted the sheen of respectability that came with titled friends and acquaintances. Americans, mostly, but the English had a great love of royalty. Not so much the French.
“Which is why you turned to burglary. Specifically, art theft.”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.” That hadn’t been the reason, but she saw no need to illuminate him. In truth, crime was in the blood. Her father had been a thief, and her mother. Her grandparents too. She was simply following in their footsteps.
“That’s OK, I’m not finished yet.” Whitlock pulled more documentation out of the envelope. Alessandra was beginning to get the feeling that he was enjoying himself. A bit of revenge, perhaps, for her earlier rudeness – or maybe to compensate for the fact that she’d saved his life. She was beginning to regret that last one. “I’ve got reports here from the police in Paris, London, Vienna, Vyones, Marrakesh – a dozen others.” He pulled out another sheaf of papers. “I’ve got statements as well, from the Comte d’Erlette among others. You remember him?” He gave her an expectant look.
“I can’t say that I do.” She was careful not to let any surprise show on her face. Someone had been busy. She knew the comte had a long reach, but this was unexpected.
“Well, he remembers you. And he offered to send someone over here to take you off our hands, didn’t he, Muldoon?”
“That he did,” Muldoon said, nodding slowly. He looked like he meant it. Or maybe he was just good at pretending. Either way, she felt a sudden unease – the thought of finding herself in the hands of the comte wasn’t a pleasant one – and decided to go on the attack.
“Our hands,” Alessandra repeated. “Pardon my ignorance but are insurance investigators considered law enforcement in this country?”
Muldoon coughed, and Whitlock fell silent. Alessandra smiled and leaned forward. “If any of this is true, if I am this person you think me to be – do you truly believe I would be so easy to frighten? Anyone can stuff papers into an envelope. Anyone can learn a few names. Do you have evidence?”
The two men traded looks. Muldoon was uncomfortable. Alessandra had him pegged as impressionable and ambitious. Whitlock was ambitious as well, but in a different way. He reminded her of a hound that had caught a scent and was determined to follow it to the bitter end. She knew his type – had dealt with them before. Troublesome, even if discouraged early and often. She sat back and looked at Muldoon.
“Officer, am I to understand I was asked here under false pretenses?”
Muldoon frowned. “No, I asked you here to help with the investigation. And that’s what you’re doing.” He sat on the edge of the table. “What do you remember about the robbery?” Whitlock made to interject, but Muldoon waved him to silence.
“Nothing much, I am afraid. It was quite frightening.”
Whitlock snorted. “You didn’t seem frightened when you picked up that Chicago Typewriter. Seemed like you weren’t bothered at all.”
She frowned. “I do not recall picking up a typewriter.”
“The Thompson,” Muldoon clarified, with another warning glance at Whitlock.
“Ah yes, when I saved Mr Whitlock’s life!”
Whitlock glowered at her, but said nothing. Muldoon nodded. “Yeah, you did. Which buys you a bit of consideration, but only so much. That’s why I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Mr Whitlock says you’re a thief. But I don’t see how you could have been involved in this.”
“Because I was not.” She tilted her chin to look up at him. “When do I get a lawyer?”
“Only Americans get lawyers,” Whitlock said. “You’re not American. No lawyer.”
“Surely that cannot be right.”
“You don’t need a lawyer,” Muldoon said. “As I said, you’re not under arrest. If you were, you’d be talking to Detective Harden instead of a beat cop. You’re a witness: I’m taking your statement.”
“Then I am free to leave?”
“If you want.”
Alessandra considered Muldoon. He was clearly tenacious, as well as ambitious. She had no doubt he would make it a point to make her life difficult if he thought she had something to hide. It might be best to go along with this farce, at least until they decided they were finished with her. “As I said at the train station, I am happy to answer questions.”
Muldoon smiled. “I thought you might say that. So after you picked up the Thompson…”
“And saved Mr Whitlock.”
He glanced at Whitlock, who flushed. “And saved him, what do you recall?”
“I fired and then sought shelter when they started shooting back.”
“Do you remember anything else? Did they use each other’s names?”
“Not that I recall,” she lied. “I was much too distracted to pay attention to such things. All that flying glass, you understand.”
Muldoon nodded sympathetically. “So why didn’t you stick around afterwards?”
“I was afraid, as I said. Not least of Mr Whitlock here.”
“Me?” Whitlock sounded insulted.
“The way he confronted me at the exhibition. Very aggressive. Very distressing. And then the robbery – I felt faint. I needed to lie down.”
“Don’t tell me you’re buying this,” Whitlock said, looking at Muldoon.
“I ain’t buying nothing,” the young officer said. “But I’m keeping an open mind.” He stood. “That’s all you remember?”
“I would tell you if I knew.” She put on a mournful expression. “It doesn’t seem I’m going to be of much help, I’m afraid. Something else might come to me in a few days, but right now… eh.” She gave a shrug. “May I leave?”
“No,” Whitlock said.
“Yes,” Muldoon countered. He glared at the insurance investigator and opened the door. “I think we’re done here anyway. But don’t leave town.”
“I would not dream of it.”
Muldoon closed the door firmly behind her. Despite this, she could hear them arguing. She smiled and threaded her way through the bullpen. She felt eyes on her as she went, and wondered how long it would take Whitlock to convince them to issue a warrant for her arrest. Not long, perhaps. He struck her as a determined sort of fellow.
His interest complicated matters. The last thing she needed was that sort of attention. She collected her belongings from a bored-looking clerk, her ears open as officers spoke to one another. Nothing of interest caught her atten
tion, but it was clear that a good deal of effort was being put towards the robbery.
It was getting dark when she finally exited the building. Surprisingly, Pepper was waiting for her, sitting on the steps. “There you are,” the cabbie said. She rose and stretched. “I thought for sure they were taking you to the hoosegow.”
“The what?” Alessandra looked up as the large white globes to either side of the steps lit up. Each was emblazoned with the word “POLICE”. Their soft radiance cast back the growing shadows, for which she was grateful.
“The slammer. The concrete resort.” Pepper gesticulated meaningfully. “Prison.”
“Ah. No. They merely wished to question me. Why are you here?”
“I told you I was going to wait. I saw them arrive, figured they were there for you, and followed them. I figured you’d need a ride back to the hotel.”
Alessandra smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I kept the meter running.” She opened the door of the cab and Alessandra slid inside. “Where to?”
“The hotel.”
“Not the station?”
“No. I missed my train.” Alessandra sat back. “Have you noticed a little fellow in a black coat following you?”
“A what?”
“Never mind. Do you know Officer Muldoon?”
“Tommy?” Pepper said, as she guided the cab into traffic. “Yeah, a bit. He gets around, talks to folks. Nice guy, for a cop.”
“Is he aware of your…?” Alessandra began. Pepper laughed.
“Him? Nah. He’s not what you’d call observant.”
Alessandra raised an eyebrow at that. “But dedicated? A good policeman?”
“Oh yeah. Probably better than this town deserves.”
“That is unfortunate.” Alessandra sat back. “I believe he thinks me to be responsible for what occurred at the exhibition. Or at least involved, somehow.”
“Why the hell would he think that?”
“I am sure I have no idea.”
Pepper snorted. “Lady, I know a porky when I hear one.”
Alessandra raised an eyebrow. “A… porky?”
“A fib, a lie, a confabulation. What are you, some kind of cop? Is that why you’re here? Someone snatch that mummy and replace it with a fake or something?” Pepper sounded excited at the prospect. “Oh, wait, I know! There’s stolen jewels inside it, right?”
“No, and I am certainly not a police officer.” Alessandra was slightly insulted by the assumption. “I am a thief, not a policeman.”
Pepper was silent a moment. Then she exploded. “That explains why you were in such a damn hurry to get out of here. I knew it. I didn’t know what I knew, but I knew it.”
“What did you know?”
“That you’re a criminal.”
“A moment ago you were certain I was a policeman.”
“Crooks and cops are basically the same thing!” Pepper spat. “Am I going to the pokey just for driving you around?”
“I doubt it.” She patted Pepper on the shoulder. “Do not worry. I will let you know ahead of time if I am planning on it.”
Pepper shook her head. “Thanks. I think.”
Alessandra chuckled. “You are welcome.”
Pepper was silent for a time. But her curiosity got the better of her eventually. “So, if you’re a thief, did you come to steal that mummy? Is that why they’re up your nose about it?”
“Whether I was or not, the mummy is gone.”
“I bet we could find it.”
“We?”
“Well, you.”
“And pray tell, how might we do that?”
“I know guys. Guys who know the sorts of guys who steal mummies.”
Alessandra snorted. “Is that a common occurrence in Arkham, then?”
“Lady, that ain’t the weirdest thing that happened this week.”
Somewhat taken aback, Alessandra said, “These guys… are they the sort who keep abreast of local illicit activities?”
“You mean, are they criminals?”
“Yes.”
“Then yeah, they’re criminals. Strictly small fry, but they pay attention.”
“Excellent.” She smiled. “I think I will require an introduction.”
Chapter Thirteen
Planning
“So what’s the plan?” Pepper asked, scraping sauce off her plate with a scrap of bread. The hotel restaurant was all but empty. It was too early for dinner, and too late for lunch. The dining room was ornate but curiously stark, with an air of the unfinished. The tables were too widely spaced and the ceiling too high.
Alessandra poked at her chicken. It tasted off somehow. She considered sending it back, but decided not to make a scene. Instead she pushed her plate aside. “The plan is to track down our mummy-thieves. But more important is to find the mummy.”
“Doesn’t one lead to the other?”
“Not always.”
“Oh,” Pepper said, in understanding. “You think they were working for somebody else. That makes sense. The local mooks wouldn’t go to the trouble of robbing that place, especially in the middle of the day, unless somebody told them to.”
Alessandra nodded, pleased by Pepper’s quick realization. “Yes. They were almost certainly working for someone else and it is them I need to find.”
Pepper frowned as something else occurred to her. “What about that Zamacona guy? What’s he think about all of this?”
Alessandra rubbed her throat, suddenly recalling the tightness of Zamacona’s grip. “He was… willing to renegotiate the terms of our original contract.”
Pepper studied her. “Yeah? Generous of him,” she said, doubtfully.
“Very.” Alessandra took a sip of water from her glass. It had an odd gritty taste. “But that generosity comes with an implied deadline. The quicker we find our quarry, the better.” She was no longer certain just what sort of man Zamacona was, besides dangerous. She felt that so long as their bargain held, that danger was kept safely at bay. But there was no telling how long it would hold.
Thankfully, she had always been a quick thinker. She had formulated the rudiments of a strategy during the drive back to the hotel. Pepper had been amenable to an early dinner, and the young woman had practically inhaled a plate of something vaguely Italian.
“One of them was hurt. Not badly, but he will need a doctor.” She looked at Pepper. “Where do such men go for medical treatment in this town? Not to the hospital, I think.”
Pepper considered this, licking sauce off her fingers. “There’s a guy in Riverside. Used to be a horse-doctor, I think. He’s a drunk, but he can pull a bullet out of a guy easy enough.”
“You know him?”
Pepper shrugged. “Not really. Kind of. Maybe.”
Amused, Alessandra raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever been to him yourself?”
“I’ve been in a couple of scrapes.”
“Have you now?”
“It ain’t easy being a cabbie in this town.” Pepper put her cap back on. “Want me to take you to see him?”
“No. It is likely the police have already spoken to him. They know one of the robbers was wounded. What they do not know are the names of the robbers. But I do. Just like I know they will go to ground.”
“Lot of heat on ’em. Maybe they’ll just leave town.”
Alessandra shook her head. “No. The police will be watching. What I need is to speak to someone who knows where they might go to hide. Or anything about them at all.”
Pepper nodded. “That I can do. I know a guy who knows a guy. I should be able to catch him tomorrow morning.”
“Good. Talk to them, and see if they will talk to me.” Alessandra sat back. “In the meantime, I am going to go get some sleep.” She rose. Pepper frowned.
“What about me?”
“I would suggest you get some sleep as well.”
Alessandra paid the check and left. Milo was nowhere in sight as she entered the lobby, but a sc
rum of guests laid siege to the front desk, looking to check-out. She recognized some of them from the exhibition and laughed softly. With the mummy gone, the vultures were seeking other prey – much like herself. She wondered if Visser was planning to up stakes as well. She didn’t see him in the crowd. If he was still in town, he might be of some help to her. But that was for later.
For now, she wanted only to sleep. The day had been an exciting one. She paused, looking out through the entrance. Arkham seemed less lovely at night. Not ugly, but… uncertain. A thick mist layered the square across the street, all but hiding it from sight. The streetlights sputtered softly, their radiance dimmed and stretched.
Something about the scene unsettled her, and she hurried towards the stairs. She was not a believer in fate. But if she was, today would have been full of portents. The police weren’t the only ones who had an interest in her continued presence in Arkham. More, something about the robbery had begun to niggle at her. Something was off about it, more than just apparent sloppiness.
These thoughts ran through her mind as she entered the stairwell. It was enclosed on all sides, lit by electric bulbs mounted in ornamental stanchions. As the door to the stairwell closed behind her, she felt an instant of what could only have been vertigo. The steps, swaddled in garish oxblood carpet, rippled before her eyes, and the lights flared, flickered and dimmed. She blinked, trying to restore normalcy.
Instead, the lights began to go out. One by one, the darkness descending towards her step by step. Her back was pressed to the door before she knew it, her heart straining in her chest. It was coming faster now. She could hear the bulbs popping, one after the next. She felt sick – shaky. Cold.
A sound rose up out of the dark. Gentle, but insistent. Like the trickling of water, but magnified. Coming from everywhere around her, all at once. She could see the hint of movement between the buildings, like serpents readying themselves to strike. Something was coming, and it was coming for her. She could feel it, even if she couldn’t name it.
Tsathoggua en y’n an ya phtaggn N’kai.
It was at once a voice, and not. Like a gust of wind, carrying words like leaves. Like a memory, long buried. She closed her eyes and tried to push back the fear. It gnawed at the edges of her composure like rats. It would take her, if she let it. She began to count down from one hundred. An old trick, taught to her by her mother. Thankfully, it still worked. Her heartrate decreased around the thirty mark, and she opened her eyes. The lights were back – if they had ever gone out in the first place.
Wrath of N'kai Page 10
