As we walked, Jamie inquired, “Which do you bet on? Guard or clerk? My money is on clerk.”
“Why, because the theft has now occurred on two different train lines?”
“Yup. Each company has their own guards and staff. Clerks are the only ones who share office space enough to have access to all the keys.” She tilted her head in question as she looked at me, dodging pedestrians absently so she could match her stride with mine.
“I still think guard. But I suppose we’ll see shortly, won’t we?”
“From your lips to God’s ears.”
It was hardly an invigorating way to start the morning, going back to the dreaded lists. I sat there like a lump on a log, going through one name after another, crossing things off, correlating with other sheets, and felt my brain grow mushrooms. Not the fun kind, either.
In fact, I was well on the way to moldering when Foster got up and went to the board. I idly tracked his movement as he wrote out three names, and what lethargy I had abruptly left me.
I stared at the board where Foster had just written the names of Cain Innis, Marianna Rutherford, and Chuck Hatter in his neat script and spluttered a protest while pointing to it. “Now wait a minute! I know Cain Innis was there, but no one mentioned Marianna Rutherford!”
We were four hours or so into the list processing and nearing the tail end of it. I’d been on the verge of suggesting lunch—Henri’s stomach was rumbling hopefully for food—when Foster popped up to write on the board. Now food was the furthest thought from my mind.
The Kingsman shrugged at me. “They’re all listed as guards on the line this week. Each a different day.”
Gibson sat back at the head of the table with a huff, staring at the board as well in a thoughtful fashion. “We were told they trade shifts. And didn’t Mrs. Watts say she’d double on the guards?”
I groaned in realization. “She did say that. And then unwittingly put two of our suspects to guard the same train during a robbery. That’s some sort of kismet, right there.”
“It’s not like she knew that,” Gibson pointed out. “Although really, someone should have mentioned before that we had two guards that night.”
“They really should have,” Henri grumbled crossly. “We’ve not had a single witness statement mention Marianna’s whereabouts.”
“Unfortunately, upset people rarely think clearly.” I threw my pencil down on the table in disgust. “Well, now I don’t know which to bet on, guard or clerk. I mean, seriously, it could be either.”
“My money’s still on guard,” Henri said slowly. “This skipping back and forth between train lines further cements my suspicions.”
Because we’d talked about it on the way in, I knew what he referred to. Since the other two were clueless, I filled them in. “Henri thinks the timing is too tight for it to be anything other than a guard. Think about it. From the time the train leaves the station to the point it arrives, it’s about forty minutes. The guard checks in on the baggage line throughout the trip. He’s responsible for closing and opening the doors. No way to get around that.”
“So, the guard had to be either part of it, or deliberately paid to turn a blind eye to them as they worked.” Gibson tapped the end of his pencil on the table, staring at the list of names in a way that suggested he wasn’t seeing them. “I have to agree, Davenforth, your logic makes sense. So, it has to be the guard?”
“That’s my assumption, and I’ve yet to see any proof I’m wrong.” Henri lifted a finger before cautioning, “Now, I still think we should question the clerks. The issue of the keys has not been solved. It’s still quite probable that at least one clerk is involved in this enterprise.”
Gibson gave a sharp nod, looking at us. “I think it’s time to rope in suspects and ask some questions. Foster and I will take clerks. Why don’t you take guards? This might take several days, depending on their schedules.”
“True,” I agreed, already planning out the logistics of this. “If they’re working, no telling what city they’re in at this time of the day. Yeah, this will be a fun nightmare to figure out. Henri, lunch. Then let’s get a work schedule from the station master. I bet she’s got one.”
“Lunch,” Henri agreed in heartfelt tones.
Libby Shannon blinked at us from behind her large, wire-rimmed glasses precisely once before her mouth dropped and she whispered furiously, “One of ours is behind this?!”
I was grateful the office door was shut. I leaned forward in my chair, dangerously close to the edge of her rather packed desk, and answered in a low tone, “Unfortunately, someone here has to be involved. There’s too many coincidences for how they got into the safes. We’re not sure if it’s a clerk or guards at this point. It could be a mix of both. But we’ve got several names to check, as they were working the evening trains.”
“What about the shipping clerks at the gold companies?”
“They may or may not have a hand in it, but they’re very low on the suspect pole. Two different companies had gold stolen—that says to me the odds aren’t good for any other co-conspirators. If you have an inside source at the gold company, why not stick with just the one company? Why steal from another? You see my point?”
She nodded slowly. “Their information must be contained within the railway station, or that’s at least likely the case. Very well, I think I follow your logic. Who are your suspects?”
“My main suspect at the moment is Cain Innis. He was the guard for both trains when they were hit.”
“To be fair, Marianna Rutherford was also on the second train, which makes her a suspect as well,” Henri pitched in. “We’d like the work schedule for both of them.”
“Of course.” Shannon popped up and went to the blackboard on her far wall. Neat white lines formed a graph with magnets, times, and names written in a clear hand. Everything was written in initials, due to the lack of enough space, and some of it I swear was encrypted, as it didn’t make a lot of sense to me. She traced a line and said, “Cain Innis is not on schedule this week, formally speaking. He’s traded shifts today, however, and should be coming back from the morning line in twenty-five minutes. Marianna Rutherford is on the northbound to Scoffolds, and she won’t be back today. I suggest trying her in the morning. She’s due back in just before noon.”
I made a note in my book. “Thank you. Our third suspect is Chuck Hatter.”
“Ah. Now, that might be an issue. Chuck fell last week and was hurt rather badly.” Shannon winced. “He came off wrong from the top of a car.”
I winced as well in sympathetic reaction. “Ow. That sounds painful. How bad is he?”
“Still hospitalized. The doctors have him medically sedated to help him heal faster. I don’t expect him to be really available for questioning. Not for several weeks.” Shannon cocked her head, the wispy dark hair falling further out of her messy bun. “What makes him a suspect?”
“We’re asking questions of any guard who consistently worked the line two weeks before the thefts,” Henri clarified for her. “As a precaution. Even if they had no hand in it, they might have seen or heard something that is helpful to us.”
“Oh. Well, I can assure you he had no hand in the latest theft. He fell from the train car the day before it happened.”
That did rather scratch him off our potential suspects for the second theft, at least. The first one was still in question, but the probability was low. I truly believed that whoever was involved in the first one had done the second as well. It was too tightly run for them to bring in a different crew or hire on additional members.
Henri made a note, his pencil scratching on the paper, then gave her a cordial smile. “Thank you so much for your help, Station Master. We’ll go and question everyone and hopefully get to the bottom of this. If we do clear someone, please don’t treat them as if they are somehow involved. I promise you, we will be very thorough in our questioning, and we’ll apprehend the correct people.”
Shannon gave a firm nod. “
Don’t you worry, Doctor.”
“Thank you for your time.”
I got up with him, and only when we were several feet outside her office did I lean in and whisper, “You think she’ll blow this out of proportion?”
“She seems highly infected with the drama of it all, shall we say.”
“Ah. Yeah, I got that impression as well.” I shrugged. There wasn’t much we could do about that.
Since we knew which train Innis was coming in on, Henri and I chose to wait near the clerk’s office for him to arrive. It shouldn’t be hard to spot him, as he’d be in a guard’s uniform for the Metro line, the unrelieved black on black easy to spot in the crowd.
We had twenty minutes to kill. I idly stroked the purple furball in my arms, his purrs filling the air around us as I scratched just the right spot.
Henri hummed a note, catching my attention; he did that when he was thinking hard about something. I bumped him with my elbow and he looked up, blinking. Prompting him, I asked, “What?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re thinking hard about something. What?”
“A curiosity.” He hesitated for a long second, studying me as if not sure if or how he should say it. When the words did come, they came slowly, as if he weighed each one before speaking. “You said once to me that because of your job on Earth you rarely saw your family face to face.”
“Yeah, that’s true. Why?”
“Were you satisfied with a long-distance relationship with them?”
“Well, I mean it got a little lonely sometimes, as I missed them. But I had a way to call them up, talk to them when I did. And text and emails and stuff. It helped me stay connected with them.”
“If you had a means to do that here, would life be easier on you?”
“You make it sound like life here has been rough on me.” I shrugged. The answer seemed obvious enough to me. “This world’s been very welcoming, really. I can’t complain. I’d like to talk to my family, of course, but I’m content here.”
That seemed to answer some question for him. Henri routinely checked in on my emotional well-being. It was sweet of him, really, and part of the reason why I so utterly adored him.
I sometimes wondered if I was too much of a burden for this man. He had to do so much in order to accommodate me, and I knew I took him routinely out of his comfort zone. Henri’s a man of creature comforts. Didn’t it grate sometimes that I demanded so much of him?
Something of that must have reflected on my face. He gave me that sweet smile of his and said, “For the record, I’m very glad you chose me as a partner. I do wish I could physically keep up with you better.”
“You could—and I know this is extreme—but you could exercise?”
He put a wounded hand over his heart. “Fiend!”
I chuckled. I’d more or less expected that response. “The point of a partnership is so we can cover each other’s weaknesses. Don’t worry about that. You’re the only man I’d have for a partner, Henri.”
His smile widened. “I’m yours. Sorry, no refunds.”
Head thrown back, I cracked up laughing.
The train pulled into the station, the whistle loud enough to cut off the conversation. It was a rude pull back into reality. Really, I’d prefer to banter with Henri for a while.
Clint moved so he had his front paws on top of my head. The better to see over the crowd with, apparently. I suffered it in silence even though I really didn’t need an additional eleven pounds on top of my head, thank you. Still, he had a better vantage point than we did. After a moment, he informed us, “See him.”
“Yeah? Where?”
“Baggage car.”
Made sense. That’s where he was supposed to be. We walked toward the back of the train, going against the crowd still off-loading. Sidling along the wall of the station was the only way to make any sort of headway. Eventually, we reached the last passenger car, and the crowd abruptly died. I spied the uniform before the man himself as he backed out of the car with a bag in each hand, which he handed down to a porter. He wasn’t much to look at, with a bulbous nose, thinning brown hair, and a body sliding slowly into fat. Not ugly, not handsome, a sort of plain guy.
Some instinct made him look up, and he spotted us. Realization flooded his face. We weren’t here for a casual chat, and something about our body language or facial expressions said so. Whatever it was, Innis took one look at us and bolted, hitting the station platform with both feet and sprinting away from it, toward the warehouse housing all of the trains.
“Why do they always run,” Henri lamented.
I didn’t bother to answer him. I grabbed the cat off my head and launched him from both arms. “Clint, attack!”
Clint hit the ground running, and let me tell you, outrunning a Felix was much like trying to outrun a cat on Earth. In a word? Impossible. In seconds, Clint was on Innis’s back, tearing at it with claws and causing Innis to fight him off with both hands, screeching as he did so. Looked rather like Don Quixote fighting a windmill, not going to lie.
I caught up quickly enough and snagged one of those flailing arms, locking it in behind his back. “Good job, Clint. You’re such a good attack kitty.”
Clint hopped down and purred at me, satisfied as he licked the blood from his claws.
“You can’t prove anything!” Innis gasped out, flinching as I wrenched his other arm around and cuffed him.
“See, when you say things like that, it just confirms you’re guilty. Not helping your case, dude. Henri!”
Henri puffed up to us, red in the face from the exertion. He glared at Innis, no doubt for the indignity of making him run. “Really, man, do be sensible. You’re facing the Shinigami Detective and her magical familiar. Of course running isn’t going to do any good.”
“He who runs only dies tired,” I joked. “Come on, Innis. We have lots and lots of questions for you. You’re going to give us all the lovely answers.”
Innis’s eyes were wide, like saucers that consumed his face, and he looked pale under the sweat dewing his temples. “Are you really the Shinigami Detective?”
Henri had dropped that on purpose to start the psychological warfare and, by golly, it seemed to be working. Good job, partner. “I really am. March.”
Innis looked extremely dejected as he slouched in the interrogation room, his hands in his lap, his eyes glued to the scarred table surface. He did not at any point look up, nothing more than quick glances to see who had entered the room. Jamie and I let him be. We’d get his full attention soon enough.
Our main issue was we had little idea just how tightly bound this ring was. Sometimes there was no loyalty among thieves, but sometimes there was. Sometimes it was a family affair and they’d die rather than sell someone else out. It would help our cause considerably if we could approach this from the right angle.
I held out a chair for Jamie and took the last one available for myself. Clint hopped onto the table’s surface near Jamie’s elbow, with both Foster and Gibson leaning against the walls behind us. They’d agreed to let us lead the interrogation—too many interrogators just confused the issue—but they wanted to listen in.
Excitement tingled at my fingertips. Finally, finally, we had a suspect. We had the possibility of answers. But the excitement tangled with nerves—ultimately, we had no way of proving anything right now. We’d built a very circumstantial house of cards. A confession would go a long way to prove Innis’s involvement.
Jamie opened a folder and set it in front of her. It was a prop, nothing more. But Innis’s eyes flickered up to it nervously.
“Did you know, Mr. Innis, that this is the greatest gold heist in history? The fact you pulled it off on a train is what makes it even more impressive. That was a very fine timeline you had to work off of. We tried it ourselves and barely managed it. When Gibson first told me about the case, I got a headache trying to figure out what you did. I can’t imagine how much planning went into this.”
So, we were go
ing with the friendly tactic, eh? One glance at Jamie’s face proved wrong. She sounded friendly. The smile on her face was challenging.
Innis’s instincts were finely honed, as he heard the threat under the words, and a fine sweat dewed his temples. Despite his nerves, he said nothing.
“Of course, not everything went smoothly the first round, did it?” Jamie pulled out a photograph of the crumpled Raskovnik. “The keys got messed up the first go around. You had to improvise with the Raskovnik because the lock picks wouldn’t reliably work on such complex safe locks. And you didn’t know about fingerprints, so your team left those all over the tools, the safes, the crates—everywhere.” Jamie waved to his ink-smudged digits in illustration. It was quite the bluff she was playing, and she did it admirably with a straight face. “I’ll match yours up shortly. But that wasn’t the only thing that didn’t go quite right, was it? You left so much gold behind, that must have been frustrating.”
Innis’s set face twitched. That was a palpable hit.
“Didn’t bring enough lead shot with you? That’s our guess. Or you couldn’t haul that much weight away with the crew you had. Could be that too, huh? It’s not like you could carry much yourself, as you were still ‘on duty.’ Isn’t that right? You could get rid of the tools, maybe put some gold in your pockets, but not enough to clink or have much of a bulge. Nothing noticeable. It had to grate, to still be guarding that much gold all the way to the Receiving Office and not be able to pinch even a bit more of it.”
Innis hunched further in on himself, nostrils flaring. Scared or angry? Remembered frustration? His face was so firmly set into a mask it was impossible to completely read him.
“You know what makes no sense to me whatsoever? Is that you went for a second score.” Jamie’s hands rifled through the folder again, pulling out the missing totals reported by the gold and train companies. “Three-hundred-eleven thousand crowns is a crap ton of money, man. Even divided up, surely that’s enough to buy a modest house somewhere on the coast and retire. You could probably live twenty years on that and not have to work. Why go again? Why take the risk?”
Breaking and Entering 101 Page 19
