Ghost of a Chance

25 The Search

Despite his going to bed well after midnight, Alex was up and at his office at nine sharp. In the detective business, he didn’t get many customers at that hour, but the time was useful to tackle the various tasks that needed to be done to finish cases and keep his business running.

“Wow,” Leslie said as he entered the office. “Things must be worse than I thought if you’re here on time.”

“You have no idea,” Alex said. He’d managed, with the aid of three cups of Iggy’s strongest coffee, to wake up and take the crawler to the office, but his mind was still fuzzy. “Please tell me there’s coffee,” he said.

Leslie stepped over to the little table that sat beside the filing cabinets and picked up a steel coffee pot sitting on a tick square of cork. Moving past Alex, she went into his office and then into the little bathroom attached to it, filling the pot with water. The office didn’t have a stove and the radiator connected to the boiler in the basement was off for the summer, but there were other ways to brew coffee, especially in New York. When Leslie returned, she put the pot back on the cork pad and opened the slender drawer in the front of the side table. Inside lay a decorative wooden box with paper flames of red and orange lacquered to its sides and top. Opening the box, Leslie took out a small, brown rock that pulsated with red light from somewhere deep inside. The light gave Alex the impression that the stone was breathing.

The rock was a boiler stone, the invention of Sorcerer Malcolm Henderson, one of the New York six. By itself the stone was an unremarkable, if slightly creepy, rock, but submerge it in water and it became hot enough to boil that water. Most buildings in the city had their boilers converted to use boiler stones instead of oil or coal. Alex was grateful tat they could also be used to make coffee.

“Things aren’t really that bad, surely?” she asked, dropping crystals of instant coffee into the pot as the water began to boil. Before Alex could protest, she added a second scoop. Leslie knew his habits almost as well as he did.

“Well, I almost got arrested last night,” he said

“How does someone almost get arrested?” Leslie asked.

“Remember Duane King?”“Yeah. The guy who the old Suffolk County Assessor cheated out of his land.” Leslie nodded.

“Well, I told Lieutenant Detweiler that he was the ghost killer.”

“Let me guess,” she said, refilling Alex’s cup. “He has an alibi.”

Alex nodded, as he drank deeply again.

“Real good one,” he said. “He’s dead.”

“Ouch,” Leslie said, a pained look on her face. She picked up the coffee pot by its wooden handle and poured Alex a cup. “I’m guessing the Lieutenant didn’t take it well. So what now?”

Alex accepted the cup and took a long sip of the scalding liquid. It burned his tongue but he didn’t care.

“Now, I have to prove that King faked his death and is actually the killer.”

Leslie raised her eyebrow at that.

“It sounds like I’ve got a full morning ahead of me,” she said. “Did you get those runes written that I asked for?”

“Last night,” Alex said, finishing his second cup. “They’re in the lockbox, but what does that have to do with your morning?”

Leslie smiled sweetly at him and sauntered around behind her desk.

“Because,” she said, “I either have to get these runes to the people who ordered them, or I’ve got to go out and find a job that can pay me.”

“I made up two weeks of your back pay,” Alex said in a hurt voice. It was a game they played. He knew that Leslie wouldn’t just quit, she’d go down swinging. So would he for that matter, but her bringing it up meant they were still in danger.

It seemed like they were always in danger.

“Well, you’ve got your work and I’ve got mine,” he said, after a long silence.

“What about the Lightning Lord’s missing engine?” Leslie asked.

“Motor,” Alex corrected. “And I don’t know. I talked him into giving me another day to find it, but if I don’t hear from Danny or Callahan today, that’s a bust.”

Leslie reached across the desk and put a hand on his arm.

“You’ll get it done, kid,” she said, despite the fact that she was only ten years older than him. “You always do. Now get to it. I’ve got people to call and money to collect.”

Alex met her gaze and nodded, passing silent thanks to her. She knew him well enough to see he was on the ropes. He wondered again why he never made a pass at her; she was amazing, after all. Theirs was more of a kid brother and big sister relationship and to be honest, Alex liked it that way. He could be himself around Leslie without the pressure of a relationship making him watch what he said or how he said it.

“Good luck,” he told her, and headed for his office.

The first thing he did was to call Anne Watson at her hotel and give her an update. Detweiler had already informed her that she wasn’t a suspect, but she was glad to hear that Alex was still on the case. He told her the story of Duane King and why he might want revenge on her husband.

“I don’t know if I can believe that, Mr. Lockerby,” she said, voice and manner somewhat cold. He had just accused her husband of fraud, after all.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you, Mrs. Watson,” Alex said, meaning every word. “But I figured you deserved the truth. I can’t prove that King is still alive or the one responsible, but I’m going to keep digging until I know who killed your husband for sure.”

Anne paused for a moment, then sighed.

“Thank you for not lying to me,” she said. “Part of me wishes you had, but I appreciate the truth. Call me when you know for sure.”

Alex promised that he would, then hung up. He sat at his desk, paging through his notebook, searching for something, some bit of information he’d overlooked that would help him find Duane King. Alex felt sure Iggy was right, and King was still alive. The question was, how to prove it? He didn’t have any better idea now than he had last night about how King was stalking his victims.

“But he is stalking them,” Alex said out loud. “He would have had to, in order to know when they’d be home.”

If King had been loitering in Inner-Ring neighborhoods or Core apartment buildings, someone would have noticed him. And however he got into the houses, he would have started outside.

Reaching for the phone on his desk, Alex intended to call Anne Watson back. Since picking the front door lock in broad daylight was risky, he’d need her house key to get back in and look for King’s means of entrance. Everyone had been so focused on what happened in the locked rooms, Alex hadn’t searched the rest of the house.

King had been careful not to leave any traces at the murder, but had he been that carful getting inside in the first place?

Alex grabbed the phone’s receiver, but it rang before he could pick it up.

“Lockerby?” Andrew Barton said.

Alex wondered if he’d heard from the police about his motor. Danny would be sure to call him once they found it, but Alex expected to get a call first.

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” Barton continued. “Which do you want first?”

“Let’s have the good news,” Alex said, needing some this morning.

“I called around and that idea you had about using my traction motor for mining was a damn good one. It’s perfect for their needs. I’ll have a prototype for them in a month.”

“I’m happy for you,” Alex lied. “What’s the bad news?”

“I don’t think those bank robbers could be using my motor the way you think they are.”

Alex felt a sinking feeling in his gut and he wished he’d eaten breakfast.

“Why not?”

“That motor weighs six hundred pounds,” he said. “It’s smaller than a normal traction motor because it’s a prototype, but it’s still capable of pulling a locomotive.”

“I don’t see the problem,” Alex said. “They’ve probably got enough men to move it.”

“But how are they going to power it?” Barton asked. “A motor that size pulls a few thousand volts, even to do light work like turning a mining drill. You can’t just plug that in to a light socket.”

Alex wasn’t sure exactly what the problem was, but if Barton was right, it would mean that Danny and Callahan were looking for a tunnel that might not exist.

“They have a couple hundred feet of heavy gauge copper wire,” Alex said. “I figure they’ve patched in to the fuse panel of whatever building they’re tunneling from.”

Barton thought about that for a moment.

“Well, the wire could certainly carry the current, but if they were pulling that much voltage through a building, no one inside would be able to run a toaster.”

Alex thought about it. He hadn’t considered the traction motor’s power requirements. That didn’t mean he was wrong, but maybe he was wrong about where the kidnappers were digging their tunnel.

“What about the Edison Electric lines?” he asked. While Barton powered most of Manhattan from Empire Tower, the rest of the city was wired to the power grid, owned by Thomas Edison’s company.

“They have the same problem,” Barton explained. “If someone pulled that much power off one of their poles, the nearby buildings would notice. They’d have gotten calls before now.”

“Even if they’re drilling at night?” Alex asked.

“You know this city doesn’t sleep,” he said. “I’m sorry, Alex, but I don’t think the police are going to find my motor in the basement of a building next to a bank. Not unless the people who took it are using it as an enormous paperweight.”

Alex rubbed his eyes with his free hand. Callahan was not going to take this news well. In less than two days, he’d managed to burn every bridge he had with the police. He’d be lucky if they called him to consult on mugging now.

“Thanks, Mr. Barton,” he said, smiling to make his voice cheery. “I’ll call the police and let them know this is probably a wild goose chase.”

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” Barton said, “but I thought you’d want to know. Cheer up though, you’ve still got the rest of the day to win our bet.”

Promising to get right on that, Alex hung up. He opened his desk drawer before he remembered that he was out of bourbon. Deciding he needed to be calm when he called Danny, he took out his last remaining cigarette and lit it.

The more he thought about his predicament the angrier he got, until he cocked his hand back to throw the cigarette across the room. He didn’t, of course. He couldn’t afford a new one. That thought just made him angrier.

“What’s wrong?” Leslie’s voice came from the doorway.

Alex hadn’t heard her open it; he must have been madder than he’d thought.

“What makes you think anything’s wrong?” he asked, trying to force a smile onto his face.

She raised an eyebrow at that.

“Never kid a kidder, Alex,” she said. “I heard you grinding your teeth all the way back at my desk.”

Alex took a deep breath and related his call with Barton.

“To make matters worse,” he concluded, “the only thing I can think to do about finding the ghost is to go back to the Watson house and try to figure out how he got in.”

“And you have to call Danny and warn him that you were wrong,” Leslie said. Alex had conveniently left that particularly unpleasant task out of the story.

“And I have to call Danny,” he admitted.

She looked him in the eye for a long moment.

“I guess you better get started,” she said in her matter-of-fact voice.

Alex knew she was right, but he really didn’t want to admit it. She just held his gaze for another moment, then turned to go back to her desk.

“Keep swinging, kid,” Leslie said. “You’re bound to hit one sooner or later.”

“Thanks,” Alex said, crushing out the stub of his cigarette and reaching for the phone.

He called back Anne Watson and arranged to meet her and get her house key. He didn’t have any new ideas about how to find Leroy Cunningham, but he could at least go after Duane King.

“And call Danny,” Leslie said from the waiting room after Alex hung up with Anne.

He bit back a retort and picked up the phone. Since Danny would still be out looking for bank robbers digging a tunnel, Alex intended to leave a message with the operator, but when she tried to connect him, Danny picked up his phone.

“Hey, I can’t talk right now,” Danny said. His voice was tense, and he clearly wanted to get off the phone.

“I was wrong about the bank robbery,” Alex said, speaking quickly. Callahan would be furious once he figured it out, to say nothing of Captain Rooney, and Alex had to make sure Danny was prepared for that.

“I know” Danny hissed. “Callahan is madder than a wet hen.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex said. “How much trouble are you in?”

“I’m the guy who led the search teams to half the basements in New York,” he said. “Callahan’s not mad at me. You, on the other hand, you’d better lay low for a while.”

“I’m already on Detweiler’s hit list,” Alex admitted. “I’ll make myself scarce for a few days. Can I call you later?”

“When I’m at home,” Danny whispered, then hung up abruptly.

Damn.

Alex managed to get his friend in trouble again. Callahan was probably sending officers over to Lockerby Investigations right now to haul him in.

That thought impelled Alex to action and he stood up. Taking a moment to get his kit from the vault, he headed out into the main office.

“Callahan’s probably going to send cops over to bring me in,” he said to Leslie as he headed for the door. “I’m going over to the Watson place to look for clues.”

“I’ll hold the fort and tell the cops I haven’t seen you,” Leslie said with a smile.

Six hours later, Alex had been over the Watson house from top to bottom.

Twice.

He’d had to refuel his ghostlight and silverlight burners but there was no part of the house from the cellar to the attic that he hadn’t checked.

All for nothing.

Once he’d finished with the house, Alex took to the streets and talked to the neighbors. All of them knew the Watsons and even though the police suspected the widow on account of her being fifteen years younger than David, none of the neighbors believed it. They all had stories and anecdotes about the Watsons but not one of them had seen anything suspicious, and definitely had not seen anyone lurking in the neighborhood watching the Watsons’ home.

If Duane King had staked out the Watsons’ house, he’d done it from his invisible car.

Frustrated and angry, Alex went back inside to pack up his gear. It had been a long and fruitless day, but at least his evening would be good. He’d pick up Jessica at seven and take her to the Lucky Dragon. All he had to do was shower off the grime of crawling through attics and cellars, and put on a clean shirt.

As he packed up his gear, he remembered Danny’s warning to lie low. He went back into David Watson’s office and called Iggy, just to be sure.

“I’m glad you called,” Iggy said. “Some police officers were here looking for you. There’s one in a car down the street and one watching the alley. I think Detweiler might have changed his mind about arresting you.”

“He might have,” Alex said, “but Callahan sent these guys.” He explained the call from Andrew Barton and what it meant for his theory.

“So what now?”

“Now I have a date,” Alex said.

“I mean about Leroy Cunningham,” Iggy said. “You can’t just leave him to whatever fate is waiting for him.”

“It’s the same story as the ghost,” Alex protested. “I know why he was taken. I know what they’re doing. It’s just not possible.”

“Some part of the impossible must be possible,” Iggy said.

“I know,” Alex said softly. “But damned if I can figure out what.”

Iggy sighed.

“All right,” he said. “You need to clear your head, get a fresh perspective on the problem. Go have your date, then call me when you’re done, and we’ll sneak you back in here.”

“I told Danny I’d call him later,” Alex said. “I’m pretty sure I can bunk with him tonight. That’s probably safer.”

“Do you need anything from here?” Iggy asked. “I mean for your date, do you have money?”

“The only thing I need is a shower and a clean shirt,” Alex said.

“How are you going to manage that?”

Alex actually smiled. For the fist time today, he actually had an answer.

“I’ve got a complete change of clothes in my vault,” he said. “And I don’t think Mr. Watson will mind if I borrow his shower.”

Alex was about to hang up, but Iggy was quiet. He knew that meant the old man was thinking.

“I’m going to head down to the diner for a slice of pie,” he said. “Why don’t you swing by there on your way, and ask Mary if she’s got something for you?”