Ghost of a Chance

29 The Ghost

Alex couldn’t sleep a wink after getting home from the hospital. Despite that, he still found himself sitting in the third row at St. Mark’s for Mass the following morning. He hadn’t been one for church after he left the Brotherhood of Hope mission where he’d spent his teenage years. When Father Harry died, however, he took with him that anchor of faith which Alex had always taken for granted. Now he went to church every Sunday, rain or shine. He told himself that he was doing it to honor Father Harry, but in truth, he needed that connection to what Father Harry had represented. He had been there for Alex like an immovable object, a compass needle invariably pointing north. A moral surety in an ever-changing world.

Father Harry was a constant reminder that being a good man was a choice. It didn’t happen by accident.

As Alex listened to the sermon, he hoped Father Harry was proud of him. He’d certainly done his share of good deeds, saving the city at the cost of decades of his own life, finding Leroy when Hannah had no hope of paying what she would owe him for the job.

It was like Iggy always told him, he thought, somewhat sourly, no good deed goes unpunished. Still, he couldn’t be too cynical in church, not with Father Harry looking down on him. In that sense, Harry was still his anchor.

“How was the Mass?” Iggy asked when Alex got home.

“Turns out God wants us to be nice to our neighbors,” Alex said, hanging up his hat.

“I’ll alert the media,” Iggy said.

“Any word from Detweiler?”

“No,” Iggy said. “I’ve got lunch ready. It’s just some cold chicken and bread for sandwiches.”

Alex chuckled. It was a meager fare by Iggy’s standards.

“You’re slipping,” he said.

“I was up late,” Iggy replied, sitting down at the table. “I’ve been thinking,” he said as Alex joined him. “What if the glyph runes are older than Archimedes?”

Alex shrugged.

“Does it matter?”

“It might,” Iggy said, assembling some sliced chicken and cheese onto a piece of bread. “I mean the Mayans weren’t the only ones to have a pictographic language. The Aztecs and the Egyptians did as well.”

“You’re wondering if some of those Egyptian hieroglyphs are actually runes or runic constructs?”

Iggy nodded, slathering his sandwich with mustard.

“I doubt if anyone has ever shined a ghostlight on any of those ancient writings.”

Alex took a bite of his own sandwich, chewing absently as he thought. Iggy had invented the ghostlight, so he was pretty sure the old man war right. Something about last night kept bothering him though, something he couldn’t quite identify.

“I thought maybe,” Iggy continued, “we could go over to the museum and use your ghostlight on whatever Egyptian junk they’ve got. The odds aren’t good, but you never know. We might get lucky.”

Alex put down his sandwich. Last night when Jimmy Cortez had first broken into the museum’s vault, he’d told his men to grab jewelry. That made sense, because jewelry would be small and worth more than just the cost of the metals of which it was made. But Jimmy had said something else — that his men were supposed to look for something specific.

“The entropy stone,” Alex said.

“What?”

“When Jimmy Cortez and his crew broke into the vault, he told the others to find something called the entropy stone.”

Iggy stopped chewing and set his sandwich aside as well.

“I’ll be damned,” he said. “The treasure of the Almiranta was gold taken by the conquistadors. It came from Central and South America. Some of it might be Mayan.”

“Are they looking for the glyph version of the Archimedean Monograph?” Alex asked.

Before Iggy could answer, there was a knock on the door.

“We need to take a ghostlight over to that museum,” Iggy declared as Alex headed for the door.

He was right. Whatever Jimmy and his fellow glyph runewrights had been after, it was worth finding.

When Alex opened the door, he found Lieutenant Detweiler and three of his officers on the stoop. The Lieutenant didn’t look particularly happy, but he obviously wasn’t there to arrest Alex, so it was a win.

He held up an envelope made of heavy-looking paper. A gold foil seal had been placed over the point of the envelope’s flap. Even at a distance, Alex could see it bore an obfuscation rune.

“How did you know?” Detweiler asked.

“Come in,” Lieutenant,” Alex said. “We need to invite a few other people to join us and then I’ll explain everything.”

An hour and a half later, the brownstone’s kitchen was full of people. Detweiler and his contingent of police were present along with Detective North and two more officers he’d brought along. Captain Rooney sat next to Detweiler at the far end of the oak table. The Lieutenant had strenuously objected to the inclusion of Billy Tasker, but Alex had insisted. Now the reporter sat near the head of the table by Iggy.

“Now that everyone’s here, we can get started,” Alex said, standing up to address the crowded room.

“You said we should be ready to apprehend the ghost,” Rooney said. “How exactly are we going to do that in Dr. Bell’s home? He wasn’t a member of North Shore Development.”

“That’s true,” Alex said, “but the ghost is going to come here nevertheless.” Alex held up the envelope Detweiler had brought with him. “Last night, I telephoned Lieutenant Detweiler.”

“In the middle of the night,” Detweiler grumbled.

Alex put his hand over his heart and affected his most contrite expression.

“My most sincere apologies, Lieutenant,” he said. “But I was worried the ghost might strike again if you didn’t act quickly.”

“What did he have you do?” Captain Rooney asked, looking a bit perturbed, though whether that was because Alex was giving his men orders or because Detweiler followed them, Alex couldn’t tell.

“Lockerby told me that there would be a letter waiting at one of the potential victim’s homes,” Detweiler said. “We searched for the envelope Lockerby described. This morning we found one on in a pile of unopened mail at the Zimmerman home.”

“This envelope here,” Alex said, holding it up so all could see.

“What does that have to do with the ghost?” Detective North asked.

“This is how the Ghost has been getting into his victim’s homes,” Alex explained. “We know he’s been using an escape rune to flee the scenes of his crimes. It’s a very rare type of rune that costs the user’s own life to transport him to a fixed location. To use one, a runewright would have to make an anchor rune in the spot he wanted to travel to.”

“So someone snuck in and put one of these anchor runes in the houses of the victims?” Tasker asked.

Alex shook his head.

“No, the anchor rune is in here.” He held up the envelope. “This seal,” he indicated the foil label on the front of the envelope. “This contains a special type of rune that prevents nearby runes from making a magical connection. Without a connection, the anchor rune is useless. When the recipient breaks the seal to read the letter, the anchor rune becomes active.”

“And the ghost attacks,” Detweiler finished.

“Just so,” Alex said.

“So let’s go down to the Central Office, break the seal, and throw the letter into a cell,” Captain Rooney said. “Why did we have to come all the way over here on a Sunday for this?”

A rumble of assent from the assembled police circled the room.

“Because,” Iggy said, standing up, “this house has special protection runes on it that prevent people from using escape runes while inside.”

“That means that the ghost can use the rune to get here, but not to leave again,” Alex explained. If Iggy’s protection runes didn’t allow escape runes in, Alex wouldn’t have been able to return here when he used his own rune last year. Of course, now that they knew that it was possible to mail an anchor rune, adjustments would have to be made.

“How would the ghost know that his victim had the letter?” Tasker asked. “I mean, what if they opened it and then went to answer the telephone?”

Alex held up the envelope again.

“This envelope feels pretty heavy,” he said. “I’ll bet there’s a long letter inside designed to keep his intended victim reading. That will give him time to attack. Now, once I break this seal, the ghost will know, so he should get here within the next few minutes.”

“But because of the protection runes on the house, he’ll be trapped here,” Rooney concluded.

“Yes,” Alex said. “Once he arrives, Captain, you and your men will have him.”

Alex stepped over to the light switch and flicked it, extinguishing the magelights in the chandelier over the dining table. There was still a little light from the windows in the front library, but the table and its occupants were mostly obscured.

“I’d ask you not to move or speak until the ghost shows himself,” Alex said, moving to the little hallway that connected the kitchen and the library.

He held up the envelope and tore it open with a swift motion. Inside were several sheets of heavy paper. Alex took them out and unfolded them, turning them over to the back. As he expected, an anchor rune was neatly drawn on the back side of the last page.

Alex had wondered how the ghost was able to get the drop on his victims, but the letter explained it. Whoever opened the envelope would spend at least ten minutes reading the letter, and that gave the ghost time and proximity to strike. After he’d killed his victims, he simply took the paper with him when he left. He probably reused it and the letter, sending them to his next intended victim.

Alex felt the rune on the paper tingle where his fingers touched it.

“He’s coming,” Alex hissed. “Remember to wait for my signal.”

A moment later the air shimmered and suddenly a short, slender man was standing in front of Alex. Without hesitation he plunged a stiletto dagger into Alex’s chest.

Or rather he would have, if the fresh shield runes Alex had inked into his suit coat hadn’t stopped it. Alex knew the rune would stop a blade, but he hadn’t experienced it before. It felt strange to see the blade, gleaming in the light from the window, slash toward him and then stop. It felt like someone poking him hard in the chest with their finger.

The ghost looked up, staring right at Alex. Recognition bloomed on the man’s face, as he realized he’d been played. He dropped his knife and his now-empty hand clamped down on his left forearm.

Nothing happened.

“I should have known,” the ghost said in a tired voice. “You were far too smart.”

“Hello, Edmond,” Alex said. “I had hoped to invite you to my home, just under different circumstances.”

“You know this man,” Detweiler said.

Edmond Dante whirled around as Iggy turned on the kitchen light. He chuckled when he saw nearly a dozen people waiting there.

“All for me?” he asked.

“And who might you be?” Captain Ronny asked, rising from his chair.

“This is Edmond Dante,” Alex explained. “You know him as Duane King. I met him in the Hall of Records where he’s been working since moving to New York. I assume he got the job there so he could search for the names of the people who defrauded him and caused the tragic death of his wife.”

“If I’d had the money that land would have brought, I could have bought a real cure for her,” Edmond said, his mouth turning up into a snarl. “Their greed condemned her to a slow, lingering death. They deserved what they got, each and every one of them. I only wish I’d managed to finish the job.”

Edmond turned to Alex.

“You weren’t surprised when I appeared,” he said. “How did you know it was me?”

“Your name,” Alex said. “Edmond Dante, it’s from The Count of Monte Cristo, only his name is Edmond Dantés. It’s a story about a man who fakes his own death in order to carry out a complicated revenge.”

Edmond laughed at that.

“I thought I was being clever,” he said.

“You’re Duane King?” a shaky voice piped up from the far side of the table.

“Yes, yes,” King said, not bothering to turn around. “Try to keep up, flatfoot.”

Alex shook his head at that.

“You really should pay more attention to the literary references you use as aliases,” he said. “In The Count of Monte Cristo, Edmond discovers that he has a son he didn’t know about.”

“So,” King said with a shrug. “My son is dead. The Army told me he died in the war.”

“You’re forgetting that girl he left town with,” Alex explained. “She was pregnant.”

King turned around and went as white as his hair when he saw Tasker.

“Like looking at an old picture of yourself, isn’t it?” Alex said. “Duane King, meet your grandson, Billy Tasker.”

“Sit down, Mr. King,” Iggy said, pulling out a chair across the table from Tasker.

King did as he was told and within a minute was answering questions from Tasker and asking his own.

“Can we arrest him now?” Detweiler said, stepping up beside Alex.

“Give him a few minutes,” Alex said. “This may be his only chance to do something good with his life.”

“You don’t ask for much, do you Lockerby?” he groused. “It’s not like we’ve got all day.”

Alex jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the stiletto lying on the carpet in the hall.

“You can always take charge of the murder weapon,” he said. “I’m sure that’ll come in handy.”

Detweiler looked chagrined and hurried over to collect it.

“Neatly done, lad,” Iggy said, stepping into the space the Lieutenant had vacated. “How did you know it was Edmond?”

“Look at him,” Alex said. “Once I knew that Tasker was King’s grandson, the resemblance was obvious. Then there’s Edmond’s white hair and his trembling hands. That’s not leukemia, those are the signs of someone who’s spent a lot of his life energy on escape runes.”

“Speaking of escape runes,” Iggy said, “we’ll have to do something about those or he’ll just trigger them once he’s outside the house.”

“I’ve got a rock hammer with a dozen spellbreakers on it in the pantry,” Alex said.

“Spellbreakers are illegal,” Iggy pointed out.

“We’ll just tell the police that they’re nullification runes,” Alex said under his breath. “They won’t know the difference.”

“So,” Iggy said after a moment. “You solved two tough cases this week.”

“Three if you count Andrew Barton’s traction motor,” Alex said.

“And,” Iggy said. “Your runes didn’t work before because Leroy Cunningham and that motor were literally underground.”

“What’s your point?”

“That you solved all three of those cases with your brain,” Iggy said. “Not with your magic.”

Alex thought about that. He’d been so caught up in the idea that he might be losing his magic… as if that were what defined him. It was part of who he was, certainly, but it wasn’t him. Iggy was right. If Alex had lost his magic, he could still be a detective. He could still help people.

He could still make Father Harry proud.

“Thanks, old man,” he said. “I needed to hear that.”

“I know you did,” Iggy said with an enigmatic grin. “After all, I’m still a lot smarter than you.”

Alex wanted to argue, but he wasn’t sure that was an argument he could win, so he wisely let it drop.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us now, Mr. King,” Captain Rooney said. “Mr. Tasker can visit you at the Central Office once you’ve been booked.”

King stood up and one of the officers instructed him to remove his shirt. Alex excused himself and got his prepared hammer, then he gently tapped it on the seven remaining escape runes tattooed on King’s arm. As the hammer made contact, one of the spellbreaker runes on its handle flared and the escape rune it touched faded and vanished.

Once Alex finished, King put his shirt back on and Detective North handcuffed him.

“It was nice to know you, Alex,” King said, then the police led him out.

Billy Tasker stopped to thank Alex. He looked a little dazed, but also excited as he left.

“At least the story will get out now,” Alex said.

“It’s about time,” Iggy agreed.

Alex helped Iggy put the table and the chairs back in place in the kitchen, then they both headed for the library.

“After that discussion, I have a desire to reread The Count of Monte Cristo again,” Iggy said, selecting the book from one of the shelves.

He was about to sit when there was a knock at the door. Alex and Iggy exchanged looks.

“Are you expecting more guests?” Iggy asked.

Alex shook his head and went to answer the door.

Two men were outside on the stoop when Alex opened the door. One was a tall thin man with dark hair, a bottlebrush mustache, and the olive complexion of an Italian or possibly a Greek. He wore an expensive suit and held a derby hat in his hands.

In front of him stood another man, dressed in a plain dark suit, well-made but not extravagant, with a matching fedora in his hand. He had Oriental features with a lined face, and long, dark hair that he had tied behind his head. Alex knew him as Shiro Takahashi, leader of the New York branch of the Japanese mafia. He was also Danny Pak’s father.

Shiro used the Chinese alias Chow Duk Sum when posing as the owner of the Lucky Dragon restaurant.

“Good evening, Mr. Lockerby,” Shiro said, and his voice was smooth and cultured with no trace of a Japanese accent. Of course there wouldn’t be, since Shiro Takahashi had been born in America and raised in Brooklyn. “May we come in?”

Alex got over his shock at seeing Danny’s father on his doorstep and moved back, holding the door open.

“Of course,” he said.

Alex shut the door after the two men, then took their hats, hanging them on the pegs just outside the vestibule.

“We have company,” he announced as he led Danny’s father and the tall man into the library.

Iggy set aside his book and rose.

“Doctor Bell,” Alex said, pointing to Danny’s father. “This is Mr. Chow.”

Shiro raised his hand and Alex stopped.

“Please,” he said, “there’s no need for that here. I am Shiro Takahashi,” he said, bowing low. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Dr. Bell.” He straightened and turned, indicating his companion. “I believe you already know my personal physician, Dr. Themopolis.”

Greek, Alex confirmed.

Iggy gave the doctor the once-over, and his expression soured.

“Yes,” he said, somewhat stiffly. “We met last night when I was trying to help your son.” Shiro seemed surprised that Iggy knew of his family connection, but Iggy waved his curiosity away. “Family resemblance,” he explained.

Iggy indicated the chair on the far side of the little reading table from his.

“Why don’t you sit here, Mr. Takahashi?” he said, then looked at Alex. “Please get a couple of chairs from the kitchen for yourself and the doctor.”

Alex did as he was told but had to make two trips on account of his injured hand.

“How’s Danny doing?” Iggy asked the doctor once everyone was seated.

“Healing nicely, thanks to you,” he said.

“Doctor Themopolis tells me that you insisted on treating Daniel for nerve damage to his arm,” Shiro said.

“Alex called me,” Iggy explained. “He said Danny complained of not being able to feel his fingers. I’m sorry if I offended you, doctor,” he said to Themopolis, “but major restoration runes are only effective if administered within thirty minutes.”

“No,” Themopolis said. “You were in the right, and I admit it. I’m grateful to you for your help.”

“I too wish to thank you,” Shiro said. “You rendered my son a great service, at no small cost. I would like to reimburse you for your time and your materials. Is five hundred enough?”

Alex expected Iggy to object but instead he inclined his head.

“Five hundred is far too generous,” he said. “The rune costs me one hundred and fifty dollars in materials, plus ten dollars for my time and a dollar-fifty for the cab ride both ways. Call it one-seventy?”

Shiro took out a billfold made of alligator leather and pulled two, fresh hundred-dollar bills from it.

“Let’s say two hundred,” he countered. “To offer less would be to insult my son’s worth.”

“I wouldn’t dream of making you do that,” Iggy said with a smile, and he accepted the money.

Shiro bowed again, then turned to Alex. His eyes dropped for a moment to Alex’s bandaged hand, then he looked up to his face again.

“Dr. Themopolis also tells me that you jumped in front of Daniel when someone started shooting with a machine gun.”

“He’d have done it for me,” Alex said. He wasn’t trying to be humble, it was the simple truth.

“I have no doubt,” Shiro said, smiling. “Still, I value my son’s life very much and I am grateful that you took the risk to save him.”

He stood and bowed deeply to Alex. Not really knowing what to do, Alex sat where he was.

“Last year, you came to my work to ask me a question,” Shiro said, sitting back down. “I remember it very well. You’d be surprised how many people want my help and then ask stupid or foolish questions. Yours was refreshingly well thought out.”

“Thanks?” Alex said, still not sure where Shiro was going.

“At the time, I told you never to return, unless you wanted dumplings.”

Alex chuckled.

“I remember.”

“In return for your service to my son, I am rescinding that order,” Shiro said. “If you ever need my help again, I will answer one question from you, to the best of my ability.”

Alex felt gooseflesh run up his arm. Shiro Takahashi had just offered him something for which other men would pay handsomely. He wondered if there were hidden strings that might come with such an offer? In any case, it was probably best if Alex only used his question in the direst of need.

“Thank you,” he said, amazed.

“Well,” Shiro said, standing. “I’ve taken up enough of your afternoon. I would like to invite you both to come and dine at the Lucky Dragon with me.” He turned to Iggy. “Danny tells me that you are a connoisseur of fine food, so I’ll have the chef make you something special. Next week, perhaps.”

“Delighted,” Iggy beamed.

Shiro bowed to both of them, then shook their hands and left with his doctor in tow.

“Now I’m hungry,” Iggy complained once they’d gone. “You want a plate of something?”

Alex shook his head. He suddenly felt as if he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

“I’ve had enough excitement for one day,” he said. “I’m going to bed.”