In Plain Sight

12 The Jeweler

Iggy had been so upset by discussion of the Archimedean Monograph that he retired to his bed shortly after he finished his cigar. Alex sat and stared at the fire for a long time after he had gone. Both Iggy and Sorsha seemed to believe that the Monograph was dangerous, perhaps one of the most dangerous bits of rune magic in existence. Alex could see their point, but he also felt drawn to the killer finding rune. He felt certain that if he just took his time, studied it thoroughly, he could crack the code and find the Monograph. He was already beginning to remember some of the flaws in the rune’s design.

“I’ll bet that’s what Quinton Sanderson and Thomas Rockwell thought,” he said to the glowing embers of the fire. “Even money says they’re both invisible shadows on a wall somewhere.”

Sighing with resignation, Alex set the metal ember screen in front of the fire and went upstairs. He had more important things to do than trying to get himself killed over a mythical book that might not even exist. Besides, if he didn’t find out who killed Pemberton and why, he would be spending the foreseeable future in prison.

He intended to go straight to bed, but when he reached his room he fished out the brass key to his vault. Sacrificing a page from his rune book, Alex opened the door into his extra-dimensional space. This close to Empire Tower, the magelights in the space winked on and burned brightly, illuminating the gray walls, the workbenches, and the shelves full of ingredient vials. Alex went to an angled drafting table in front of a high stool. He’d gotten this table from a client in trade for his services and it was a much more comfortable position for creating runes and constructs. Switching on the magelight that hung directly above the table, Alex opened a drawer and pulled out a sketch pad of high quality paper. The first six pages of this pad were occupied by the runes he’d copied from Thomas’ lore book when he first got it.

One by one, he tore each page free from the pad and stuck them to a cork row on the top of the board with thumbtacks. All except the finding rune. That one he put in the center of the table, holding it down with a round magnet. He sat staring at it for a long time, then took out a legal pad and began filling it with notes. It was well after midnight when he finally went to bed.

His alarm clock jolted him awake at seven and he reluctantly relinquished the warmth of his bed for the chill of his room. He had two days left to find out what had been stolen from the customs warehouse, who had stolen it, and why. The sooner he started, the better. Iggy was still in his room when Alex came downstairs, so he decided to let Mary make him breakfast. After replenishing his pocket money from his safe in the library, he walked the two blocks to the diner.

Word had gotten out about the new cook at The Lunch Box and Alex had to wait a few minutes for a seat at the counter. Mary was so busy she didn’t have time to talk, so he gave her a wave on his way out.

He caught the crawler across town to his first stop, Anderson Tool and Die, which had received a shipment of machine parts from the French company that manufactured their lathes. It was to be their last shipment, since the owner had found a local company that could manufacture the parts for him. Another dead end.

From there, Alex went to a furniture importer who received several crates full of lacquered furniture from Japan. Next was a glazier who made stained glass windows. He’d received a shipment of pigments used in making the colored glass. Some of the pigments were rare and valuable, but he ordered in advance of his need and had only opened the crate to confirm its contents. Everything was accounted-for.

By four o’clock, Alex still had two names on his list. It was starting to feel like this was a dead end. That didn’t bode well for him…or for Danny. If it didn’t work out, Alex would have to try something desperate, something that might ruin his friendship with Danny at best… or get him killed at worst.

He pushed that thought from his mind as he entered Van der Waller’s Fine Jewelry. As soon as he entered, Alex could tell that this business had seen better days. A long row of glass cases filled one wall, but the rings, bracelets, and necklaces in them were spread out in an attempt to make the space look full. The cases had been polished and scrubbed so there wasn’t a fingerprint on them, and the dark green carpet had been vacuumed, but there was no sign anyone had been in today.

“Can I help you?” a short, balding man in a pinstriped suit said, coming in through a curtain that covered the back room. He wore a pleasant smile, but there were dark circles under his eyes. He wasn’t sleeping well.

“You the proprietor?” Alex asked.

“James Van der Waller,” the man said, sticking out his hand.

Alex shook his hand, noticing the tiny gold and silver filings that clung to the cuff of the man’s shirt.

“You do your own work here,” Alex said.

“We do, yes,” Van der Waller said.

“What’s wrong then? Most people like custom rings rather than that pre-pressed stuff.”

Van der Waller blushed a bit. “I’m afraid I’m a bit old-fashioned in my tastes. The things I like are just out of fashion,” he admitted. Then he seemed to remember himself. “I have hired Melissa Calomey, the famous designer. She’s created a whole new line of amazing pieces. I think it will do very well once we get started.”

“Well, since you’re polishing the settings, I’m guessing you’re waiting for the stones.”

Van der Waller looked shocked, but his smile returned quickly to his face.

“Yes, I ordered specially-cut stones for the settings, very good.”

“Are you making do with the stones you have?” Alex pointed at the display cases. “Is that why you’re so low on stock out here?”

“Who are you?” Van der Waller asked, irritation now plain on his face.

“I’m Alex Lockerby. I’m a consultant for the New York Police Department and I’m here to talk about the robbery.”

Van der Waller’s eyes rolled back in his head and he groaned, then fell face forward onto his immaculately clean carpet. Alex hadn’t been expecting that, and he just stood there looking at the unconscious jewelry store owner for a long moment.

“Come on, Mr. Van der Waller,” Alex said, rolling the man over and patting his face until his eyes fluttered open. He helped Van der Waller up and steadied him.

“I knew this would happen,” he said, his voice faint. “I told them.”

“Told who?” Alex pressed.

“My insurance company,” Van der Waller said. “They told me not to go to the police. Said they would catch the thief when he tried to fence the stones.”

That didn’t sound right. “They probably just wanted to stiff you,” Alex said. “If they drag your claim out long enough, you won’t be able to prove you had anything stolen.”

“But I reported the theft to them,” Van der Waller said, his face going even more pale.

“And if they lose the paperwork, it’s your word against theirs,” Alex said. He was sure Van der Waller’s panic was real. He’d found the robbery victim, but not the man who beat the truth out of Jerry Pemberton. That was starting to look like Van der Waller’s crooked insurance company. After all, if Van der Waller had the stones back, he wouldn’t be cannibalizing his own stock to make the new pieces.

“Oh dear God,” Van der Waller groaned. “What should I do?”

Alex put his hand on the little man’s shoulder to keep him from falling again.

“Don’t worry,” Alex said. “First, who is your insurance company?”

“Callahan Brothers Property,” he said. “And second?”

Alex pulled out his note pad and wrote Danny Pak’s name and the number to the homicide division.

“Call this detective and report the theft. Give him all the information you have.”

“But what about my insurance?” Van der Waller grabbed Alex’s coat, hanging on as if he needed an anchor. “What if they don’t pay? I’ll be ruined.”

“Don’t worry,” Alex said again, gently extracting himself from Van der Waller’s grip. “Once you report the theft, they’ll pay your claim or you can take them to court.”

Van der Waller sagged against the counter, pulling a handkerchief from his pocked to mop his brow.

“I can’t afford a lawyer,” he moaned. “Everything I had is tied up in those stones.” The man looked like he might faint again.

“I have to go see your insurance company anyway,” Alex said. “I’ll see what I can do to get them to pay your claim.”

“Thank you,” he said in a small voice. “If you do that, I’ll owe you.”

Alex chuckled. “You can thank me with something that isn’t selling,” he said. Van der Waller straightened up and looked Alex in the eye.

“I will not,” he declared. “I’ll make sure it’s something amazing, from my new line.” Van der Waller might not be the heartiest soul around but he had his pride.

“It’s a deal,” Alex said. “Now where can I find Callahan Brothers Property?”

Van der Waller went in the back, then emerged a moment later with a west side address written on a scrap of paper. Alex took the page and nodded, then Van der Waller stuck out his hand.

“Good luck.”

The crawler station was only a block away and there weren’t any dime stores or druggists along the way. As soon as he could find a phone, he’d call Danny, have him dig up whatever he could on Callahan Brothers Property. Maybe there were complaints against them, something he could leverage. He ran for the crawler and caught it just as its myriad of energy legs began to churn, carrying it away. The address Van der Waller had given him was far enough away that his pocket watch told him he’d never make it before they closed. He’d have to go in the morning. That was pushing things, but at least he could spend the rest of the night at the public library.

But first he had to call Danny.

Alex called from a public booth in the library’s foyer.

“I found our victim,” Danny’s excited voice came over the wire once the call connected.

“Let me guess,” Alex cut him off. “Is it a man by the name of James Van der Waller?”

There was a stunned silence, then Danny came back on the line. “How do you do that?” he asked, his voice sullen. Alex related his conversation with Van der Waller and his suspicions about his insurance company.

“You sure Van der Waller’s clean?” Danny asked.

“Pretty sure.”

“All right. I’ll see what I can dig up on Callahan Brothers Property.”

“Hey, did you get Mary’s number yesterday?” Alex changed the subject.

“No.” Danny said. Alex was stunned. Danny had a bit of a rep as a ladies man.

“I thought she was your type,” he said. “You know, breathing.”

“She’s too much my type,” Danny said, and laughed. “The kind I could fall for.”

“Would that be so bad?” Alex asked. “Not all of us are confirmed bachelors.”

“Do you have any idea what my father would do if I brought home a white girl?” Danny asked.

Alex hadn’t thought about that. A bachelor he might be, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like women, and he took them however they came. He’d seen enough guts and brains at murder scenes to know that people were all the same inside so it always surprised him when someone thought what was outside mattered. Still, Alex knew Danny’s father, and he was someone you didn’t want to disappoint.

“Tough luck,” Alex said. “Maybe I’ll get her number.”

Danny didn’t take the bait. “Call me in the morning and I’ll give you whatever I find on the insurance company.”

Alex promised that he would and hung up.

He spent the rest of the evening at the library poring over old newspapers, looking for any signs of Charles Beaumont. Burglaries were rare. It took him three hours just to find one. In all of the previous year, only six burglaries of rich homes had been reported. Of those, the same man committed at least two of the burglaries, but he was caught and jailed. The other four remained a mystery.

Alex read each article about the four robberies several times and took meticulous notes, but there just weren’t any details that stood out in any of the crimes. The homes were in different parts of the city. One victim had paintings taken, another jewelry, yet another antique silverware and vintage wines. The only thing that connected the robberies was the thief’s obvious knowledge of high end merchandise. Knowledge that anyone who traveled in those circles would have.

With nothing to connect the robberies, Alex began scanning the police report for each day, hoping to catch a break. He did find a follow-up report on one of the burglaries that he’d missed. It summed up that the police had no suspects and no leads, but took issue with an opinion piece that had been written about the police department’s handling of the case. Without any real leads to follow, Alex located the issue with the offending commentary in it and read the short article by an editorial columnist named Walter Nash. In the article, Nash claimed that the police were lax in their pursuit of the obvious suspect in this case, the famous cat burglar known only as the Spook.

Alex had never heard of anyone the police had dubbed the Spook. He soon realized why — Walter Nash had invented the Spook to describe any robbery where the perpetrator got in and out of the dwelling unseen, even the ones where the home’s owners were not at home at the time. Alex flipped through the papers reading Nash’s weekly columns. It was mostly sensational drivel, but he seemed to pay particular attention to the robberies, detailing the facts and sensationalizing their mythical perpetrator.

Alex wanted to believe that Beaumont was the Spook, but even if he had been, knowing the name a hack reporter gave him wouldn’t get Alex any closer to finding the man.

On the other hand, all Alex had to do was follow Nash’s columns to learn when a spectacular, unsolved burglary had been committed. That would be a lot faster than going through the papers week by week.

By the time the librarian came by to throw him out, and glare at him for the mess he made, Alex had identified twelve high-end burglaries over the last three years. Each had the same characteristics: the only things taken were valuable and easy to carry, and there was no sign anyone had been in the house.

No wonder Nash dubbed this guy the Spook.

By the time Alex got home, Iggy was already in bed and the house was silent. Alex reviewed his notes at the kitchen table while he ate a hastily constructed liverwurst sandwich. He still didn’t have much. Nothing tied Beaumont to the Spook, but he had, at least, found a pattern. That was enough for one night.

Exhausted, he dragged himself to his room and stripped to his boxers. He pulled back the covers to crawl into bed, but a sudden thought made him stop. He picked up his discarded trousers and fished out his vault key. He hadn’t given the Archimedean Monograph any thought since last night, but a possible fix for the finding rune had just come to him and it wouldn’t hurt to make a few notes.

Just a few.