“Yep,” he said, pouring some in his coffee. “Irish?” he said, offering the bottle to Leslie. She smiled and shrugged, holding out her cup so he could add some of the amber liquid to it. Leslie sipped at her coffee.
“What did they want, besides that book?”
“It looks like Thomas Rockwell may have been involved in the theft of government secrets,” Alex said.
“Must be a big deal if they got the Ice Queen down from her floating castle to chase leads.”
“It’s powerful magic.” Alex nodded. “So powerful everyone who meddles with it disappears without a trace.”
“Like Thomas Rockwell.” Leslie sipped her coffee. “What are you going to tell the skirt?”
Alex thought about it for a long moment. Sorsha Kincaid was probably right about her thief reaching out to runewrights for help. It was possible that Thomas didn’t know where the runes came from, but it was equally possible that he was in on the theft. Either way, it was probably best if Evelyn stopped looking into her brother’s disappearance.
“I’ll tell her the truth.”
“That her brother might be a thief?” Leslie asked with a raised eyebrow. Alex chuckled.
“Well, maybe not that much truth,” he said. “I can tell her that her brother got mixed up in something that likely got him killed and that the Feds took his book.”
“Think she’ll leave it there?”
“I wouldn’t,” Alex said.
“Neither would I.” Leslie stood and headed for the door. “While you were meeting with the frosty blonde, Danny called.”
“Does he have that list yet?”
Leslie didn’t answer, but returned a moment later with a pad of paper. “The customs people wouldn’t give him the names of the foreign governments who use the warehouse, but here’s everyone else.” She handed Alex the pad.
Alex scanned over the list. There were a dozen companies, everything from a furniture maker to banks to tool & die companies to jewelry stores. All of them were businesses who would have reported a theft to their insurance companies and moved on. Whatever was stolen, it had to be something priceless. One of a kind. That might mean it was smuggled in. Insurance companies didn’t pay for their client’s smuggling losses, so the owner would have to take steps personally to recover his property.
“So what are you going to do?” Leslie asked, still sipping her coffee.
Alex wanted to follow up on Beaumont. If he really was a high-end thief, he’d have left a trail. A trail that would go colder while Alex chased all over the city trying to find out who killed Jerry Pemberton. He owed it to Father Harry to find out who was responsible for his death, but the more rational part of Alex’s brain pointed out that he wouldn’t be finding anyone from behind bars. He drained his coffee cup and set it on his desk.
“I’d better get going,” he said, tearing off the top sheet from the pad of paper. “It’ll take me at least two days to run through all of this and I’ve only got three. Everything else can wait.”
Leslie nodded as if that were the answer she expected.
“Anything you want me to do?”
“Stay by the phone,” Alex said, pulling on his jacket. “I may need you. If Evelyn Rockwell calls, put her off. I’ll settle things with her when this is all over.”
“And if the Ice Queen calls?”
“Take a message.”
Alex put on his hat, folded up the list and slipped it into his pocket, then walked out.
He took a crawler to the first address on his list, a company that made grand pianos. They’d been expecting a shipment of ivory to make keys. The owner was genuinely surprised by Alex’s presence and his line of questioning. He clearly thought that a Police Consultant was some kind of actual policeman and Alex didn’t bother to disabuse him of that notion. Eventually, the owner took Alex into the workshop in back and showed him a bin full of elephant tusks and the craftsmen in the process of cutting and shaping them into the smooth rectangles that would cover piano keys. It was fascinating, but ultimately fruitless. The business owner simply wasn’t a good enough liar to be hiding anything. After a wasted hour and a half, Alex thanked the man and left.
Before he caught the next crawler, he stopped at a drug store to call the office. With any luck Leslie would have some news for him.
“Sorry, kid,” her voice flowed over the wire to him. “Danny just called to see if you were having any luck. He hasn’t found anything.”
Alex swore. “If he calls back, tell him I could use some help following up with the list. At the rate I’m going, he’s going to be looking for a new job soon.”
“When was the last time you ate?” Leslie asked.
“Breakfast with Danny.”
“Stop by the Automat and get a sandwich on your way to your next interview,” she said. “You’re getting grouchy.”
Alex was about to tell Leslie where she could stick a sandwich, but that made him see her point. She always looked out for him.
“Thanks, doll,” he told her.
One crawler ride and two Automat ham-and-cheese sandwiches later, Alex stood in front of the Garland Bank, a private bank that lent exclusively to businesses. Once he explained to the manager that someone had been robbed at the customs warehouse and that there was a murder involved, the man couldn’t wait to help. He showed Alex the gold bullion that had been brought in, along with his bills of lading, which matched the information on the warehouse manifest exactly. It only took an hour this time, but Alex was able to cross another name off his list.
By the end of the day, Alex felt as if he’d walked all the way from Brooklyn to the south-side waterfront. He’d crossed six more names off his list, but that still left five to go and he wasn’t any closer to finding out who killed Jerry Pemberton, or why. His pocket watch told him it was six-thirty. He wanted to stop at the public library and look into Charles Beaumont, alleged thief, but he desperately needed some food and a soft chair. Not necessarily in that order. Between crawler rides, breakfast with Danny, and the Automat, he was down to his last fifteen cents, so he hopped a crawler and headed for the brownstone.
“There you are, my boy,” Iggy called when Alex finally staggered in through the vestibule. “I was hoping I hadn’t missed a call from you needing me to bail you out.”
He found Iggy out behind the kitchen in the attached greenhouse. The brownstone had a very small, walled back yard that opened onto an alley. When Iggy had first moved in, he’d taken up half the space with a glass greenhouse where he grew orchids. Due to the labor-intensive nature of cultivating orchids, Iggy spent many hours a day in his greenhouse. He even had a wicker reading chair in one corner in case he just wanted to enjoy the fruits of his labor.
“Is there anything to eat?” Alex asked, sliding down into one of the carved wooden chairs that surrounded the heavy dining table. Iggy chuckled, pulling the greenhouse’s insulated door closed as he exited.
“Is that all I’m good for anymore?” he asked with a grin. “To be your butler and bring you food?”
“Don’t forget putting a roof over my head,” Alex said. He reached into his pocket for Bert’s pack of smokes, but found it empty. He’d smoked the remaining ones during his steeplechase around the city. He wanted to curse, but Iggy didn’t allow it in his home, so Alex bit back the profanity and wadded up the empty pack, dropping it on the table.
Iggy removed the crumpled pack and replaced it with a bowl of orange soup. Alex was hungry enough that he didn’t ask, he just spooned it into his mouth.
And nearly choked.
“It’s cold,” he said once he got the first mouthful down.
“In the kitchen, as in the field, one must anticipate one’s adversary,” Iggy said.