“Illusions work best when you don’t ask them to do too much,” Iggy said.
“So why do I need a new face when I leave?”
“Because, if you’re seen leaving, you don’t want anyone to be able to identify you later.” He waved a hand at Alex. “Now go away,” he said. “It’ll take me close to ten hours to do all four castings, so you’ll have to go tomorrow night.”
“That doesn’t leave me much time,” Alex pointed out.
“Can’t be helped,” Iggy said. “On the bright side, it gives you time to figure out how you’re going to get the Broker fellow to talk. Now leave me be; I’m going to my workshop and don’t wish to be disturbed.”
The word workshop hit Alex like a runaway cab and he suddenly realized what he’d been missing.
“Thanks Iggy,” he yelled as he sprinted down the stairs and out into the street.
Ever since he’d searched Thomas Rockwell’s apartment, something had been bothering him. Runewrights like Iggy and Alex had their workshops inside their vaults, but now that Alex thought about it, Thomas didn’t have a vault rune in his lore book. That meant he had to have a workshop in the real world, somewhere he could keep his supplies, write his runes, and research his craft. Runewright work tended to involve toxic and caustic substances, something no landlord would allow in an apartment building, so runewrights usually did their work elsewhere.
All Alex had to do was find where Thomas did his work.
As he rode the crawler south, he wondered what he might find in Thomas’ workshop. Would Sorsha’s missing rune diagrams be there? Had he found the Archimedean Monograph and fled with it?
More likely the only thing there is Thomas’ shadow burned onto a wall.
That thought soured Alex’s mood. It was further soured when he exited the crawler a few blocks from Thomas’ building. The FBI still had the building under surveillance. He wondered what Sorsha and her goons would do if they heard he was back?
Pushing that thought aside, Alex entered the building and followed the signs downstairs to the basement where he found the apartment of the building superintendent.
“What can I do for ya?” he asked in a brogue that could only have come from Scotland. The super was a short, slight man of about fifty. He had a mop of graying blond hair that looked like it resisted any attempts he might have made to tame it, and bright blue eyes over an infectious smile.
“I’m a private detective.” Alex handed the man his card.
The super took out a pair of wire spectacles and scrutinized the card for a moment.
“Now how can I be helping a shamus?” he asked, handing the card back.
“I’m looking into the disappearance of one of your tenants, Thomas Rockwell.”
“Thomas is missing?” he said. The super’s smile evaporated.
“His sister said he’s been gone for almost a week.” Alex nodded. “Asked me to help find him.”
“That’s terrible.” The super’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“Did you know Thomas well, Mister…?”
“Flynn,” he said. “Michael Flynn. And yes, I knew him. He was a simple, kind man, kept his apartment clean, always paid his rent on time. I liked him. He even helped me with the accounts from time to time and didn’t ask a penny for it.”
“Did you know that Thomas was a runewright?”
“He had a rune that helped with my rheumatism.” Michael nodded. “I paid him for those, of course; I don’t take charity.”
“Do you know where he did his work? He would have had a workshop, probably nearby.”
“He had to fix up a rune for me one time,” he said, nodding. “He left and came back about an hour later.”
A rune to ease pain and improve joint mobility would take about half an hour, more or less. That meant Thomas’ workshop was close.
Unless he took a cab.
“Did you notice anything different about Thomas in the last few weeks?”
“Now that you mention it, he did seem a bit different,” Michael said, rubbing his stubble covered chin. “Happier maybe? Excited about something. Couldn’t tell you what, though.”
“Did he have a girlfriend?” Alex asked, remembering the state of Thomas’ bedroom under the glow of silverlight. Michael nodded.
“Betty something-or-other. Pretty enough as lasses go,” he said. “I only met her once.”
“Can you describe her?”
“Oh, a little taller than me, shapely, with long, auburn hair clear down her back. I’m sorry, that’s about the best I can do.”
Alex thanked him. “Is there anyone in the building Thomas was close to, who might know more about Betty or where Thomas had his workshop?”
Michael stroked his stubble again.
“The old battle-axe in 2F might know.”
“She friends with Thomas?”
“No,” Michael said with a chuckle. “She’s just the type who listens at keyholes, the old busybody. Her name is Hilda Jefferson.”
Alex laughed and thanked Michael. As he turned to leave, however, the little man grabbed his wrist.
“Saints be with you, young man,” he said, an earnest look on his face. “Bring Thomas home safe if you can.”
Alex didn’t have the heart to tell the old man that Thomas was probably dead, so he promised that he would do the best he could, and headed back upstairs. He now had a name and description of Thomas’ female companion, but he was still no closer to finding the workshop.
The door to Mrs. Jefferson’s apartment faced the stairwell and he heard her scurrying back as he approached.
“Mrs. Jefferson,” he called, knocking on the door. “Mr. Flynn downstairs said you might be able to help me.”
A much slower shuffle approached the door and it opened a crack. A woman’s eye appeared, covered by thick glasses that made it look comically large.
“Whatcho want?” she said, her voice like the creaking of a rusty gate.
“You know Thomas Rockwell in 5C?” He asked. “He’s missing and I’m trying to find him.”
“Don’t know you,” the woman said, starting to close the door. Alex jammed the toe of his shoe in the jamb to keep the door from closing.
“Please, Mrs. Jefferson,” Alex said in a mild voice. “His sister is very worried about him.”
“Hah,” the old woman cackled. “He’s been having a woman up to his apartment lately but if that’s his sister, I’m the Queen of Sheba.”
“You mean a pretty girl with long, auburn hair?”
“That’s her,” Mrs. Jefferson said. “Coming and going at all hours of the day and night, whispering her black magic in his ear. She’s a bad one, that.”
“That’s his girlfriend,” Alex said. “Name’s Becky. Thomas’ sister is named Evelyn.”
“That’s the only girl that visits Thomas,” the woman said, though Alex couldn’t see how she could know that.
“Did you ever hear Thomas say where he went to work on his runes?”
“No,” the old woman said, and laughed. “He never said, but he didn’t have to. I saw him out my window.”
Of course you did.
“Where did he go?”
“Building across the street,” she said. “Next to the five-and-dime there’s a door that leads to a stairway. He went up there whenever he left at night.”
“Did the auburn-haired girl ever go with him?”
Mrs. Jefferson shook her head. “He always went alone,” she said.
Alex stifled a laugh and thanked the old woman. He turned and went down the stairs but Mrs. Jefferson didn’t close her door until he was out of sight.
Thank God for nosy neighbors.
If Mrs. Jefferson hadn’t gone the extra mile and watched her departing neighbors out the window, Alex would have had to knock on every door in the building in the hopes someone else knew where Thomas went.