Danny finished his coffee and Alex picked up his kit, then they both turned for the door.
“I think I can get some sleep now,” Iggy said, showing them out. “Once you’re done, you need the same. Those ribs won’t heal if you keep pushing yourself.”
“I promise,” Alex said, then followed Danny down the steps to his car.
The apartment building of Charles Beaumont was a well-maintained structure of dull yellow brick right up against the outer border of the middle-ring. Its position ensured it had reliable power and cheap rent. Despite its being in a cheap neighborhood, the building showed no sign of neglect by its landlord. The windows were clean and the entryway swept; even the rear entrance, where the industrial garbage bins sat, was clear of trash.
All that being the case, however, it just didn’t seem like the kind of place where a notorious cat burglar would live. Based on Iggy’s pulp novels, Alex expected Beaumont to have a permanent room at the Ritz. He should have known better since Beaumont was a Sunday regular at Father Harry’s Mass at the Mission. From this apartment, the Mission was only six blocks away. Not close by any means, but not an insurmountable distance either.
Danny called for a squad car to make sure they weren’t disturbed inside and it was already out front. He dropped Alex off in back in case the Broker had a man watching the building. Alex hoped the back door wouldn’t be locked, but it had one of the new mechanisms that engaged automatically when the door closed. He didn’t want to use another expensive unlocking rune, so he waited for Danny to go around to the front, park, and then let him in.
“I’ll use a rune to get us into Beaumont’s place,” Alex said, once they were both inside. Danny snorted and rolled his eyes.
“You’re forgetting I’m a police detective. We’ll use my key.”
Alex followed Danny down to the basement where he pounded on the building superintendent’s door until it was opened by a severe-looking woman in a fuzzy pink bathrobe. Her brown hair was done up under a hair net and she wore thick, wire-rimmed glasses. Alex imagined that if she didn’t run this building, she would have made an excellent librarian.
“What’s the meaning of this?” she demanded in a tone that suggested she was used to being obeyed.
Danny flashed his badge and cited police business, and before Alex could say Jack Robinson, they were up on the fifth floor in front of apartment 57.
“Are you going to arrest Mr. Beaumont?” the woman asked with genuine concern in her voice.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, ma’am,” Danny said. “But Mr. Beaumont is dead. His apartment may very well be a crime scene.”
“Nonsense,” the woman scoffed. “Why I saw Mr. Beaumont a few days ago and he…”
Her voice trailed off as she tried to insert her key in the lock of Beaumont’s door. It wouldn’t fit and Alex could clearly see why. Someone had forced the lock with what looked like a heavy duty screwdriver.
“Step back,” Danny said to the superintendent, pulling his .38 police special from his shoulder holster. He eased the door open, then stepped quickly inside, sweeping the interior of the room with his weapon. The lights were on in the apartment, but only the papers strewn around the floor by the writing desk showed anything amiss. A meal of steak and broccoli with a few potatoes sat, uneaten, on a small, round table in the center of the room. Next to the meal, lay an overturned cup. The chair behind the table lay flat on its back as if whoever occupied it had stood up in a hurry. There were some dirty dishes in the sink and a pot on the stove, but everything else appeared orderly and immaculate. The smell of rancid food permeated the air, a mixture of rotten meat and sour milk.
“Stay here,” Danny said to Alex, as he moved toward the bedroom and bathroom beyond it. “No one’s here,” he announced a moment later when he returned.
Alex set his kit down on the counter next to the stove while Danny thanked the superintendent and shut the door.
“Now what?” he asked when he was sure the woman was gone.
Alex strapped on his oculus and took out his siverlight burner. “Now, you stand there until I can clear you a place to sit.” he said. “Before we invite the Captain and Lieutenant Callahan here, we have to be sure we know what happened, so let me work.”
Alex went over the tiny living room space at the front of the apartment. Once he’d inspected the couch and the coffee table, he invited Danny to sit.
“I feel pretty useless,” Danny said. “Isn’t there some way I can help?”
“You are helping,” Alex said, examining the table and the uneaten meal. “You’re watching my back while I search this place.”
Alex examined the residue left behind by whatever liquid had been in the overturned cup. Milk by the smell of it.
“Something’s been taken away from here,” Alex said, pointing to the table. He took off his oculus and passed it to Danny so he could look. On top of the table, the residue of the milk fluoresced brightly in the silverlight. In the middle of the splash mark, there were three round voids, as if three large glasses had stood there, side by side.
“Did Beaumont move them when he spilled his milk?” Danny asked.
“Too soon to guess,” Alex admitted. He took the oculus back and continued searching. He cleared the bedroom and the bathroom next. He found a loose floorboard under which Beaumont had stashed some very fence-able odds and ends, a few jeweled brooches, seven gold pocket watches, five strings of pearls, and a bag full of loose gemstones of all descriptions. The room showed no sign that anyone but Beaumont lived there.
“Okay,” he told Danny, coming back into the front room. “I can’t see anything suspicious back there. Why don’t you search it the old fashioned way while I go over the kitchen?” Danny smiled and moved past him. As Alex turned his attention to the stove, he heard Danny begin going through the drawers and the closet.
After checking every inch of the kitchen, Alex had to admit defeat. Nothing seemed out of place. He moved to the writing desk. It looked like it had been searched, but if so, it was the only thing. Maybe whoever searched it found what they were looking for.
None of the papers seemed important. A few letters, a job offer from someone writing in the kind of code you find in pulp mystery novels. Alex picked up the papers and stacked them on the writing desk. There wasn’t anything useful in them, but he couldn’t just throw them in the trash.
He paused. In his examination of the kitchen, he hadn’t looked at the contents of Charles Beaumont’s wastebasket. When he shone the silverlight into the little basket, hundreds of gleaming crystal shards glowed back at him. Someone had thrown away a broken jar, and not just thrown it away, but swept up the pieces too. Alex picked through the can carefully with a pencil, moving the glass shards around until he found what he sought. Reaching in gently, he pulled the round bottom of a glass jar from the wastebasket.
Most glass containers had thick, heavy bottoms, much thicker than the sides, which kept the center of gravity low and helped prevent tipping. When dropped, many would shatter but leave the bottom intact. Alex carried the broken base of the jar over to the table and placed it on one of the voids left in the milk splash. It fit perfectly.
He pulled out his rune book and tore a page containing an expensive restoration rune out of the back. Moving carefully, he placed the broken base of the jar on the counter and positioned the wastebasket on the floor below it. Sticking the rune paper to the base, he lit it and then stood back. The rune pulsed with power, not vanishing like most did. It hovered above the base, trembling and glowing with a violent burgundy light. A rustling sound emerged from the wastebasket and a tiny shard of broken glass leapt up and affixed itself to the broken base. The rustling continued and more and more of the glittering glass shards were pulled up, out of the can and onto the rapidly growing jar. In the burgundy light, it looked like blood dripping in reverse.