“You’re right,” Iggy said, sounding puzzled. “So why didn’t he take a cab? He knew he was dying and he believed the water from the Mission could heal him. Why wouldn’t he try to get there as fast as possible?”
“Maybe the Mission was his last resort,” Alex said. “Maybe he went somewhere else first.”
There was a long pause and Alex could almost hear Iggy stroking his mustache.
“If someone asked me to steal a jar full of plague for them,” Iggy said slowly, “I might assume they have an antidote.”
“It’s thin,” Alex said.
“And it still doesn’t tell us where Beaumont went,” Iggy said. “If he went anywhere at all.”
“I think we’re on to something here,” Alex said. “Get a cab—”
“I don’t need a cab,” Iggy interrupted.
“And meet me at the city morgue,” Alex finished.
“Why?”
“We’re going to walk a mile in Charles Beaumont’s shoes.”
22
The Walk
“Why am I meeting you at the morgue on a Monday night?” Danny Pak asked as Alex arrived in the building’s lobby; Alex had called Danny right after he’d hung up with Iggy. “I just got out of trouble that was caused by you. Couldn’t this wait a couple of days?”
Alex grinned and slapped Danny on the shoulder.
“Sorry,” he said, looking around for Iggy and not finding him. “Let’s just say I need you for this one?”
The lobby of the city morgue looked like any office building lobby you might find. There was an aged couch along one wall, surrounded by a few chairs, with a bank of elevators against the back. A reception desk stood opposite the waiting area, manned by a doorman. The only indication that this was not a typical office complex was that the elevator doors were suspiciously large and the man behind the desk wore a police uniform.
Danny rolled his eyes at Alex. “You don’t need me,” he said. “The coroner likes you better than he likes me. Old coot,” he added.
“It doesn’t matter if he likes me,” Alex said in a low voice. “He’s not going to let me take some of Charles Beaumont’s property with me no matter how well he likes me.”
“Is that what this is about?” Danny said, exasperation in his voice. “First of all, Beaumont didn’t have anything on him when we found him. Second, if he had, it would be in a box under Lieutenant Callahan’s desk back at the Central Office. Third, there’s no way Callahan is going to let you take police evidence, whether I ask him or not.”
The door creaked as Iggy pulled it open and entered the building. He wore a tweed suit with a matching flat-cap, and had a pipe clenched in his teeth. Alex nodded to him, then turned back to Danny.
“True,” he said. “Beaumont didn’t have a pocket watch or a wallet or keys, but even if he had, I don’t need any of those.”
“Well what do you need?” Danny asked, a note of futility in his voice.
“One of the man’s shoes,” Iggy piped up.
“Really?” Danny said, his voice drifting from despair to sarcasm.
“Really,” Alex confirmed. “And that’s why I need you. Beaumont’s clothes are still here, and I need you to sign out a shoe for me.”
“Do you know how that’s going to look if Callahan ever sees the sign-out sheet?” Danny asked.
“He won’t have any reason to look at that,” Alex said, rubbing his hands together. “Especially if we learn something new about who paid for Beaumont to steal that case. Now come on.”
He waved at the officer behind the desk and walked to the elevator with Danny and Iggy in tow.
“Have I ever told you just how much I hate you?” Danny asked as they waited for the car.
Ten minutes later they were on their way back up to the main floor with Charles Beaumont’s left shoe. It was a quality brand, and the leather was well maintained and supple.
“So how is that going to tell us anything about who hired Beaumont?” Danny asked.
Iggy explained Alex’s theory that Beaumont had gone somewhere else before arriving at the Brotherhood of Hope Mission.
“Wouldn’t he have infected anyone he’d gone to see?” Danny asked.
“Probably,” Alex said.
“Alex, I would know if any more bodies had been found,” Danny said. “There weren’t any.”
“Whoever is behind this might have an antidote,” Iggy said. “If they were immune, there wouldn’t be any bodies.”
“They might not have been home,” Alex suggested. “Remember, someone took those jars from Beaumont’s place. We assumed it was the same people who killed Jerry Pemberton, but what if it wasn’t?”
“Then they would have searched Beaumont’s place after killing Pemberton,” Danny reminded him. “Since they didn’t, we know it was Pemberton’s killers who found the jars.”
Alex had to concede that Danny was right about that, but he still felt that the secret of where Beaumont had gone when he ran out of his apartment held some truth, some key that would make the whole sordid mess make sense.
“So where are we going?” Danny asked once they all reached the street.
“Beaumont’s place,” Alex said, spotting Danny’s car and heading for it. “We have to go back to where this chain of events started.”
Danny shook his head, but followed. Twenty minutes later they were parked on the street outside the modest building that was Charles Beaumont’s former residence. The police cars were gone, and no evidence remained on the street of the activity that had taken place the previous morning. Alex led them up to the fifth floor and found a man in a dark suit sitting on a chair in the hallway beside Beaumont’s door. Alex shot Danny a meaningful look and the detective stepped up to the fore of their group.
“You with the FBI?” he asked the man who’d been eyeing them since they exited the stairs.
“Beat it, newsie,” he growled in a basso voice. “There’s nothing to see here.”
Danny flashed his detective’s badge. “I’m with the police. My friends and I need access to Beaumont’s apartment for a few minutes.”
The man scrutinized the badge for a minute, then shrugged.
“I can’t help you, detective,” he said. “I have strict orders not to let anyone in.”
“Look, Agent…?”
“Meyers,” the man supplied.
“Agent Meyers,” Danny continued. “I promise not to touch anything. We just need to look at the table in the middle of the room. I’ll take the heat if anyone finds out.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Meyers said, and chuckled. “The person who gave me those orders is way above your pay grade.”
Alex stepped up.
“About this high,” he said, holding up his hand. “Snappy dresser with platinum blond hair down to her shoulders?”
“How did …?” A look of disbelief crawled inexorably across Agent Meyers face.
“We’re acquainted,” Alex said. “Look, she already doesn’t like me, so if she gets mad, just tell her Alex Lockerby told you it was okay.”
“How does that make me look like anything but a dunce?” he asked with a laugh.
“Trust me, young man,” Iggy said. “The Sorceress is perfectly willing to believe the worst of my friend here.”
“All right,” Meyers said, standing up. “I’ll let you go in, but I have to watch you the whole time.” He took out a key and unlocked the door. “And don’t worry about touching anything. That won’t be a problem.”
He pushed the door open and turned on the light. The apartment was completely bare. Everything from the furniture to the carpets to the coffee pot was gone. The FBI had carted it all away, no doubt to some lab to go over every inch of it.
“Uh-oh,” Danny said, stepping in and looking around. “Is this a problem?”