Empire State (10 page)

  "So you haven't seen her since, what, Thursday last?"

  The Pastor nodded. "This is so."

  "And you wouldn't have any idea where she might be?"

  The Pastor shook his head, mask swaying. "No. As I said, she is expected here. We're as interested in finding her as you are."

  Rad paused, then said: "Yes" slowly. The Pastor said nothing, his expression unreadable behind the cloth. Only his eyes showed, brown and squinting. Rad wasn't sure if he was squinting in the bright office light or for some other reason.

  "Mr... ah, Pastor..."

  "Yes?"

  Rad wanted to ask about the get-up, the mask, and the weird house and all the lights and the open doors, but thought better of it. He stood to leave.

  "Thank-you for your time."

  "Not at all." The Pastor stood and gestured towards the office door. "Please, after you."

  Rad unfolded his hat and squeezed it onto his head. He reached the doorway, and hesitated. Behind him he heard the Pastor stop in his tracks, and Rad turned to face him.

  "What's it about?"

  The Pastor didn't answer immediately. "What is what about?"

  Rad couldn't hold back his curiosity any longer, and after all, there was still some connection between the weird house and Sam's disappearance. Certainly the Pastor had something to hide.

  "This." Rad looked up at the white ceiling, and waved his hands around. "All this – the house, the people, the meeting." He pointed to the stack of books on the desk. "
The Seduction of the Innocent
. What's it all about, what's it all for, and why do people come here? What are you telling them?"

  The Pastor might have chuckled, but if he did it was muffled behind the white cloth. Rad didn't hear it, but watched the mask wobble as the Pastor worked his jaw for a few seconds.

  "The Empire State is not a happy place, detective. You know that, I know that. We're in a state of war with an enemy vast, powerful, unknowable. Life is difficult for all of us, and to survive and to prosper and to rebuild when Wartime is over, we need self-control, dignity and pride. We need to be in control of our actions and of our thoughts. People must live by a moral code or we descend to the level of animals."

  Rad sniffed. "Moral code? You must love the Prohibition."

  This time the Pastor did laugh, and with some volume. "You have us there, detective. We may not support the corrupt government of the Empire State, but the Prohibition is their best policy. This is Wartime. No citizen can afford to lose control, not even for a moment."

  "Thank-you, sir." Rad tipped his hat and trotted down the stairs. He went out the door and made sure he patted Frederic the doorman on the shoulder as he passed, and walked across the street in the drizzle and mist. All this talk of Prohibition and moral codes made him thirsty.

  He needed a drink.

 

 
 

 
 

RAD COULD HEAR THE TELEPHONE ringing from down the hall. He'd decided to take the stairs, because if he was back in business he needed to get back into shape. He was bulky, not fat exactly, but he'd let his condition run down. He started the stairs at a quickstep and finished them with a slow waltz.

  His office was close to the corner of the building and close to the stairs, and he knew the sound of his telephone. Most of the offices and rooms in his part of the building were empty anyway. Or at least he'd never heard or seen anyone else.

  Rad took a breath that was harder than it should have been, and tried a brisk walk to his office. This time he had locked it as he should have, and fumbling with the keys robbed him of his urgency. He swore as he hit the wrong pocket first, then swore again as his hot, thick fingers tangled the mess of keys on the ring worse. He wasn't even sure what most of the keys were for. The phone was ringing still.

  The door opened. He walked in, and the phone stopped ringing. Rad swore for a third time and kicked the door closed behind him. He let his trench coat slide off his shoulders and left it lying in a pool of beige on the floor. He needed to freshen up after the pit stop at Jerry's, but then he remembered he was low on coffee. Milk. He'd have to break into his precious stock of saved cans.

  In the apartment, Rad picked a mug from the dresser just as the telephone sprang into life again. Rad dumped the mug back down and dived back into the office. He grabbed the stem of the phone in one hand, lifting it up to his mouth as he expertly swept the earpiece off the cradle with the other.

  "Rad Bradley, private de…"

  "Rad, get down here."

  "Kane?"

  "In no particular order, I got news and I got developments."

  Rad thought for a moment. Did he know about Sam Saturn? He hadn't talked to Kane about his case yet.

  "Kane, have you been calling?" Rad could hear Kane's breath on the mouthpiece at the other end of the line. He presumed, given the hour, that Kane was calling from Jerry's, even though he hadn't been there a quarter-hour ago.

  "What? No, not today. Not all week." The pitch of Kane's voice picked up as he got back onto his original topic. "Rad, I need your expertise down here. You'll be interested, trust me."

  "Huh. Interested in what, exactly?"

  "Dammit, Rad, shake a tail feather. I've found a body."

  Rad left the telephone rocking on his desk as he cut Kane off, swept his trench coat off the floor, and banged the office door shut behind him.

 

Kane had indeed been calling from Jerry's, and the alleyway in which the body lay wasn't too much of a stretch from the door of the speakeasy. Rad didn't speak for a while, focussing instead on catching his breath. The brick of the alley wall was wet to the touch and Rad recoiled at its chill. As he took deep, controlled breaths, he checked around to make sure there weren't any goons in gas masks waiting in the shadows.

  Kane had been standing across the street from Jerry's as Rad came belting around the corner. It didn't pay to run in the Empire State. It was suspicious. But this part of town was dead at night and Rad thought a corpse was reason enough to risk it.

  Likewise, calling attention to Jerry's was a bad idea as well. Rad liked drinking there and suspected Kane did too, and neither of them wanted to raise the ire of the barkeep. Considering the price on Jerry's head for selling the bootleg liquor, they had to play it cool. So Kane leaned on a lamppost across the street, casually in plain sight in the yellow sodium streetlight.

  Together, the pair turned and began a slow walk, down the block, around a corner and into an alley like any other. Narrow, framed by old red brick one side and smooth, newer stone on the other. It was wet from the rain and the street was rough and potholed. Fire escapes crowded on both sides at intervals down the passage. A few featureless doors opened out onto it, some with trash bags piled up outside. There was a yellow dumpster at the end of the alley, rusted and bent and packed full. As Kane led Rad further in, the smell of rotting vegetables became stronger and stronger.

  Rad pulled one coat cuff over the whole of his hand, and held that hand up across his nose. He carefully sidestepped the trash, and noticed a third man waiting at the end of the alley. He stopped, and Kane turned around.

  "Don't worry. This is Nelson. Photographer down at the paper. You've met before."

  The silhouette of the photographer shuffled. Rad forced a smile, assuming he could be seen in the weak streetlight even if he couldn't see Nelson. Rad replaced the cuff of his coat across his face.

  "I do have to ask, Kane, even though I know you're a hotshot newspaper reporter and you've got your sources and methods and what-have-you-Jack, but how did you and your friend find a body back here? I don't see anything in this trash."

  Kane nodded to Nelson, and together they moved to the rusted dumpster. Knees bent, they each gripped an opposite end of the long, low rectangular metal bin, and heaved it from the wall with the harsh sound of metal gouging pavement. Rad felt his shoulders tense and rise up at the scraping, and waited until Kane invited him over with a wave to move forward. Rotting vegetables and rotting newspaper, and the smell of something else. Something sharp, nastily organic still but familiar somehow.

  Kane pointed behind the dumpster. Rad took a long step forward so he could lean around. There – once wedged between the bin and the end wall, but now flopped and folded over on the wet ground – was a tangle of arms and legs. A body: dirty, wet, blood-covered and smashed up. Rad balanced on his toes, then rocked backwards, putting the dumpster between him and the body. He'd seen enough.

  Nelson remained silent, his eyes glinting in the shadows. Kane looked expectantly at Rad. Rad stifled a cough that was almost a retch, then poked a finger at Kane.

  "Now look, Kane, how the hell did you find a body here? Seems pretty well hidden from everywhere, unless you knew where to look. Now you ain't a killer, but I don't know about your friend here. This is way beyond crazy."

  Kane slapped Rad's shoulder. Rad relaxed a little.

  "Easy now, big fella," said Kane. "Yeah, the body sure is hidden pretty well. But you're right, we didn't hide it, but the fact is we didn't find it either. The police did."

  Rad's mouth worked a little, but the conversation was starting to get beyond him.

  "What do you mean, the police found it? Where are they?"

  Kane stuffed his hands into the pockets of his suit, and stepped backwards as if to regard the human remains hidden, thankfully, from Rad's line of sight. Kane didn't seem too perturbed, but his usual cheerful demeanour had evaporated.

  "The police aren't here."

  "And I thought I was the private detective."

  "Cut it, Rad." Kane turned to face his friend, his tone surprisingly sharp. Rad shrank back a little, then spoke.

  "OK, OK. So spill. Tell me why I'm here."

  Kane turned back to the body. "Someone got a call at the paper. Wasn't me, in fact I'm not sure who got it, but word was the police had found a body. Except instead of setting up a crime scene, they poked around for a little while, then packed up and went home."

  Rad shook his head. "Even those bastards can't ignore a murder. I don't buy it."

  Kane shrugged, his mouth downturned in a dramatic expression that said what-the-hell-do-I-know.

  "I didn't buy it myself, but nobody was interested. We get all kinds of cranks and punks calling all day and all night. But I wanted to take a look, and the locale wasn't far. And here we are."

  Rad took a breath through his mouth so he wouldn't have to smell the stench of the alley and its unfortunate contents, and stepped over a pile of soaked newspapers to stand next to Kane and take another look. It was female, and not so badly mangled that you couldn't tell. The body was on its side, the face half visible beneath long brown hair, matted with the rain and covered in junk from behind the dumpster.

  Rad stared for a while. Something similar to heartburn began to bubble in his chest.

  "I have a bad feeling about this."

  "How so?"

  Rad tore his eyes away from the crushed form behind the dumpster. He took Kane by the arm and led him away, just a little, but enough to indicate to Nelson that this was a private conversation. The silent photographer seemed to take the hint and his silhouette turned around.

  Kane frowned. "Rad?"

  "Why did you bring me here? To show me the body? Because you're a reporter, I'm the private investigator."

  "I haven't got to that part yet."

  Rad let go of Kane's arm and fumbled around inside his trench coat. After a moment he extracted the photo Ms Kopek had left him.

  "Well, let me get to my part then. You don't know it yet but I've got a case, the sort that pays money." He held the photo up to Kane's face. Kane squinted in the dark and took the photo from Rad's hand. He turned it the right way up and tilted it to catch the light better.

  "Little Miss Samantha Saturn is missing," Rad continued, "and I've been hired to find her, except it looks like you got there before me."

  Kane looked confused. He continued to squint at the photo, holding it close to his eyes, as if that would make any difference in the low light.

  "Ah... what?"

  Rad almost snatched the photo back, and then jammed a finger in the direction of the body.

  "There. Samantha Saturn, missing, confirmed deceased behind a dumpster. So how did you know?"

  "How did I know what?"

  "How did you know I was looking for Miss Saturn, and how did you know that was her when you hadn't seen her picture? Hell, how did you even know I had the case?"

  Kane held both hands up. Given that Rad was standing only six inches from him, his palms practically rested on his friend's lapels.

  "Whoa, hold it now. That's not why I called you. I didn't know you had a case on." Kane smiled and patted Rad's chest. "Good work, detective."

  Rad brushed him off, then paused. He hung his mouth open for a while, then closed it and tongued the inside of his fat lip. It was almost back to normal, but still hurt a little if he pushed it.

  "What did you call me out for then?" he said eventually, calmly. "What's this body got to do with me, and what's it got to do with you, aside from idle curiosity?"

  Kane smiled in the dark alley, which Rad didn't like. It was late, it was dark, someone had died and apparently the Empire State didn't care, yet Kane didn't seem too worried about any of it.

  "Come on, Kane," Rad said. "Quit it. Someone's dead. What's the beef?"

  Kane moved back and almost leaned against the rear wall of the alley. He took his hands from his pockets and dropped to a crouch, and pointed down at the ground.