Empire State (8 page)

  Except at the back, something moved. In a corner, in a shadow, beside a wooden filing cabinet with a roller-front door. Just nothing, a shape, a flicker.

  Rad shook his head, and felt his heart rate drop. It didn't pay to be jumpy in his business. His office was near the waterfront, and the waterfront had a fair share of gulls flying around. It was dark and although the window was acting like a mirror he could still see things outside.

  He flicked the blinds shut and swivelled his chair around.

  He had a case. An actual job. It felt good, not just to be back in business, but to be back in the black. Ms Kopek had left a sizeable advance. Rad wondered if perhaps he could risk some black market coffee coupons after all.

  It also felt good to be back in the real world. He was a naturally lazy person – this wasn't some grim revelation, or hard-hitting truth, it was just a fact. He'd worked it out a long, long time ago. So with no work to be had, his part-time (and unlicensed) partner Kane got busy again at the paper, leaving Rad to spend a lot of time contemplating his navel and talking to Jerry. It was just the natural basic level of his life – he was unsociable and a loner, no problem, but prolonged periods of unemployment left him restless and, perhaps, depressed.

  With this job, he felt like he was taking part again, like he'd been admitted back into society. He rubbed his chin to check the stubble length. Time to smarten up. Rad went to stand, then glanced at his desk and saw the book that Ms Kopek had left. He sat back down and rubbed his bald scalp to check the stubble length. It was smooth on top and had been for twenty years, but was a little rough around the edges. He looked at the book, but didn't move to open it.

  The facts of the case were simple, and simple usually meant complicated. Ms Kopek and Ms Saturn were partners, lovers. There were laws against it, sure, but Rad couldn't have cared less. Ms Kopek wasn't the first client to come to him who wasn't exactly on the straight and narrow themselves. In their case, the law might have been meaningless anyway if it wasn't for the fact that Sam Saturn had gone missing. Then things became difficult. The police didn't want to know – their partnership wasn't recognised by law, and Ms Kopek had to skirt around the issue with them anyway.

  Katherine didn't work. Sam did, but Katherine didn't know at what. Maybe it wasn't so ridiculous – they had to keep a low profile, so really only knew the minimum amount of information about each other. They had separate bank accounts and neither of them knew what the other had in theirs. Ms Kopek was rich, that much was obvious, and owned the house in which they lived. But they split expenses and were careful to keep a separate paper trail for each of them. From an outsider's point of view, they were roommates that hardly knew each other. It was sad and ridiculous. But that was the Empire State.

  Sam worked nights. That's all Ms Kopek knew. One night last week she'd left the house, and not returned. That was three nights ago. Ms Kopek had done her own search on foot around their neighbourhood, and had checked in on friends, but nobody had seen her. She'd called the police, but the police displayed their characteristic disinterest in the citizens of the Empire State. Not for the first time, Rad wondered exactly what the police were for. So Ms Kopek found Rad and came to his office.

  And she'd left the book.

  The more Rad looked at its cover, the more he knew that the police's inaction was likely nothing to do with Katherine and Sam's situation – they'd probably guessed they were in breach of the law. The carefully separated existence of each woman (on paper) made it impossible for the police to lay anything on them, though it gave them a perfect excuse to ignore their plight. Bastards.

  But then there was the book, and Rad knew that this was the reason.

  It was a hardcover, in battered red linen worn brown at the corners. The weave of the linen had been carefully cut to form a geometric pattern, which would have been hidden underneath the original paper dust jacket. A dust jacket in black and white, with the book's title in bold red. Rad had seen it before, dust jacket intact, and when Ms Kopek had squeezed it out of her purse, he knew exactly what it was and a sinking feeling crept up from his stomach and down from his heart at the same time, meeting somewhere in the middle and giving him indigestion.

  Ms Kopek had found the book in Sam's things in the closet. It was in the inside pocket of a coat that Sam wore a few nights a week. It wasn't hidden, or secreted, mostly likely because Sam hadn't ever thought that Katherine would be looking through her things.

  Ms Kopek didn't really know what it was, but she said she thought it was important. She'd heard things, here and there, but wasn't sure: maybe the private detective would know, maybe it would be useful or important or meaningful for the investigation.

  The private detective did know. With one finger he caught the edge of the cover and flicked it open, then immediately sat back again and sighed.

  
The Seduction of the Innocent
, by the Pastor of Lost Souls. The Empire State's most wanted.

  Maybe Sam Saturn hadn't gone missing at all. Perhaps she wasn't dead. Although if she'd fallen in the Pastor's clutches, she might as well be. Had Sam Saturn joined his cult?

  Maybe Katherine knew it or guessed it. Rad hadn't said anything. When she brought the book out he gulped and coughed and then controlled his breathing. She'd noticed, but hadn't said anything, so perhaps she knew. Rad took the book with a fake smile and then outlined his fees, and said he'd be in touch.

  That was an hour ago. Rad had sat in the chair as the evening drew in since then, thinking. Thinking about a person vanishing in Wartime and that he could now pay the heating bill and, finally, his tab at Jerry's.

  He checked the time. Late, but not quite late enough for Jerry's. Perhaps he'd give Kane a call, if he could get him away from the newspaper. Before moving through the connecting door to his illegal apartment, Rad pulled the top layer off his desk blotter to reveal a crisp, clean white sheet, and flipped his desk calendar over several days until he was up to date. September 30th, Nineteen. Rad whistled. Already? Soon enough it would be Twenty, a brand new decade. Had he really been in this business that long? Had his business really been dead for that many weeks?

  He closed the connecting door, needing to take a shower and wanting to keep the heat in. Under the hot water and behind the closed door and with a head full of ideas percolating about the disappearance of Sam Saturn, Rad didn't hear the phone ring again.

 
 

 

 
 

IT HADN'T TAKEN LONG to locate the church. Rad wasn't exactly sure if that was the right name for it, but what were you supposed to call an illegal, backstreet gathering of the faithful? "Church" would do.

  He hadn't been able to reach Kane all day. Rad waited until Jerry's was open and then waited some more in the company of a drink, but his friend never showed. He imagined the newspaper would be pretty busy covering the mystery of the returned ironclad, and now that his Skyguard feature was done and he was the talk of the town, Kane Fortuna was probably leading the charge on the news story.

  At Jerry's he found his hat, and at least that made him feel better, as did the shot or two of the clear, flavourless liquid Jerry liked to label as "liquor". Rad's belly radiated a deep, warm heat after that, which made the cold, wet night streets a little easier. Not much, but it helped.

  He'd wanted to ask Kane about the Pastor and the book, as he was sure he remembered the paper covering them once. Perhaps Kane had a contact, or a suggestion, or just some advice. But Kane wasn't there and after his second drink Rad laughed, loud and hard, drawing the attention of nearly everyone in the little basement speakeasy. He waved his apologies and ordered another one.

  "So I'm back in the game for less than a day, and already I'm looking for someone else to do the hard work for me. Right?"

  Jerry smiled and nodded and dried a cup.

  "But that's wrong, just the wrong way to do it. I mean, I'm a lazy sonovabitch, right, but if I'm going make some bread and save this girl – I told you there was a girl, right? – then I need to do some investigating. Because that's what I am. A private investigator. Am I right?"

  Jerry smiled, nodding, and kept drying, his eyes grey and unfocussed. Rad saw the look of total disinterest, and blinked, and realised perhaps he hadn't needed that second drink after all.

  "Thanks for keeping my hat warm, Jerry. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a priest to find."

  Jerry put the glass down. "Anytime, Rad, anytime. Where's your friend anyway? Don't often see you in here on your lonesome."

  Rad slapped a handful of bills on the counter and adjusted his hat.

  "Busy with the boat, I'm guessing." Rad paused. "You heard anything about that?"

  Jerry's chin creased as he pouted and shook his head. "Ain't heard nothing here, pal. Is it important?"

  "Important?"

  Jerry picked up another cup and began rubbing a tea cloth against the rim between his finger and thumb. He kept one eye on his handiwork as he talked.

  "I mean if the ships are coming back, that means we're doing good, right? I mean, maybe Wartime is over?"

  Rad considered the deadpan manner of the barkeep, then asked: "I know you're an excitable man, Jerry, but you don't seem too enamoured about Wartime being over."

  Jerry laughed and shrugged. He didn't stop polishing the cup. "Wartime is good for business."

  "For some."

  "For some. So if Wartime is over you're looking to confess your sins, eh?"

  "The what now?"

  Jerry put the cup down. "You said you was lookin' for a priest."

  Rad froze, then rolled his mind back through the conversation. "Oh. Well, not for me, for the case. You heard of the Pastor of Lost Souls?"

  Jerry leaned over the counter, his eye alight with genuine interest for the first time that night. "Oh, who hasn't, Rad? The whole city is out to get him. He's bad news, Rad. Bad news."

  "Yeah. They're gonna have to get in line. Know where I can find him?"

  Jerry stood back up and exhaled. "No clue on that, although I heard there are meetings all over the city. I had a pair in here a few nights ago talking about it. Couple of guys, they met someone, and went off together."

  "You spoke to them?"

  "No, no," said Jerry with a shake of the head. "But it pays to keep an ear open. This place has a rather precarious position, as you'll understand. And these two guys were new, hadn't seen them, so I kept close."

  "Who'd they meet?

  "A girl. Pretty thing, too."

  "That so?"

  Jerry nodded. "It is."

  "And...?"

  "And try down on Hanover and Exchange. Doesn't sound like they do much in the way of hiding. The police have more important things to worry about, I guess."

  "Jerry, you're a doll. But I need to know."

  "Know what?"

  "How come you're telling me this? Careless talk, Jerry."

  "You're one of my best customers, and you're a man of the law, so to speak. And it sounds like you got a girl to rescue."

  Rad smiled and tipped his hat. "So you were listening?"

  Jerry smiled back. "Always listening, Rad, always listening."

  "OK," said Rad. "Better check it. You see Kane, you tell him to call."

  "Surely will."

 

Jerry had been right. Rad walked through dark streets in the rain, but as soon as he hit the corner of Hanover he knew he was in the right place.

  It was a built-up area of office blocks and tall buildings, devoid of much nightlife, except for this one old brownstone. The doors were open and the curtains hadn't been drawn on any of the three floors. In the misty wet air, the place glowed like a beacon in the night. Rad stopped across the street and figured that this was exactly the intention.

  He could see people inside – most on the ground floor in what looked to be a parlour. A few more on the second, hardly any on the top. The front door was flanked by two men who could almost have been bouncers, if Rad didn't know this was actually a church meeting.

  The Pastor himself couldn't be here. The place was wide open and the police could take it down in minutes, if they tried. Even from the air, the congregation would be sitting ducks. The building had a wide, flat roof perfect for a police blimp, but looking into the sky Rad couldn't see any air traffic at all floating under the thick orange clouds.

  Rad adjusted his hat and checked the buttons on his trench coat, then took a breath and crossed the street.

  The front door of the house was up off the street. Rad skipped up four steps with confidence, then stopped. He looked up into the light streaming out of the door, and deliberately pulled his hat back so the two doormen could see his face. No point going in under an air of suspicion.

  The doormen smiled. One gestured expansively to the door.

  "Welcome. Please, come in and make yourself at home."

  Rad knocked the brim of his hat with an index finger and hoped his own smile didn't look too forced. He jogged up the remaining stairs, careful to affect the same nonchalance as he did when he first approached, and entered the house.

  It was warm and bright, and it looked like a normal house, albeit one that had now been divided into apartments or even offices from the original single dwelling. The hall was wide but bare, and had stairs on the left directly ahead. Before the stairs there was a door on the left, and two on the right. The hallway ran back from the street and ended in another door. All were open and the lights were on in every room. Everyone seemed to be in the room to his left, so Rad slipped his hat off, rubbed his scalp, and walked in.