ARC: The Buried Life (14 page)

He shot her a cross glare. “Given the circumstances, you will have to trust me when I give you only the information directly pertinent to this matter.”

“What may seem trivial to you could be useful to me, Councilor. I need to know what the Directorate of Preservation is doing.”

Hollens straightened, his voice regaining some of the authority of before. “I will be the judge of relevancy, madam. Besides, I’m the one who will pay if I am wrong – either way.” He trapped a sigh behind his lips and passed a shaking hand through his hair. Guiding her further from the door, he continued in a rumbling whisper. “I cannot tell you much now, and I’ve been in here too long. The best I can do is advise you to look into the Sato case. You recall the murders of the prominent Councilor and Lady?”

Malone nodded.

“There is more to the case than was explained, much more. Examine it thoroughly, and you will find there was a reason the murderer was executed so quickly.” Hollens looked away briefly, his eyes showing something like remorse. “Contact me when you succeed, and if you’re as capable as you say, I’ll tell you more.”

He spun briskly for the door, but paused. “If we do not meet again,” he began, his back still to her, “there’s a vault in my residence, in the cellar, behind the wine. Should it come to that, I trust you can find it. When – if – if you do, much will be explained. Do not under any circumstances attempt to access it before my death.”

“How do I open it?”

He turned to her and cracked a twisted grin. “You say that you’ve met Dr Hask? By which I assume you somehow reached her in her office?”

“Just as I found you in the washroom.”

“The writing’s on the wall, Malone. If you’re as clever as you say, you’ll know what to do when the time comes. I’m not so desperate as to reveal all of my secrets to a stranger.”

Malone stepped toward him, her feet clacking softly on the tiles. “I need the truth, Hollens. Not riddles and games.”

“Truth is exactly what you need, Inspector. But, like the rest of us, you’ll have to figure it out for yourself.” He strode decisively from the bathroom. Peering around the corner, Malone saw the simian man waiting outside the bathroom to escort Hollens, who marched back toward the councilors without a trace of the fear she had seen. After a pause, she slipped out of the bathroom and again into the mingling crowd.

Malone stopped next to a piece of sculpture, watching the couples dance. After brief observation, she noticed a tall, dark man leading a bright young thing with more than the usual force. The girl responded with sly coyness, allowing her partner to sweep her along. She seemed familiar, and as Liesl continued to watch the boldly roving eyes and delicately insouciant lips, she recognized the earnest young laundress from the hospital. How different she appeared now!

Intense and filled with fiery glee, Jane presented an entirely different vision. She swung and swayed, exhilarated at the rough direction of her dark partner and at their seemingly parallel conversation. Liesl would not have imagined her so spry and fierce. Still, that spark of sincerity set Jane apart from the crowd, lending her an air of gravity and
na
ï
veté
.

Pleasantly intrigued, Liesl turned her focus to Miss Lin’s partner. She did not recognize his patiently menacing stride, his coolly taut features, or anything else about him. Recalling her earlier conversation with Lin, she remembered the shy girl mention of a Roman Arnault and Chief Johanssen’s brief characterization, and something clicked.

Their strange dance ended, and Malone saw Lin and Arnault part. The reporter whisked her away, leaving Arnault to brood next to a table of spirit-filled glasses. Miss Lin, she was sure, would never be too hard to find, but Arnault? This moment presented an unexpected opportunity.

Skirting the edge of the ballroom, Malone reached Arnault’s corner and sidled up next to him. “Roman Arnault, in the flesh. I’ve heard so much about you.”

He looked uncertainly down, as if noticing the trim blonde for the first time. “Is that so?”

“No. But if you’ll give me a few minutes of your time, we could fix that.”

He snorted and took another swig from his glass. “What do you want?”

“A little civility, for starters.”

“Civility?”

“The kind a gentleman offers a lady.”

Arnault studied her for a several moments, swirling his drink between two fingers. “I know you,
madam
. You’re no lady. You’re a Municipal.”

“And you’re no gentleman by proper standards,” she said. “But we can both pretend tonight, can’t we? Just like the rest of these politicians and panderers.”

Before Arnault could protest, Malone slipped one arm through his and with the other hand took his drink. She tossed it back and plunked the empty glass onto a passing tray. “I want to dance.” One of them, it would be difficult to identify which, led the other back to the center of the room.

Now locked together in a rhythm, Malone had Arnault captive for a few minutes. He must have noticed this himself, for he smiled mirthlessly. “A woman who dispenses with foreplay. You’re a rare breed.”

“I don’t believe in wasting time. Tell me what you know about Werner Cahill and Lanning Fitzhugh.”

“If memory serves, you lost that contract. Enlighten me, why should I talk to you about this?”

“Because you’re still stuck with me for the next three minutes. And I’ve got bad pitch and a habit of humming with music.”

“You are persuasive.”

“So talk to me about Cahill and Fitzhugh.”

He rolled his tongue around inside one cheek, creating a thoughtful bulge. “Well, my lady,” he said, drawing out the first syllable, “they’re both dead.”

“Something else.”

He gazed over her shoulder, apparently doing his best to ignore her.

“You had some acquaintance with these men before their deaths,” she said.

“And how do you assume that?”

“Don’t be defensive. There’s nothing suspicious in your having known them. Already you play the guilty party, and I haven’t accused you of anything.” Behind Malone, other dancers scooted away, giving her and Arnault wider berth.

“Interrogate me if you must, but don’t bait me. I’m perfectly aware of my reputation and further aware that my job depends on it.”

“What job might that be?”

He smiled cryptically. “I’m a consultant.”

“And I’m consulting you.”

“My employers appreciate my discretion. Who knows, if you had that aptitude, maybe you’d still have a contract.”

“At the rate they’re going, there may not be too many whitenails left to employ you soon.”

Arnault rolled his eyes. “How morbid. Then you know that I would stop these calamities if I could. What do you expect me to do about it?”

“Tell me something useful.”

“That dress makes you look hard and shapeless.”

Malone’s lean, muscled shoulders tensed, and her grip on Roman’s arm tightened. “Mr Arnault, if I’m right about you, you could be arrested. If I’m wrong, you could be next. Aren’t you concerned?”

“Madam, I’m in politics. I dodge bullets like this daily. Why should I worry about a demoted Municipal or a murdering insomniac?”

“Because I can place you within blocks of Lanning Fitzhugh on the night of his death. Give me time and I can find you closer to Cahill.”

Arnault sighed. “Really. Then you’ll also know that I have an alibi.”

“Don’t be so sure,” she replied, conscious of the song winding to a stop. The dance halted to scattered applause, and Arnault gave an obligatory, stilted bow of someone who has just completed a disagreeable task.

“My good inspector, I would say it has been a pleasure, but I think we both know better.”

“Until we meet again, Roman Arnault.”

“Do not count on it.” Whirling with casual grace, he swept out of sight, leaving Malone to ponder her next move. Her thoughts returned to Jane Lin, who stood chatting with the reporter and a trio of older women. She waited until she saw Jane break from the group and head for the washroom. On the return trip, Malone swooped.

“Inspector Malone! How nice to see you,” Jane said with polite but affected surprise.

“Likewise, Miss Lin. I know you work for these types, but I didn’t think you were on their invite lists.”

“I’m not. In fact, you’re only the second person to recognize me. I came with Fredrick Anders. He was with me at the hospital.”

Nodding, Malone shifted her gaze to the left. “It would seem, however, that you and I share a common associate.”

Jane’s eyes drifted and her complexion reddened. “I promise, I told you everything I know in the hospital. I’ve no reason to hide anyth–”

Liesl smiled gently. “I’m not here to interrogate you, Jane. I just wanted to say hello. And,” she said, guiding Jane by the elbow, “I wanted to inform you of some changes in Callum Station.”

“Oh?”

“As your friend the reporter may have told you, I’m no longer on the contract. In fact, the Municipal Police no longer have any jurisdiction over these investigations. I’ve learned,” Malone said, glancing over their heads, “that the Council is handling the contract.”

“Why would they do that?”

“To cover something up. Maybe an embarrassment or an administrative secret. At least, that’s what I’d like to think.”

Jane’s features fell and pallor replaced her girlish blush. “What else could it be?”

“For now, let’s just hope that’s it.”

Jane frowned, glancing from Malone to the shifting crowd around them. “What does this mean, then?”

“It means that we will both have to be a little more careful. I still don’t think you’re in danger, but all the same, you should be careful. Whether or not these murders involve the Council, someone in the upper echelons is part of it. My instincts point to your friend, the ‘consultant’.”

“Inspector, I think you’re being hasty. I’m not prepared to believe–”

“He’s not necessarily working with the murderer.” Malone hesitated, setting the lure. “He could also be in danger. One way or another, someone with fewer scruples than me will be after him. That’s why I ask you to keep an open mind.”

Gnawing at her lip, the laundress nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

“Keep your head down and let me know if you notice anything peculiar. I can’t officially investigate anything, and you can’t openly contact me, so we have to communicate in secret.”

Jane nodded again. “Go on.”

“If you need to contact me, leave a message at the Dispatch in box thirteen-sixty-four. If necessary, I can meet you at 3 o’clock the day I receive your message, or the following afternoon. At the market. If you were to find any useful information, that box would also be the place to deposit it.” She suddenly smiled. “Don’t look so alarmed, Jane. These are merely precautions. I would ask the same of any witness.”

“I’m a little shocked. You’re asking me to help you investigate? Is this routine?”

“Events of the past week have not been routine, Miss Lin. I don’t trust the way the Council is handling this, and you need to ask yourself if you do. I can’t afford to pass on help if you’re willing to give it.”

Jane narrowed her eyes. “Why do you trust me, Inspector? How do you know I won’t turn you in to the Council myself?”

Malone smiled knowingly. “After Councilor Ruthers’s toast? Or the week of martial law? I may be the only one standing between you and a killer who could still decide that you pose a threat. By the same logic, I’m the only one in a position to save your gentleman friend, either way things fall.

“Besides,” Malone continued, “if you turned me in, the Council would hold you under suspicion, too, and they wouldn’t treat eavesdropping in a councilor’s home so lightly. They’d worry about what you know, and at a time like this, they’d consider you collateral damage.”

Jane shook her head as if trying to clear it. “But why come to me? I don’t know anything about spying or investigations.”

“Exactly because you’re an unlikely agent. But I’m not asking you to look for trouble. It may find you, ready or not.”

Jane nodded more resolutely. “I hope you’re wrong, but I’ll keep an ear out, Inspector.”

“Take a deep breath, Jane. Think of this as a promotion.”

Jane decided that this wasn’t the time to ask if it came with a pay raise.

Malone returned her focus to the party where laughing men and women reveled despite the intrigues unraveling around them. “Thank you for your time, Jane. I hope I haven’t kept you too long from your friends.”

“Not at all.” She grinned. “I know I’ll never forget my first gala.”

Malone tilted her head in the direction of the open dance floor. “From what I saw, you didn’t need me to make it memorable. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss Lin.”

“I would say the most interesting parts have passed – both of them.”

Chapter
8

Dirty Laundry

Malone spent the days after the gala keeping a low profile and hoping her younger partner could do the same. While she had bobbed and weaved among the luminaries at Brummell Hall, Sundar had spent the evening on stakeout in the Vineyard, a role that he had accepted with characteristic and dutiful gusto. He had kept his post in the shadows until the wee hours – well after the partygoers had returned home. With the guard contingents in the Vineyard distracted by the gala, he had managed to avoid detection.

Much to Malone’s amusement, he retained his zest the next morning when they met at the station and he inquired about the gala.

“It was impressive,” she said, “but frightening to think of the kind of business that is settled over so much wine and caviar.”

Sundar grinned with vicarious pleasure. “Well, at least you got to have some.”

Malone cocked her head, and Sundar blinked back at her. “Wine and caviar,” he said. “And truffles, slow roast, and whatever else they had. You did try them, right?”

“I wasn’t there to sample the banquet.”

Sundar collapsed in a fit of thespian anguish. “Malone! You’re telling me you were there four hours and you couldn’t spare five minutes for the finest food you’ll ever clap eyes on? I can’t do this. Next time, you dodge patrols in the cold.”

“Calm down. The news isn’t all bad.”

Sundar perked up. “You had more success with the politicians than the buffet table?”

“Let’s discuss it in private.” They set off from the main hallway toward her office. “Have you checked in with the chief yet?” she asked.

“As soon as I came in this morning. As usual, he didn’t have much to say.” Sundar gave her a suggestive glance. Malone understood what he meant. Chief Johanssen had turned a blind eye to their clandestine investigations, and the two inspectors kept up their end of the ruse. The pair continued to check in with their chief every morning, but the visits were always the same. When she and Sundar entered the chief’s office, he did not look up, but continued writing in the bright glow of his green-shaded desk lamp.

“Morning, Inspectors,” he would grunt.

“Good morning, Chief.”

“Anything to report?”

“No, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

He would sometimes assign them a marginal task, such as moving a file in the archives or making sure that all of the chairs in the meeting room were properly tucked under the table. Just as often, with no instructions at all, they sharply took their leave.

Malone knew better than to take offense. She understood these awkward moments as evidence that the chief felt angrier at the Council’s pronouncement than even she did. Unlike Malone, however, he had no means to oppose the Council. As Chief of the Municipal Police, he endured a level of scrutiny that kept him exactly where the Council wanted him: pinned behind his desk with his boxer’s nose out of their business.

Under the circumstances, he did the next best thing: he left the two inspectors to their own devices. With the absence of any meaningful assignments, Malone knew that the chief was aware of her and Sundar’s continued investigations. That’s why he made sure they had nothing but time on their hands.

Despite his initial bemusement, Malone could tell that Sundar had embraced the freedom of their open mandate. He followed her to her office, close at her elbow, his lips mortared shut and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. For all the severity of their situation, she could not suppress the glimmer of a smile from her own.

Turning the final corner and gliding into her office, Malone turned and locked the door behind Sundar.

“Such a handy little space,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Though I still think the walls need some color. Of course, I can’t expect one of my own for another few years, can I?”

“Five, at least. Enjoy the communal rookies’ offices while you can. Things are a lot quieter back here. Even Farrah hardly drops by,” she said, eying him.

He coughed. “Anyway, let’s hear your big success from last night.”

“Beauty before age, Inspector Sundar.” She sat behind her desk while he took his seat across from her.

“Then prepare for disappointment,” he said with a shrug. “I patrolled the same twenty blocks all night, but nothing. When the pretty birds came flocking back, I managed to find Ruthers, but he went straight home. Trailed, of course, by a contingent of guards.” He pulled a wry frown and looked up at Malone.

“Good work anyway. We needed someone waiting in the streets, just in case. Sorry it had to be you.”

“Next time, just see if you can slip something from the dessert table into your handbag for me. So, what did you find?”

Malone lowered her voice and recounted her conversation with Hollens, noting the councilor’s reluctance and reticence. “He must have a lot to lose if this – whatever it is – comes to light,” she said.

“Yes, but he’s got a hell of a lot more to lose if it doesn’t.”

“I think he’s beginning to realize that. He was surrounded by more guards than friends last night.”

“So what did he give you?”

“He told me to examine an old contract – the Sato murders from fourteen years ago.”

Sundar’s eyes brightened. “I remember when that happened. I was still in school at the time, but we were all released early when the news broke. The murders and the killer were all anyone spoke about for months, and no one went anywhere alone. When they caught the perpetrator, just a few days later, the entire city went mad.”

“Do you remember what happened to him?”

Sundar’s eyed drifted toward the ceiling as he searched his memory. “The panel of judges convicted him, and he was executed the same day. I think the neighbors actually lit firecrackers that night in celebration. On the surface, of course.”

Malone nodded. The Sato murders had created a wave of public shock and outrage that had not existed on such a scale in any of Recoletta’s recorded history. The Vineyard represented not only the pinnacle of luxury, but also the epitome of security. Personal and commercial quarrels took their toll on the reputations and fortunes of the whitenails, but they were nearly immune to threats of bodily harm from lower classes. The Sato murders had broken a deeply ingrained taboo.

In fact, most people felt comfort rather than indignation at the inequitable security standards. The whitenails were living proof that Recoletta’s system of governance worked and that it could ultimately maintain order. Therefore, when a hapless mugger murdered Councilor and Lady Sato, he attacked not only two prominent and beloved individuals, but also the very basis for Recolettans’ sense of wellbeing. Recalling the panic of those days, Malone sensed a resurgence of the unease and fear of that time.

“Rumor had it,” Sundar said, remembering, “the guy even turned himself in. Knowing what the whitenails would have done to him if they’d caught him first, I believe it.”

Malone nodded. Their vigilante justice constituted a merciless alternative to a speedy trial and quick execution.

“So,” Sundar said, taking a deep breath of the still air in the office, “you spoke to Hollens, and he mentioned the Sato incident. Any other coups?”

“Nothing decisive. I caught Roman Arnault for a few minutes.”

“Based on what I’ve heard about him, that’s a coup. How’d you manage it?”

“Foxtrot by force. See what you would have had to do if you’d gone to the gala?”

Sundar squinted and held out two hands, weighing the food and drink on one and close dancing with Roman Arnault on the other. “I think I would have coped. What’s he like?”

“As slippery as you’d imagine.”

“Did he tell you anything?”

“No.”

“Well, that tells me something.”

“I’m not sure,” said Malone. She rubbed her thumb along the rough wood grain of the desktop. “With someone like him, it’s hard to know.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes,” Malone said. She related her final meeting with Jane.

“I don’t know what’s more surprising.” Sundar leaned on one arm of his chair. “That she was there, or that you got that kind of cooperation out of her. What was your angle?”

Malone smiled. “Arnault.”

Sundar popped forward. “You’re kidding. I don’t suppose he’s a client?”

“No, he’s something more. I haven’t worked it out yet, but I think she has more of a taste for danger than we thought.” She gave Sundar a hidden smile with a quick flash of teeth beneath it. “Good for us.”

“And the plot thickens. What’s Arnault’s side of the equation? Did you try this one on him?”

“No, I don’t want to give anyone a reason to suspect her. Least of all him.”

“Good thinking.” He sighed and leaned back in the chair. “Ah, there’s the cello. Mr Righetti was probably awake later than we were just thinking about it. I’ll take it by later with a nice vintage – who knows what we’ll need next time.” Stretching an arm to the wall behind him, he ran his fingers down the sleek, wooden curves of the cello case. “So, field trip to the archives?”

“I’m one ahead of you.”

Sundar smirked. “I should have guessed. Tell me about the Sato contract.”

Malone pulled a file from her desk drawer and shuffled through it. “I’ll start with the summary report.” Plucking a sheet from the bound leather portfolio, she skimmed aloud. “Eleven at night on December seventeenth. The councilor and his wife, Fairmount Passage. Both bodies, throats slit, discovered at 4.15 the following morning by a torch lighter. Money and valuables missing from both. The presumed motive was robbery,” she said, resting an elbow on her desk.

“Does the report say what the Satos were doing out at that hour?”

She glanced back at the sheet. “Returning from an arts benefit. They had donated five thousand marks to the Carousel Theatre Company.”

“Then a lot of people would have known they would be there.”

Malone nodded. “Presumably.”

“Yet the report indicates that the murderer was a mugger – that he robbed and killed the Satos for the valuables they carried. That doesn’t add up.”

Malone continued to watch her partner with a prompting expression.

“Nobody would be desperate enough to rob and kill people like them for their pocket change. Either he didn’t recognize the Satos, or he recognized them after he accosted them and killed them in a panic.” He twirled a fingertip through the air, tracing a twisting path of thought. “He was in trouble either way, so perhaps he thought he stood a better chance by eliminating the witnesses.” He drummed his fingers and broke his gaze. “Still, it doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“Which may be why we’ve been directed to this contract.”

“What does the file say about the mugger?”

Malone thumbed through several more pages. “Mortimer Stanislau. A freight worker born in Recoletta and connected with several smuggling operations but never convicted. The inspectors handling the contract picked him up less than thirty-six hours after the murders on a tip. An anonymous tip.” Malone paused, reading further down the page. “He was in possession of one hundred and fifty-seven marks and valuables belonging to the Sato family. A knife in his domicile matched the cuts on the victims, and he had no alibi for the night of the seventeenth. He was brought to trial on the twenty-first and appointed a lawyer, and a bench of five judges unanimously convicted him and sentenced him to death by firing squad.”

Sundar gaped. “All in one day?”

“Over two days. But that’s fast.”

“Even for a crisis.”

Malone pinched a thick sheaf of paper. “There’s a transcript of the proceedings, and it looks thorough. There were no surviving witnesses, so that might explain the lack of delays.”

“Character witnesses?”

“A couple,” she said. “Foremen from his loading team. Given Stanislau’s reputation for unscrupulous behavior, it’s no surprise that these testimonies were not in his favor.”

“No long, pleading statements from the accused?”

“None. Stanislau’s lawyer, Edmund Wickery, handled his end of the proceedings and provided all of Stanislau’s statements.”

Sundar took the sheets detailing the transcript and skimmed through them. “This doesn’t leave us with much.”

Malone was reading through Stanislau’s dossier. “No wife, no children, no surviving family, and no friends to speak of. After the execution, Stanislau’s assets were absorbed by city coffers.”

“In other words, there’s nothing left on this guy.” He slumped in his chair, sighing. A long pause followed during which Malone continued to flip through the pages.

“Well, this is interesting,” she finally said.

Sundar leaned forward. “Did you find something?”

Malone reread a passage of interest. “According to the files, Mortimer Stanislau was mute.”

#

Jane had spoken correctly at the gala: the remainder of the party passed uneventfully. Fredrick remained silent throughout the carriage ride home, leaving Jane to her thoughts. “Good night,” he finally said when they parted at her door. “I’m forecasting a late morning with a chance of hangovers, so whatever you do, don’t knock before noon.” She nodded and bade him good evening.

The following day elapsed with the same sort of quiet. Jane washed, sewed, and mended without any remarkable happenings. The only excitement arrived in the form of Fredrick, who arrived late in the evening with a vengeful appetite. If he was still cross with her for her imprudence the previous evening, she couldn’t tell. His customary jauntiness made it clear that she should anticipate no rehashing of the previous night’s argument and no apology for it. As always with Fredrick, his humors changed with the tides of the day.

Over dinner, she had little trouble drawing him into their usual rhythm of conversation, so thankful was she to have overcome the awkwardness from the end of last night.

“So, the editor liked your story about the gala?” she asked, loading her plate.

“Quite a lot, if I may say so. Of course, she didn’t have a whole lot of choice – it had to run today one way or another, but I prefer to think it was better than your average drivel.”

“Did Burgevich say anything about it?”

“Hah!” Fredrick looked up between bites of broccoli, his eyes gleaming. “That sorry hack couldn’t make eye contact with me all day. Serves him right – he nudged Chiang for the Vineyard murders.” Jane didn’t mention that by “nudged” he meant “bribed” and that he, Fredrick, would have done the same thing if Chiang’s price weren’t so high. Fredrick continued. “Now he doesn’t have a thing to write about. I guess that’s something to appreciate about the Council’s secrecy.” He merrily turned his attentions to the salted cod on his plate.

Near-silence passed as both focused on dinner. When they had picked their plates clean, Jane cleared the table and brought tea, which enlivened Fredrick again. “How were your house calls? See anyone from last night?”

She started as she looked up, but she realized that he was not talking about Roman. “I just had a couple of stops as far as the Vineyard, but I didn’t see anyone from the gala. Even if I had,” she added, pouring her cup, “I think the recognition would have been one-sided.”

“Ah, such sweet irony,” he mused with a wry smile. “And yet you were the toast of the evening, m’dear.”

Jane coughed into her tea. “I was?”

“Oh yes,” he said, lifting his eyebrows and fixing his stare on a spot on the table. “You were quite the topic of conversation. I hope you don’t mind being so objectified.”

“Who was talking?”

He waved his hand. “Everyone.”

“Well, what did ‘everyone’ say?”

“Oh, this and that. You know, the usual. Charming girl, lovely smile, interesting friends, very elegant in red…”

Jane frowned, passing the sugar bowl. “My dress was white.”

“Whatever, same thing.”

She could not tell if he spoke seriously or if he was toying with her. She was inclined to believe the latter, and she set her jaw, resolved not to take the bait.

Fredrick, as if sensing this, nodded earnestly over his own tea cup. “Honestly, those ladies you met last night liked you very much. They told me you seemed like a pleasant young woman. And that’s gushing, coming from them.” He hesitated, as if on the verge of a corollary, but he seemed to think better of it. When they finished their tea and Jane walked Fredrick to the door, she allowed her relief at their pleasant banter to eclipse the lack of closure with which it ended.

Perhaps as a result, she awoke the next morning with a sense of unease. She bathed and dressed early and had churned through much of her morning’s work by nine, when Lena arrived with a parcel of suit jackets for Councilor Hollens.

“The councilor needs the spot removed from this jacket on top,” Lena said, pointing to the offending stain, “but the other had a split in the seam, so I brought it along, too. They’re rather urgent,” she added, managing to make it sound more like a suggestion than a specific request.

Jane examined the two articles. “Thanks, Lena. I’ll have these back by tonight.”

Lena dipped her head, relieved. “You have a good day, Miss Lin.”

“You, too.”

The door closed behind her, and Jane set to work on the two jackets. The stain on the first, some kind of dark grease, came out easily with a compound of mineral spirits and careful brushing. As she reached for the second jacket, her door began to resound with knocks, and her threshold became a momentary epicenter of activity.

Her less exclusive clients arrived with bundles of laundry to be processed en masse, and Jane thought it prudent to begin at once with the washing to allow for adequate drying time. The early hours of the afternoon had come and gone by the time she had strung the linens and clothes around the front parlor, pumping a bellows in front of the glowing fire to circulate warm air. The aromatic infusion of crushed herbs and flowers inside the bellows gave off a light, fresh scent akin to a warm spring breeze. Anticipating the heat, she cracked the window by her door, which faced the apartment warren hallway, and she opened the vents located around the room.

This completed, she returned to the workroom where Hollens’s two jackets hung. The second was more of a light overcoat than a standard suit jacket, she reflected as she turned it on its hanger. It showed fading around the hem and a frayed stitch under the right arm, yet like everything Hollens owned, it seemed meticulously cared-for. She had to search to find the tear, but running her fingers along the inside-front seam, she detected a split about three inches long where the fabric of the liner separated from the heavier stuff of the coat.

Jane marveled that Lena could have noticed such a minor defect, but a councilor’s servant was nothing if not meticulous. Jane laid the coat on her desk and set to work. She pinned the parted edges together and smoothed the liner fabric just beyond the tear with her fingertips. As she traced the satiny material, she felt something unusual. She pressed her fingers more slowly into the fabric, and the effect was like a phonograph needle jumping at a scratch.

Suspecting that a scrap of material had somehow fallen inside, she unpinned the liner and slid her fingers into the gap. They found a folded sheet of paper. The compartment itself, she realized, was a deliberate contrivance, a pocket sewn discreetly inside the coat and several inches deep. With her index and middle finger, she grasped the paper and slid it out of the pocket as professional qualms and curiosity played table tennis with her conscience.

The paper was folded in several times on itself and was soft with age and use. Ignoring that it had been concealed in a secret pocket, it almost seemed too plain to hold any information of real importance. It was probably a receipt or a shopping list. Still, Jane wouldn’t know what to do with it until she read it, and there could be no harm in simply reading the paper, could there? She unfolded it and read:

1. A Ruthers

2. A Hollens

At number three, someone had crossed out “L Fitzhugh” and written in “P Dominguez.”

4. C Hask

Below this hierarchy were two separate columns of names. She read through the eighty or so names listed, recognizing only “W Cahill,” a probable match with the murdered historian. Reaching the bottom of the list, she gave a start to see “R Arnault,” scrawled in the bottom margin and separated from the others, as if added in afterthought.

A jumble of names with a handful she recognized and several dozen she did not. She was familiar with the two councilors and the two murder victims, and she only knew of only one Arnault. Without knowing the other names or understanding the connection between them, the list meant nothing. But it evidently held enough importance to hide in the seam of an old coat, she thought. Her dilemma now was how to fix it. She could not sew this compartment shut, or Hollens would know that she had found it. Yet what could she say to Lena? It would be obvious if she did not fix it, but equally incriminating if she explained why she didn’t.

Jane did not have to ponder for long. Someone pounded frantically at her door just before bursting through it. At the sound, she dropped her pins and thread with a yelp.

“Jane! Jane, where are you?” Fredrick shouted as he stumbled over the threshold, groping at the hanging sheets and clotheslines. “Jane!”

She slid the paper back into the jacket. “In here,” she called. She shoved through the drying clothes and rushed to him, trembling. Both breathed in heaving sighs of relief. “What on earth are you doing here? You scared me to death,” she gasped.

“I was so worried,” he said. He blinked and stared with a kind of fearful concern so utterly removed from his usual irreverence. “Have you heard?”

Much to her later chagrin, she stamped her foot in exasperation. “No Freddie, I have not heard. You come bursting in here and shouting like the world’s going to end, and you ask me if I’ve heard. I gave you that key for emergencies, not for–”

“Jane, he’s dead,” he whispered. “Just now. In the middle of the day.”

“Dead? Who…?” Her frustration sizzled in a cold pool of dread.

“That councilor. Hollens. Stabbed in his own house little more than an hour ago. The maid found him in his sitting room – Jane, she thought he was napping! The domicile full of servants, and someone got to a councilor in the middle of the day.”

The weight of his statement hit her with an almost physical force. “Freddie, are you sure?”

“I was in the office when our man rushed in, and I ran all the way here.” He was still panting from the combination of exertion and panic, a hapless expression on his face. She felt a pang of guilt at her earlier outburst.

“Oh… this is…” Words ground to a halt in her mind as she searched for something meaningful to say. But what? Unexpected? Shocking, yes, but no one could have thought that the architect was the end of it. The week of patrols and curfews had seemed more like a pause than a conclusion in the increasingly alarming series of murders, and the city had bathed in denial. Now, the news cut through the week of haziness like a sharp beam of light, dispelling any illusion of security.

Jane was barely aware of the reeling sensation as her head dipped and her body sagged downwards, crumpling at the knees. She was even less conscious when Fredrick caught her under the arms, reaching behind her to stop her descent, and carried her gently to the sofa. She did not regain consciousness until moments later when he patted her cheek, crouching on the floor in front of her. She blinked dizzily, trying to piece together the moments between swaying on her feet seven paces away and lying slumped on her couch.

“You fainted,” Fredrick said, his jutting elbows and knees silhouetted by flames as he perched. The firelight cast his recently-shaven jaw in a sympathetic glow, and she could see the day’s growth of stubble.

She glanced around the living room, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Freddie.”

He shook his head slowly. “Don’t think of it. This is a tough bit of news to receive and a hard way to hear it.” He pushed himself up with his hands on his thighs and sat beside her. She opened her mouth to speak, but he waved a hand to quiet her, fluttering his fingertips. “Besides,” he said, “you have a lot at stake.” His eyes focused on her and his mouth hardened into a line. “Which brings me to something else we need to discuss. You’ve known both of the last two victims, and I’m concerned for your safety.”

Jane’s eyes widened to unnatural dimensions. She took his hand. “I need to show you something.” Without a word, he followed her out of the den and down the hall.

Returning to the workshop with its dangerous little mystery gave Jane a tiny shiver. The light reflecting from the wooden table and workbenches and spilling into the hallway had a yellowish hue that Jane normally associated with warmth, but now it carried a noxious tinge. She imagined that the folded paper, endowed with an importance disproportionate to its size, now radiated a yellowish color like a toxic fume.

Jane pulled the paper delicately from its compartment and placed it in Fredrick’s outstretched hand. He whispered the first ten names slowly, barely enunciating as he scanned the page. “Jane, I don’t understand. What’s this supposed to mean?”

“Councilor Hollens’s maid dropped these suits off this morning. I was looking over this one when I found a secret pocket – very well hidden – in the lining. When I reached inside I found that paper.”

Fredrick’s eyes narrowed to points as he studied the page. “Do you have any idea what this is?”

“No.”

“But you weren’t supposed to find it. Anything so thoroughly concealed was meant to remain so. Has it occurred to you that three of the people listed here have died in the past week and a half?” He shook the paper in his thumb and forefinger, and her blood froze. “I doubt Hollens was murdered over a scrap of paper, but I know we aren’t supposed to have this.” He closed his fingers around it and moved for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to burn this, Jane. Hollens is dead, and no one ever needs to know we’ve seen this.”

Jane leapt forward, catching Fredrick in the hall. “Wait. Give it back to me, please.”

He blinked incredulously. “What could you possibly want with it? You already know what it says. You can’t mean to keep this.”

“I’m showing it to Inspector Malone.”

“Jane, have you lost your mind? If the rumors of corruption are true, that’s the last thing you should do.”

“Nonsense. The Council threw the Municipals off of this contract, remember? The City Guard practically shut them down.”

“And there may be a very good reason for that. Jane, has it occurred to you that you might be trusting the wrong people? Based on that look you’re giving me, I assume not.” He shot her a paternally disparaging expression that irked her more than his words. “Plus, like you said, they’re off the case. What good could the inspectors do for you even if they are clean? Besides, whoever’s responsible may be watching the station. We have to assume that they know who you are and what you look like. If you go in there, whatever mysterious grace you may or may not have from them will be gone,” Fredrick said, his voice lowered to a furious rasp.