Authors: Chelsea Cain
Just as the doors started to close, Derek Rogers slipped into the elevator with them.
“You’re Dick, right?” Henry said.
“Derek,” Derek said.
“Over seventeen thousand people a year in the U.S. are seriously injured in incidents involving elevators and escalators,” Susan said.
Henry did not look remotely amused. His mouth was drawn tight and there were no laugh lines around his eyes. In the elevator light, Susan could see tiny spider veins blooming along his jaw-line.
“So we finished interviewing the psych-ward inmates this afternoon,” he said.
“Patients,” Susan corrected him.
He ignored her. “You ever meet Archie’s roommate?” Henry said. “Name’s Frank.Depressive. A little slow. Gets a lot of calls from his sister, talks about her constantly. Only it turns out he doesn’t have a sister.”
It wasn’t making very much sense to Susan. But then she was so tired, she wasn’t sure that simple arithmetic would make much sense. “So he lied about having a sister,” she said.
Henry hit the elevator emergency stop button. The elevator ground to a halt.
Susan looked up at the floor lights above the doors. Both the two and the three were lit up. They were stuck between floors. She was suddenly feeling more awake.
“You can’t do that,” Derek said, his voice rising. “There are only two working elevators. What if there’s a fire?”
Henry took a step right up against Derek. “If there’s a fire,” he said between gritted teeth, “you’re supposed to take the stairs.”
Derek backed against the wall. “Okay, sir,” he said.
Susan’s mind was clearing.
Henry leaned back on the elevator wall next to Derek. “I’ll tell you what I think,” he said to Derek, giving him a tap on the upper arm. “I think that Gretchen pretended to be Frank’s sister. I think that she was keeping tabs on Archie through Frank. Frank won’t admit to any of this.” He waved a hand in the air. “Swears on the Bible that he has a sister, who loves him very much.” He held up a single finger. “But he did tell me about a phone,” Henry said. “A cell phone. Frank took it out of Archie’s dresser drawer and Archie got mad. What do you think, Susan?”
Susan was having trouble breathing.
“You know anything about a cell phone?” Henry asked.
“No,” Susan said.
“I’ll tell you what I think,” Henry said. “I think Gretchen is in town.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe she never left. So this Beauty Killer fan club, or cult, or whatever the fuck, may be responsible for much of our city’s recent mayhem. But I can’t find any evidence that our homicidal orderly ever used an Internet dating service. We’ve searched his computer at home. We’ve searched the computers he had access to at work. We’ve even searched the computers at his local library branch, which I can assure you is not easy. Nothing. Jeremy Reynolds didn’t manipulate our orderly into killing Courtenay Taggart. Gretchen Lowell did. I think she used the orderly to get Archie a phone. And then I think she had him kill a patient on the ward because she knew it would get Archie out of there. And if I find out that you knew about this phone, I will rain holy hell on you.”
“I think I found Pearl Clinton,” Derek said. “I got a call from a woman who runs a store on Hawthorne: From the Earth to the Moon. She said that Pearl used to work for her. I’m supposed to meet her there. You can check it out. If you want.”
No one said anything for a moment.
Finally, Susan broke the silence. “Pearl could lead us to Archie,” she said to Henry.
Henry hit the emergency button with the heel of his fist and the elevator strained for a moment and then started to move.
C H A P T E R 54
From the Earth to the Moon was on
Hawthorne Boulevard
in between a coffee shop and a free-trade store. Susan knew the place. It had been there about a year, replacing a Goth store, which had replaced a head shop.
If you had a subculture, Portland had a store for you.
“Here,” Susan said.
Henry pulled over in a loading zone directly in front of the store. Sometimes Susan wished she were a cop. Or at least had a car with cop plates.
“What is with this place?” Henry asked.
“It’s steampunk.”
“Steampunk?”
“It’s a subculture,” Susan said. “Sort of Victorian.Sort of sci-fi. The world as imagined by Jules Verne.”
Henry looked at her blankly.
“Have you ever read The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen?”
“Is it a baseball book?” Henry said.
“Never mind,” Susan said. “Pearl was wearing a corset and a
pair of goggles. This place sells that kind of thing. It makes sense that she worked here.”
They got out of the car and went inside the store.
It was like a jewel box. The walls were painted sea-serpent green, the wood floors were painted black, the cashier’s counter was covered in red velvet, and the light fixtures appeared to be made of old brass watch parts. Brass pipes hung on chains from the ceiling, adorned with gowns, corsets, petticoats, and bustles; gentlemen’s suits with vests, coats, and spats; old-fashioned military uniforms. Antique dark wood shelving displayed quirky pocket watches, old-fashioned parasols, goggles, and ray guns.
The woman standing behind the red velvet counter was wearing a black Edwardian gown under a black leather corset. Around her neck was a magnifying glass and, in a glass relic locket, what looked to be a human tooth. She was wearing a leather gun belt with a Flash Gordon ray gun in each holster.
“I’m with the Herald,” Susan said. “Derek Rogers sent me.”
“Good for you,” she said.
“You called him earlier today,” Susan said. “We’re looking for Margaux Clinton. Goes by ‘Pearl.’Sixteen.About five feet four.Skinny.Short dark hair. Goggles”—she pointed to the goggles displayed on the shelf—“like those. You told Derek Rogers that she used to work here.”
“I don’t know anyone named Derek Rogers,” the woman said. “And I don’t read the Herald.”
“You didn’t call the Herald today?”
“No. But Pearl did work here. I fired her for shoplifting about a month ago.” The woman slid a glance at Henry, and then back at Susan. “She a runaway?” she asked.
“She’s wanted in connection with several murders,” Henry said.
The woman gave Henry a disapproving look. “He the father?” she asked Susan.
“I’m a cop,” Henry said.
“She’s involved with some bad people,” Susan explained. She got a business card out of her wallet and set it on the counter. “Journalist,” she said. As if that might help cancel out the cop thing.
“If she ran away,” the woman said, “she probably had a reason.”
Henry looked around the store. “Maybe her parents wanted her to dress like a normal person,” he said.
The woman gave Henry a once-over. He was wearing black jeans and a sweat-stained, faded black T-shirt. The woman seemed unimpressed. “People look at you, they frown,” the woman said to Henry. She posed, Vogue-style, and fluttered her eyelashes. “They look at me, they smile.”