In Plain Sight

“I didn’t tell him how to evade your men, Captain,” Alex said. “If he got away, I’m sorry, but I had nothing to do with it.”

“You knew no one was coming,” Rooney roared.

Alex looked at Danny and the detective shrugged and shook his head.

“Don’t look at him,” Rooney said. “He’s in enough trouble because of you. You sent us to that warehouse on a guess and it turned into a wild goose chase. Do you have any idea how much it cost to put men on that building for the last thirty-six hours? I had to get special permission from the Mayor, and the Governor, because foreign governments have shipments in there.”

So that was it. Staking out the customs warehouse required the Feds’ involvement. Rooney and the Mayor stuck their necks out because catching someone breaking into such a secure and important location would make them look good. When no one came, Rooney had egg on his face.

Damn political appointees.

“Maybe they’ll come tonight or tomorrow.” Alex said.

Rooney’s face screwed itself up into an ugly smile. “Everything in that warehouse has been picked up by the rightful owners,” he said. “The entire layout has changed from that drawing Pemberton made. No one’s coming.”

Alex felt the first pangs of real fear. Rooney’s neck was on the block and he was looking hard for a patsy. A smart-mouthed, consulting runewright detective was the perfect target. Still, he wasn’t in handcuffs, so Rooney must have something else in mind.

“Get to the bad news,” Alex said.

“You really are too smart for your own good, Lockerby,” he said. “The bad news is that the Chief of Police wants to see me in his office at ten o’clock, Monday morning. He’s given me until then to justify the warehouse stakeout by finding Pemberton’s murderer. If I go into that meeting without the guilty party and an ironclad case, I’m giving the Chief you, Lockerby. And not just you,” he said, looking at Danny. “Understand?”

Alex understood. He had four days to solve a case where he must have missed something. And, if he failed, he’d take Danny down with him.

“In that case,” Alex said, putting his hat back on. “I’d better get to work.”

“The rest of you get out, too,” Rooney said.

Alex left the office first, but lingered by the elevators. The other detectives and the two officers gave him dirty looks as most of them headed for the stairs, but Callahan marched right for him with Danny Pak in tow.

“We need to talk, Lockerby,” he growled under his breath. He pushed the elevator button and a moment later the three of them were descending toward the first floor. As soon as the doors closed, Callahan rounded on Alex.

“I don’t know how this case went sideways, scribbler, but you’re about to cost me one of my best detectives.”

“This isn’t Alex’s fault, Lieutenant,” Danny said.

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is, Detective. The Mayor is howling for someone’s head, and if you’re not careful, it’s going to be yours.”

“Relax, Callahan,” Alex said with a confidence he didn’t feel. “Danny and I will find your killer.”

“Who said you get to appropriate my Detective?” Callahan said with a sneer. “You’ve already done enough damage.”

“Danny’s head’s on the block just like mine, Lieutenant,” Alex said. “If you really want to keep him, you’d better give me all the help you can.”

Callahan’s jaw tightened at that, but he nodded. “Go with Lockerby,” he said to Pak as the elevator doors opened.

Danny followed Alex out.

“One more thing, Lieutenant,” Alex said, catching the grate as Callahan tried to close it. “Did you ever find out anything about Charles Beaumont?”

“You’ve already got a case to solve,” Callahan said, pulling the grate closed. “No,” he said before pulling the lever to ascend. “We’ve checked pawn shops up and down the east side and no one knows him. It’s a dead end. Now get to work.”

Alex and Danny watched the elevator rise up out of sight, then turned toward the front doors of the building.

“Where do we start?” Danny asked, following Alex out.

“Breakfast. Your friends dragged me out of my bed this morning.”

Alex and Danny took a crawler all the way back to the stop near the brownstone.

“You brought me all the way over here for this?” Danny said when they stopped in front of The Lunch Box. “Alex, this place is a dive. Trust me, I’m a cop, I know a dive when I see one.”

The diner was made from a converted trolley car that sat on an empty corner just a few blocks from the brownstone. It had been painted red some time ago, but now the paint and the lettering above the door were faded and peeling. Inside, a long counter ran almost the entire length of the building with a row of booths up against the outside wall. Alex slapped Danny on the back and led him inside.

“Trust me,” he said. “I hear they just got a really good cook.”

Behind the counter sat a bored-looking woman at least fifty years old. Her shirt was stained from years of working the counter and her hair was done up in a messy bun. A faded nameplate pinned to her shirt read Doris.