In Plain Sight

“I know all the good fences,” Wilks said; he smiled and thumped himself on the chest. “And the cops know the rest. If one of my clients has something go missing, I know just who to squeeze.”

Alex pictured Jerry Pemberton, beaten and missing fingernails.

“Who did you squeeze about Van der Waller’s missing stones?”

“That’s a trade secret,” Wilks said. “I’m sure a runewright understands that.”

Alex did. Wilks didn’t have to tell him anything and he had no leverage with the man. As a former cop, he knew that P.I.s had little to no pull with the real police.

“When do you expect to have the stones back?” Alex said. Wilks’ grim smile turned sour and he didn’t answer.

“What happened to Jerry Pemberton?” Alex asked, quietly.

“Who?” he asked. For the first time, Wilks looked surprised.

“The customs agent who was in on the robbery with the thief. Someone beat his partner’s name out of him, then set him on fire.”

Wilks’ face flushed and he jumped to his feet.

“Get out,” he roared. “I don’t have to listen to this from you.”

Alex didn’t move.

“But you will have to listen to the police,” he said. “Right now they don’t know that you told Van der Waller not to call them. I’m sure they’d find that fact interesting enough to come down here and talk to you.”

Wilks turned a greenish color and he sat down.

“I didn’t have anything to do with any beating,” he said. “I already told you how I work. I don’t go after the thieves, I let them come to my contacts.”

“Maybe you got tired of waiting.”

“I never heard of any Jerry Penballer—”

“Pemberton.”

“Whoever,” Wilks barked. “I never heard of him, and I certainly didn’t kill him.”

Alex hated to admit it, but he believed Wilks. Firstly, Wilks would have waited a few days, at least, for his fences to hear something. Killing Pemberton had been an act of desperation, perpetrated by someone motivated to get their hands on the missing stones. Wilks, on the other hand, was like a spider in a web, just waiting for the thieves to come to him.

“All right,” Alex said, flipping his notebook closed. “I take it, you haven’t heard anything from your people about the stones?”

“No,” Wilks said. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out an oblong book, opening the cover and turning it around so Alex could read it. It was a checkbook with a draft written out to James Van der Waller in the amount of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. It was dated yesterday.

“If I haven’t heard anything by the end of today, I’ll take this check over to James myself.” He fixed Alex with a hard stare. “I may be a bit rough around the edges compared to the rest of the stiffs who work here, but I’m legit.” He closed the book and put it away. “Callahan Brothers Property always pay our claims.”

Alex stood up, putting his notebook away.

“Good to know,” he said. “Thank you for your time.”

“I’m sure you can find your way out,” Wilks sneered, not rising from his desk.

* * *

It was a long elevator ride back to the ground floor. Everything seemed to point to Callahan Brothers, but now Alex wanted them to be his insurance company. Not that Wilks would take his business.

A row of phone booths encased in polished wood lined the wall in the building’s elaborate lobby. Alex should have called Danny, but he wasn’t ready to admit he had nothing, so he dialed his office number instead. Leslie picked up after the third ring and she sounded harried.

“There you are,” she said when she heard his voice. “Everyone’s called for you this morning. It’s like Grand Central in here.”

“What have you got?” Alex sighed.

“Danny called twice wanting to know how you made out at the insurance company. Then Doctor Bell called, said he’s over at the University and wanted you to join him. He said to follow the police cars and you’d find him.”

That didn’t sound good.

“Lastly Miss Rockwell called, wanting to know if you’d made any progress finding out what happened to her brother. She, at least, was polite.”

Alex closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “All right,” he said. “Sounds like I’d better go see what Iggy wants.”

Leslie snorted. She didn’t approve of Alex calling a septuagenarian doctor Iggy.

“If Danny or Evelyn call back, tell them I’ll call them as soon as I can.”

Leslie promised that she would and wished him luck.

* * *

The university was south, past the core, near Washington Square Park. It would take close to half an hour to get there by crawler and he hadn’t eaten all day. His stomach growled at him, but Iggy’s mention of police cars meant something important was happening. He pushed his hunger aside and headed south.

The campus of New York University covered a few city blocks, but Alex had no trouble figuring out which building he needed to visit. As Iggy had predicted, half a dozen police cruisers were parked along the street beside a four-story building made of yellow brick. All sorts of horrors paraded through his mind as he approached. Maybe Dr. Halverson had accidentally infected someone in the lab and now they were all dead. Maybe Iggy had been there.