In Plain Sight

“A burglar I work with sometimes, a real pro.”

“What’s his name? Where can I find him?”

“I don’t know his real name,” Brewer said as a second strand snapped and the chair dipped some more. “I only know where he lives.”

Alex pulled the candle away and blew out the fire on the remaining strand.

“Where?” he said.

“The corner of twenty-eighth and Mercer,” Brewer said, his voice still trembling. “That’s all I know, I swear.”

“What name do you know him by?”

Brewer hesitated. Alex pushed the candle back under the rope and it caught fire instantly.

“What name does he go by?!” Alex yelled.

“Beaumont!” Brewer screamed. “Charles Beaumont!”

The rope snapped and the chair fell forward six inches until the slack was taken up, then it jerked to a stop. By that time, however, Jeremy Brewer had fainted.

18 The Apartment

In the main foyer of Dr. Bell’s brownstone stood a grandfather clock made of polished mahogany and burl wood. The face was over-large because it hid a mechanism that told the story of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol every twelve hours. On the hour of three, a diorama opened showing an intricately painted scene of Scrooge’ visit from Marley’s ghost. As the quarter hour progressed, the diorama turned to show the ghost of Christmas past. Similar dioramas opened on the sixth, ninth, and twelfth hours with the final scene being Scrooge dining with his nephew’s family. On each quarter hour, the clock played the first few bars of Greensleeves.

Alex always liked the clock. By the time he trudged wearily back up the steps to the brownstone, the diorama showing Marley’s Ghost, with his chains and cash boxes hovering over a terrified Scrooge, had just opened. Alex wanted nothing more than to keep right on going, upstairs to his room where his warm, comfortable bed awaited him, but there was a light still burning in the kitchen. He must have forgotten to switch it off. Thinking of that reminded him of his promise to Iggy, to clean the wreck of their kitchen. He didn’t have the strength, he knew he didn’t, but maybe he could just tidy up a bit and leave the serious work for tomorrow. He’d need a cup of coffee anyway, several in fact, for his day was far from over. Coffee and tidying could be done while he waited for Danny.

Of course, first he had to call Danny.

The aroma of freshly-brewed coffee washed over him as he passed through the library. When he reached the kitchen, he found it cleaned and scoured, with Iggy sitting at the table. He had a mug of coffee in one hand and a book in the other and dark circles under his eyes.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Alex said, shuffling to the coffee pot and pouring himself the biggest cup he could find.

“I couldn’t sleep with you out there, lad,” Iggy said. “I just laid awake for an hour and then I had to get up and do something. At least this gave me something to keep my mind occupied for a time.”

Alex downed as much of the hot liquid as he could take in one go, then refilled his cup.

“Well?” Iggy said, closing his book and setting it aside. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Alex drank, then poured one more time, before moving to the table next to Iggy and setting his cup down. “Give me a minute first,” he said. “I have to make a call.” He walked to where the telephone hung on the wall and gave the operator Danny Pak’s number. Six rings later, Danny’s groggy voice came at him down the wire.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Get your cop suit on,” Alex said. “I’ve got a lead on who killed Jerry Pemberton.”

“Alex?” Danny said. “You know I have a gun, right?”

“Wake up!” Alex shouted into the phone. “Get dressed and pick me up at the brownstone. We’re going to check out the apartment of the man who stole the gems out of the customs warehouse.”

Danny cursed at him. “Fine,” he said at last. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

“So you know who killed Pemberton?” Iggy said once Alex hung up.

“No,” Alex said. “But I know who took the stones from the warehouse. Charles Beaumont.”

Iggy cocked his head to the side.

“The man who infected the Brotherhood of Hope Mission?” he asked. Alex nodded.

“I know where he lives now.”

“How did you find out?” Iggy asked.

Alex sat down, sipped his coffee, and told Iggy the whole story. The old man laughed when Alex told him about his trick with the ropes. Brewer had never been in any actual danger, of course. The rope Alex burned held about six inches of slack in the actual rope that held Brewer’s chair. Once it burned through, the chair dropped the six inches, then stopped. Brewer had believed it though, which was all that mattered.

“I left him, handcuffed to the chair, in the alley behind The Emerald Room,” Alex said.

The look of amusement on Iggy’s face evaporated to be replaced by one of alarm. “But, what if someone finds him?” he said, his voice urgent. “He knows you’re going to Beaumont’s apartment.”