In Plain Sight

“Don’t worry, Captain Rooney,” Sorsha said, standing. “I shall take care of that. This is a federal matter now. You and your men and your…consultant have done excellent work. I’ll make sure the Governor hears about it.”

Rooney smiled, ingratiating, but his face had the sickly look of someone who had lost a favorite plaything. “Thank you, Miss Kincaid,” he said, then he turned to Callahan. “Make sure the FBI has everything they need, then wrap it up here.”

Callahan said that he would, and Rooney left without another word.

“Pak,” Callahan said in a loud voice. “This is your crime scene. Make sure everything’s logged and turned over to Miss Kincaid.” He put on his hat and then turned to leave as well. “I’ll make sure your bill gets paid, Lockerby,” he said on the way out.

Danny began giving instructions to the two other detectives while Alex packed up his kit.

“That was a real cute performance,” Agent Warner said, coming up behind him. Alex looked up into his young face. His lip was drawn up in a sneer and his blue eyes were hard. “Thought you’d make the rest of us look like chumps while you suck up to our boss?”

Alex just shrugged.

“I guess I thought that a bunch of Germans running around the city with a plague was something everyone needed to know,” he said. “This was just the easiest way to do it.”

“And to blow your own horn,” Warner said, anger in his voice. “I saw guys like you when I was on the force in Chicago. FBI has a few of them too. It’s never about the job for them, they’ve always got to make a big show. Problem is, while they’re doing their song and dance for the cameras and the brass, the bad guys get away. Sometimes people die.”

Alex straightened up and faced Warner. He was over an inch taller than the young Agent and he stretched himself up to his full height. Something about this was personal for Warner, but Alex had no idea what.

“Don’t worry, Agent Warner,” he said. “I’m not doing this for fame. I’m a P.I. I’m in it for the money.”

For a brief second Warner looked like he might punch him, but he mastered himself and stormed away.

“You look dead on your feet,” Iggy said, stepping up next to him.

Alex nodded. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept.

“The Sorceress will take it from here,” Iggy continued. “Let’s go home.”

Alex rubbed his eyes. Now that he’d sounded the alarm bell to the people who needed most to hear it, and saved his and Danny’s skins in the process, his job was done.

Wasn’t it?

“There’s still three Germans running around New York with jars full of death,” he said. He indicated the detectives and the FBI with a sweep of his arm. “They needed my help to get this far.”

“Do you know anything you haven’t told them?” Iggy asked. Alex wearily shook his head.

“No,” he confessed.

“Then your part in this little play is done,” Iggy said forcefully. “It’s time you slept anyway; you’re no good to anyone in this condition.”

Alex picked up his kit and followed Iggy toward the door, but stopped when Sorsha stepped intro his path. She looked at him with her intense eyes, one eyebrow raised.

“That was very good work, Mr. Lockerby,” she said.

Alex wasn’t sure he’d heard her right, but he smiled and said, “Thanks,” all the same.

“I don’t give compliments lightly,” she said. “Or idly. You should come work for me.”

Alex smiled at the thought of being an FBI agent. It would never work out, of course. He cut too many corners and broke too many rules to be a legitimate law officer of any kind.

“If I decide to pack it in, you’ll be my first call,” he said. “For right now, just find those Germans.”

She seemed to have been waiting for a sarcastic answer, and his frankness surprised her. Before she could pursue any more discussion, however, Danny called her away.

Alex didn’t remember much about the cab ride home. Outside, the sun was beginning to paint the sky shades of pink and yellow, and the buildings went by in a smoky, gray blur. At some point he collapsed onto his bed, still in his clothes, and fell instantly asleep.

20 The Conspirator

Alex’s bedroom had a window that faced the street. The brownstone sat on a pleasant lane, lined with birch trees on either side and cobbled with bricks. It ran east and west with Alex’s window facing south. When he’d collapsed into bed in the wee hours of the morning, the sun had been rising behind the house. The curtains over the large windows were open and Alex had been in no condition to close them.

Over the course of the day the sun marched its path across the sky and, just after noon, a bright ray crept in through the open curtains and shone on the floor. As the afternoon progressed, the shaft of sun and the bright pool of light crawled slowly, silently across the hardwood floor, then up the side of the bed, and then across the bedspread until it shone on Alex’s face.